Chapter IV: Part 4

Peter Parley loves our good Queen, and delights to follow her in her various “progresses”—for wherever she appears, light and happiness beams around. The sun seems to welcome her wherever she goes, and bright and fair are the days that belong to her. And one of the brightest and fairest days, notwithstanding a little cloud or so that appeared, was the day when Her Majesty, accompanied by the Prince—whom every true Briton loves for his manly character, and for the good he does to every one—proceeded to visit the British Fleet at Spithead. It was delightful for old Peter to behold the Queen and the Prince, and not less so to see the young Prince of Wales emulating the British Tar, and looking like an embryo Nelson: and his heart beat with ardour at the cheers of the sailors and the booming of the guns; and he wished himself a young man again, and on board of a man-of-war, as he was for many years of his early life. I believe that no one who has been thoroughly soused in salt water ever ceases to love it, and although poor old Peter has now only a pleasure-boat to skull and row and sail about the Deben in, he still loves the sea-breeze and the sea-water, and the smell of tar; and he likes to hear the whistle of the gale in the shrouds, and the cry of the sea-gull, and the voice of the curlew on the ooze; and he would sing with his poor old voice, like a shattered clarionet of former days, “Rule Britannia,” and thank God that he has lived to see the day when England exhibits to the world that she is still able to “rule the waves.”

The “review” was, indeed, a spirit-stirring sight. The eyes of half London and the hearts of all England were there; and a wonderful thing it was to look upon a fleet such as England never had before, and the thick black cloud of coal-smoke resting upon the horizon, or ascending to the skies in volumes, shewed the result of the innumerable applications of the giant power of steam to the purposes of navigation. Here stood arrayed the mighty force of fourteen-thousand-four-hundred-and-twenty horse-power, concentrated in the holds of the royal ships, impelling these mountain masses with as much ease as some of my young readers would drag their little boat across a puny pond.

The most remarkable fact, bearing on this point, was the celerity and ease with which the Duke of Wellington, the greatest of all the ships, the Agamemnon, and the Impèrieuse—each of them steam impelled—performed their evolutions. The chase, when each ship put forth all her powers, was just continued long enough to establish the superiority of these ships. They are moved by screw-propellers, and all the steam machinery in such large ships is placed beneath the water-line, and below the reach of shot. The ships can steam at pleasure against wind and tide, and thus, really and not metaphorically “rule the waves,” and a steam fleet of eleven hundred guns, such as that we witnessed at Portsmouth, would go far to rule the world.

The Queen, the Prince, and the Royal Family arrived in the “Victoria and Albert” yacht, and a grand salute from all the ships was fired in succession, and so quickly was it given, that from the firing of the first gun to the booming of the last, not more than three minutes elapsed. As Her Majesty approached the fleet, the Queen and Prince Albert mounted the bridge of the yacht over the paddle-boxes, and with the Prince of Wales, and Prince Alfred—both attired as sailors, in white duck trowsers and jackets—surveyed the scene before them with much interest. Her Majesty then entered the royal barge, and with the Prince, and the Royal Children, all went on board the “Duke of Wellington,” as you see them represented in the engraving. The fleet now steamed out to sea in double column. They formed into single line. They then made a feigned attack upon the enemy. After firing a gun or two of defiance, the three foremost ships resolutely advanced, upon which the two divisions closed into one grand line, and upon the signal gun of the “Duke of Wellington,” followed by the tremendous roar of her whole broadside, rapidly discharged from stem to stern, the rattling thunder ran along the line, traversing it as it were in a minute, and again beginning at the other end; main and deck guns, eighteens, thirty-twos, and sixty-fours, banging and thundering for nearly a quarter of an hour without intermission. From the moment of the first discharge, the clouds of white, choking smoke hid everything. The mimic battle was kept up for some time, at last the enemy was supposed to have been repulsed, so the heads of the vessels were put round, and the whole squadron started off homewards at the best of each ship’s speed, and the same thundering followed.

A boat attack was next made, which was fully equal in interest to the “sham fight of the ships,” and the whole day’s proceedings exhibited “Old England” in her proudest glory; and thus terminated a spectacle, which no other country in the world could produce but England, and which well accords with English spirit and English sympathy.

Something about the Chinese.

