Part 2
The _Moles_ are beginning to throw up the earth, and to destroy the herbage of the light soils. What an extraordinary animal is the mole! We constantly see his traces of destructiveness, but how difficult is it to track him to his hiding-place. And no wonder: his excavations are galleries of many feet in length, worked out by his snout and strong fore-paws, with all the skill and expedition of a human miner; and when he is alarmed he retreats to his citadel, and defies all enemies. The mole, as is well known to our country readers, is destroyed by a trap of peculiar construction, which is discharged by the little animal passing through it. The mole-catcher--in general a quiet old man, who passes the winter in making his traps in his chimney corner--comes forth at this season with his implements of destruction. His practised eye soon discovers the track of the mole, from the mound which he throws up to some neighbouring bank, or from one mound to another. It is in this track or run that he sets his trap, a few inches below the surface of the ground. As the mole passes through this little engine of his ruin he disturbs a peg which holds down a strong hazel rod in a bent position. The moment the peg is moved the end of the rod which is held down flies up, and with it comes up the poor mole, dragged out of the earth which he has so ingeniously excavated, to be gibbetted without a chance of escape. The trap is very simple and effectual; but, somehow, the moles flourish in spite of their human enemies. Mole-catchers, a plodding, unscientific race, know little of their trade, which requires the most accurate study of the habits of the animal. There was a Frenchman of the name of Le Court, (he died about two years ago,) a man of great knowledge and perseverance, who did not think it beneath him to devote his whole attention to the observation of the mole. He established a school for mole-catching; and taught many, what he had acquired by incessant perseverance, the art of tracing the mole to his hiding-place in the ground, and cutting off his retreat. The skill of this man once saved a large and fertile district of France from inundation by a canal, whose banks the moles had undermined in every direction. Le Court alone saw the mischief, and could stop it. Doubts have been entertained whether moles are really so mischievous to the farmer as they are generally supposed to be. It has been said that they assist the draining of land by forming their excavations, and that they thus prevent the foot-rot in sheep.
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THE WEEK.
April 15.--_Palm-Sunday_.--The Palm, in the countries where it grows, has been the symbol of triumph in ancient and modern times. The triumph which is commemorated on this day is the peaceful entry of Christ into Jerusalem. This festival was observed with much solemnity in the Catholic times in England, and the people were accustomed to make a procession, bearing boughs of blossoming willow as most resembling the fan-like branches of the palm. An old writer on plants says, speaking of willow, “The blossoms come forth before any leaves appear, and are in their most flourishing estate usually about Easter, divers gathering them to deck up their houses on Palm-Sunday; and therefore the said flowers are called Palm.” The date-palm is in many respects one of the most valuable trees of the East, affording sustenance to an immense population, and cheering a sterile region by its beauty.
[Illustration: Date-Palm, and Fruit.]
April 17.--The birth-day of Edward Stillingfleet, Bishop of Worcester, a most learned and able prelate, born at Cranbourne, in Dorsetshire, in 1635. Stillingfleet’s greatest and best-known work is his ‘Origines Sacræ, or a Rational Account of Natural and Revealed Religion,’ first published in 1672; a profound and eloquent performance. He is the author also of a considerable number of other works. He was promoted to the See of Worcester soon after the Revolution, and died on the 27th of March, 1699.
April 19.--_Maundy Thursday._--Maundy is a corruption of the Latin word _mando_, to command. This is the day on which the Saviour commanded his disciples “to love one another.” The acts of love and humility which he performed on that day used to be imitated by great monarchs of Europe, in washing the feet of the poor. A better imitation would have been to have abstained from those many deeds of tyranny which disfigure the ancient annals of every kingdom. At the present day, in England, the King’s almoner at Whitehall distributes silver pence to old and indigent persons on this celebration.
