Part 1
THE PENNY MAGAZINE
OF THE
Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
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17.] PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY. [July 7, 1832
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THE CAPE BUFFALO--BOS CAFFER.
[From a Correspondent.]
[Illustration: Cape Buffalo.]
Of the South African buffalo I had not many opportunities for personal observation during my residence in that part of the Cape Colony of which this animal is still an inhabitant; but, living among people by whom he is frequently and eagerly hunted, I heard a good deal of his character and habits, which may be comprised in the following sketch.
The Boors and Hottentots describe the buffalo to be, what his aspect strongly indicates, an animal of a fierce, treacherous, and cruel disposition. Even when not provoked by wounds or driven to extremity in the chase, they say he will attack, with the utmost ferocity, his great enemy man, if he happens to intrude incautiously upon his haunts; and what renders him the more dangerous is his habit of skulking in the jungle, when he observes travellers approaching, and then suddenly rushing out upon them. It has been remarked, too, (and this observation has been corroborated by the Swedish traveller Sparrman,) that if he succeeds in killing a man by goring and tossing him with his formidable horns, he will stand over his victim afterwards for a long time, trampling upon him with his hoofs, crushing him with his knees, mangling the body with his horns, and stripping off the skin with his rough and prickly tongue. This he does not do all at once, but at intervals, going away and again returning, as if more fully to glut his vengeance.
Although I have no reason to question the truth of this description, it ought to be qualified by stating that though the buffalo will not unfrequently thus attack man, and even animals, without any obvious provocation, yet this malignant disposition will be found, if accurately inquired into, the exception rather than the rule of the animal’s ordinary habits.
The _bos caffer_ is no more a beast of prey than the domestic ox, and though much fiercer as well as more powerful than the ox, and bold enough sometimes to stand stoutly on self defence even against the lion, it is, I apprehend, nevertheless his natural instinct to retire from the face of man, if undisturbed, rather than to provoke his hostility. The proofs that are adduced of his vicious and wanton malignity arise chiefly from the following cause. The males of a herd, especially at certain seasons of the year, contend furiously for the mastery; and after many conflicts the unsuccessful competitors are driven off, at least for a season, by their stronger rivals. The exiles, like some other species of animals under similar circumstances[1], are peculiarly mischievous; and it is while skulking solitarily about the thickets, in this state of sulky irritation, that they most usually exhibit the dangerous disposition generally ascribed to the species.
It is, nevertheless, very true that the Cape buffalo is, at all times, a dangerous animal to hunt; as, when wounded, or closely pressed, he will not unfrequently turn and run down his pursuer, whose only chance of escape in that case is the swiftness of his steed, if the huntsman be a Colonist or European. The Hottentot, who is light and agile, and dexterous in plunging like an antelope through the intricacies of an entangled forest, generally prefers following this game on foot. Like all pursuits, when the spirit of enterprise is highly excited by some admixture of perilous adventure, buffalo hunting is passionately followed by those who once devote themselves to it; nor do the perilous accidents that occasionally occur appear to make any deep impression on those that witness them. The consequence is, that the buffalo is now nearly extirpated throughout every part of the Cape Colony, except in the large forests or jungles in the eastern districts, where, together with the elephant, he still finds a precarious shelter.
It was in this quarter that the following incident in buffalo hunting, which may serve as a specimen of this rough pastime, was related to me by a Dutch-African farmer, who had been an eye-witness of the scene some fifteen years before. A party of Boors had gone out to hunt a troop of buffaloes, which were grazing in a piece of marshy ground, interspersed with groves of yellow wood and mimosa trees, on the very spot where the village of Somerset is now built. As they could not conveniently get within shot of the game without crossing part of the _valei_ or marsh, which did not afford a safe passage for horses, they agreed to leave their steeds in charge of their Hottentot servants and to advance on foot, thinking that if any of the buffaloes should turn upon them, it would be easy to escape by retreating across the quagmire, which, though passable for man, would not support the weight of a heavy quadruped. They advanced accordingly, and, under cover of the bushes, approached the game with such advantage that the first volley brought down three of the fattest of the herd, and so severely wounded the great bull leader that he dropped on his knees, bellowing with pain. Thinking him mortally wounded, the foremost of the huntsmen issued from the covert, and began reloading his musket as he advanced to give him a finishing shot. But no sooner did the infuriated animal see his foe in front of him, than he sprang up and rushed headlong upon him. The man, throwing down his empty gun, fled towards the quagmire; but the savage beast was so close upon him that he despaired of escaping in that direction, and turning suddenly round a clump of copsewood, began to climb an old mimosa tree which stood at the one side of it. The raging beast, however, was too quick for him. Bounding forward with a roar, which my informant (who was of the party) described as being one of the most frightful sounds he ever heard, he caught the unfortunate man with his horns, just as he had nearly escaped his reach, and tossed him in the air with such force that the body fell, dreadfully mangled, into a lofty cleft of the tree. The buffalo ran round the tree once or twice apparently looking for the man, until weakened with loss of blood he again sunk on his knees. The rest of the party then, recovering from their confusion, came up and despatched him, though too late to save their comrade, whose body was hanging in the tree quite dead.
