<l/^^ A Jy1<i A i s? ? -EVENINGS AT HOME;









{Price Ome Shilling and Sixpence.]




OF    ,


The Tranfmigrations of Indur



"The Native Village


The Swallow and Tortojfe

The Trice of Pleqfure


The Goofe and Horfe


The Grafs Tribe « - - -


A Tea LeElure


The Kidnappers - - * ■?,


The Farm-yard Journal -


0n Manufactures -


The Flying Fifh - - -


A Leffbn in the Art of difiinguifhing





- I37

~ 1

- ' 148

The Phenix and Dove fThe Manufacture of Pager The Two Robbers .





At the time when Fairies and Genii polTeflecl the powers which they have now loft, there lived in the country-of the Brachmans a man named Indur> who was diftinguifhed, not only for that gentlenefs pf difpofition and humanity towards air living creatures, which are fo much cultivated among tliofe people, hut for an infatiable curiofity refpe6ting the nature and way-of life of all animals. In.purfuit of knowledge of this kind he would frequently fpend the night among lonely rocks, or in the midit of thick forefts; and there, under ihelter of a Yjol. II. - B ' hanging


hanging cliff, or mounted upon a high tree, he would watch the motions and afrions of all the animals that feek their prey in the night; and remaining in the fame fpot till the break of day, he would obferve this tribe of creatures ^retiring < to their dens, and'all others coming forth to enjoy the beams of the rifing fun. On thefe occafions, if he faw any opportunity of exercifing his benevolence towards animals in diftrefs, he never failed to make ufe of it; and-many times refcued the fmall birds from the pitylefs hawk, and the iamb or kid ’ from the gripe of the wolf and lynx. One day, as he was fitting on a tree in the fore ft, a little frolicfome monkey, in taking a great leap from one bough to another, chanced to mifs his hold, and fell from a great height to the ground. As he lay there unable to move, Indur efpied a large venomous ferpent advancing to make the poor defencelefs creature his prey. He immediately defended


fcended from his poft, and taking the lit-* tie monkey in his arms, ran with it to the tree, and gently placed it upon a bough.

In the mean time, the enraged ferpent purfuing him, overtook him before he could mount the tree, and bit him in -the leg. Prefently, the limb began to fwell, and the effe£ts of the venom be->came vifible over Indur*s whole frame. He grew faint, fiek, and pale; and linking on the ground, was fenfible that his laft moments were faft approaching.

As thus he lay, he was furprifed to hear a human voice from -the tree; and looking up, he beheld, on the bough where he had placed the monkey, a beautiful woman, who thus addreffed him cc lndur> I am truly grieved, that thy kindnefs to, me fhould have been the caufe of thy deftru&ion. Know, that in- the form of the poor monkey, it was ^ ' the potent fairy Perezinda, to whom thou gaveft fuccour. Obliged to pafs a certain number of days every year under Be    the


the fhape .of''ari animal/ I had choferi this forms and though not mortal, I. fhould have fuffered extreme agonies from the bite of the ferpent, hadft thou not fo humanely affifted me. It is not in my power, to prevent thq fatal effe£t of the poifon: but I am able to grant thee any wifh thou fhalt form refpefting the future' ftate of exigence to which thou art now haftening. Speak, then, before it be too late, and .let me fhow my gratitude.”—cc Great Perezinda!” replied Indu,r3 fc fince you defign fo boun-teoufly to return my fervice, this is the requeft that I make: In all my tranfmi-grations may I retain a rational foul, with the memory of the adventures-1 'have gone through; and when death fets me free from one body, may I inftantly animate another in the prime of its powers and faculties, without palling, through the helplefs ftate of infancy.”—ff It is granted,” anfwered the Fairy; and immediately breaking a fmall branch from


TRANSMIGRATIONS OF INBUR. 5 the tree, and breathing on it. Hie threw it down to Indur, and bid him hold it faft. in his hand. He did fo, and pre-■fently expired.

Xnftantly he found himfelf in a green valley by- the fide, of a clear , ftreams grazing amid a herd of Antelopes. He admired his-elegant fhape, 'fle.ek fpotted fkin, and polifhed fpiral horns j and drank with delight of the cool rivulet* cropt the juicy, herb, and fported with his ^companions, Soon, an alarm was given of the approach of an enemy .;

. -and they all,fet off with the fwiftnefs of the wind■ to the neighbouring irrimehfe plains j where they were foon but of the reach of injury. Indur was highly delighted with the eafe and rapidity 'of his • motions; and fnufHng the keen air in the defart, bounded away, fcarceJy deigning to touch the ground- with his feet. This way of life went on very pleafantly for fome time, till at length the herd was one morning alarmed with noifes B 3    of


of trumpets, drums, and loud fhouts, on every fide. They ftarted, and ran firffc to the right, then to the left, but were continually driven back by the furround-ing. crowd, which now appeared to be a ^whole army of htinters,-with the king .of the country and ail His nobles, affembled 011 a folemn chafe, aftjer the manner of the eaftern people. And now the,circle began to clofe, and numbers of affrighted animals of various kinds thronged together in the centre, keeping as far as poffible from the dangers that approached them from all quarters. The huntfmen were now come near enough to, reach their game with their arrows;

. and the prince and his lords fhot at them' as they paffed; and repaired, killing and wounding great numbers. Indur and his furviving companions feeing no other means, of efcape, refolved to make a bold pu(h towards that part of the ring which was the moft weakly guarded * and though many perilled in the attempt


tempt, yet.a .'few, leaping over the heads* of the people, got clear away; and Indur was among die number. ' But whilfb he was fcouring over the plain, rejoicing, in his good fortune, andconduft, an-, enemy fwifter than himfelf overtook him. This was a falcon, who, let loofe-by one of the huntfmen, dallied like lightning after the fugitives; and:alighting upon the head of ' Indur r began to’ tear his eyes with his beak, and flap his .wings over his face. Indur, terrified and blinded, knew not which way he-went; and inftead of proceeding ftraight. forwards, turned rownd and came again: towards the hunters. One of thefe,. riding full fpeed with a javelin in his> hand, came up to him, and-ran the-weapon in. his fide. He fell down, and; with repeated wounds was foon dif-patched. '.    .

7 When the flruggle of death was overa, Indur was equally furprifed and pleafed on finding himfelf foaring high in the B<4    a-irv

8    SIXTH    evening.

air, as-one of a flight of Wild-Geeje, In their annual migration to breed in the anStic."regions. ■■ With vaft delight he Jprtzng forward on eafy wing-through' the immenfe fields of air, and furveyed beneath him extenfive trafis of earth perpetually varying with-plains, mountains, rivers, lakes, and woods. At the approach of night, the flock lighted on the ground, and fed on the green corn or grafs; and at day-break they were again on wing, arranged in a regular ' wedge-like body, with an experienced leader at their head. Thus for.many days they continued their journey, pairing over countries inhabited by various nations, till at length they arrived in the remoteft part of Lapland, and fettled in a wide marfhy lake, filled with numerous reedy iflands, and' furrounded on all jfides with dark forefls of pine and birch. Here, in perfect fecurity from man and hurtful animals, they followed the great bufinefs of breeding and providing for



their young, living plentifully upon the inters and aquatic reptiles that abound-■ ed in this fheltered fpot.' Jndur with great pleafure exercifed his various powers, of fwimming, diving, and flyings failing round the iflands, penetrating in- • to every creek and bay, and vifiting the deepeft receffes of the woods. He furv.ey-. ed with aftonifliment the fun, inftead of' rifing and fetting, making "a complete ' circle in the heavens, and cheering the earth with a perpetual day. Here he met, with innumerable tribes of kindred, birds, varying'in iize, plumage, and voice, but all pafiing their time in a fimilar manner, and furnifhed with the. fame powers .for providing food and a ' fafe retreat for themfelves and their young. The whole lake was covered with parties fiihing 6r fporting, and- refounded with their loud cribs;, while the iflands were filled with their nefts, and new broods of young were continually coming forth and launching upon the .    B 5    furface


furface of the waters. One day, Indur*s curiofity having led him at a diftance from his companions to the woody border of the lake, he was near paying dear for his heedleflhefs j for a fox, that lay in wait among the bullies, fprung upon him, and it was with the utmoft difficulty that by a ftrong exertion he broke from his hold, not without the lofs of fome feathers.

Summer now drawing to an end, the vaft congregation of water-fowl began to break up; and large bodies of them daily took their way fouth wards, to pafs the winter in climates where the waters are never fo frozen as to become uninhabitable by the feathered race. The •wild-geefe to whom Indur belonged, proceeded with their young ones by long daily journies acrofs Sweden, the Baltic-fea, Poland, and Turkey, to Leffer Afia,'and finifhed their journey at the celebrated plains on the banks of fche Cayfter, a noted refort for their fpe-•1    ■    -cies

'' TRA^SMiG'UA’TIONS OF INDUR. IT cies ever fince the age of Homer, who ■ in Tome very beautiful verfes has aefcrib-ed the manners and a£tions of the various • tribes of aquatic birds in that favourite Ipot*. Here they foon recruited - from; the fatigue of their march, and enjoyed1 themfelves in the delicious climate .till 1 winter. This feafon, though here extremely mild, yet making the means of. fuftenance. fomewhat fearce, r they, were' obliged to make foraging excurfions to-the cultivated .lands in -the neighbour^-hood. Having committed -great depredations upon a fine-field of young: wheat, the owner fpread a net on the ground, in which Indur,. with feveral of:

*"Not lefs their number than: th1 embodied cranes > Or milk-white fwans on Aiia’s watry plains,

That o’er the windings of Cayfter’s fprings Stretch their long necks, and clap their ruftling . wings.

JNTow tow’r aloft, and courle in airy rounds Now light with noife; .with- noife the' field re- -.founds,'. -    •    :    v ■    • - . :...

, Pop.e’s Homer..• B: 6    his


his companions, .had the misfortune to be caught. No mercy was fhown them, but as they were taken out one by one, their necks were all broken.

Indur was not immediately fenfible of the next change- he underwent, which was into a Dormouje, fail afleep in his hole.at the foot of a bufh. As it was in a country where the winters are pretty fevere, he did not awake for fome weeks 5 when a thaw having taken place, and the fun beginning to warm the earth, he unrolled himfelf one day, ftretched, opened his eyes, and not being able to niake out where he was, he roufed a female companion whom he found by-his ' fide. When Ihe was'fufficiently awakened, and they both began to feel hungry, fhe led the way to a magazine of nuts and acorns, where they made a comfortable meal, and foon fell afleep again. This nap having lafted a few days, they awaked a fecond time, and having eaten, they ventured to crawl'to o    the


the mouth of their hole, where, pulling away fome withered grafs and leaves, they peeped out into the open air. After taking a turn or two in,the fun, they grew chill, and went down again, flopping up the entrance after them. The cold weather returning, they took another long nap, till at length, fpring being fairly fet in, they roufed in earneft, and began to make daily excurfions abroad. Their winter ftock of provision being now exhaufted, they were for fome time reduced to great ftraits, and obliged to dig for roots and pig-nuts. Their fare was mended as the feafon advanced, and they made a neft near the bottom of a tree, where they brought up a. young family. They never ranged far* from home, nor ,afcended the higher branches of the tree, and patted great part of their time in (leep, even during the midft of fummer. When . autumn came, they ;were - bufily employed in colle&iog the nuts, acorns,

■ ,    -    and


and other dry fruits that fell from the trees, and laying them up in their ftore-houfe under grdund. One day, as In-diir was clofely engaged in this occupation at fome diftance from his dwelling, he was feized by a wild cat, who^ after tormenting him for a time, gave him a gripe, and put him out of his pain.

From one of the fmaileft and moft: defencelefs of animals, Indur found him-felf inftantly changed, into a majeftic Elephant in a. lofty foreft of the ifle of Ceylon. Elated with this wonderful: advancement in the fcale of creation,.* he ftalked along with confcious dignity,, and furveyed with pleating. wonder his,, own form and that, of his companions, , together with the rich fcenery of: the -ever-verdant woods,, which perfumed the air with their.; fpicy odour, ..and lifted * their tall heads to the clouds;. Here,, fearing no injury,. and not defiring to do any, the gigantic herd roamed, at -'    large,.


large, feeding on the green branches which they tore down with their trunks, bathing in deep rivers 'during jthe heat of the day, and repofing in the depths of the forefts, reclined againft the maffy trunks of trees by night. It was long before ,Indur met with any adventure that could lead him to doubt his fe-curity. But one day, having penetrated into a clofe entangled thicket, he efpied, lurking under the thick covert, a grim tyger, whofe eyes fialhed rage and fury. Though the tyger was one of the Jargeft of his fpecies, yet his bulk was trifling compared to that of an elephant, a fingle foot of which feemed fufficient to crufh him ; yet the. fiercer nefs and cruelty of his looks, .his angry growl, and grinning teeth,-{truck fome terror into Indur. There was little -time, however, for refledion; for when Indur had advanced a fingle ftep, the tyger fettingup a roar,fprungto meethim, attempting to feize his lifted trunk. In-


dur was dexterous enough to receive him upon, one of his tufks, and exerting all his flrength, threw the tyger to a great diftance. He was fomewhat fbunned by the fall, but recovering, renewed the afiault with redoubled fury. Indur : again,, and a third time, threw him off; after which the tyger turning about, bounded away into the midft of the thicket. Indur drew back, and rejoined his companions, with fome abatement in the confidence he had placed ' in his fize and ftrength, which had not ‘ prevented him from undergoing fo dangerous an attack.

Soon after, he joined the reil of the herd in an expedition beyond the bounds of the foreft, to make depredations on fome fields of maize. They committed great havock, devouring part, but tearing up and trampling down much more 5 . when the inhabitants taking the alarm, affembled in great numbers, and with fierce Hiouts and flaming brands drove



them back to the woods. Not contented with 'this, they were refdlved to make them pay for the mifchief they had done by taking fome- prifoners. For this purpofe they enclofed a large fpace among the trees with ftrong pofts arid ftakesj bringing it to a narrower and narrower compafs, and ending, at laft in a paffage only capable of admit-, ing one elephant at a time. This Was divided by ftrong crofsTbars which would lift up and down., into feveral a-i partments. They then lent out fome tame female elephants bred to the bufinefs, ■who approaching the -.herd'of .wild ones, inveigled the males to follow them towards the inclofurts.'_ Indur was among the firft who was decoyed by their artifices 3 and, with fome others following heedlefsly, he got into the' narroweft part of the inclofnre, oppofite to the paffage: Here they, flood'awhile, doubting whether they fhould go further. But the females leading the way, and utter-

3 8    SIXTH    EVENING.

ing the cry of invitation, they ventured at length to follow. When a fufficient number was in the paffage, the bars were let down by men placed for the purpofe, and the elephants were fairly caught in a trap. As foon as they were fenfible of their fituation, they fell into a firof rage, and with all their efforts endeavoured to break through. . But the hunters throwing noofes over ' them, bound them fail with ftrong ropes and chains to the -polls' on each fide, and thus kept them without food or fleep for three days when, being exhaufced with hunger and fatigue, they gave figns of fufficient tamenefs. .They were now let out one by one, and bound each, of them to two large tame elephants with riders on their backs, and thus without refift-a nee were led away clofe prifoners. They were then put into feparate (tables, and by proper difcipline were pre-fently rendered quite tame and gentle. ■

- Not long after, Indur3 with five more,


l Transmigrations of inDur. 29 was fent over from Ceylon to the continent'of India, and fold, to one of the princes of the country. He was now trained to all the fervices elephants 'are there employed in; which were, to carry perfons on'his back in a kind of fe-dan or litter, to draw cannon, Ihips, and other great weights, to kneel and rife at command, make obeifance to his lord, and perform all the motions and attitudes he was ordered. Thus he lived a long time, well fed and careffed, clothed in coftly trappings on days of ceremony, and contributing to the pomp of eaftern toyd\ty. At length a war broke out, and Indtir came to be employed in a .different fcene. After proper training, he was, marched, with a number of his fellows, into the field, bearing on his back a fmall wooden tower, in which were placed feme fol-diers with a fmall field-piece. They foon came in fight of the enemy/ and both Tides were drawn up for battle.