The Chinese are, my young friends, a very wonderful people—quite unlike the people in any other part of the world. They are very different in their religion, laws, manners and customs; and were you to go and live in China, you would be puzzled to know what to do, and how to act. My friend, Mr. Welton, however, who has just sent over to his native place a beautiful collection of Chinese curiosities, seems to know how to get on very well; and from his letters, and the specimens of Chinese literature, art, and manufactures, it will not be a very difficult thing to obtain some slight knowledge of the Chinese.

China is the most populous country in the world; it is supposed to contain at least two hundred and fifty millions of human beings. Of these, more than two millions live in boats on the rivers, and a very large number have been enrolled as soldiers. At the present moment, China is undergoing a great revolution (of which I shall have something to say before I have done), and the religion of Jesus Christ is making progress. The end of this will probably be the opening of the whole of the Chinese empire to European commerce, which will be of great advantage to the whole world.

No country abounds like China in towns and cities, which in some of the provinces are so thick and close to each other, that the whole seems but one continued town swarming with inhabitants. Their roads are generally crowded with passengers. Some cities are purely military, and are inhabited by soldiers, of which there are said to be not less than five millions in the empire.

The most wonderful things in China are the canals, especially the Great Canal, as it is called, which is an uninterrupted communication of nearly seven hundred miles of water, between Pekin and the great central stream of the Yang-tse-Kiang. In connection with the rivers, it opens a communication between Canton and Pekin, by means of a thousand miles of navigation.

The Great Wall of China has always been considered one of the wonders of the world. It was erected three hundred years before Christ. It is in length one thousand miles, and it passes over hills, vallies, rivers, and mountains which are in some places more than five thousand feet high. Its height is thirty feet, and it is very broad. The towers, which are at short distances from each other, are forty feet high. This Wall is no longer of much use as a fortification, and is now regarded more as a curiosity. The mass of materials used in its construction would be sufficient to build a thick wall, six feet in height, all round the globe. China is also famous for triumphal arches, erected to the memory of their heroes; it is said that there are from six hundred to seven hundred in the empire. It is customary for persons travelling to pay their adoration at these arches, as well as at the tombs of their ancestors, whom they regard with the greatest veneration.

Most of the Chinese cities have large bells set up in their high towers, by which notice is given of the different watches of the night. The first watch is denoted by a single stroke; the second, by two; the third, by three; and so on. Some of the Chinese bells are very large, and weigh upwards of one hundred thousand pounds. Their clappers are of wood and not of metal—the former being thought to give a softer sound.

The city of Pekin has been the fixed capital of China ever since the expulsion of the Moguls; and, although situated on the Northern confines of China Proper, it is central with regard to the whole empire. It is surrounded by a wall, flanked with high towers, each containing accommodation for a hundred men. Within this wall are the Emperor’s palace and gardens. These are surrounded by another wall, the enclosure being called the Sacred City. The two cities are not less than twenty-five miles in circumference.

The Imperial Palace is situated in the heart of the city, and has a prodigious number of courts, squares, ponds, parks, and edifices. The apartments are spacious and healthy, and the whole is adorned with gardens, baths, and pleasure terraces. There, is, in the midst of one of the principal gardens, an artificial lake of about a mile in extent, surrounded by stately trees, and gorgeous temples, and fine statues.

The Great Hall of Audience is a lofty building, one hundred and thirty feet long, and nearly of a square form. Its ceiling is of carved work, garnished with green, and adorned with gilt dragons in bas-relief. The pillars which support the roof are about seven feet in circumference, and are embellished with raised works of fruits and flowers. The pavement is covered with a rich carpet; the walls are polished white, and without hangings, mirrors, or any kind of ornament. The throne stands in the centre of the hall, and consists of a lofty alcove, but has few ornaments or inscriptions; it, however, bears the words “Reason’s glory,” the name assumed by the present Emperor.