April 20.--_Good Friday_, being the anniversary of our Saviour’s crucifixion, is the most solemn fast of the Christian Church. The Cross-bun, however, has long ceased in England to be the morsel by which the severity of the last days of Lent was mitigated. In the old time Lent was not “more honoured in the breach than the observance.” We find from the household book of the Earl of Northumberland, which was kept in 1512, that throughout Lent, “beginning at Shrovetide and ending at Easter,” the breakfast (a great meal in an ancient family) consisted, “for my Lord and my Lady,” of “two pieces of salt fish, four herrings, or a dish of sprats,” instead of the customary allowance at other seasons of “half a chine of mutton or a chine of beef;” and the food at a Lenten supper was equally meagre. The transgressors of Lent were subject to ecclesiastical discipline. Strype, in his ‘Memorials,’ records that a man did penance at St. Paul’s Cross, in 1555, for attempting to sell two pigs ready drest during the fast.
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THE LIBRARY.
⸻“My Library Was Dukedom large enough.”--_Prospero, in the Tempest_.
The cheapest of all enjoyments by far is that which is derived from books. We hold a library, therefore, to be among the fittest furniture of even the poorest man’s cottage. A most important and cheering consideration in reference to this sort of furniture is, that the more the demand for books shall grow and extend itself the cheaper are they sure to be sold. The price even of many new books, owing to the large sale upon which the publisher can now count by the increase of readers, is now so low, that for a few pounds, expended in the course of as many years, at the easy rate of a shilling or two at a time, almost as many volumes may be purchased, full of the most instructive and interesting information, as a labouring man and his family have, in general, leisure to read and study.
Let but the small sum of one pound annually be expended in this way by a working man; and what a respectable stock of books might be collected in twenty years, gradually increasing as his family grew up. If the purchases were judiciously made, probably between one and two hundred of the most useful volumes in the language might be secured for this money. Many of them, indeed, would be second-hand copies; but, if they were in good condition, they would be no worse for that. Then, once purchased, this library would remain a valuable property for ever. Books, however much used, if they be only used properly, should never wear out. There are many volumes in the great public libraries of this and other countries, which have been in use for centuries, and yet are in as good condition as when they came from the press. It is only careless readers that destroy or injure books in using them.
In many situations a much more ample command of books may be obtained by the poorer classes for even much less than this cost, by a number of them joining together to maintain a common library. This is an advantage which books have over other articles of furniture. The same library might serve many families at the same time nearly as well as it could serve any one of them exclusively. The quantity of chairs and tables and other household goods which is required for the use of one family cannot accommodate more than one, these articles are in constant requisition; their possessor cannot admit his neighbours to share them with him. But the collection of books which we have supposed to be formed in the course of twenty years, at a cost of as many pounds, might be made to dispense its benefits among twenty families, without an individual belonging to any one of them being deprived of any part of the advantage which he would have enjoyed if he had been the only person by whom the books could be read. When so many families, then, can be found in the same place, disposed to join their contributions for this purpose, the complete command of such a collection by all of them is obtained at a very small cost to each. Instead of a pound a year, it is only a shilling; or, if they choose to pay annually a pound each, they have each of them access to twenty times more books in consequence of their union than they could have obtained the use of separately by the same expenditure. They will probably find it best to mix these two advantages--to subscribe, say a fourth part of a pound, or five shillings, which will still procure them five times as much reading as the expenditure of the whole pound by each of them separately would have procured.
Such are the advantages of union, here as in every thing else. But a farther improvement on popular libraries has been lately recommended and put in practice in some parts of the country, and chiefly in Scotland, by the exertions of Mr. Brown, of Haddington. If a poor man were every year, or every quarter, to exchange his tables and chairs and bedsteads for others of about the same value, he would make nothing of the operation except a great deal of trouble and waste of time. The articles which he received would not answer his purpose better than those which he parted with: he would not derive any more accommodation from the strange furniture than he might have done from that to which he had been used. But here again books have an advantage peculiar to themselves. When you have read through one collection, another collection, consisting of different works, although intrinsically of no greater value, has yet a much greater value to you; the information which the new books communicate forms a positive addition to whatever knowledge your mind has already stored up. Hence the idea of itinerating, or travelling, libraries. Let us suppose that half-a-dozen contiguous villages in a particular district have each its small library, provided, in the manner already pointed out, by the united subscriptions of the inhabitants; if an arrangement be made that these six libraries shall consist of different works, and that the several collections, instead of remaining stationary, shall move about from one village to another the body of readers in each village will obtain the use of six libraries at the cost of one. This principle may be applied, of course, either to enlarge the command of reading or to diminish the cost, or to produce partly the one effect and partly the other. It would probably be found the best plan to have a portion of each collection stationary; there being certain books, of general usefulness, or in great request, which it would be desirable to have everywhere always at hand.