Indur and the reft were urged forwards by their leaders, wondering at the fame time at the fcene in which they were engaged, fo contrary to their nature and manners. J?refently all was involved in fmoke and fire. The elephants advancing, foon put to flight thofe who were drawn up before them 3 but their career was flopped by a battery of cannon, which played furioufly againfc them.. Their vaft bodies offered a fair mark to the balls, which prefendy ftruck down fo'me, and wounded others.

'Indur received a fhot on one of' his tuflcs, which broke it, and put him to 'fuch pain and affright, that turning about, he ran with all fpeed over the plain j and falling in with a body of their own infantry, he burft through, trampling down whole ranks,r and filling them with terror and confufion. His leader having now loft all command over him, and finding him, hurtful only to his own party, applied the fharp in-'    •    ,    '    ilrument


{fcrument he carried, to the nape of his neck, and driving it in with all his force, pierced his fpinal marrow, fo that' he fell lifejefs to the ground.    v

In the next ftage of his exiftence, Indur to his great furprife found even the vaft bulk of the elephant prodigi-oufly; exceeded j for he was now a Whale of the largeft lpecies, rolling in the midft of the ar£tic feas. As he darted along, the lafh of his tail made whirlpools in the mighty deep. When he opened his immenfejaws, he drew-in a flood of brine, which, on rifing to the furface, he fpouted out again in a rufhing fountain that rofe high in the air with the , noife of a mighty catara£t. All the other inhabitants of the ocean.feemed ,as nothing to him. He fwallowe.d, al-moft without knowing it, whole Ihoals of the . fmaller kinds and the larger fwiftly turned afide at his approach. cc Now,5’ he cried to himfelf, <c whatever other evils may await me, I am certainly

22'    SIXTH    EVENING.    '

certainly fecure from the moleftations of other animals5 for what is the creature that can dare to cope with me, or mea-fure his ftrength with mine ?” Having faid this, he faw fwimming near him a fifh not a quarter of his length, armed with a dreadful row of teeth. This was a grampus, which dire<5tly flying upon Indur, faftened on him, and made his great teeth meet in his flefh. Indur roared with pain, and lafhed the fea till it was all in a foam j but could neither reach nor fhake off his cruel foe. He rolled over and over, rofe and funk, and exerted all his boafted ftrength; but to no purpofe. At length the grampus quitted his hold, and left him not a little mortified with the-adventure. This was however forgotten^ and Indur re--ceived pleafure from his new fituation, as he roamed through the boundlefs fields of ocean, now diving to-its very bottom, now fhooting fwiftly to its fur-face, and porting with his companions

9 'm


in unwieldy gambols. Having chofen a mate, he took his courfe with her' foiithwards, and in due time brought up two young ones, of whom he was extremely fond. . The fummer feafon being arrived, he more frequently than ufual rofe to the furface, and bafking in the fun-beams, floated unmoved with a large part of his hugh body above the waves. As he was thus one day-enjoying a profound fleep, he was awakened by a fharp inftrument penetrating deep into his back. : Inftantly he fprung away with the fwiftnefs of lightning, and feeling the weapon ft ill flicking, he dived into the recefles of the deep, and ftaid there till want of air obliged him to afcend to the furface. Here another harpoon was plunged into him, the fmart of which again made him fly: from his unfeen foes; but after a fhorter courfe, he was again compelled to rife, much weakened by the lofs of blood, which ■ gufhing'in a torrent, tinged the waters


as hepaffed. Another wound was inflicted, which foon brought him almoft lifelefs to the furface; and the line fastened to the firft harpoon being now pulled in, this enormous creature was brought, an unrefiftirig prey, to the fide of a fhip, where he was foon quite dispatched; and then cut to pieces.

The foul of. this hugh carcafe had next a much narrower lodging, for In-dur was changed into a Bee, which, with a great multitude of its young companions, was on flight in fearch of a, new Settlement, their parents having driven them out'of the hive, which was unable to contain them all. After a rambling excurfiqn, the queen, by whom all their motions were directed, fettled on the branch of a lofty tree. They all immediately cluftered round her, arid foon formed a large black bunch, depending from the bough. A man prefently planting a ladder, afcended with a beehive, and fwept them in. After they



were quietly fettled in their new habitation, they.were placed on a ftand in the garden along with fome other colonies, and left to begin their labours. Every fine morning, as'foon as the fun was up, the greateft part of them fallied forth, and roamed over t*he garden andx the neighbouring fields in fearch of frefli and fragrant flowers. . They firft collected a quantity of gluey matter, with which they lined all the infide of their houfe. Then they brought wax, and beganto make their cells, building them with the utmoft regularity, though it was their firft attempt, and they had no teacher. As' fail as they were built, fome were filled with liquid honey gathered from the ne&aries of flowers; and as they filled the cells, they fealed them up with a thin covering of wax* Iri.other cells, the*queen bee depofited her eggs, which were to -fu-pply a new progeny for the enfuing year; Nothing, could be "a more pleating figKt* than to " Vol, 11.    C    behold

26    ■    SIXTH    EVENING.

behold on a .funlh.ihy.day the infedb continually going forth to their labour, while others were as conflantly arriving at the mouth of the. hole, either with yeilovy balls of wax .under their thighs, or full of the honey which they had drawn in with their trunks, for the pur-pofe.of fpouting it out into the cells of thehoney-comb. Indur felt much delight in this ufeful and a&ive way of life, and, was always one of the firft abroad at the dawn, and lateft home in the evening* On rainy and, foggy days they ffcaid at home, and employed themfelves in fi-nifhing their'cells, and all the neceffary work within doors; and Indur, though endued with human reafon, could not but admire the readinefs.with which lie and the reft formed the moft regular plans of work, all correfponding in de-Ijgn. and execution, guided by inflindl alone. ,

The.end of autumn now approaching, the bees had filled their combs with ‘    honey;


honey and riothing:more'being to be got abroad, they ftaid within doors, paffingjnoft of their time in fleep. They eat a little- of their ftore, but with great frugality; and all their meals were made in public, nolle daring to make free with the common ftock by himfelf,_ The owner of the hives npw came aad took them one by one into his hands, that he-might judge by the weight whether or no they were full of honey. That in which Indur.was, • proved to be ope of the heayieft;, and it was therefore re-folved to take the contents. For this purpofe, one cold night, when the bees were, all faft afleep, the hive was placed over a hole-.in the ground, in which were put.brimftone.matches fet on fire.- The fumes rofe. into the hive, and.fpon fuf-focated great) part of the bees, and ftu-pified the/iirefc,: fo that; they all fel" from.: thexrombs. .Indur was amongft ine ■ dead.v - v    v

' Heifoon revived in the form o^

'    C    2,    young


young Rabbit in a fpacious -warren.' This was like1 a populous town ; being every where, hollowed by burrows running deep, under ground, and each inhabited by One or more families. In the evening, the warren was covered with a vaft number of rabbits, old and young, fome feeding, others frifking about, an,d purfuingoneknother in wanton fport. - At the lead alarm, they all hurried into the holes neared them j and 1 were in an inftarit fafe from enemies,' who either could not follow them at all, or if they did, were foiled in the chafe by the numerous ways and turnings in the earth, communicating with each other, fo as to afford eafy means of efcape. Indur delighted much in this iectire and focial life; and taking a mate, was foon the father of a numerous offspring. Several of the .little ones, however, not being fufBciently careful, . fell a prey -either to hawks and crows > continually hovering over the warren,

/ ■    ...    or

TRANSMIGRATIONS OF INDUR. 29 or to cats, foxes, and other wild quadrupeds, who ufed every art to catch them at a diftance from their holes, //z^r him-felf r?n feveral hazards. He was once very near being caught by a' little dog trained for the purpole, who , kept playing round for a conliderable time, not feeming to attend to the rab-bits, till having got near, he all at once darted into the midft of them. Another time he received fome (hot.from afportf-;man. who lay on the watch behind a >■ hedge adjoining the warren. 1 ■.

The number of rabbits here were fo . great, that a hard winter coming on, which killed moft of the vegetables, or buried them deep under the fnow, they were reduced to great fhraits, and many were famiflied to death. Some turnips and hay, however, which were laid for -them, preferved the greater part. The. approach of fpring renewed their fport and pleafure ; and Jndur was made the father of another-family. One night:, C 3 however.

.30    SIXTH    EVENING,

however/was fatal to them ’all. As they were fleeping, they were alarmed by the attack of a ferrety and running with great fpeed to the mouth of their burrow to efcape it, they were all caught in nets placed over their holes. -Indur with the reft was difpatched by a blow on the back of the neck, and his body was feat to the neareft market town. His next change was into a ; young Mafiiff, brought up in a farm yard. Having'nearly acquired his full -fize3 he was Tent as a prefent to a gentleman in the n eighbourhood, who wanted a faithful guard for-his houfe and grounds. ■Indur prefently attached himfelf to his malfter and-all his family, and Ihowed every mark of a noble and generous: nature. Though fierce as a lion whenever he thought the perfons or properties of his friends ihvaded, he was as gentle as a lamb at other times, and would-patiently fufFer any kind of freedoms frona thofe he loved. He permitted


mitted the children of the houfe to lug him about, ride on his back, and ufe him as roughly as their little hands were capable of; never, even when.hurt,, Ihewing his difpleafupe further than by a low growl. He was extremely indulgent to all the other animals of his fpecies in the yard; and when abroad, would treat the impertinent barking of little dogs with filent contempt. Once, indeed, being provoked beyond bearing, not only by-the noife, but by the fnaps of a malicious whelp, he Mdenly feized him in his open mouth} but when the byftanders thought that the poor cur was goinginftantly to be devoured,' they were equally diverted and pleafed' at feeing Indur go to the fide of a muddy ditch, and drop his aritagonift unhurt into the middle of it.

~ He had, however, more ferious con-jfii<5ts frequently to fuftain. He was ac-cuftomed to attend the fervant on market days tQ. the neighbouring town ;

C. 4,,    when.


when it was his office to guard the pro-vifion cart,, while the man was making his purchafes in the fhops. On thefe occafions/the boldeft dogs in the ftreet would fometimes make an onfet in a body; and while fome of them were engaging Indur, others would be mounting the cart, and pullingdovvn the meat balkets. Indur had much ado to defend,himfelf and the baggage too; however, he never, failed to makeTome of the affailants pay pearly for their impu-'dence; and by his loud barking, he fummoned his human fellow-fervant to his affiftance, in time to prevent their depredations.

At length his courage was exerted on the moft important. fervice to which it could be applied. His matter returning home late one evening, .was attacked near his own houfe by three armed ruffians. Indur heard his voice calling, for help, ,and inftantly flew to his relief. Fie feized one of the villains by the throat,


throat, brought him to -the ground, and prefently difabled him. The mafteiv in the mean time, was keeping off the other two with a large flick ; but had received feveral wounds with a cutlafs ; and one of the men had prefented a piftol, and was. juft on the point of firing. At this.moment Indur, leaving his van-quifhed foe on the ground, rufhed forward, and feizing the man’s arm, made him drop the piftol. The mafter took it up; on which the other robber'fled. He now advanced to him with whom Indtir was engaged, and fired the piftol at him.. The ball broke the man’s arm,, and from thence entered the body of Indur, and mortally wounded him. He fell, but had the fatisfadtion of feeipg his mafter remain lord of the field; and the fervants now coming up;, made pri-fonersof thetwo wounded robbers.. The mafter threw himfelf by the fide of In-dur, and exprelfed the warmed concern,

, at the accident which had made him the ‘ C 5    caufe

34-    SIXTH    EVENING.

eaufe of the death of the faithful animal that had preferred his life, Jndur died, licking his hand.    i    "

- So generous a nature was now no longer to be annexed to a brutal form. Indur, awaking as it were from a trance, found himfelf again in the happy region he had formerly inhabited, and recommenced the innocent Jife of a Brach-man. He cherifhed the memory of his transmigrations, and handed them down to pofterity, in'a relation from whence b the preceding account has been extraded for the amufement -of my young readers. .    ,


f 35 )'



A DRAMA. -    \    '

Scene—Afcattered Village almoji bidden 10'itb tress.

Enter Harford and Beaumont.

Harford. There is the place. This is the green on which I-played many a-d.ay with- my companions,j there are the -tall trees-that I have fo often' climbed for birds-' neftsj-and that is the’ pond; where I. ufedyto fail my walnut-(hell-boats. • Whatm-crowd of mixed fenfa- ' tions rufh on my mind!- What pleafureP and what regret'!-' Yes.; there" is fome-what in our* native foil that afFedls-the-mind in a manner different: from every-Qtlier-fceae in nature,, * : ~

G-6’ Bmmnu

ofi    SEVENTH?,    EVENING.

Beaumont. With you it muft be merely tht.place-, for I think you can have no attachments of friendfhip^r afFedtion iri it, confidering your long abfence, and the removal o'f-all your family.

Harf. No, 1 have no family connexions,-and indeed can fearcely be faid ever to have had.any: for, as you know, I.was almoft utterly neglefted after the death of my father and mother, and while all my elder brothers and fifters were difperfed to one part or another, and the little remaining' property was difpofed of, I was left with the p.oor-people who nurfed me, to be brought up juft as they thought proper; and the little penfipn that was paid for me entirely ceafed after a, few years, j Beaum. Then how .were you afterwards fupported?    '-..-.a-:

Harf,\ The honeft couple who had: the care of me. continued to treat me-with the greateft kindnefs; and poor as, they were, not only maintained me. as’a,    child

N'AT«VE VILLAGE.: child of their own, but did all in their power to procure me advantages more fuited to my birth, than my deferred •fituation. With the affiftance of the worthy clergyman of the parifh, they put me to a.day-fchool in the village, clothed me decently, and being them-felyes fober religious perfons, took care to keep me from vice. The obligations I am under to them will/1 hope, never be effaced from my memory, and it is on their account alone that I have undertaken this journey.

, Beaum. How long did you continue with them ?