The Great Temple of the Chinese, or of Pekin, is a very curious edifice—not merely on account of its riches and grandeur, but from its being the scene of a very important ceremony, performed by the Emperor every year, when the sun enters the winter solstice; hence it is termed the Temple of the Sun. The temple stands about half-a-mile from the east end of the city, and is surrounded by a wall nearly a mile in circuit. Within this enclosure are reared several stately apartments, amid groups of lofty trees, and in the centre a spacious round hall, of a considerable height. The dome or roof is supported by eighty-two columns, curiously painted with gold and azure, representing the sky. At an upper part of the temple stands a very large vessel of brass, in which perfumes are burned; and on each side of it stand the priests. To this temple the Emperor repairs at the proper season, and, in a homely garb, without gold, or jewels, or even the yellow garment that denotes royalty—kneels down in adoration, and offers up his prayers for the sins of the people, and prays the Divine Being to give happiness and prosperity to the nation at large.

In another temple, called the Temple of the Earth, which is without the walls of the city, a ceremony is performed by every Emperor, on coming to the throne, equally worthy of description. Immediately after the coronation, the Emperor comes with regal pomp to this temple, which stands on the west side of the city. As soon as he passes the walls of the city, he divests himself of his imperial robes, and clothes himself in the habit of a common ploughman; and in this humble guise proceeds, with his numerous retinue, to a spot of ground kept for the purpose within the compass of the temple. Here he finds a plough, gilt and ornamented with gold, to which two oxen with golden horns are fastened, and, taking the plough in his hand, he drives it to the extent of two or three furrows. Whilst at this laborious exercise, the Empress, attended by her ladies, prepares some plain dish for his dinner, and brings it to him into his private apartment, in the most homely style, and sits and eats with him.

This excellent custom is of Chinese origin, and of great antiquity. Its design is to put the new monarch in mind that his revenue is owing to the sweat and labour of his subjects, and that he ought to abstain from all superfluous expenses, and ease them of all unnecessary burdens.

The Chinese are great lovers of festivals, and one of their principal entertainments of this kind is celebrated during the eighth moon. From sunset and the rising of the moon till midnight, every one walks about with his relatives and friends in the streets, public places, and gardens. In the preceding days they send to each other tarts and cakes, called yua-pini, that is, cakes of the moon; they are round and flat, and made to resemble that luminary. These cakes are eaten by moonlight—the wealthy to the sound of melodious music, and the poor to the din of drums, gongs, and other noisy instruments.

The engraving represents a dealer in confectionary of this kind; the cakes are flat, and the hares, which are one of the chief of their ornaments, are either sitting on their haunches, or lying down eating. One of the cakes in the upper row is adorned with peacock’s feathers, between which is placed a figure of the moon, on which is the representation of a hare pounding rice.

Fruit is sold by hawkers, and men who sit at a table in the open air. The picture shows the way in which fruit is hawked in baskets, suspended from the ends of a bamboo, which is borne on one shoulder. The baskets of this trader are stocked with various kinds of fruit. The melons, one of which is seen in the picture, are water-melons; there are besides grapes, white and red figs, and peaches. This latter fruit the Chinese regard as the emblem of immortality. In the abode of Hien Gien, which is their paradise, they imagine a peach-tree, the fruit of which secures all those who eat of it from death.

The other Chinese fruits are apricots, cherries, lemons, and oranges, which are grown in the gardens of the country people; they also eat the young shoots of the fragrant ash, the flowers of the yulong, and the soft shoots of the juicy-bamboo. The leaf which the itinerant fruit-seller holds, is that of the “_nelumbriem_,” an aquatic plant, the canes of which sometimes grow large enough for an umbrella. The engraving represents a retail dealer in fruit, sitting at his stall, in the shade of an ample umbrella made of rushes.

The middle classes of the Chinese live upon pork, venison, and shark-fins. Horse-flesh is eaten by the Tartars, and sold in the markets with beef. Cats, too, are a favourite dish, and dogs are the crowning delicacy of the cookery-book.

The Chinese towns swarm with hawkers of all sorts, and among the most numerous are the flower-sellers. They carry their flowers about in two flat baskets, suspended like a pair of scales from the two ends of a bamboo. The flowers common to China are, many of them, now common with us. The plant for which they have the strongest liking is the peony, which they call “_moutein_.” It is also called the “king of flowers,” and “pe-lean-king,” which means one hundred ounces of gold on account of its beauty, and of the enormous price given for it by the curious.

The Chinese, as I have said, eat cats and dogs. They also eat snakes and vipers: the former for food, the latter for physic. The Chinese are very dexterous in catching these animals, and they will also play various tricks with them. It is no unusual thing to see a Chinaman put a viper in his mouth, and ask a bye-stander to pull it out by its tail. Here is a picture of a viper-seller; the board in his hand contains a list of his reptiles.