But there is one great difficulty which both individuals and associations frequently feel in purchasing books. They are at a loss to know what books it is best for them to procure: or, if they are anxious to procure a particular work, they do not know which is the edition that is likely, from its price or other recommendations, best to suit them. We propose in a series of short notices under our present title to lay before our readers, from time to time, such information as may assist them in the task of selection, in reference both to old and to new books. Without professing to go over the different departments of literature in any regular order, but rather seeking to give variety to our pages, and at the same time to meet the views of different readers, by passing from one subject to another, we shall from time to time give accounts of works, which may in our opinion deserve the attention either of managers of popular libraries or of individual buyers of books; or which, although it might not be advisable to purchase them, deserve in whole or in particular parts to be consulted by those who may have the opportunity. We shall in this way gradually provide those who may preserve our paper with a body of directions, embracing all the most important matters which are necessary to be known for the right furnishing of a library for the use of common readers. Of course we do not mean to direct our attention to any works except such as every man decently educated for the business of ordinary life may aspire to become acquainted with. With what is more peculiarly called learning we have here nothing to do. But all works belonging to what may be called popular science and literature will come within our plan, whether they treat of natural history, so much of natural philosophy as may be understood without technical mathematics, moral philosophy, criticism, history, antiquities, geography, voyages and travels, or any other subject of a similar nature. Nor shall we omit to mention such of the productions of our great poets and writers of fiction as may most fitly make part of a popular library. Our aim shall be in every case to describe the work, not by any vague general criticism, but by a distinct account of what it actually contains, and especially of what it contains which is not to be found in other works on the same subject. Keeping buyers, also, as well as our readers in view, we shall always be careful to notice both the price at which the book may be purchased, and the edition which it is best to procure. One edition of a book sometimes differs as much in value from another, or is, in truth, although bearing the same title, as much another book, as if it had really been so designated. Of two editions, accordingly, one is often very valuable, while another is nearly worthless. We believe uninformed purchasers of books are very often cheated by having bad editions sold to them for the same money for which the best editions might have been procured.
Notices of this kind, as we have said, will form a useful guide both to book-societies, and also to individuals who may have the desire and the means of furnishing themselves with a small library. The means, indeed, to effect this object will seldom be wanting where the desire is felt. We hope to see the day when even the poorest man’s cottage will not be thought to be becomingly furnished without having a few shelves in one of its apartments filled with provision for the mind. This indeed is sure to take place as soon as the working classes shall have become generally educated. Books will then be deemed a necessary of life, or at least as indispensable as anything else whatever, after food, shelter, and clothing.
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THE WOODMAN’S MEMORIAL.
[From the ‘Plain Englishman;’ published in 1821-2-3.]
I was once rambling in the most unfrequented parts of Windsor Forest, on a fine evening during the season between the hay and the corn harvest. Every thing about me was verdant and beautiful. I had passed along a little green, skirted with cottages, on my way to an unvisited part of the forest; and I had remarked the healthful and innocent looks of the children, who were playing on the road-side, and had beheld, with an equal satisfaction, many an industrious labourer either reposing at his cottage-door, or cheerfully prolonging his exertions, to train the beans, or weed the potatoes, of his little garden. At the porch of one or two cottages, “the swink’d[3] hedger at his supper sate,” as Milton has naturally expressed this characteristic of an English evening,--and several groups of parents and children were gathered round their humble but cheerful meal, in the neatly sanded kitchen, whose door stood open to admit the sweet breath of the evening breeze.