Harf, Till I was thirteen. I then felt an irrefiftible defire to fight for my country; and learning by accident that a diftant relation of our fa mily was a captain of a man of war, I took leave of my worthy benefactors, and fet off to the fea-port where he'lay, the good people furniftiing me. in the beft man-

: ner.


ner they were able with rieceflaries for the journey. I fhall never forget the tenderhefs with'-which they parted with me. It was, if poffible, beyond that of the kindeft parents. You know my fobfequent adventures, from the time of my becoming a midfhipman, to my prefen t ftate of firfiHieutenant in the Britannia. Though it is now fifteen years lince my departure, I feel my affe&iori for thefe good folks ftronger than ever, and could not be eafy without taking the firft opportunity of feeing them.

Beaum* It is a great chance if they. ' are both living.

Harf, I happened to hear by" a young man of the village, not long firice, that they were; but I believe much'reduced: ' in their circutnftances; ,

Beaum. Whereabouts did they live ?■ HHrf. Jiift at the turning of this cornet. But what's this—I can’t find the houfe—Yet l'am fur^IhaVe ndi forgot 9    the


the' fituation. Surely it rauft be pulled down ! Oh ! my dear old friends, what can have become of you ?

Beaum. You had beft aik that little girl.

Harf Hark ye, my dear!—do you know one John Beech of this place ? v

Girl, What old John Beech ? Oh yes, very well, and Mary Beech too.

Harf. Where do they live ?

Girl. A little further on in the lane.

Harf. Did not they once live hereabouts ?

Girl. Yes, till farmer Tything pulled the houfe down to make his hopgarden.

Harf. Come with me to flh'ow iiie the place, and I’ll give you.a. penny.

Girl. Yes, that I will. (’They walk on.) 1 There—that low thatched hbilfe-—and tiiere’s Mary fpinriing at the door. '

- Harf. There, my dear (gi'vh mo'tiey, and the girl goes aw'ay)\ HbW my hbart beats^Surely ftiar ca'n'ribt tit iii'y - nnrfe!


nurfe! Yes, I recoiled her now* but :how very old and fickly llie looks.

Beaum. Fifteen years in her life, with care and hardihip, muft go a great way in breaking her down.

Harf. (going to the cottage door.) Good morning, good woman; can you give ‘my companion and me fomething to drink ? We are very thirfty with walking this hot day.

■Mary Beech. I have nothing better than water, Sir; but if you pleafe to accept of that, I, will bring you fome.    ^

Beaum. Thank you—we will trouble you for fome.    r

Mary. Will you pleafe to walk in out of the fun,, gentlemen j ours is a very poor houfe indeed; but I will find you,a feat to fit down on_, while I draw the water.

Harf. (to Beaumont,) The fame good creatyre as ever! let us go, in,



Scene II.—The Injide of the Cottage. An old Man fitting by the Hearth.

Beaum. We have made bold, friend* to trouble your wife for a little water.

John Beech. Sit down—lit down— gentlemen. I would get up to gnre you my chair, but I have the misfortune to be lame,; and am aim oft blind too.

Harf. Lame and blind! Oh Beaumont ( afide),

John. Ay, Sir, old age will come on ; and, God knows, we have very, little means to fence againft it.

Beaum. What, have you nothing but your labour to fubftft on ?-

John. We made that do, Sir, as long as we could j but now I am hardly capable of doing any thing, and my poor wife can earn very little by fpinning, fo we have been forced at laft..to apply to the parifh.

Harf, To the parifh! well, I hope they confider the fervices of your better ,    ’    days,

4'2 ' SEVENTH' evening.

days, and provide for you comfortably.    '

John. Alas, Sir! I am not much given to complain; buc what can a {hilling., a^wee.k do in thefe hard times ?

Harf Little enough, indeed! And is that all they allow you ?

John. It is, Sir; and we are not to have that much’'longer, for they fay we mull come into the workhoufe.

Mary (entering with the water). Here, gentlemen. The jug is clean, if you. can drink out of it.

' Harf. The workhoufe, do you fay ?

1 Mary. Yes, gentlemen—that makes' my poor hufband fo uneafy-—that we ' Ihouldcome in our old days to die in a workhoufe,. We have lived better, I allure you-—but we were turned out of bur little farm by the great farmer near . the church; and fince that time we have been growing poorer and po’orer, and: weaker and weaker,, fo that we have nothing to. help ourfelves with. ' J


yohti (fobbing).. To. die 'in a pari ill workhouTe—-I can hardly bear the thoughts of    God knows beft,

and we mull fubmit.

Harf. But, my good people, have you no children or friends to affift you ?

yohn. Our children, Sir, are all dead3 except one that is fettled a long way .'off, and as poor as we are*

• - Beaum. ;But furely, my friends, fuch decent people as you feenr to be. muft have fome,body; to protect you...

Mary. Noy Sir~-we know .nobody ’ but our neighbours*, and they think the workhoufe good, enough for the poor. s" /Harf. Pray, was there not a family of‘Harfords once in- this village?

John. Yes, Sir, a long while, ago—-but they are all dead5and-gone,-;or e-lfe -far enough from this place.

- Mary. Ay, Sir, the youngeft of them, and- the finefi child among them,’ that •I’ll fay for him, was nurfed in our houfe when we lived in the old fpdt near the

-    ' ■    screen.


green. , He ,was with us till, he was thirteen, and a fweet behaved boy he , was—I loved him as well as ever I did any of my own children.

Harf, What became of him ?    '

John, Why, Sir, he was a fine bold 'fpirited boy, though the beft tempered creature in the world-—fo; laft war he would be a failor, and fight the French , and Spaniards,,ancl away he went,; no-;:thing could flop him, and we have never heard a word of him fince. ■    /

v::; Mary,. Ayj, heis dead or killed, I warrant—for if he was alive and. in England, I am fure nothing would .keep him from coming to fee his poor daddy and mammy, a's he ufed to. call -us. •, Many a night hav:e I lain -.'awake! cthinking iof him:U : •

Harf, (to, Beaum.) I can hold no longer!    .,    -    •    :

: Beaum. (to him.).: Reftrain yourfelf .awhile-—Well, my friends, in return for your; kindnefs I will tell you fome




news that will pleafe you. This fame Harford, Edward Harford . . . .

'Mary. Ay, that was his name—my dear Ned—What of him, Sir ? Is he living?

John., Let the gentleman fpeak, my dear. .

,jBernini, Ned Harford is now alive and well,'and a lieutenant in his majef-ty’s navy, and ;as brave an officer as any in the fervice.    '

' 'John.. I hope you do not jeft with us, Sir. , ,

, -•Bedurri. I do not, upon my honour.

' Mary, O thank God—thank God— if I could but fee him !    .    *

John, Ay, I with for nothing more before I die.

Harf. Here he is—here he is—My deareft beft benefadtors ! Here I am, to-pay fome of the great debt of kind-nefs I 'owe you. (Clafps Mary round the necks and kijfes her.) ' >

'Mary, What—this gentleman my Ned!


Ned! Ay, it is, it. is—I fee it, I • fee it.    ,    .    •    ■

-John, O my old eyes!—but' I know his voice now. . (Stretches out his hand, which Harford grafps.)

Harf My good old man ! O that, you could fee me, as clearly as I do you !

. :John. Enough—enough—it is you,' and I am contented.    ,

Mary. O happy . day! —O. happy-, day!    . ' '    '^    -

Did you think I could, ,ever forget you ?

Johu O no—I knew-: you better— but what a long., while it is, fmce we parted!    :    .

Mary. Fifteen, .years- come Whit-funtide.

■Harf. The fir ft -time. I fet foot in England all this long interval was three weeks ;agOo ,

^ohj!>:\ How good you were to^comg;-to us fo foon.    v '

\Mary.: What; a talL-ftroag man. you *

' t, ■:: I ’    -    .-are


are grown!—but 5^0u have the fame Tweet fmile as .ever.

John. I wifh I could fee him plain—.. but. what fignifies!—-he’s here, and I hold him by the hand. Where’s the qther, good gentleman ?

Beaum. Here—very happy to fee fuch worthy people made fo!

Ear/ He has been my deareft friend for a great many 37-ears, and I am beholden to him almoft' as much as to: you two..    '

Mary* Has he ?. God blefs him and reward him ]

Hdrf. I am grieved to think what: you muft have fuffered from, hardfhip; and poverty—But that is all at an end. —no workhoufe now ! :

' John. God blefs you] then I.fhall be happy ftiil. But-we muft, not,be burthen fome to you.,

Harf Don’t talk of that—as long as I have a shilling, it is my duty to give, you fixpence of it„ Did not you take '    '    care


, care of me when all the'world forfook me—-and treated me as your own child when 1 had no other.parent—and Ihall , I ever forfake you in your old age ! Oil never-never!    s

Mary. Ay, you had always a kind Heart of your own. I always ufed to think our dear Ned would fome time or other prove a bleffing to us.

Harf. You mu ft leave this poor hut,. that is not fit to keep out the weather, and we muft get you a fnug cottage,-either in this village or fome other.

John. Pray, my dear Sir, let us die in this town, as v/e have always lived in it. And a(s to a houfe, I believe that where old Richard Carpenter ufed to live is empty, if it would not be too good for us. .    ,

Harf What, the white cottage on the green? I remember it—it is juft the thing. You fhall remove there this very week* t    ■



Maty. This is beyond all my hopes and wifhes!

Harf. There you fhall have a little clofe to keep a cow—,and.a girl to milk her3 and'take care of you both—and a garden well flocked with herbs and roots —and a little yard for pigs and poultry. —and fome good new furniture for your houfe ....

John. O too much—tt>o much !

Mary. What makes me cry fo, when fo many good things are coming-to us ?

Harf. Who is. the landlord of that houfe ?    v ....... .

John. Our next neighbour, lyir. Wheatfield. '    .    '    '

Harf. I’ll go and fpeak about, it di~ redly,1 and then come to you again. Comej Beaumont. God blefs you both I

John. God in heaven blefs you!    .    ..

Mary, O happy day—O happy day I ,

You 11.



50. ,    \    SEVENTH.    EVENING,

T I-f.B • ■


A (Fortoi/e"in a garden’s bound,.

An ancient inmate.of the place,    •

Had left his winter-quarters under ground,

And with a fober pace

Was crawling o’er.a funny bed, ... ^

And thrufting from his Ihell his pretty toad-like head.

. Jtift come-from fea, a Swallow,

As to and fro he nimbly flew,    ’    ,

Beat our. old racer, hollow : ■    •    ■    ■    '

At length he ftopt diredl’in view, ; •    ,    _

And faid, “ Acquaintance, brifk and gay,T . How have you far’d this m’any^a day ?”

: -Thank    :.(replj?dcthe"    elofe-    houfe-

' ■ keeper)    . r .. ; ■    .

“ Since you and I lad autumn parted,

I’ve beon a-precious fleeper,

And never ftirred nor ftarted,

But in my hole I lay as fnug As fleas within a rug;

SWALLOW' AND TORTOISE; 5 I Nor did I put my head abroad 'I ill all the fnow and icc was thaw’d/’

But 1M (rejoined the bird)

“ Who love cold weather jull as well as you. Soon as the warning blatls I heard,

Away ] flew,

And mounting in the wind,

Left gloomy winter far behind.

Diredcd by the mid-day fun,

O’er Tea and land my vent’rous courfe I fleer'd, Nor was my diilant journey done Till Afric’s verdant coafl appear’d.

There, all the feafon long,

I chas’d gay butterflies and gnats,

And gave my negro friends a morning fcng, And hous’d at night among the bats.

Then, at the call offpring,

] northward turn'd my wing.

And here again her joyous meiTagc bring.’’

,f Lord ! what a deal of nccdicfs ranging;” {Return’d the reptile grave)

'* For ever hurrying, biiftling, changing.

As ifi: were your life to fnvc !

Why need you vif:: foreign nations :

Rather like me, and fotr.e of your rcUtior.fj, Ta’;c on; a rlcaf:.r: half-year's nap,

Secure frcm :rcuh!c r.r.d mifh.ip."

D z    “    A    p!c*    iY


'e A pleafant nap., indeed I’’ (replied the Swallow)    -

e When I can neither fee nor fly,

The bright example I may follow :

Till then, ;in-truth, not I!

I meafureitime by its employment,

And o,nly-value life for life’s enjoyment.

As good 'be buried all at once,

As doze out half one’s days, like you, you flupid dunce!”


tc I think I will take a ride”*—faid the little Lord Linger, after breakfaft— , er bring me my boots, and let. my horfe ■ be brought to the door.”

The horfe was faddled, and his lord-fhip’s fpurs were putting on.

cc No”—faid he—1cf I’ll have my low... chair and the ponies, and take a drive round the park.”

The horfe was led back, and the ponies were almoft harnefied, when his lordfhip


lordfhip fent his valet to countermand them. He would walk into the corn field, and fee how the new pointer hunted. '    •

tf After all”—fays he—Cf I think V will flay at home, and play a game or

two at billiards/’ - •    .......

He played half a game, but could not make a ftroke to pleafe himfelf His tutor, who was prefent, now thought it a good opportunity to a’fk his lord-fliip if he would read a little.

. "Why—I think—I will—for l am tired of doing nothing. What fhall we have ?

“ Your lordihip left off laft time in one of the fineft paflagfes in the ^2neid. Suppofe we finifh it.”

“Well—ay! But—no - I had rather go on with Hume’s hiftory. Or— fuppofe we do fome geography ?” cc With-all my heart. The globes are upon the ftudy table.”

They went to the ftudy $ and the lit--D 3    tie

54    /. SEVEKTH .-.EVENING.    -i|

tie lord, leaning upon :his elbows, look- (j ed at .the globe—-then twirled it. round two or three times—and then ■ liftened patiently while the tutor explained jbme . of its parts andufes.' -But whilft he was in the midfl: of a problem, ConQe”— ' faid his lordfhip—<f now for a little Virgil.”    •    !

The book w&s    brought ; and    the

pupil, with a good    deal of help,    got

• through twenty litiesl : '

*■' Weir’—faid "hi?; -ringing the bell j •—Cf I think we have done a good deal. ••Tom-! ‘bring-my bow--and arrows.”

The fine London-made bow' in its green cafe, and the quiver with all its appurtenances, were ' brought, and his I lordiLip v/ent down    to'the 'place ivhere    i

the fhooting butts    wete'erefted. •    He    |

aimed a few fliafts at the-1 target, but mot coming \near it, -he-(hot all the remainder at random, and- theft -ordered' out j his horfe.    . - -•••:    j

He fannteredy with a Servant at his j j. ■ ' heelsj


heels, for-a' mile or two through'the lanes, and came, juft as the clock ftruck twelve, to a village-green, clofe by which ■ a fchool was kept. A ddor fieW open, and out burft a jfhoal of boys, who, fpreading over the green, with immoderate vociferation, inftantly -began a variety of fports. Some fell to marbles —fometo trap-ball—fome to leap-frog. In fhort, not one of the whole crew but was eagerly employed. , Every thing was noile, motion, and pleafure." Lord Linger, riding {lowly up, efpied one of his tenants fons, who had been formerly admitted rs a playfellow' of his, -and called- hi m from the throng. ■

“ Jack”*-—faid he:—“how do you like fchool r’’

“ O—pretty well, my lord !”

<c What—have you a good deal of play

u O no ! We have only from twelve to two for playing and eating our dinners 5 and then an hour before fupper.” Du.    “    That

' • .56    SEVENTH    EVENING,

- <f That is .very little, indeed !”■

: . ^ £C But we play heartily, when we do .play* and work when we ■work. . Good (by, my lord4 It is my turn to go in at trap” •:    '    Z'    ^

., So faying, Jack ran off.