The engraving in the next page is the representation of a Chinese barber. He goes from house to house, carrying with him his instruments—a stool, a small furnace, water, razors, brushes. The barbers are also ready to shampoo a customer, if the state of his health require it. The mode of shampooing in China has been thus described:—“First,” said my informant, “the shampooer placed me in a large chair, and then began to beat me with both hands very fast, upon all parts of my body. He next stretched out my arms and legs, and gave them several sudden pulls; he then got my arm on his shoulder, and hauled me sideways a good way off the chair, giving my head at the same time a sudden switch or jerk, almost enough to pull my neck out of joint. Next he beat with the ends of his fingers very softly and very quickly, all over my body and legs, every now and then cracking my fingers. Then he stroked my ears, temples, and eye-lashes. After this he began to scrape, pick and syringe my ears, every now and then working with an instrument close to them. The next things were my eyes, into which several small instruments were thrust. He then proceeded to paring, scraping, and cleansing the nails of my fingers and toes, and then cutting my corns. For all this he only charged the sum of one penny.”

The Chinese are very fond of fishing, and although they are not so scientific in throwing a line as Albert Smith, still they manage to get the fish somehow—indeed fishing is very common in China. The waters of the rivers contain a great number of fish unknown to us, one of which is called the flour-fish, on account of its whiteness, and is very delicious eating. The hoang-zy, or yellow fish, sometimes grows to such a size, as to weigh 800 lbs.

When a Chinaman goes fishing he takes with him his nets and lines: but he has some other very ingenious methods of catching fish, especially by the employment of the fishing-cormorant; and when he goes out for a day’s sport, he usually takes with him ten or twelve of these birds, either in light boats, or on bamboo rafts. The cormorant is taught to pursue fish in the same manner as the falcon does game. The fishermen beat the water strongly with one of their oars, which serves as a signal to the birds, and they instantly plunge into the water, and swallow in as many fish as they can get; they then repair immediately to the boat, each conveying a large fish in the middle of its bill. To prevent the small fish from passing into the stomach of the bird, a ring is commonly put round its neck to confine its gullet, which is long and capable of great expansion. To make it disgorge the fish which it has swallowed, the fisherman holds the bird with its head downwards, and strokes its head with his hand. Some are so well trained as to have no occasion for the ring. They bring their prey honestly to their master, and when they have caught as much he wants, he allows them to fish for themselves.

The Chinese are equally as expert in catching birds as in catching fish. Their method of catching wild ducks is exceedingly curious and very amusing. The sportsman covers his head with the half of a large hollow gourd or dry calabash, in which he makes holes, to enable him to see and breathe; he then walks naked into the water, or swims about in such a manner that nothing is to be seen above the surface but the gourd, which is attached to his head. The ducks, which have been accustomed to the sight of the floating gourds, and to sport and dabble among them, approach without mistrust; the man then pulls them under water, breaks their necks to prevent their making a noise, and fastens them to his girdle.

Pedlars are common in China, and they travel without a licence. Here is a picture of one of them. His stock consists of pieces of stuff, ribands, purses, tobacco-pouches, and other small articles. He also deals occasionally in a little opium and tobacco. The latter is very dear in China, and the Chinese frequently mix with it opium, which produces a delicious kind of intoxication. There are thousands of professed opium-eaters in China, who ruin both mind and body by this destructive habit; and Mr. Welton, a surgeon and missionary, to whom the Chinese are greatly indebted for his services in this particular, describes the effect of opium as most frightful.

The importation of opium commenced in the seventeenth century, and since that time it has increased to an enormous extent. The chief officers of the province of Canton suffered the drug (though continually prohibited) to come into the country in large quantities, by paying a bribe for each chest, and in 1825 the importation rose to 10,000 chests every year, which increased till nearly 30,000 chests were disposed of annually.