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Footnote 1:
The elephant, for instance. See Menageries, vol. ii. p. 71.
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ON THE IMPORTANCE OF A PUBLIC DECLARATION OF THE REASONS OF DECISIONS IN COURTS OF JUSTICE.
While a cause is pending I admit that all publications, and all the little arts of popularity, tending to raise the prejudices or to inflame the passions, are highly improper, and ought not to be permitted. But, after the decision of a cause, the freedom of inquiry into the conduct and opinions of the judges is one of the noblest and best securities that human invention can contrive for the faithful administration of justice.
It is for this very purpose that it has been established in this country, that judges shall give their opinions and decisions publicly,--an admirable institution, which does honour to Britain, and gives it a superiority in this respect over most of the other countries in Europe.
Laws may recommend or enforce the due administration of justice; but these laws are of little avail, when compared with the superior efficacy of the restraint which arises from the judgment of the public, exercised upon the conduct and opinions of the judges.
It would be extremely fatal to the liberties of this nation, and to that inestimable blessing, the faithful distribution of justice if this restraint upon judges were removed or improperly checked.
The public has a right, and ought to be satisfied with regard to the conduct, ability, and integrity of their judges. It is from these sources alone that genuine respect and authority can be derived; and an endeavour to make these the appendages of office, independent of the personal character and conduct of the judge, is an attempt which, in this free and enlightened country, most probably never will succeed.
This freedom of inquiry is not only essential to the interests of the community, but every judge, conscious of intending and acting honourably, ought to promote and rejoice in the exercise of it. It is a poor spirit indeed that can rest satisfied with authority and external regard derived from office alone. The judge who is possessed of proper elevation of mind will, both for his own sake and that of his country, rejoice that his fellow-citizens have an opportunity of satisfying themselves with regard to his conduct, and of distinguishing judges who deserve well of the public, from those who are unworthy. He will adopt the sentiment of the old Roman, who, conscious of no thoughts or actions unfit for public view, expressed a wish for windows in his breast, that all mankind might perceive what was passing there.
If these considerations are of any force for establishing the justness of the principle, the only objection I can foresee against this freedom of inquiry is, that it may happen sometimes to be improperly exercised.
This is an objection equally applicable to some of the greatest blessings enjoyed by mankind, whether from nature or from civil institutions. It is no real objection to health or civil liberty, that both of them often have been, and are, extremely liable to be abused.
When the freedom of inquiry now contended for happens to be improperly used, it will be found that the mischief carries along with it its own remedy. The most valuable part of mankind are soon disgusted with unmerited or indecent attacks made either upon judges or individuals; the person capable of such unworthy conduct loses his aim; the unjust or illiberal invective returns upon himself, to his own disgrace; and the judge whose conduct has been misrepresented, instead of suffering in the public opinion, will acquire additional credit from the palpable injustice of the attack made upon him.
⁂ From ‘Letters to Lord Mansfield, by Andrew Stuart, Esq.’
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ON THE HOT WIND OF AFRICA CALLED THE CAMSIN.