“ I wifh I was a fchoolboy !’>v—cried the little lord to himfelf.



i A Goofed who was plucking grafs upon a commoRj thought herfelf affronted by a Hor/e who fed near .her, and in hilling accents thus addreffed him. * " I am certainly a .more noble and perfe& animal than you, for the whole range and extent of your faculties is confined to, one element. 1 can walk upon the. ground as well as you j I. have befides wings, with .which I can raifc. myfelf in



the air; and whea I pleafe, I can fport in ponds and lakes, and refrefh myfelf in the cool waters: I enjoy the differ-ent powers of a bird., a fi{h, and a-quadruped.”    '

The Horfiy, fnorting fomew.hat dif-dainfully,. replied, fe It is true you inhabit three elements, but you make no very diftinguifhed figure in any one of . them. Ifou-fly,indeed 3 but your flight is fo heavy and clumfy, that you have no right, to put yourfclf- on ,a level with the lark or the fwallow-. , You;can fwim on the furface\of the waters^ but you' cannot live in- them as fifhes do-;; you , cannot/find your food, in' that element,, nor glide fmoothly along^the bottom of the .waves. And when you'walk,, or./ rather waddle,; upon the ground,’, with: your broad feet., and your long neck ftretched out, hiffing. at every one who paffes by, you bring upon yourfelf the derifion .of all beholders. I confefs that I am. only formed' to move upon the'

,    D5    ground.

5.8'    -SEVENTH’’    EVENING,

ground.; but how graceful is my makt f how well turned, my litnbs ! how highly-finiihed my whole body! how great my ; fcrength ! how aftoiiifhing my fp&ed I I had fkr rather be confined to one ele-' menty and be admired' in that? than be' ^ a Goofe In- all53


( 59 )



tfutorGeorgeHarry. ■

Hhfry. Pray'what is that growing.

1 on the o'tfrer fide of the hedge ? / ' George. Why it; is corn—don't you •fee it is in ear ?    -

H. Yes—but it feems' too iliort for "corn; and the corn wq juft now paiied is not in ear by a great deal.

G. Then I 'don’t know what it is.. Pray, Sir* will you tell us ?

Tutor: I don’t wonder you were puz^ zted afeout it. It is a fort of grafsfowh: fo'r fiay, ‘ and? is' called fye-grajs,

' JH. Biit-h^w happens it that'it is Vetylikecrbrii - '

D 6 r. There


2". There is no great wonder in that; for all corn is really a kind of grafs. And on the other .hand, if ..you were a Lilliputian, every fpecies of grafs would appear to you amazing large corn/

G. Then there is no difference between corn and grafs but the fize ?

jC. None at all.

H. But we eat corn; and grafs is not good to eat.

T’./.It is only the feeds of corn; that we eat. We leave the flalks:and leaves for cows and horfes. Now we might eat the feeds of grafs, if they were big enough to be worth gathering; . and fome particular kinds are in fad eaten in certain countries.

H. But; is wheat and barley really grafs ?

CT. Yes—they are a fpecies of that great family ,of-plants* Which botanlfts-call grajjes-y and I wilhtake this opp.prtu-, nity of telling you fomethinga^out them. Go, George, and pblK;us up a roo.t of

TH E . GRASS Ryj£. that rye-grafs. Harry and I will fit down on this ftile till you come to “us.

.H.- Here is grafs enough all round us. ■

T. Well then—pull up a few roots that you fee in. ear.

,G. Here is the grafs,

H. And here is mine.

, 3". Well—fp re ad them all in a handkerchief before us. Now look at the roots .of them all. What.do.you call them ?

; Q. I think they, are what you have told us are fibrous-roots.

ct. Right—they confift of a bundle of firings. :Then look _ at i their ftalks—~ you will find them jointed and hollow, like the ftraw of corn.

' H\ So they are.

-T.‘The leaves, you fee, of all thle kinds are very long and narrow, tapering to a point at their ends. Thofe of “corn,’you know,, are the fame. _

! H.;yes-~-they are. fo' like ' g'rafs' kt


'62 TiTGHT^'E^&'NTNG';

firOri tTiat I can' never' tell the 'differ-.ence. *    -    *    -

T. •Next obferve'the ears* or heads. Some of thefe, you fee, are thick and clofe, exadlly like thofe of wheat or barley j others are more, loofe and '-open, like oats. The firft are' generally called Jpikes; the Jecond, panicles. If you examine them clofely, you will find that they all con.fift of a number of diftintt hufky bodies, which" are property the flowers; each of which is fucceeded by a fingle feed. I dare fay you have picked ears of whe,at.

H. O yes—I am very fond of them.

2". Well then—you found that the grains all lay fingle, contained in a fcal'y hufk, making a part of the ear,, or head. Before the feed was formed, there was a flower in its place, I do not mean a gay fine-coloured Jiower, but a few fcales-with .threads coming out among them,, each crowned with a white tip. And


THE. i GRASS * TRI3JE.    63

fdon after the' ears of corn appear, you: Will find their flowers open, and t-hefe white tips coming out of them. This is the ftru6ture of the flowers arid flowering heads of.'every one of .the grafs tribe. .

G. But what are the beards of corn ?

CT. The beards are bridles or points

running out from the ends of the hulks*

• They are properly called awns, Moft of the grafs’ tribe have fomething of thefe, but they, are much longer in fome kinds than in others.' In barley, you know, they are very long, and give, the whole field a fort of downy or filky appearance, efpecially when waved by the wind.

H. Ar.e.there the lame kinds, of com and-grafs in all countries ?    •

T. No. With refped to corn, that is in all countries the prbdufl. of cultiva-. tion j ;and different forts are* found beft to fuit different climates. Thus in the northern parts of the temperate zone,



• oats, and rye are chiefly grown. In the-middle and fouthern, barley and wheat*. "Wheat is univerfally the fpecies preferred for bread-corn; but there are various kinds of it, differing from each other in fize of grain, firmnefs, colour, and other qualities.    ,

Ii. Does not the beft wheat of all; grow in England ? ,-

jT. By no means. Wheat is better' fuited to the warmer climates, and it is-only by great attention and upon parti-..cular foils that it is-made to fucceed well here. On the otlier hand, the torrid zone is too hot for wheat and our other grainsand' they chiefly cultivate rice there, and Indian corn.    <

G\ I have feen heads of Indian corn,, as thick as my, wrift, but they, do not look-at-all like our corn. ■    .    /

2". Yes—the feeds all grow Angle in & fort of chaffy head; and the ftalk and' leaves^ refemble thofe of the grafs tribe, but of a gigantic fize. But there, are



other plants of this family, which perhaps you have not thought of.

G; W hat are they ?    . '    , ;

T. Canes and reeds—from the fugar-cane and bamboo of the tropics, to the common reed of our ditches, of which you make arrows. All thefe have the ^general chara&er of the graffes.

li. I know that reeds have very fine feathery heads, like the tops of grafs.

. TVrThey have fo. And the flalks . are compofed of many joints; as are alfo thofe of the fugar-cane, and . the bamboo, of which fifhing rods and walking flicks are, often made. Some of thefe are very,,tall plants, but the feeds of them are fmall in ,proportion, and not lifefuL .for.food. But there is yet another kind of grafs-like plants common , a-.

, mong us. (;  ...............

G.t' What is that ?......

T. Have, you not obferved-, in the roarfhesy.andjou the fides of ditehesjj a; coarfe broader leaved, fort of grafs, .with,

-1    *    large    .    .

66    EldH-'TH    EVENING.

large da'fk coloured -fpikes ? This is Jedge, in Latin' carvx^ and -there are many forts of it. <' - v -■ H. What is-that good for?

' TV 11 is eaten by cattle, both frefh and dry •, but-is'inferior in quality to good -grafs. •" /

; G. What is it that makes one kind of -grafs better than another ? '

• ST. -There are various properties which ■give value to-grafTe's; Some fpread more thkn others-, ;refift-froft stnd drought bet-[ yield' a - greater crop of leaves,-'a'nd are therefore better for pafturage- and hay* The juices of forrre-are'more' nouri filing ‘and Tweeter - tharf, others. In * general, however, different Agrafes 'are* Ttiitkl to different foils; and by improving'foils, ■ffie quality -of the grafs is imp.ro > G. Does grafs grow in afl ccvuntrie's'?

T. Yes—the green* "turf which naturally covets:fe?t life:fjiVin. ail countries, rs ehi'6'fly1 colnpofed ofgrafies* of various ^ih’ds.^^'Thty-forrii, theiefore, fhe'ver-■    dant

THE /GRASS .TRIBE. '    ,    £j

dant. carpet Extended over rthe i earth-; and humble as;they are, they contribute .■more to beauty' and rutiiitj^- /thanv-any other part of the vegetable creation.^ What—more than trees?

; T. .Yes, certainly. A land entirely xov.ered with trees would be gloomy, ,unwholefome, ^and fcarcely inhabitable j whereas the meadow, the down,! and the corn field, afford the moft agreeable profpe&s to the eye, and furnifh every neceffary, and many of the luxuries of life. . Give us corn >and- grafs, and what fhall we want for food ?

H. Let me fee—what fhould we have? There’s, bread, and flour for puddings.    >    .

■ . G. Ay, rand, milk, for you know cows live on:grafs and hay—fo there’s cheefe-and butter, - and all ^things that are made of milk. - -    .    ...

T. And are there not all kinds of meat too, and poultry ?-. And then for drink, there is beer and ale, which'are

■    '    made


made from barley. For all thefe we arc chieflyindebted to the gvaffes,

G. Thenl am fure we are very much obliged to the graffes.

T, Well—let us now walk home-' wards. Some time hence you Ihall make a colle&ion of all the kinds of grafTes, and learn to know them from each-"other.    ■ ' • '•    :


•; tutor—VupiU

tut. Come—the tea is ready. Lay by your book, and let us talk a little,' You have affiHed in tea-making a great many times, and yet I dare fay you never conlidered what kind of an operation it was.

Pup, • An operation of cookery—is k not.?-..---'

.    tilt*    •


Tut. You may call it fo; but it is properly an operation of chemiftry.

Pup. Of chemiftry ? I thought that had been a very deep fort of a bufinefs.

Tut. O—there are many things in common life that belong to the deep-eft of fciences. Making tea is the 'chemical operation called infufton, which is, when a hot liquor is poured upon a fubftance in order to extrad fomething from it. The water, you fee, extrads from the tea-leaves their colour,, tafte, and’ flavour. ,

Pup. Would not cold water do the fame?    -

Tut. It would, but more flowly. Heat afiifts almoft all liquors in their power of extracting the virtues of herbs and other fubftances. ■ Thus good houfe-wives were, formerly ufed to boil their tea, in order to get all the goodnefs from it as completely as poftible. The greater heat and agitation of boiling makes it ad more powerfully. The 3    liquor

70    .    EIGHTH EVENING. .

liquor in which a fubftance has been boiled is 'called a decoSiion of that fubftance.-    -

Pup. Then we had a decoction of muttoni at dinner torday1. ^

Tut. We had—broth is a decoction, and fo are: gruel andrbarley-water. But when any £hing is putto ? fteep in a cold liquor, it is called maceration. The ingredients of which ink, is, ;fpade ar.e.^.-terated. : In all thefe cafes* 'you fee, the ■whole' fubftance does; not/ipix with the, liquor, but only part of it. The rea-fon is,;, that part of it, is Joluble in. the..liquor, and part not.    f:;

Pup. What is the meaning ,of that ? Tut. Solution js when a folid^put into a fluid entirely difappearis in ,it,Jeaving the liquor0clear. ’ Thus when-1 throw this lump of fugar into my tea, you fee it gradually waftes away till it is all gone; and then I can tafte it’ in every fingle drop ofmyrtea j but the- tea.-is clear as before.    r-:    •    •    •

■' 8    .    ■    ’    Pup,

A .TEA LECTURE.    7    I'

Pup. Salt would do the fame.

Tut’. ;It would. But if I were:to:tbrow in a lump of chalk, it would lie undif-folved at the bottom.

Pup, But it would; make the water white, ,    '    ' s’ —

Tut. : True*. Awhile, it wag llirred 5 and. then it would be a1 diffufion. But while the chalk was. thus • mixed with the liquor, it would lofe its. transparency, a^d, not: recover it: agai'Oj till by (landing the chalk had all fubfidedj and left the liquor as it was before.

Pup. Flow is the cream. mixed with the tea.? . ;■

. ;.Tuh Why,: ;t;hat is on\f dijfyfetfi for it, takes; away the transparency of the tea. But the pa,i*tic]es; of cream being finer.,and lighter.-than/,thofe of chalk, it remains longer united with the liquor. However, in time, the cream would' Separate too, andxife to., the top,,; leaving the tea clear. Now, fuppofe you had a mixture, of Sugar,. fait, chalk, and tea-leaves,

7    eighth    evening*

leaves, and were-to throw it into Water, either hot or cold-what would be the effea? •    -

Pup. The fugar and fait would melt and difappear. The tea-leaves would yield their colour and tafte. The chalk —I do not know what would become of that.    .    '    ;

‘Tut. Why, if the mixture were ftirred, the chalk would be diffufed through it, and make it turbid or- muddy; but ;on; {landing, it would leave it unchanged. : Pup, Then there would remain at bottom the chalk and tea-leaves ?

T'ut. Yes. The clear- liquor would contain mjolution fait, fugar, and thofe particles of the tea, in which its colour and tafte confifted: the remainder1 of the tea and the chalk would lie undif-

folvedi ~ :: :    ,    ;    ’    ......

Pup. Then I Juppofe tea-leaves, after the tea is made, are lighter than at firft. s Tut. ’Undoubtedly. If taken out and dried they would be'found; to have loft x part.'


part of their weight,, and the water would ^have gained it.. Sometimes,

, however, it is an extremely fmall portion of a fubftance which is folut)le, but it is that in which its mod remarkable qualities refide. Thus a fmall piece of ipice will communicate a ftrong flavour to a large quantity of liquid, with very little lofs of weight.

Pupj, Will all liquors diffolve the , fame things?

Tut, By no means. ,Many diffolve in water, that will not in fpirit of wine j and the contrary. And upon this difference many curious matters in the arts are founded. Thus, fpirit varnifh is made of a folution of various gums or refins in fpirits that will not diffolve in water. Therefore, when it has been laid over any furface with a brufh/ and is become dry, the rain or moifture of 1 the air will' not affedt it. This is the cafe with the: beautiful varnifh laid upon coaches. On the other hand, the

You/II/ ■ E '    varnifc


varnifli left by gum-water could not be \yalhed off by fpirits.

Pup. I remember when I made gum-water, upon fetting the cup in a warm place, it all dried away, and left the gum juft as if was before. Would the fame, happen if I had fugar or fait diffolved in water ?

2*uti Yes—upon expofmg the folu-tion to warmth, it would dry away, and you would get back your fait or fugar in a folid ftate as before.

Pup. But if I were to do fo with a cup of tea, what fhould I get ?