I do not, however, wish to go into the opium question. I would rather afford my young friends some more pictures of China. The countrymen generally wear cloaks made of rice-straw. Their appearance is very nearly the same as that of the Chinese husbandman, two thousand years ago; for the fashions of China never change. The dress of the ladies is always unalterable. The sempstresses or dressmakers trudge about the streets, looking out for employment, until some one engages them. They carry in their baskets various articles belonging to their profession, and do not work as our poor creatures do, twenty out of the twenty-four hours in the season, to elaborate the dress of some duchess or countess, or that of Mrs. Beecher Stowe, the well-known advocate of freedom among the blacks.

The dress of the Chinese lady is very rich, and not ungraceful. She usually carries a pipe in one hand and a fan in the other, if the latter be not carried by a servant. The ladies have often their fans made so as not to close, whilst those of the gentlemen always close in the same manner as those of our ladies; but the most distinguishing mark of beauty among the Chinese ladies is their feet, which, to be handsome, must be especially small, and resemble in some degree that of the pettitoes of a little porker. The smallness of the foot is produced by placing, during infancy, the foot in tight shoes or bandages, so that it has no room to grow, what can have been the origin of this strange custom it is not easy to conceive, but it has been supposed to be one originating in a wish of the men, to keep the women from gadding abroad.

Among many “female varieties” there are a number of female Benzes in China, one of which is represented in the cut. They are a kind of Nun, who take vows for a certain period. There are two classes of them, one of which subjects themselves to stricter rules than the others. About the year 1787, one of these Nuns, like Miss Sqirrel in the wilds of Suffolk, set herself up for a goddess, and pretended to enlighten all the nations by supernatural doings. Thousands flocked to her, and becoming extremely rich, she erected a magnificent temple. The Emperor, however, a sly old fox, having suffered her to acquire as much wealth as he thought proper, at last ordered her to be executed, and confiscated her wealth to his own coffers. In a future chapter I shall afford my young friends some further particulars concerning the Chinese.

A Mysterious Adventure.

One of the most curious Old Castles I was ever at, was that of Baden. The word “Baden” is German, and signifies “bathing,” and it is here that much bathing takes place. The city is situated in a charming vale, about two leagues from the river Rhine.

The Castle is one of the “lions” of those parts; it is situated on a rock, and affords from all sides the most splendid prospect. The road to it is well cut, and made as easy as the nature of the ground will permit; but it was a full hour before Keet (who is one of the best and most courageous of companions) and I reached the place where the wide-spread ruin stands. The rock on which it is placed is many hundred feet above the level of the Rhine; and, being almost in the shape of a sugar-loaf, the panorama is perfect.

Keet said his prayers, which he generally does on any painful ascent, and with the pathos of an old Greenwich Pensioner, blessed the steps, the brambles, and the hard stumps that annoyed him. He also performed sundry pious ejaculations to the tyrannical lords of the ancient domain, wishing them in the “abodes of bliss,” with a fervor and pathos truly marvellous. At last, we were shown, amid ruins, a low-browed, dark, shaggy, doleful, savage, ugly-looking archway, at which Keet curled the hair of his upper lip, as did Don Quixote when about to attack the Fulling Mills; while I, like Sancho, stood by, opening the sandwich-box, and the little bottle of very weak liquor, called water, which Keet eyed with great jealousy. We had a fierce-looking man as a guide, with a great black beard, clod-hopping shoes, a long pole with a spike in it—and he had lost his nose, one eye, and all his front teeth! When we came to this ugly-looking gateway, our guide, whom Keet called “Ferocio,” knocked with his spike-stick at the thick walls of the building, and cried out in mournful accents,—“This is the great gigantic gateway of the powerful, puissant, and portentious Castle of Baden; where men were strangled, women were pressed to death, and children were _done for_ in a most sanguinary, blood-thirsty, and barbarous manner. Behold,” said he, in continuation, “the frowning granite that seems to yawn upon you with the sleep of seven centuries. Within these blocks of stone, was the famous ever-to-be-remembered, and never-to-be-forgotten secret tribunal; below it are the secret chambers, the secret prisons, the secret dungeons, and the secret horrors of this unsatisfactory pile of buildings; but, come my friendships, we will go to the within port, and there you shall see all the horrors of the dungeons as it appears by the light of the flambeau. You would like to see the dungeons!—_Gents?_”

To this appellation we gave the most profound of bows, as much like the obeisances of a “gent” of any of the seven drapers’ establishments as we could assume. “Now, gents!” said the guide, “elevate the lids of your desiring eyes, and follow me.” We did so, till we came to a low portal gate, hedged round with ruins—dark, damp, and nauseous. “Stand here, gents,” said the guide, with a fierce aspect and a menacing tone; “stand here and contemplate, while I fetches the key.” After keeping us waiting for a short time, he returned, holding in his hand a gigantic key, which, having brandished with a mysterious air for some seconds, he put into the lock—the old door grated on its hinges, and at last stood open. He then looked at us sternly, and with the accents of Hamlet’s Ghost, said in a hollow voice, “Follow me!”