“On my route from Suez to Cairo,” says Rüppel, “I had an opportunity of observing a meteorological phenomenon of a very curious nature, which possibly may lead to some interesting results. In the year 1822, May the 21st, being seven hours distant from Cairo, and in the desert, we were overtaken by one of those violent winds from the south, about which many travellers have told us such wonderful and incredible stories. During the night there had been a light breeze from the north-east; but a short time after sun-rise it began to blow fresh from the S.S.E., and the wind gradually increased till it blew a violent storm. Clouds of dust filled the whole atmosphere, so that it was impossible to distinguish any object clearly as far off as fifty paces; even a camel could not be recognised at this distance. In the mean time, we heard all along the surface of the ground a kind of rustling or crackling sound, which I supposed to proceed from the rolling sand that was dashed about with such fury by the wind. Those parts of our bodies which were turned towards the wind were heated to an unusual degree, and we experienced a strange sensation of smarting, which might be compared with the pricking of fine needles. This was also accompanied by a peculiar kind of sound. At first I thought this smarting was occasioned by the small particles of sand being driven by the storm against the parts of the body that were exposed. In order to judge of the size of the particles, I attempted to catch some in a cap; but how great was my surprise when I found I could not succeed in securing a single specimen of these supposed little particles. This led me to conceive that the smarting sensation did not proceed from the small stones or the sand striking the body, but that it must be the effect of some invisible force, which I could only compare with a current of electric fluid. After forming this conjecture, I began to pay closer attention to the phenomena which surrounded me. I observed that the hair of all our party bristled up a little, and that the sensation of pricking was felt most in the extremities and joints, just as if a man were electrified on an insulated stool. To convince myself that the painful sensation did not proceed from small particles of stone or sand, I held a piece of paper stretched up against the wind, so that even the finest portion of dust must have been detected, either by the eye or the ear; yet nothing of the kind took place. The surface of the paper remained perfectly unmoved and free from noise. I stretched my arms out, and immediately the pricking pain in the ends of my fingers increased. This led me to conjecture that the violent wind, called in Egypt Camsin, is either attended by strong electrical phenomena, or else the electricity is caused by the motion of the dry sand of the desert. Hence we may account for the heavy masses of dust, formed of particles of sand, which, for several days, darken the cloudless sky. Perhaps we may also go so far as to conjecture that the Camsin may have destroyed caravans by its electrical properties, since some travellers assure us that caravans have occasionally perished in the desert; though I must remark that in all the regions I have travelled through, I never could hear the least account of such an occurrence. At all events, to suppose that such calamities have been caused by the sand overwhelming the caravans, is the most ludicrous idea that can be imagined.
“The Camsin generally blows in Egypt for two or three days successively, but with much less violence during the night than the day. It only occurs in the period between the middle of April and the beginning of June, and hence its Arabic name, which signifies, ‘the wind of fifty days.’”
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FORKS.
[From a Correspondent.]
The interesting extract in your Magazine of the 26th May, on forks, induces me to send you a few scraps on the history of forks.
The word fork occurs only once or twice in the Bible; once in the Pentateuch, where mention is made of “flesh forks,” evidently invented to take the meat out of the pot; the other instance is in an account of the riches of Solomon’s temple, where, singularly enough, the Vulgate has the word _furca_, which the English translation renders by spoon. Athenæus mentions also the word fork; but it does not appear whether it was a _bident_ (with two prongs), or a _trident_ (with three prongs), and it is quite certain that the Greeks were ignorant of the use of forks in eating. At that time even Lucullus was not acquainted with that luxury; a two-branched instrument or two were found at Herculaneum, but it seems clear that they were not used at table in any period of the Roman history. The first instance that history records of the use of forks was at the table of John the good Duke of Burgundy, and he had only two.
At that period the loaves were made round; they were cut in slices which were piled by the side of the carver, or _Ecuyer Tranchant_ (Cutting Squire). He had a pointed carving-knife, and a skewer of drawn silver or gold, which he stuck into the joint; having cut off a slice, he took it on the point of the knife, and placed it on a slice of bread, which was served to the guest. This ancient custom of serving the meat on the point of the carver is still general throughout the continent of Europe. A leg or a haunch of mutton had always a piece of paper wrapped round the shank, which the carver took hold of with the left hand when he carved the joint, and such is still the custom in Lower Germany and Italy. We, who always imitate, and often without knowing why, have imported the custom of ornamenting the shank, but the _penetration_ of the fork is a decided improvement. Pointed knives are still general on the Continent, it being so difficult to leave off old customs, even after the occasion that gave them birth has ceased. It is only since the peace, when every thing English became fashionable, that round-topped knives have been adopted at Paris.