Tut. Not tea-leaves, certainly! But, your queftion requires a little previous explanation. 11 is the pr operty of heat to make moil things fly off in vapour, which is called evaporation or exhalation. But this it does in very different’degrees to different fubftances. ■ Some are very -eafily made to. evaporate ; others very difficultly; and others not at all by the moft violent fire we can raife. Fluids,



in general, are eafily ev'apdrdble; but not equally fo. Spirit's of wine fly off in vapour much fooner than water i fo that if you had a mixture of the two, by applying a gentle heat you might drive off all the fpirits,. and leave Nthe _ Water pure. Water, again,1 is more evaporable than oil. Some folid fub-ftances are much difpofed to evaporate. Thus, fmeliing falts by a little heat may entirely be driven away in the air. But in general, folid s are more fixed than fluids; and therefore when a folid is dif- / folved in a fluid, it may commonly be recovered again by evaporation. By this operation common fait is got from fea-water and fait fprings, both artificially, and in hot countries by the natural heat of the fun. When the water • is no - more than is juft fuffieierit to dif-fpl've the fait it- is called' a JaturatedJo-lution'j and on evaporating the’water further, the fait begins to feparate, form-1 ing little regular rfiaffes called cryfiah.

E 2    Sugar


Sugar may be made in like manner form cryftals,- and then it is fugar-candy.

(jPup. But what is a fyrup ?

Tut. That is, when fo much fugar is 1 diffolved as fenfibly to thicken the liquor, but hot to fep.arate from it. Well —now to your queftion about tea. On expofing it to confiderable heat, thofe fine^particles in which its flavour con-fifts, being .as volatile or evaporable as the water, would fly off along \yith it j and when the liquor came to dryneis, there would only be left thofe particles in which its roughnefs and colour con- ' This would make what is called an extract of a plant.

Pup. What becomes of ,the water , that evaporates ?

Tut. It afcends. into the air,- and unites with it. But if in its way it be flopped by any cold body, it is condenfedthat ' is, it returns to the ftate of water again. Lift up the lid of the tea-pot, and you


will fee water colie&ed on the infide of it,, which is condenfed fleam from the hot tea beneath. Hold a fpoon or knife in the way of the fleam which burfls out from the fpout of the tea-kettle, and you will find it immediately covered with drops. This operation of turning a fluid into vapour, and then condenf-ing it, is, called dijlillatim. For this purpofe, the veflel in which the liquor is heated /is clofely covered with another called the head, into which the fleam rifes, and is condenfed. It is then drawn off by means of a pipe into another veffel called the receiver. In this way all fweet fcented and aromatic liquors are' drawn ’from fragrant vegetables, by means of water or fpirits. - The fragrant part, being very volatile,' rifes along with the fleam ' of the water or fpirit, and remains united with it after it is condenfed. Rofe-water and fpirit of lavender are liquors of this kind.

J?u$, Then the water collefled on the . E 3.    infide-


infide of the tea-pot lid fhould have the fragrance of the tea ? ■;

' Tut. It fhould—-But unlefs the tea were'fine, you could fearcely perceive it.

Vupy I think I have heard of making lalt-water frefh by diftilling. '    ,

Tut. Yes. That is an old difcovery lately revived. The fait in fea-water,-being of a fixed nature, does not rife with the fteam j and therefore, on con-denfmg the fteam, the water is found to be frefh. And this indeed is the method nature employs in raifing water by exhalation from the ’ ocean, which colledting into clouds, is condenfed in the cold regions of the air, and falls down in rain.

■fiut- our. tea is done 3 fo.we will now put an end to our chemical le&ure.

Fup._ But is this real chemiftry ?

Tut. Yes, it is. .

Pup. Why, I underftand it all without any difficulty.

Tut, I intended you fhould.

,    the



Mr. B. Was accuftomed to read in the evening to his young folks fome, feted ftory, and then aik them in turn wh at they thought of it. From the reflexions they made on thefe occafions, he was enabled to form a judgment,of their difpofitions, and was led to throw in remarks of his own, by which their hearts and underftandings might be imr proved. . One night,he read the following narrative from Churchill's Voyage <c In f^me voyages of difcovery made from Denmark to Greenland, the fail-' ors were m'ftru&ed to feize fome of the natives by force or ftratagem, and bring them away. In confequence of thefe orders, feverai Greenlanders were kidnapped and brought to Denmark. Though they were treated there with kindnefs, the poor wretches were always melancholy, and were obferved fre^-- .    E    4    quently


quently to turn their faces towards the north, and figh bitterly. They made feveral attempts to efcape, by putting put to fea in their little canoes which had been brought with them. One of them had got as far as thirty leagues from land before he was overtaken., It was remarked, that this poor man, whenever he met a woman with a child in her arms, ufed to utter a deep figh j whence it was conje&ured that he had left a wife and child behind him. They all pined away one after another, and died miferably.”-

Now, Edward (faid he), what is your opinion of this ftory ?

Edward. Poor creatures! I think it was very barbarous to take them from home.

Mr. B. It was, indeed !

Ed. Have civilized nations a^y right to behave fo to favages ?

'Mr.. B. I think you may readily an-fwer that queftion yourfelf. Suppofc



,you’ were a favage-—what would be your opinion ?

Ed. I dare fay I (hould think it very wrong. But can favages think about , right and wrong as we do ?’

Mr. B. Why not! are' they /not men ?

xEd. Yes;—but not like civilized men',, fure!

- Mr. B. I. know no important difference between ourfelves andi thofe people we are • pleafed to call favage;, but in the degree- of knowledge and: virtue poffeffed by each. And I believe-many . individuals among the- Greenlanders, as well as other unpoliihed people, exceed in.thefe refpe&s many among us. In the prefenc cafe, I am fure the Dani/h; failors fhowed themfelves the greater favages. ,    ^

Ed. But what did they take away the; Greenlanders for ?

Mr. B. The pretence was-5 tHat they. might be brought to be inftru&ed in ,&J B 5 Ghriftian

82,    EIGHTH    EVENING.'

Chriftian country, and then fent back, to civilize their countrymen.

Ed. And was not that a good thing ?

Mr. B. Certainly—if it were done by proper means; but to attempt it by an a£t of violence and injuftice could not be right; for they could teach them nothing fo good, as their example was bad; and the poor people were not likely to learn willingly from thofe who had begun with injuring them fo cruelly.

Ed. I remember Capt. Cook brought over fomebody from Otaheite; and poor Lee Boo was brought here from the Pe-lew I Hands. But I believe they both came of their own accord.

Mr. B. They did. . And it is a great proof of the better way of thinking of. modern voyagers, than1 of former ones, , 1 that they do not confider it as juftifiable to pfe violence even for the fn^pofed benefit of th&people they vifit.    -4

Ed. I have, read of taking poffeffion of a newly difcovered country by fetting .

^    ;    • UP


up the king’s ftandard, or fome fuch ceremony, though it was full of inha-bitants.    ,    \    t

Mr.B. Such    was    formerly    the    cuf-

tom} and a more impudent mockery of all right and juftice cannot be conceived. Yet this, I am forry. to fay, is . the title by which European nations claim the greateft part of their foreign fetdements.

Ed. And might not the natives drive them out again, if they were able ?

Mr. B. I am fure 1 do not know why they might    not }    for force    can    never .

give right..    -    .

Now Harry, tell me what you think of the ftory. ,

Harry. I think it very ftrange that people fhould want to go back to fuch a cold difmal place as Greenland.

Mr. B. Why, what country do you love beftjn all.the world ?

H. England, to be fure!

E 6    'Mr.


Mr. B. 'But England is, by no means the warmeft and fineft country. Here are no grapes growing in the fields, nor oranges in the woods and hedges, as there are in more fouthern climates.

H. I (hould like them very, well, to be fure*—but then England is my own native country, where you and mamma and all my friends live. Belides, it is a very pleafant country, too.

Mr.B. As to your firft reafon, you ffluft be fenfible that the Greenlander can fay.juft the fame;- and-the poor fellow who left a wife and children behind mull have had 'the ftrongeft of all ties to make him wilh to return. Do you think I fhould be eafy to be feparated from all of you ?    ;

H. No—-and I am fure we fhould not be eafy, neither.

Mr. B. Home, my dear, wherever it be, is the fpot towards which a good heart is the moft ftrongly drawn. Then,



as for the pleafantnMs of a place, that all depends upon habit. The Greenlander, being accuftomed to the way of' living, and all the: obje&s, of his own country, could not relifli any other fo well. He loved whale-fat and feal as well as you can do pudding and beef. He thought rowing his'little boat amid the boifterous waves, pleafanter employment than driving a plow or a cart. He fenced againft the winter’s cold by warm clothing; and the long" night of many weeks, which you, would think fo gloomy, was/to him a feafon ofeafe and feftivity in his habitation under ground. It is a very kind and wife difpenfation of Providence, that every part of . the world is rendered the moft agreeable to thofe who live in it.

Now, little Mary, what have you to fay ?

Mary. I have only to fay, that if they were to' offer to carry me away



from home, I would fcratch their eyes out!

Mr. Well faid, my girl I ftand up for yourfelf. Let nobody run away with you—againfiyour will.\

Mary, That I won’t, n


< ,87 )




Since we parted at the bpaking-up,

I have been for moft of the time at a pleafant farm in Hertfordlhire, where I have employed myfelf in rambling about . the country, and affifting, as well as I could, in the work going on at home and in the fields. On wet days, and in the evenings, I have amufed myfelf with keeping a journal of all the great ' events that have happened among us 5 and hoping that when you are tired of the buftle of your bufy town, you may receive fo me entertainment from comparing our tranfa&ions with, yours, X , have copied out for your perufal one'of tlie days in my memorandum- bookr

,    Pray


Pray let me know in return what you* are doing, and believe me,

Tour very affectionate friend,

Hazle-Farm.    RICHARD    MaRK’WELL..

'    Journal.

June 10th. Laft night we had a dreadful alarm. A violent fcream was heard from the hen-rooft; the geefe all fet up a cackle, and the dogs barked; 'Ned, the boy who lies over the {table, jumped!u£>' and ran into the yard, when' he obferved\ a fox gallopping away witk a chicken in^ his mouth, and*the dogs in full chafe after him. They could not overtake him*, and foon returned. Upon' further examination,, the large white-cock wasv found lying on the ground all'bloody,, with his comb torn almoft off, and his feathers air ruffled j and the ipeckled hen . and three chickens lay d'ead befide him. The cock recovered, but appeared terribly frightened. It feems that the fox had jumped over the garden hedge, and-


FARM-YAR'D JOURNAL. 89 then croffing part of the yard behind the draw, had crept into the hen-rooft through a broken pale. John the carpenter was fent for, to make all fart, and . prevent the like mifchief again.

Early this morning the brindled COW was delivered of a fine bull-calf. Both, are likely to do well. The calf is to be fattened for the butcher.

The duck-eggs that were fitten upon by the old black hen were hatched this day, and the ducklings all dire&ly ran into the pond, to the great terror of the hen, who went round and round, clucking with all her might in order to call them out, but they did not regard her. An old drake took the little ones under his care, and they fwam about very jnerrily.

As Dolly this morning was milking the new cow that was bought at the fair, fne kicked with her hind-legs, and threw down the milk-pail, at the fame time ,    y knocking


knocking Dolly off her flool into the dirt. For this offence the cow was feri-tenced to have her head fattened to the, rack, and her legs tied together.'

A kite was obferved to hover a long while over the yard V/Ith an intention of carrying off fome of the young chickens; but the hens called their broods together , under their, wings, and the cocks put themfelves in order of battle, fo that the t kite \yas difappointed. At length,,one chicken, riot'minding its mother, but , draggling heedlefsly to a diftance, was-" defcried by the kite, who made a fud-den fwoop, and feized it in his talons. The chicken cried out, and the cocks and hens - all fcreamedj when Ralph the farmer’s fon,-who faw - the attack, fnatched up a loaded gun,_ and juft as the kite was flying off with his prey, fired and brought him dead to the ground, al6ng with the- poor chicken, who was killed in the' fall. The dead 1    ^body

FARM-YARD JOURNAL. 9I body of the kite was nailed up a gain ft the wall, by way of warning to his wicked comrades.

In the forenoon we were alarmed with _ ftrange noifes approaching us, and looking out we Taw a number of people with frying pans; 'warming pans, tongs, and pokers, beating, ringing* and making all poffible din. ' We foon difcovered them to be our neighbours of the next farm, inpurfuitof a fwarm of bees which was hovering in the air over their headsi , The bees at length alighted on the tali .pear-tree in our orchard, and hung in a bunch from one of the boughs. A, .ladder was got, and a man' afcending •with gloves on his hands and an ,^pron tied over his head, Twept them’ into a hive which was rubbed on the infide with honey and fweet herbs. But as he was defcending, fome bees which .had. ,got under his glov.es ftung him in Tuch a manner, that' he haftily threw .down the hive

92-    ,    Ninth evening.

hive, upon which the greater part ofthe bees fell out, and began in a rage to fly among the crowd, andtftmg all whom they lit upon. Away fcampered the people, the women fhrieking* the children roaring 5 and poor Adam, who had' held the hive, was afTailed fo furioufiy, that he was obliged to throw himfelf on the ground, and creep under the goofeberry bufhes, At' length the bees began to return to the hive,, in which, the qtieen bee had remained; and after a whiie, all being quietly fettled, a cloth was thrown over it, and the fwarm was carried home,

About noon, three pigs broke into the garden, where they were rioting upon‘the carrots and turnips, and doi ng a great deal of mifchief by trampling the beds and rooting up the plants with their fnouts; when they were fpied by old Towzer tiie maftifF, who ran among them, and laying hold- of their long ears

, with


with his teeth, made them, fqueel mod difmally, and get out of the garden as fad as they could.

Roger the plowman, when he came for his dinner, brought word that he had difcovered a partridge’s neft with jfixteen eggs in the home field. Upon which the farmer went out and broke them all ; faying, that he did -not choofe to rear birds upon his corn which he was not allowed to catch, but mull leave to fome qualified fpbrtfman,,who would befides break down his fences in the purfuit.

A fheep- wafhing was held this day at the raill-pool* when feven fcore were well walhed, and then penned in the high meadow to dry. Many of them made great refiftance at being thrown into the water; and the old ram, being dragged to the brink by a boy at each horn, and a third puihing behind, by a fudden fpring threw two of them into 3

' ' ; 1 - ' 94    -NINTH    EVENING.

the water, tothe greatdiverfion of the fpe&ators.

Towards the dufk of the evening, the ’Squire’s mongrel greyhound, which had been long fulpe&ed of worrying ftieep, - was' caught in the fa<5t. He had killed two lambs, and was making a hearty meal upon one of the nr, when he was difturbed by the approach of the fhepherd’s boy, and dire£tly leaped the hedge and made off. The dead bodies were taken to the ’Squire’s, with an indictment of Wilful murder againft the dog. But when, they came to look for the culprit, he was not to be found in any part of the premifes, and is fup-pofed to have fled his country through confcioufnefs of his heinous offence.