Keet pulled out his “cheese-toaster,” and having deliberately sharpened it on the stone door-posts, and brandished it as “Ferocio” did the key, he gave me an expressive leer, and we followed. When we got into the door-way, we perceived the passage to be very dark, but we followed—took a turning to the right and then to the left, but all was dark as “Erebus,” and we began to feel comical. Keet called out to the guide, “I say, old fellow, I hope you are not going too far in this darkness visible.” “Nouagh!” said the guide, with a grunt that echoed through the place, “I av’ a flare-up in my pack!” With that he turned round, and rubbing a lucifer on the wall, and pulling a flambeau from his pocket, lighted it, and we proceeded.

We first came to another door, little and sturdy, and grim;—this he kicked open with his foot. We then descended some stone steps; we then went up a few steps, then down again, then round a corner, and then through a niche, till having passed a third door-way without a door, we came to a large vaulted room, lighted by heavy-barred windows from above. “This,” said the guide, “is the place in which the women were confined in time of war, lest they should unman the soldiers by their frightments. Here they were all shut up like ‘cats in a barn,’ and, it is said, that sometimes they fought to desperation. These here marks on the wall are said to be occasioned by their mutual recriminations, and the _lex talions_, as von gent called Alberto Smytheti say.”

The whole of this part of the structure is of Roman workmanship, but the dungeons to which they lead are evidently of German construction; and were, no doubt, appendages to the original pile; and designed for the exercise of some of the delightful eccentricities of German Margraves or Margravines, which Keet called “little amiabilities of temper and prejudice.” We now reached a low vaulted room, and our guide, with great coolness, took from his German small clothes, two thick candles, which having lighted, we were told to carry them. “Gents,” said he, “look to your heads against the walls, your feet against the floors, and your elbows against the angles, don’t step into holes, and say your prayers when you see a cross upon the stones, for that place once belonged to——one who shall be nameless.”

Our guide now unbolted a small door, and descending two or three steps, we entered a narrow passage which we could just squeeze through, and this terminated in a square, vaulted room. The aspect of the passage, and still more the dismal horror of the vault, which Keet said, “smelt of bye-gone silent systems,” removed all fears that I should not find dungeons terrible enough. It was quite impossible that stone walls can convey a feeling of more hopeless desolation. From this square room branched one more opening; but the utter darkness, the earthy smell, the coldness, the damp, the sullen mystery of the intricate windings it comprehended were such, that we now made, what Keet called, an “awful pause.”

Our guide, however, was not so timid. He said, courageously, “Come allons, gents. If you die here, you will not want a burying,” and he led the way, with a “mind your head here,” and “mind your feet there.” We were, after many tortuous windings, stopped by a door of stone, a foot thick, hewn in one piece out of the granite rock. This door stood ajar, and our “Ferocio” opened it with his thick stick, which he used as a lever. We squeezed past it—Keet gave it one of his pious addresses, and made the sign of the cross. “This is the little Bijou,” said the guide, “a nice little gem of a prison.” It was a small, vaulted stone room, utterly dark, damp, cold, and horribly mouldy to the nose and lungs—and deadly to the body and soul. We shuddered—Keet looked savage, and clenched his “cheese-toaster” with revenge in his looks, as if he would have summoned up the Ghost of the villainous Old Baron—who could form such dungeons—back again to earth, to have a stab at him.

“This is the next,” said the guide, as he passed through another massive door of rock, and another dismal vault. “This is the third,” said he, and passed into another. “This is the fourth,” said he, and took out his brandy bottle—“and this is the fifth,” hurrying us along, and taking sup after sup from the aforesaid brandy bottle—“and this is the eighth, ninth, and tenth.” There were, indeed, ten such horrible dungeons; some of them hewn out of the solid rock, as well as the passages which led to them, and others are constructed of immense blocks of stone.