Before the revolution in France it was customary, when a gentleman was invited to dinner, for him to send his servant with his knife, fork, and spoon; or if he had no servant, he carried them with him in his breeches-pocket, as a carpenter carries his rule. A few of the ancient regime still follow the good old custom, because it is old. The peasantry of the Tyrol, and of parts of Germany and Switzerland, generally carry a case in their pockets, containing a knife and fork, and a spoon.
Few use a fork so gracefully as an English lady. The Germans grasp it with a clenched fist.
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THE WEAVER’S SONG.
[From ‘English Songs, and other Poems, by Barry Cornwall.’]
Weave, brothers, weave!--Swiftly throw The shuttle athwart the loom, And show us how brightly your flowers grow, That have beauty but no perfume! Come, show us the rose, with a hundred dyes, The lily, that hath no spot; The violet, deep as your true love’s eyes, And the little forget-me-not! Sing,--sing, brothers! weave and sing! ’Tis good both to sing, and to weave ’Tis better to work than live idle. ’Tis better to sing than grieve.
Weave, brothers, weave!--Weave, and bid The colours of sunset glow! Let grace in each gliding thread be hid! Let beauty about ye blow! Let your skein be long, and your silk be fine, And your hands both firm and sure, And time nor chance shall your work untwine; But all,--like a truth,--endure!-- So,--sing, brothers, &c.
Weave, brothers, weave!--Toil is ours; But toil is the lot of men: One gathers the fruit, one gathers the flowers, One soweth the seed again: There is not a creature, from England’s King, To the peasant that delves the soil, That knows half the pleasures the seasons bring, If he have not his share of toil! So,--sing, brothers, &c.
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_Dances: the Tarantula._--“The Peccorara and Tarantella are the dances of Calabria: the latter is generally adopted throughout the kingdom of Naples. The music accompanying it is extravagant and without melody: it consists of some notes, the movement of which is always increasing, till it ends in producing a convulsive effort. Two persons placed opposite to each other make, like a pair of savages, wild contortions and indecent gestures, which terminate in a sort of delirium. This dance, originating in the city of Tarentum, has given rise to the fable of the Tarantula, whose venomous bite, it is pretended, can be cured only by music and hard dancing. Many respectable persons who have resided for a long time in the city of Tarentum, have assured me that they never witnessed any circumstance of the kind, and that it could be only attributed to the heat and insalubrity of the climate, which produce nervous affections that are soothed and composed by the charms of music. The Tarantula is a species of spider that is to be found all over the South of Italy. The Calabrians do not fear it, and I have often seen our soldiers hold it in their hands without any bad effects ensuing.”--_Calabria, during a Military Residence_
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_Property._--The advantages of the acquisition of property are two-fold; they are not merely to be estimated by the pecuniary profit produced, but by the superior tone of industry and economy which the possessor unconsciously acquires. When a man is able to call _his own_ that which he has obtained by his own well-directed exertion, this power at once causes him to feel raised in the scale of being, and endows him with the capability of enlarging the stock of his possessions. A cottager having a garden, a cow, or even a pig, is much more likely to be an industrious member of society than one who has nothing in which he can take an interest during his hours of relaxation, and who feels he is of no consequence because he has nothing which he can call _his own_. The impressions which have been produced upon the minds of the peasantry, by affording them the means of acquiring property and of possessing objects of care and industry, are great, unqualified, and unvaried. In every instance the cottager has been rendered more industrious, the wife more active and managing, the children better educated, and more fitted for their station in life.
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_A Golden Rule._--Industry will make a man a purse, and frugality will find him strings for it. Neither the purse nor the strings will cost him anything. He who has it should only draw the strings as frugality directs, and he will be sure always to find a useful penny at the bottom of it. The servants of industry are known by their livery; it is always _whole_ and _wholesome_. Idleness travels very leisurely, and poverty soon overtakes him. Look at the _ragged slaves_ of _idleness_, and judge which is the best master to serve--INDUSTRY or IDLENESS.
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WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
[Illustration: Western Entrance.]