’ Jofeph, who ileeps in the. garret at the old end of the houfe, after having been fome time in bed, came down ftairs in his fhirtj as pale as afhes, and frightened the1 maids, who were going up. It 7    was


was fome time before he could tell what was Che friatter * at length He faid he had heard fome dreadful noifes over head, which he was fure muft be made by fome ghoft or evil fpi'rit; nay, he thought he had feen fomething moving, though he owned he durft hardly lift up his eyes. He concluded with declaring, that he would rather fit up all night "in the kitchen than go to his room again. The maids were almoft _as much alarmed as he, and did not know what to do; but the mafter, overhearing, their talk, came out ;and' infift-ed upon their accompanying him to the fpot, in order to fearch into the affair. They all went into the garm, and for a while heard nothing; when the" mafter ordered the candle to be taken away, and every one; to keep quite ftill. jo-feph and the maids ftuck clofe to each other, and trembled every limb. At length a kind of groaning or fnoring began to be heard, which grew louder and louder.


louder, with intervals of a ftrange fort of hilling. "That’s it!” whifpered Jo-feph, drawing back towards the door—■ the maids were ready to fink; and,even the farmer himfelf was a little difcon-certed. The noife feemed "to come from the rafters near the thatch. In a while, a glimpfe of moon-light Alining through a hole at the place, plainly discovered the lhadow of fomething {tiring; and on looking intently, fome-what like feathers-were perceived. .The farmer now began to fufpeft what the cafe was; and ordering up a fhort ladder, bid Jofeph climb to the fpot, and thruft his hand into the hole. This he did rather unwillingly, and foon drew it back, crying loudly that he was bit. However, gathering courage, he put it in again, and pulled out a large white owl, another at the fame time being heard to fly away. The caufe of the alarm was now made clear enough; and poor Jofeph^ after being heartily jeered


MANUFACTURES.    '    gf    •

■ •'by the maids, though they had been as much frightened as he, fneaked into bed again, and the houfe foon became' quiet.    •-



Hen. My dear father, you obferved the other day that we had a great many manufactures in England. Pray what is a Manufa&ure ?    ;    ■

* <Fa. A Manufacture is fomething made by the hand of man. It is derived . from two Latin, words, mantisthe hand, and.facere, to make. Manufactures are therefore oppofed to -jproduffions, which latter are what the bounty of nature Ipontaneoufly affords us; as fruits, corn, marble.

Hen. But there is a great deal of trouble with corn*, you have often made me take notice how much pains it

Yol, II.    F    cofts

98    NINTH EVENING.    .    '

cofts the famer to plough his ground, and put the feed in the, earth, and keep it clear from weeds..

Fa. \ Very true ;(• but the farmer does not make. the corn; he only prepares for it a proper foil and fituation, and removes everyVhindrance arifing frdm the hardnefs of the ground, or the neighbourhood of other plants, which might .bbftruft the fecret and wonderful pro-cefs of vegetation ; but with the vegetation itfelf he has nothing to do. It is not his hand that draws out the fiender. fibres of the root, pufhes up the green ftalk, and by degrees the fpiky ears fwells the grain, and embrowns it with that rich tinge of tawny ruffet, which informs the hulbandman it is time to put in his fickle : all this operation is performed without his care or even knowledge.    V

Hen. Now then' I underftand.; corn is a Produ£lion3 and bread a Mam-if&Sfiirs.    '    '


Manufactures,’ .    99

Fa't Bread is certainly^.in ftridnefs of fpeecn, a Manufacturer but we do not in general apply the term to any thing in which the original material is fo little changed. If we wanted to fpeak of bread philofophically, we fhould fay, it is a ■preparation of corn.

Hen. Is fugar a Manufa6lure ?

Fa. No, for the fame reafon. Be-fides which, I So not recoiled the term being applied to any article of food; I fuppofe from an idea that food is of too perifhable a nature, and generally obtained by a procefs too fimple to deferve the name. We fay, therefore, fugar-v/orks, oil-mills, chocolate-works; w£ do not fay a beer-manufa&ory, but a brewery; but this is only a nicety of language, for properly all thofe are manu-la6lori6s, if there is much of art, and cu-riofity in the procefs.

Bm. Do we fay a manufactory of ■pi cl tires ?

Fa. ;Nobut for a different reafon.

F 2    A pic-


A pifture, efpecially if it belong to any of the .higher kinds of painting, is,an effort of genius. A pi&Ure cannot be ' pfpduced; by any given combinations of canvas and colour. It is the hand, in-’ deed,-. that executes, but. the. head that works. Sir Jofhua Reynolds could not have gone, when he was engaged; to paint a pi&ure, and, hired workmen, the one to draw the ;eyes, another the nofe, a third the mouth j the whole muft be the painter’s owa,. that particular painter’s, and no other j and no t>ne who has not his ideas can do his work. His work is therefore nobler, of a •higher fpecies.

Hen. ?ray give me an inftance of a ' manufadure.    -

. Fa. The making of watches is a ma-nufa&ure: the filver, iron, gold, or whatever elfe is ufed in it, are productions, the material of the work j but it is by tlie wonderful art of man that they are wrought into the numberlefs wheels



and fprings of which this/complicated machine is corhpofed. '    '

Hen. Then is there not as much art in making a watch as a pi61 ure"? Does not the head work?

Fa. Certainly, in the original invention of watches, as much or more, than in painting 3 but when once invented,, the art of watch-making is capable of being reduced to a mere mechanical labour,1 which may be exercifed by any man of common capacity, according to certain precife rules, when made familiar to him by pra&ice. This, painting is not.

Hen. But, my-dear father, making of books furely requires a great deal of ' thinking and itiidy; and yet I remember the other day at dinner a gentleman faid that Mr. Pica had manufactured & , large volume in lefs than a fortnight.

Fa. It was meant to convey a fatirical remark on his book, becaufe it was compiled from other authors, from whom F 3    he

1.02    , NINTH EVENIN-G.

he had taken-a page in one place, and * a page in another 5 fo that it was not ■proeduced , by the labour of his . brain, but, of his hands. . Thus you heard your mother complain that the London creani was manufactured 1 which-was a pointed -and concife-way of faying that the cream was not what .it ought to ,be, nor what •it pretended; to be; for cream, when genuine, is' a pure production; but when mixed up and adulterated with; flour and ifinglafs, and.-1; know ;not wtat,; it becomes A;Mat^    It;;wastas    muclr

as to fay, artihas beenJiere^whcre jt has no bufinefsj where it is not beneficial, but hurtful. ; A great.dealpf -the- deli- • cacy, of language depends .upon an accurate knowledge of the fpecific mean-, ing offingle terms, and a nice attention to their relative propriety. •

: lien. Have all nations rnanufa&ures [ Fa. All that are in any degree cultivated ; but it very often happens that countries naturally, the pooreft have ma-■    nufactures


nufaftures of the greateft extent and t variety.

Hen. Why fo ?    '    /_/■/.'

Fa. For the fame reafon, I apprehend, that individuals, who are rich without any labour of their own, are feldom fo induftrious and a£tive as thofe who depend upon their own exertions : thus the Spaniards, who pof-fefs the richeft gold and filver mines in the world, are in want ,of many conveniences of life which are enjoyed in London and Amfterdam.

;    I    can    comprehend    that; I be

lieve if my uncle Ledger Were to find a gold mine under his v/arehoufe, lie would foon fhut up JHop.    ,    ■

Fa. I believe fo'. ; It is not, however, eafy to eftablifti Manufaftures in a very poor nation; they: require- fcience' and . genius for their invention, art and contrivance for -their - execution ;order, peace, and union* for their, flburifhing; they require a number of merino com-F 4    ;    bine

2 04    NINTH    EVENIN'G.

bine together in an undertaking, and to profecute it with the moft patient in-' duftry; they require, therefore, laws and government for their protection. If you fee extenfive Manufactures' in any nation, you may be fure it is a civilized nation ; you may be fure property is accurately afccrtained and protected. They require great expences for their firft efta-blifhment, coftly machines for (horten-ing manual labour, and money and credit for purchafing materials from diftant >countries. There is not a fingle Manufacture of Great Britain which does not require, in fome part or other of its pro-cefs, productions from tjie different parts ■ of the globe'; oils, drugs., varniih, quick-lijver, and the like; it requires, - there-. foTCj Jhi^s and a friendly intercourfe with foreign nations to tranfport commodities, and exchange productions. We could not be a manufacturing, unlefs we were alio a commercial nation. They require time to take root in any place*


m^.nu?A'C7i;res»    105,

and their excellence, often depends upon; fome nice and delicate circumtfance j a, peculiar quality, for inftance, in the air5; ©r water,, or fome other local circum-iiance not eafily afcertained. Thus, I-have heard, that the Irifh women fpin-. better than the Englifh, beeaufe the-moifter temperature of their -climate'

, makes their fkin more foft and their fingers more flexiblethus again we: cannot dye.fo beautiful.a fcarlet as the-French can, though with the fame: drugs, perhaps on. account of the fupe-rior purity of their air.. But tholigh fo> much is neceffary for the perfection of the more curious and complicated Manufactures, all nations poffefs thofe which are fubfervient to the common*, conveniences, of.life—the loom and the-forge, particularly, are of ,the highefk ‘ antiquity. -

Hen. YesI remember He&or bids. Andromache return to her. apartment^ and employ herfelf in weaving with; her F 5.    '    " maids 1,'


maids; and I remember the fhield of Achilles.

. Fa. True; and you likewife remember, in an earlier period, the fihe linen of Egypt; andf'to go ftill higher, the working!in brafs and iron is recorded of Tubal Cain before the flood.

Hen, Which is the moft important, Manufa&ures or Agriculture ?

Fa. Agriculture is the moft necejfary. becaufe it is' firft of all neceffary that man fhouldiive; but almoft all the enjoyments and comforts of life are produced by Manufactures.

Hen. Why are we obliged to take fo much pains to make ourfelves comfortable? >

Fa. To exercife our induftry. • Nature provides the materials for man. She pours out at his feet a profufion of gems, metals, dyes, plants, ores, barks* ftones, gums, wax, marbles, woods, roots, fkins, earths, and minerals of all kinds] She has likewife given Iiim tools.



Hen. I did not know that Nature , gave us tools.

Fa. No I what are thofe two" inftru-ments you carry always about with you, lb ftrong and yet fo flexible, fo nicely jointed, and branched out into five long, taper; ' unequal divifions,-any of which may be contra6led or ftretched out at pleafure; the extremities of which have a feeling fo'wonderfully delicate, and which are ftrengthened and defended by horn ?    ,    ■    •

Hen. The'hands.

Fa. Yes.- Man is as much fuperior to the brutes in his outward form, by .means of the hand, as he is in his mind • , by the gifts of reafon. The trunk of the elephant comes perhaps the neareft to it in its exquifite feeling and flexibility (it is, indeed, called his hand in Latin), and 'accordingly that animal has always been -reckoned the wifeft of brutes^ When Nature gave .man- the hand, fhe faid 'to him,; u Exe.rcife your ingenuity, and -F 6 ■ . work.13

!o3    ' W-INTfl EVgfflffGV

wotk.,> As foon as ever mail file* above the Hate of a favage, he begins-to contrive and tor make things, in order to improve his forlorn condition * thus you--may remember Thomfon re-prefents Induftry coming to the poor fhivering wretch, and teaching him the arts of life

Taught him to chip the wood, arid hew the Hone, Till by degrees the finifh^d fabric rofe;

Tore from his lirtrbs the blood polluted fur,

.And wrapt them in the woolly veftment warm* Or bright in gloffy filk and-flowing lawn.

Hen. It mtift require a great deal of knowledge, I fuppofe, for fo many curious works j-what kind of knowledge is moft necefTary t ■    :■

Fa. There is not any which may not < be occafionally employed ■, but the two fciences which rtioft affift the manufacturer are mechanics and chemtfiryv The one for building mills* working of mines, < and in general for conftrufting wheels* wedges, pullies, &c, either to Ihorten

. MANUFACTURES. .    =    IO9

the labour of man, by /performing in in lefs time,,or to perform what the-ftrength of man alone could not ac-complifh ^—-the other in fufing and' working ores, in dying and bleaching,, and..extracting" the virtues of various fubftances for particular. ufes: making of foap, for inftance, is a chemical operation y and by chemiftry an'ingenious gentleman has lately found out a way of bleaching a piece of cloth irs eight and forty hours, which by _ the . common procefs would have ,taken up a great many weeks.—You have heard of Sir Richard Arkwright who died lately—

- Ben. Yes, I have heard he was at firft only a barber, and fhaved people . for a penny a-piece.

Fa. He did fo j but having a ftrong turn for mechanics, he invented, or. at leaft perfe&ed, a ma'chine, by which,'one pair of hands may do the y/ork of twenty .or thirty i and, as ; in this country 8    every


every,one is free to rife by merits he acquired the larged fortune in the county, had a great many hundreds of workmen under his orders, and had leave-given him by the King to put Sir before his name.

Hen. Did that do him any good ?

Fa. It pleafed him, I fuppofe, or he would not have accepted of it; and you\ will allow, I imagine, that if titles are ufedj it does honour to thofe who be-' How them, that they are given to fuck as have made tbemfelves noticed, for fomething ufeful,—Arkwright ufed to fay, that if he had time to .perfedt his inventions, he would put a fleece of wool into a boxj and it fhould come out broad cloth.

Hen. What did he mean by that; was there any fairy in the box.to.turn it into' broad cloth with her ,wand ■ Fa.'He was affifted-by the only fai-lies that ever'had the’power of tranf-i formation," Art and Induftry : he meant.

v-    ^    that


that he would contrive To many machines, wheel within wheel, that the combing/ carding, and other various, operations, fhould be performed by me-chanifm, almoft without the hand of man.

Hen. I think, if I had not been told;, I fhould never have been able to guefs. that my coat came off the back of the fheep.

Fa. You hardly would but. there ^re Manufactures-hr which-the material is much more changed than in woollen cloth. W hat can be meaner in appearance than fand and allies ? Would you imagine any thing beautiful could be made out of fuch a mixture? Yet the furnace transforms this into that tranf-parent cryftal we call glafs, than which nothing is more fparkling* more - brilliant, more full of luftre. It throws about, the rays of light as if it had life and motiot}. ^    /    :    ,    :•

Hen. There is a glafs-lhop in Lon-'    '    don.

.il'2-    NINTH    EVENING-.    r

don, which always puts me in mind of Aladdin’s palace.

Fa. It is certain that if a perfon ignorant- of the Manufadture were to fee-one of our capital fhops, he would- think all the treafures of Golconda were centered there,, and that every drop of cut glafs ‘ was worth a prince’s ranfom,— Again* who would fuppofe, on feeing the green fcalks of a plant,, that it could, be formed into a texture fo fmooth, fo< fnowy-white, fo firm, and yet fo flexible as to wrap round: the limbs and! adapt itlclf to ,every mo vement of the body? Who would guefs this fibrous, italk could be made to float in fuch light undulating folds as in our lawns* and cambrics j. not lefs fine,, we pre--fume, than, that tranfparent drapery which the Romans called ventus tesetilkx woven wind.

Hen. I wonder how any body ;>c^n-fpin fuch fine thread.