After passing through several passages, we reached a chamber of lesser dimensions, the aspect and atmosphere of which might have chilled a lion’s heart. Our guide paused as he passed the threshold, took another dose, of course, from his brandy bottle, and said:—“This is the ‘Zammination Chamber.’” Many massive iron rings fastened into the walls of this room, gave indications, sufficiently intelligible, of the mode in which the questionings were wont to be carried on there.

One of the openings that led from this frightful room terminated in a wall, along which another passage rose at right angles. Exactly at the corner at which the turn was made, the footing of solid earth or rock that we had hitherto trod, was changed for a flooring of planks; which, if not quite loose, were yet so placed as to leave considerable space between them. He suffered us to pass over them, and when we had entered the door-way that stood at right angles, he stopped saying—“Here, this is the _Oubliette_,” and pointed as he spoke to the planks we had passed.

“And what is the _Oubliette_?” “It means _Maurecement_!” said the guide, “a sort of ‘_eternal without a bottom_.’ When a foreigner was sentenced to be forgotten, he was made to pass from the judgment-hall through this door, these planks then sunk beneath him, he was _universitied_ as he fell to the bottom, and was heard of no more.” I shall tell you more of the horrors of this place in another chapter.

A few Words about the Egyptians,

ANCIENT AND MODERN.

In many respects Egypt is one of the most interesting countries on the face of the earth. It was the cradle of infant science—and the first seat of regular government; and if we go back into the darkness of bye-gone ages, we shall find in Egypt the first dawn of social intelligence. The land of the Pharoahs was an old country in the infant age of Greece. The earliest writers of Europe describe its grandeur as having already reached its consummation, and even as beginning to pass away. In the days of Homer, the capital of the Thebaid, with its hundred gates, and its vast population, was a subject of wonder, and what that poet relates of it, as illustrated by the recondite criticism of a Mitford, would scarcely be believed, were it not that the remains which, even after a lapse of three thousand years, continue to resist the injuries of the atmosphere and of barbarism, bear evidence to a still greater magnificence than is recorded in the pages of the Odyssey. Keet, the antiquarian and traveller, whose Asiatic researches do him so much honor, spent a considerable time in Egypt under the patronage of Ali Pacha, and made it his business to search into the past and present state of that wonderful people. Rich in the intelligence of modern science, he bears testimony to the improving capabilities of the modern Egyptians. In examining the monuments of that ancient people, he formed conclusions as to their former manners and customs, by no means uninteresting. He discourses to us of the “Dead, and of their Burial.” “In ancient times,” he tells us that, “a talent of silver, four-hundred-and-fifty pounds, was often employed in a funeral. The relations of the deceased” says he, “announced to the judges that a ‘dead’ is about to pass the canal, and of the place to which he belonged. Two-and-forty judges are then collected and arranged on a semicircular bench, which is situated on the bank of the canal, the boat is prepared, and the pilot, who is called by the Egyptians, ‘Charon,’ is ready at his post. But before the body is put into the boat, the authorities assemble, and one, who is called the _accuser_, or _sateen_, brings forward against the deceased all his crimes. The judges deliberate—an advocate replies to the accuser—if the accuser makes out his case against the advocate, the deceased is denied honourable interment, and may be cast into Tophet to be consumed; but if his conduct has been good, he is ferried over the lake, and his soul is supposed to enter the realms of eternal bliss, prepared for the righteous from all eternity.”

The Egyptians had many curious manners and customs. Unlike the other Oriental nations, the Egyptians, like the English, since the times of Shakspeare, Sir Philip Sydney, Raleigh, and other beard-wearers, did not wear beards. They were the only people that practised shaving from remote antiquity, and they held it as the _sign of civilization_, as it was also considered by the Normans. We invariably find the captives from barbarous tribes depicted with rough beards and shaggy locks, as if no more striking marks could be given of their inferiority to the highly cultivated nation which was subjected to the sway of the Pharoahs. In the engraving, we behold two captive Jews, with an Egyptian warrior before and an Egyptian attendant behind. The Jews have their beards, the Egyptians have not; and in the engraving following, we have two warriors, each leading two captives: the warriors have the bow-and-arrow—the bow being not a stick bent in a rounded form, but a piece of wood bent at a very wide angle. The captives are bound and bearded, and their costume consists of a long cloak, which falls nearly to the ancles, leaving their front dresses exposed, while that of the Egyptians are like petticoats.