My way conducted me from this scene of animated existence to one of the deepest solitude. I struck across a field or two, which at once led me into one of the most unfrequented parts of the forest. The sun was yet brightly shining in the west, but his rays did not pierce the thick gloom of the elms and beeches into which I had penetrated. The place was singularly wild, and seemed scarcely to belong to the quiet scenery of our inland counties. A rapid stream, which in winter must become a torrent, had formed a deep ravine, with high and precipitous banks; the fern grew about in the wildest profusion; the old roots of the trees which hung over the bourn, as the people of the forest still call it, were bared to the wind and frost; but they grasped the earth resolutely and firmly, offering no inappropriate image of a strong mind struggling with adversity. As I walked on, endeavouring to follow the course of the stream, the scene became still more solitary. I could gain no eminence to look round upon the surrounding country; I could not hear either the tinkling of the sheep-bell, the low of cattle, or the bark of the watch-dog; even the herds of deer had forsaken this spot of unbroken solitude.
The course of the bourn led me on through the same wild and tangled scenery for more than a mile. I at length arrived at a spot where my attention was powerfully excited by traces of human industry, which had something extraordinary in their appearance. On a large beech-tree was rudely carved the letters T. C., and beneath the figures 1787. My attention was drawn to the contradiction which the freshness of the carving presented to the remoteness of the date. Near the tree the grass and fern sprung up with a rank luxuriance; no cattle ever seemed to pasture in this secluded spot. Where the grass grew highest there was a remarkable appearance, which could not have been the effect of accident. For about eight feet in length and two in width the grass had been carefully cut away; indeed, the small surface was as closely trimmed as a newly-mown meadow, while the long grass grew around it as if the scythe had never violated its useless luxuriance. I was forcibly struck by these appearances, and I determined to return to the village for the purpose of seeking an explanation.
I inquired at several cottages without obtaining any satisfactory solution. There were few who knew the spot to which my questions referred. I at last addressed myself to one whose garb bespoke the occupation of a woodman. He was old, and had evidently borne much fatigue and hardship. He said that he could explain all that I wanted to know, for that he every year cut afresh the bark of the beech-tree, and removed the high grass with his sickle as fast as it grew. It was to commemorate an awful event that happened on that spot. His narrative had many pauses and breaks; but it was in substance as follows:--
“It was in the year 1787 that a fellow-woodman met his death in that lonely place. It was on a fine summer evening, as it may be now, that a dozen of us were sitting down beneath that beech-tree to refresh ourselves after our day’s labour. We had been felling some trees close at hand, and a hard day’s work we had of it. The bailiff ordered us some beer, and as we were returning home we met the boy coming with it, and we sat ourselves down in that high grass to enjoy it. We were tired and hot, and we drank freely. We got to talk about our own great doings, and one boasted how much money he could earn, and another bragged how much beer he could drink. There was a quarrelsome chap amongst us--his name was Joe D⸻, and he bullied and hectored poor Tom C⸻ in a strange way. Tom bore it all patiently for some time, for he was a quiet, harmless fellow, and he perhaps bethought him that a quarrel would not do any good to his wife and children. At last Joe, who was filling out the mugs of beer, instead of handing Tom his allowance, threw it in his face. The poor fellow could not bear this--for, though goodnatured, he did not want spirit. He resented the insult. The other grew more saucy and savage, and at last he hit Tom a blow in the face. I am ashamed of myself, and of all the set, when I recollect how, for the love of mischief, we encouraged the quarrel, and got up to make a ring for two fellow-creatures to strive against each other like brute beasts. To it they went; in five minutes poor Tom received a blow in the stomach, and he never spoke afterwards. He fell down where the grass is cut away, and he breathed his last under the beech-tree where the letters are carved. We carried him in our arms to the cottage;--oh, that was a scene for his poor wife which I never, never shall forget! Joe fled the country;--I saw him many years after, but he slunk along like a ghost, and I would much rather have died in my youth, like my poor fellow-woodman, than have borne about the fire which that man must have had in his heart. I do what I can to preserve the remembrance of poor Tom, as you see, for I am the last left of all who saw his frightful death. I have told my boys never to let the grass grow there when I am gone; maybe the sight of that lonely token of him may lead some to ask about it, as you have done; and the knowledge of the fatal effect of sudden quarrels may teach our children to live in peace with all about them.”
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Footnote 3:
Tired.
⁂ We have the Author’s permission, in this and other extracts from ‘The Plain Englishman,’ to make such alterations of the original as may be deemed advisable.
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PROTECTION OF TRADE.
[From a Correspondent.]