Fa. Their fingers muit have the touch of a fpider, that, as Pope fays,

Feels at cach thread, and lives along the line

and indeed you recolleft that Arachne ^was a fpinfter. Lace is a {till finer pro-du£tion from flax, and is'one of thofe ia which the original material is mod improved. How many times the price of a pound of flax do you think that flax: will be worth when made into lace ?• Hen. A great many times, . I fuppofe.' Fa. Flax at the beft hand is bought: at fourteen-p£nce a pound.. They make lace at Valenciennes, in French Elans-ders, of ten guineas a yard, I believe indeed higher, but we will fay ten guineas> this yard of lace will weigh, probably not more thani half an ounce: what ’is the value of half an ounce of ' flax ? reckon it^

Hen. It comes to. one farthing and, three quarters of a farthing.

. . Fa, Rights now tell me how many \ times,


times the .original value ; the lace is Worth. , .    !    ;

1 Hen. Prodigious! it is worth 5760 times as much as the flax it is made of.

Fa. Yet there is another material that is ftill more iriiproveable than flax.

- Hen. What can that be ?

Fa. Iron. The price of pig-iron is ten fhillings a hundred weight; this is: not quite one farthing for. two ounces; now you have feenfome off the beautiful cut ;%el that looks’ like;diamonds. i' 'Hen. Yes, I have feen buckles, and pinsi.iand: watch-chains;    .    . :

•. Fa. \ Then 'you can form an idea of it; but you have feen only the mod common forts.;\ There/was a chain, made at; Woodfto.ck, in Oxfqrdlhire^ and fent to France, which weighed only two ounces, and coft^ol. - Calculate^ how many, times that- had increafed, its „ value..    ,

Hen. Amazing! It.was worth 163,600 times the value ,of the iron it was made of.


manufactures.    315

Fa. That is what Manufactures can do; here man is a kind of a creator, and, like the great Creator, he may pleafe himfelf with his work, and fay it is good. In the laft-mentioned Manufa&ure, too, that of fteel> the Englifli' have the ho-, nour of excelling all the world.

Hen. What are the chief Manufactures of England ?

. Fa, We. have at prefent a greater variety, than I can pretend to enumerate, but our ftaple Manufacture is woollen' cloth. .England abounds in fine pastures and extenfive downs, which feed great numbers of fheep; hence our wool has always. been a valuable article- of trade-5 - but we ' did not always-know how to work it. We ufed to fell it to the Flemifli or Lombards,: Who wrought it into cloth ; till in the year 332.6, Edward the Third invited fome Flemifh weavers over 'to teach us the art; but there was not much made in England till the reign of Heniy the Seventh.

.116    ' NINTH. EVENING.

Venth. ' Manchefter and Birmingham are towns which have arifen to great confequence from fmall beginnings, al-mofl within the memory of old men now living; the firft for' cotton and muflin goods, the fecond for cutlery and hardware, in which.we at this moment excel all Europe. Gf late years, tooa carpets, beautiful as fine tapeftry, have been fabricated in this country. Our clocks and watches are greatly eiteemed. The earthen-ware plates;• and difhes, which we all ufe in common, and the elegant fet foe the tea-table, ornamented with mufical inftruments, which we admired in our vifit yefterday* belong to a very extenfive manufaftory, the feat of which is at Burflem in Staf-fordfhire,! The principal potteries there belong to one perfon, an excellent chy-mift, and a man of great tafte; he, in- v conjunftion with another man of tafte who is fince dead, has made our clay more valuable than the fineft porcelain ,    '    '    of


of China. He has moulded it into all the forms of grace and'beauty that are to be met with in the'precious remains of the Greek and Etrufcan artifts. In the more common articles he has penciled it with.the moft elegant defigns, lhaped it into (hells and leaves, twilled it into wicker work, and trailed the du&ile foliage round the light bafket. He has filled our cabinets and chimney-pieces with urns, lamps, and vafes, on which are lightly traced, with the pureft fimplicity, the fine forms and floating draperies of Herculaneum. In fhort, he has given to our houfes a claflic air, and has made every faloon and every dining-room fchools of tafte. I fhould add that there is a great demand abroad for this elegant Manufa&ure. The Em-prefs of Ruffia has had fome, magnificent fervices of it; and the other day one was fent to the King of Spain, intended as a prefent from him to the Archbilhop of Toledo, which coft a thoufand

I'.18    NINTH    EVENING. v    ;

thoufand pounds. Some morning you ihall go through the rooms in the London Warehoufe.

Hen. I fhould like very much to fee Manufa&ures, now you have told me fuch curious things about them.

Fa. You will do well! there is much , more entertainment to a cultivated mind in feeing a pin made, than in many a fafhionable diverfion which young people half ruin themfelves to attend. In the mean time I will give you fome account of one of the moft elegant of them, which is paper..

Hen. Pray do, my dear father.

Fa. It ffi’all be left for another evening, however, for it. is now late. Good night. ■


(    ”9    )



' The Flying Filh, fays the fable, had originally no wings, but being of an ambitious and difcontented temper, fhe repined at being always confined to the waters, and wilhed to foar in the aiv- <l If I could fly like the birds/7 faid fhe, £f I fhould not only fee more of the.beauties,of nature', 'but I fhould Jbe able to efcape from thofe filh which ■are continually purfuing me, and which render my life miferable.” She therefore petitioned Jupiter for a pair of wings: and immediately fhe perceived her fins to expand. They fud-denly grew to the length of her whole body, and became at the fame time fo ftrong as to do the office of a pinion. She was at iirft much pleafed with her 5    new

120    TENTH    EVENING.

new powers, and looked with an air of difdain on all her former companions; but fhe foon' perceived herfelf expofed to new dangers. When flying in.tjie air, fhe was incefTantly purfued by the tropi-c bird, and the Albatrofs; and^ when for fafety (he dropped into the water, fhe was fo fatigued with her flight, .that fhe was lefs able than ever to efcape from her old enemies the flfh. Finding herfelf more unhappy than before, fhe now begged of J upiter to recal his prefent; but Jupiter faid to her, <e When I gave you your wings, I well knew they would prove a curfej but your proud and reftlefs difpofition deferred this difappointment. Now, therefore, what you begged as a favour, keep as a punifhment!”


A LESSON IN s    :    :


F. Come hither, Charles ; -what is : that you fee grazing in the meadow before you ?

C. It is a horfe.

F. Whofe horfe is it ?.

C I do not'know; I never faw it before? •    i

F. How do you know it is a horfe .. if you never faw’ it before f;    .

C. B.ecaufe it is like other horfes.'

F. Are all horfes alike, then ? ....

C, Yes.    :    7-/

jp. If they are all alike} how do you : know one horfe from' another ? t C. They are: not quite\alike»

F. But they are fo much alike^ that : you can eafily diftinguiOi a* horfe from a cow ? -.. v '    :    ,    .

C. Tes, indeed. , ,>

F. Or from a cabbage?

You II,    G    C.    A


C. A horfe from a ’ cabbage ! yes, furely I can.

F< Very well; then let us fee if you can tell how a horfe differs from a cabbage?'

C. Very 'eafily; a horie is alive.

F. True; and how is every thing called, which is alive ?

C. I believe all things that are alive are called animals.

F. Right; but can you tell me what a horfe1 and a cabbage are alike in ? •

C. Nothing, I believe.

' F, Yes^- there is one thing in which the flencjereft-mofs that grows upon the wall is like the greateft man or the htgheft angel.

G. Becaufe God made them. !

F. Yes; and how do you call every thing that is made ?

C. A creature.

F. A horfe then is a creature, but a living creature; that is to fay, an animal.    -    -    '    ,

■1    P-    And


C. And a cabbage is a dead creature, that is the difference.

F. Not fo, neither; nothing is dead that has never been alive,

C. What mull I call it then, if it is; neither dead nor alive ?

F. An inanimate creature; there is the animate and the inanimate creation* Plants, ftones, metals^ are of the latter clafs, horfes belpng to the, former.

C. But the gardener told mb fome of my cabbages were dead, and fome were alive.

F. Very true. Plants have a vegeta- v' the life, a principle of growth! and decay; this.is common to them with all organized bodies.; but they have not fenfation, at leaft we do riot know they . have—they have not life, therefore, in . the fenfe in which animals enjoy it.

C. A horfe is called an animal, then.

F. Yes; but a falmon is an animal, and fo is a fparrow; how will you dif-, -singuilh a horfe from thefe ?

g 2    ■    a    a

124    TENTH    EVENING.

C. A falmon lives in the water, and iwims ; a fparrovv flies, and lives in the air.

F. I think a falmon could not walk upon the ground, even if it could'live out of the water.

6*. No, indeed; it has no legs.

F. And .a bird would not gallop like a horfe.

C. No; it would hop away upon its • two flender legs.

F. How many legs has a horfe ?

C. Four.    .    '

F. And an ox ?

G. Four likewife.

jF. And a camel ?

G. Four ftill.

F. Do you know any animals which . live upon the earth that have not four legs ?'

C. I think not; they have all four legs; except worms and infe&s, and; fuch things.

F. You remember, I fuppofe, what



an animal is called' that has four legs ; you have it in your little books.

C. A quadruped.

F. A horfe then is a quadruped: by this we diftingtulh him from birds, filljes, .and infe&s.    v

C. And from men.

F. True; but if you had been talking about birds,. you would not have /ound it fo eafy to diftinguifh them.

C. How fo ! a man is not at all like a bird.

F. Yet an ancient philofopher could find no way to diftinguifh them, but by calling man a two-legged animal without feather So '    •    .

■ C. I think he was very fiily; they are • not at all alike, though they have both two legs.

F. Another ancient philofopher, called Diogenes, was of your opinion.^ He ftript a cock of his feathers, and turned him into the fchool where Plato, that G 3    was

126    TENTH    EVENING.

was his name, was teaching,"and faid, Here is Plato’s man for you.

C. I wifh I had been there, I fhould ; have laughed very much.

F. Probably. Before we.‘laugh at others, however, let us fee what we can do ourfelves. We have not yet found any thing which will diftinguifh a horfe from an elephant, or from a Norway rat

C. O, that is eafy enough. An eler-phant is very large, and a rat is very fmall; a horfe is neither large nor fmall.

F. Before we go any further, look .. what is fettled on the fkirt of your coat.

C, It is a butterfly > what a prodigious large one ! I never faw fuch a one before.

F. Is it larger than a rat, think you ?-

C. No, that it is'not.

F. Yet you called the butterfly krge5 and you called the rat fmall.

;Ct It. is very large for a butterfly."

" F. It. :


F. It is fo. You fee, therefore, that large and fmall.are relative terms., ,

C. I do not well underftand that phrafe.

,. F. It means that they have no pre-cife and. determinate fignification in themfelves, but are' applied differently according to the other ideas which you . join with them, and the different portions in which you view them. This .butterfly, therefore, is large 3 Compared'

. with thofe of'its own fpecies, and fmall t -compared with, many o.ther fpecies of ; animals. Belides, there is no circum-ftance which .varies more than the fize \ of individuals.^ If you were to give an • idea of a horfe from its fize, you would certainly fay it was much bigger than a dog; yet if you take the fmaileft Shet-. -land horfe, and the largest Irifh.grey-. hound, you will find them .very much upon a par: fize, therefore, is not a-circumftance by-which you can accu-G 4    rately

128    TENTH    EVENING.

rafcelydiflinguifh one animal from another^ nor yet his colour; ■

C. No ; there are' black horfes, and :bay, and white, and pied.

F. But-yon have not feen that variety of colours, in a hare, for inftance;

C. No, a hare is always brown.

F. Yet if you were to depend upon that circumftance, you would not convey the idea of a hare to a‘mountaineer, or an inhabitant of Siberia y for he fees them white as fnow. We mu ft, therefore, find out fome circumftances that do not change like fize and colour, and I may add ill ape, though they are not fo obvious, nor perhaps fo -ftriking. Look at the feet of quadrupeds ; are they all alike ?

C. -No; fome - have long taper claws,

' and fome have thick cl unify feet witli-' out claws.

F, The thick feet are horny 3 , are they not ?

C. Yes,


C. Yes, I recolledt they are called Jioofs-.

F\ And the feet that are not covered with horn, and are divided into claws, are called digitated^ from digitus, a finger ; becaufe they are parted .like fingers. , Here, then, we have one grand divifion of quadrupeds into hoofed z.vA digitated., Of which divifion is the horfe ?.

C, He is" hoofed.

. F. \There are a great many different kinds of horfes ; did you ever know one that was not hoofed ?

C. No, never.

' F. Do you think we run any hazard of a ftranger telling us, Sir, horfes are hoofed indeed in your country, but in mine, which is in a different climate, and where we feed them differently, they have claws ?

C. No,, I dare fay not.

F. Then we have got fomething to our purpofe; a circumftance eafily marked, which always belongs to the G 5    '    animal,


. animal, under every variation of Situation or treatment. But an ox is hoofed, and fo is a Iheep; we muft diftinguifh. ft ill farther. You have often flood by,

I fuppofe, while the fmith was fhoeing a horfe. What kind of a hoof has he?'

C. It is round, and all in one piece.

F. And is that of an ox fo ?

C. No, it is divided. -    .

F. A horfe, then, is not only hoofed, but whole-hoofed\ , Now how many quadrupeds do you think there are in , the world that are whole-hoofed ?

C. Indeed I do not know.

F, There are, among all animals that we are acquainted with, either in this country or in any other, only the horfe, the afs, and the zebra, which is a fpe- . cies of wild afs. Now, therefore, you fee we have nearly' accomplifhed our purpofe j. we have only to diftinguifh him from the afs.

C. That is eafily done* I believe; I Should


fhould be forry if any. body could mif-take my little horfe for an afs.,

F, It is not fo eafy, however, as you ^imagine;. the eye readily diftinguilhes them by the air and general appearance, but naturalifts have been rather puzzled ' to fix upon any fpecific difference, which may ferve the purpofe of a definition. Some have, therefore, fixed upon the ears, others on the mane and tail. What kind of ears has an afs ?

C. O, very long clumfy ears. Affes* ears are always laughed at.

F. And the horfe ?

1 C. The horfe has fin-all; ears, nicely ■turned, and upright.

F.' And the mane,, is there no differ-* ence there ?

C. The horfe has a fine long flowing mane ; the afs has hardly any. -

F. And the tail; is it not fuller of hair in the horfe, than in the afs ?

C, Yes; the afs has-only a few IongN hairs at the end of his tail j t but the horfe .: , ■    G    6    .    has

132    TENTH    EVENING.

has a long, bufhy'tail, when it is not cut.

F.N Which, by the. wayx it is pity it ever fhould. Now, then, obferve what particulars we have got. A-horfe is an . animcd of the quadruped kind, ■ whole-hoofed, with Jhort ereft ears, a flowing mane, and a tail covered in every part. with longhairs. Now is there any ’ other animal, think, you, in the world that anfwers thefe particulars ?

C. I do not knovv; this does not tell us a great deal about him. ;

F. And yet it tells us.enough todif-tinguifh\him from all the different tribes of the creation which we are acquainted with in any part of the earth. Do you know now what we have been making IC. What ?.

F. A Definition, It is the bufi-nefs of a definition to .diftinguifh/pre-cifely the,thing defined from every other thing', and to do it in as few terms as poffible. Its obiedt is to fe pa rate the . .    '    fubjed

ART OF DISTINGUISHING. fubjeft of definition, fir ft, from thofe with which it has only a general refem-blance; then, from thofe which agree with it in a greater variety of particulars ; and fa on, till by conftantly throwing out all which have not the qualities we have taken notice of, we come at length to the individual or the fpecies we -wifli to afcertain. It is a kind of chafe, and refembles the manner of hunting in fome countries, where they firft en-clofe a very large circle with their dogs, nets, .and horfes ; and - then, by degrees, draw their toils clofer and clofer, driving their game before them till it is at length brought into,fo narrow a compafs* that the fportfmen have nothing to do but to knock down their prey.

C. Juft as' we have been hunting this . horfe, till at laft we held him fail by his ears, and his .tail.

F. I fhould obferve, to yotij that in the definition naturalifts give of a horfe, it is generally mentioned that he has /,    fix

ij4 tenth evening,,

fix cutting teeth in each jaw; becaufe this circumftance of the teeth has been found a very convenient one for cha-ra£terifing large clafles: but as it is not abfolutely neceffary here,' I have omitted it; a definition being the more per-fed: the fewer particulars you make ufe of, provided you can fay with certainty from thofe particulars, The obje6t fo charatterifed muft be this, and no other whatever.

C. But, papa, if I had never feen a horfe, I fhould not know what kind of animal it was by this definition'.

F. Let us hear, then, how you would give me an idea of a horfe.

, C I' would fay it was a fine large prancing creature, with Gender legs and an arched neck, and a fleek fmooth fkin, and a tail that fweeps the ground, and that he fnorts and neighs very loud, and toiTes his head, and runs as fwifc as the wind.

F. I think you learned fome verfes upon


tfjjjon the horfe in your laft lefTpn : repeat them.

C. The wanton courfer thus with reins unbound Breaks from his ftall, and beats the trembling ground;

■ Pamper’d and proud, he feeks the wonted tides,    .

And laves, in height of blood, his ftiining fides;    '    ,

His head, now freed, he toffes to the fkies ;

His mane difhevel’d o’er his fhoulders flies;

He fnuffs the females in the diftant plaini ' And fprings, exulting, to his fields again.

,    Pope’s    Homer,

F. You have faid very well -3 but this 1 is not a Definition■§ it is a Deferipion.

C. What is the difference ?

F. A defcription is intended to give ' you a lively pidure of an objeft, as if you faw it j it ought to be very full. A definition gives no piflure to thofe who have not feen itj it rather tells you what its fubject is not, than what it is, by giving you fuch clear fpecific marks, that it fhall not be poffible to confound



it with any thing elfe 3 and hence it is of the greateft ufe in throwing things' into claffes. We Have a great many beautiful defcriptions from antient authors fo loofely worded that we cannot ce>tainly tell what animals are meant by them, whereas if they had given us definitions, three lines would have afcer-tained their meaning.

C. I like a defcription beft, papa.

F. Perhaps fo; 1 believe I fhould have done the fame at your age. Remember, hbwever, that nothing is more’ ufeful than to learn to form ideas with precifion, and to expr£fs them with accuracy: I have net given you a definition to teach you what a horfe is^ but to teach you to think.




j A Phenix, 'who had long inhabited ' ' the folitary deferts ^of Arabia, once flew fo near the habitations of men as to meet with a tame Dove, who was fitting-on her nefli with: wings expanded; and, fondly ’brooding over ‘her'.young -ones, -while fhe expe&ed her mate, who-was foraging abroad to procure them food. The Phenix, with a kind of infulting compailiqn, faid to her, ff Poor -birda how much I -pity thee! confined .to a ■fingle fpot, and furik' i-n do-meftic car.es, thou art continually icm ployed either in ■laying eggs or in providing for thy ■ brood) and thou exhauftefl thy life and ftrength in perpetuating afeeble and de-fencelefs race. As to my felf, I live exempt from toil, care, and misfortune. L feed upon nothing lefs precious than rich gums and fpices I fly through the tracldefs regions of the air, and when I


am feen by men, ajii gazed at with curio fity and aftonifhment; I have no oq'e to controul my range, no one to provide fori and'when I have fulfilled my five centuries of life, and feen the revo-■lurions of ages, I rather vanifh than die', and a fuccefTor, without my care, fprings up from my a(hes. I am an image of the great fun whom I adore; and glory in being, like him, fingle and alone, and having no likenefs.”

The Dove replied, ff O Phenix, I pity thee'much more than thou affe£!eft to pity mel What pleafure canft thou enjoy, who lived forlorn and folitary in a tracklefs and unpeopled defert; who haft no mate to carefs thee, no young ones to excite thy tendernefs and Reward .thy caresi no kindred, no foci;ety amongft thy fellows. Not long life only, but immortality itfelf would be a curfe, if it. were to be bellowed on fuch uncomfortable terms.;. For my part, I know that my life will be Abort,;and therefore 1 -    I employ


I employ it in raifing a .numerous posterity, and in opening my heart to all the fweets of domeftic happinefs. I am beloved by my partner ;. ! am dear to man; and fhall leave marks' behind me ■that I have lived. As to the fun, to whom thou haft prefumed to compare thyfelf, that glorious beings is fo totally ' different from, and fo infinitely fuperior to, all the creatures upon earth, > that ic • does not become us to liken ourfelves to /him, or to determine upon the manner of his exiftence-. One obvious difference, however, thou mayeft remark; that the fun, though alone, by his prolific heat, produces all things, and though he Ihines fo high above our heads, gives us reafon every moment to blefe ■ his beams j whereas thou, fwelling with ' thy imaginary greatnefs, dreameft away a long period of exiftence, equally void of comfort and ufefulnefs;*’

140    ■    T-JS'NTH    '    EVENING-


F. I will now, as I pro mi fed, give you an account of the elegant and ufe-■ ful manufacture of Paper, the bafis of which is itfelf a manufa&ure. This delicate and beautiful fubftance is made from the meaneft and moil difgufting materials, from old' rags, which have pafled from one poor perfon to another, and at length have perhaps dropped in tatters from the child of the beggar. Thefe are carefully picked up from 'dunghills, or bought from fervants by Jews, who make it their bufinefs to go about and collect them. They fell them to the rag-merchant, who gives from two-pence to four-pence.a pound, according to their quality;. and he, when he has got a fuffident quantity, difpofes of them to the owner of the paper-mill. He gives them firft to women, to fort and

' :    '    pick*


pick, agreeably to their' different degrees of finenefs: they alfo with a knife cut out carefully all the feams,. which they throw into a bafket for other pur-pofes j they then put them into the dufting-engine, a large circular wire-fieve,. from whence they receive fome degree of cleanfing.. The rags are then conveyed to the mill. Here they were formerly beat, to pieces with vaft ham-mersj which rofe and fell continually with a- moft tremendous noife that was heard from a great diftance. But now they put the rags into a large trough or ciftern, into which, a pipe of clear Ipring water is conftantly flowing. In this ciftern is placed a cylinder, about, two feet long, fet thick round with rows of iron fpikes, {landing as near as they can to one another without touching. At the bottom of the trough there are cor--refponding rows of fpikes. The cylinder is made to whirl round with inconceivable rapidity, and with thefe iron teeth

-142    TENTH'    EVENING.

teeth rends and tears the cloth in every poffible direction 5 till, :by the affiflance of the water, which continually flows through the cifterri, it is thoroughly mafticated,. and reduced to a fine pulp; and by the fame procefs all its impurities are cleanfed away, and it is reftored to its original whitenefs. This procefs takes about fix hours. To improve the colour they then put in a little fmalt, which gives it a bluifh caft, which all Paper has more or lefs: the French Paper has lefs of it than ours. This fine pulp is next put into a copper of warm water., It is the fubftance of paper, but ’ the form muft now be given it: for this purpofe they ufe a mould. It is made of wire, ftrong one way, and crofTed with finer. This mould they juft dip . horizontally into the copper, and take it out again. It has a little wooden frame on the edge, by means of which it retains as much of the pulp as is wanted for the thicknefs of the fheet, and the.

4    ^    fuperfiuity


fuperfluity . runs off through, the inter- > ftices of; the wires. • Another man in-ftantly receives it, opens the frame, and turns out the thin fheet, which has now fhape, but not conliftence,. upon foft felt, which‘is placed on the ground to. receive it. * On that is placed another-piece of felt, and then another lheet of Paper, and fo on till they have' made a pile of fdrty or fifty. They are then prefled with a large fcrew-prefs, moved by a long lever, which forcibly fqUeezes the water out of them, and gives them immediate, confiftence. There is ftill, hpwever, a great deal to be done. The felts are taken .off1, and thrown on one fide, and the Paper on the other, from whence it is dexterotifly taken up with , an inftrument in the form of a T, three Iheets at a time, and hung on lines to., dry. There it hangs for a week or ten days, which likewife further whitens it 5 and any knots and roughneffes it may have are picked off carefully by the women.

1:44    TENTH    JEVEWIN'O-..'

men. It. is* then- fized. Size is; ai'kind' of glue:;; and: without .this preparation the'Paper would-not bear ink; it would run andi blot as you fee it does on grey-Paper. The fheets are juft.dipped into' the fize and taken out,again. The ex-aft degree of fizing is a- matter of nicety, which can only be known by experience. They are then hung up again to dry, and when dry taken to the fi-nifhing-room,-where they are examined anew, preffed in the dry preffes, which, gives them their laft glofs and fmooth-nefs; counted up into quires, made, up in reams, and fent to the ftationer’s> from whom we have it, after he has folded it again and cut the edges; fome too he makes to fliine like fa tin,- by gloffing it with hot plates. The whole procefs of Paper-making takes - about three weeks. .    -    r

H. It is a very curious- procefs. indeed; r fhall almoft fcruple for the future to blacken a fheet of paper with’a 8    carelefs

Manufacture of-paper* 145 earelefs fcrawl, now I know how much ! pains it colts' to make it fo white and beautiful.    .    .

F. It is true that there is hardly any thing we ufe with fo much wafte and profufioii as this manufa&ure j we fhould think ourfelves confined in the ufe of it, if we might not tear, difperfe, and de-ftroy it in a thoufand ways; fo that it is really aftonifliing from whence linen i enough can be procured to anfwer fo vaft a demand. As to the coarfe brown papers, of which an aftoniftypg quantity is ufed by every fhopkeeper in packages, &c. thefe are made chiefly of oakum, that is, old hempen ropes. A fine paper is made in China of filk.    ,

H. I have heard lately of woven Paper ; pray what is -that? they cannot weave Paper, furely 1

P. Your queftion is very natural. I11 order to anfwer it, I muft defire you to take a fheet of common Paper, and Vol. II.    H ' hold

14-6    TENTH EVENING. ,, *

hold it up again ft the light. Do not you fee marks-in it ?

H. I fee a great many white lines running along lengthways, like ribs, and fmaller that crols them. 1 fee, too, letters and.the figure of a crown.

FThefe are all the marks of the wires; the thicknefs of the wire prevents fo much of the pulp'lying upon the fheet in thole places, confequently wherever the wires ,are, the Paper is thinner, and you fee the light through1 more readily which gives that appearance of white lines. The letters too are worked in the wire,'and are the maker’s name. Now to prevent thefe lines, which take off from the beauty of the Paper, particularly of drawing Paper, there have been lately ufed moulds of brafs wire exceeding fine, of equal thick-nefs, and woven cir latticed one within another; the marks, therefore, of thefe are eafily preffed out, fo as to be hardly 6    vifible;


vifible; if you look at this Iheet you will fee it is quite fmooth. 1

11 It is fo. ■    ...

F. I fho.uld mention to you,' that there is a difcovery very lately made,, by which they can make Paper,equal to any in whitenefs, of the , coarfeft' brown rags, and even of dyed cottons; which they. have till now been obliged to throw by for inferior purpofes. This is by means of manganefe, a fort of mineral, and oil of vitriol 5 a mixture o? which they juft pafs through the pulp,' while it is in water, for otherwife it would burn it, and in an inftant it discharges the colours of the dyed cloths, and bleaches the brown to a. beautiful whitenefs.

H. That is like what you told me before of bleaching cloth in a feyir hours.    .    1

F. It. is indeed founded upon the fame difcovery. The paper made of H 2 _    thefe

'148    (    TENTH    EVENING*    '

ithefe brown rags is likewife more va~

‘ luable, from being very tough and ftrong, almoft like parchment.

H. When was the making of Paper found out ?    .    ~    -

F. It is a difputed point3 but probably in the fourteenth century. The invention has been of almoft equal con-fequence to literature,, as that of print-ing itfelf ; and ihews how the arts and fciences/ like children of the fame family, mutually afiiit and bring forward each other.    .    ,


Scene—Alexander the Great in his tent. Guards. . A Man ’with a fierce countenance, chained and fettered, brought before him.

Alex, What, art thou the Thracian Robber, of whole exploits I have heard _'fo much ?



Rob. I am a Thracian and a foldier*

A. A foldier !—a thief, a plunderer, an affaffin! the peft of the country! I could honour thy courage, but I muft deteft and punifh thy crimes.

R, What have I done, of which you can complain ?

A. Haft thou not fet at defiance-my authority; violated the public peace* 1 and paffed thy life in injuring the per-fons and properties of thy fellow fub-je<5ts ?

SR. Alexander! I 'am your captive—.

I muft hear what you pleafe to fay, and endure what you pleafe to inflid:. But my foul is unconquered; and if I reply at all to your reproaches, I will reply like a free man.

A. Speak freely. Far be it fromlfoe to take the advantage ^of my power to filence thofe with whom I deign to con- ' verfe I,

R. I muft then anfwer your queftion

'    ,    by.


by another. Flow have you pailed your life ?

A> Like a hero:    Alii    Fame, and

£he will tell you. Among the brave, I have been the braveft: among fove-reigns,. the nobleft: among conquerors, the mightieft. •

R, And does not Fame {peak of me, too ? Was there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band ? Was there ever—But I fcorn to boaft. You your.-felf know that I have not been eafiiy fubdued.    <

A. Still, what are you but a roller—; a bafe diOionefl: robber ?

R, And what is a conqueror? Have not you, too, gone about the earth like an evil genius, blafting the fair fruits of peace and induftryj—plundering, ravaging, killing, without law, without juftice, merely to gratify an infatiable luft for dominion ? All that I have done to a fingle diftrid \yith a hundred fol-lowersa


lowers, you have done to whole nations with a hundred thoufand. If I have flripped individuals, you have ruined kings and princes. If I have burned a few hamlets, you have defolated the moft flourishing kingdoms and cities of the'earth. What is then .the difference, but that as you were born a,, king, and I a private man, you have been able to become a mightier robber than I? .

A. But if I have taken like a king, Lhave given like a king. If I have fub-verted empires, I have founded greater.

I have cherifhed arts, commerce, and philofophy.

R. I, too, have freely given to the poor, what I took from the rich. I have eftablifhed order and difcipline' among the moft ferocious of rpankind; and have -ftretched out my protecting arm over the oppreffed. I know, 'indeed, little of the philofophy' you talk

'    .    Of    5

152    TENTH    EVENING.

of; but I believe neither you nor X fhall ever'repay to the world the mif-chiefs we have done it.

A. Leave me—Take.off his chains, and ufe him well. (Exit robber.)— Are we then fo much alike ? —Alex* ander to a robber ?—Let me refled.




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