Leaving beards for awhile, we may remark upon the law processes of the Egyptians. In civil suits, the number of judges—or, rather, the jury—was thirty; and it is worthy of notice, that their president wore a breast-plate adorned with jewels, upon which the word _Truth_ appeared strongly emblazoned. The eight books of the laws were spread open in court; the pleadings of the advocates were in writing, in order that the feelings of the judges might not be improperly biased by the eloquence of the orator. The president delivered the sentence of his colleagues by touching the successful party with the mysterious symbol of truth and justice, which adorned his person.

In their battles, the Egyptians were very ferocious, and after they were over, exercised many barbarities, by the immolation of their prisoners. An admirable representation of a battle-field is found on the walls of the great Temple of Medinet Habou. The South, and part of the East wall is covered with a battle scene, where the cruel punishment of the vanquished, by cutting off their hands and maiming their bodies, is performed in the presence of the Chief, who has seated himself in repose, on the back part of his chariot, to witness the execution of this horrid sentence. Heaps of amputated hands are counted over before him, and an equal number of scribes, with scrolls in their hands, are writing down the account: as many rows of prisoners stand behind, to undergo a similar mutilation in their turns. Their hands are bound behind their backs, or lashed over their heads, or thrust into eye-shaped manacles. Some of their heads are twisted completely round; and some of them are turned back to back, and their arms lashed together round the elbows, and thus they are marched up to punishment.

In ancient times, the Egyptian system, as now, was one of the most cruel tyranny. Large masses of men were ordered, at the will of a despot, to “labour, in the sweat of their brow,” to their death. The slavery of the lower orders gave birth to the Pyramids. What masses were employed, and how human life was wasted, is evinced by the manner in which Necho made his canal, connecting the Nile with the Red Sea. Things are now much the same in that country. Mehemet Ali, the Pacha of Egypt, obliged 150,000 men—chiefly Arabs from Upper Egypt—to work on his canal, connecting the Nile with the Sea at Alexandria; 20,000 of that number perished during the execution of the work. The construction of the railroad from Cairo to Alexandria is not, however, conducted on this wicked principle; and things are beginning to wear the appearance of humanity.

One of the great labours of the ancient Egyptians was brick-making. The bricks were made of the clay of the district, or mud of the Nile; and in the Egyptian monuments, we have many representations, not only of the manner in which brick-making was carried on, but also of the application of bricks in the construction of houses. When Moses commenced his mission, the Hebrews were chiefly occupied in making these large bricks, dried in the sun, and compacted with straw, such as may be seen in the Nimroud ruins. These bricks were often made use of in the upper parts of houses, and in process of time, the weather, and the heat of the sun, destroyed the more fragile part of a building, and buried the strong foundations of it beneath their ruins. In the engraving I have here introduced, the mode of making the brick is delineated; some of the brick-makers are cutting the clay—others are moulding it into parallelepipedom forms, and placing the bricks in a row for drying. In the drawing, the bricks appear to be one above another, but this appearance is given in consequence of the Egyptians using no perspective in their drawings. The mode of arranging them was in rows, flat upon the ground; they were then baked by the heat of the sun, and the long dry weather, which lasts for months in this part of the world.

In building their houses, the Egyptians arranged the bricks much after the same manner as we do at present, and had a kind bitumenous cement for mortar. In the engraving, copied from one of the Egyptian tombs, we have, first the taskmaster, sitting in the usual Egyptian custom, with a long rod or stick in his hand; below him is a slave, who has just brought some bricks to be used on the building; before him is another slave, with masses of cement or bitumen, and below this figure are others, building up a wall, or side of a house.

The Pyramids, of which I have so often spoken, are, above all things, the most wonderful of the Egyptian antiquities, and exhibit the science of early times graphically. Nor were their temples less majestic. That erected at Sais had in it a sanctuary, which consisted of a single stone. The carriage of this employed two thousand men for the whole period of three years. The length of this hallowed stone was twenty-one cubits, the width fourteen, and the height eight—and allowing the cubit to be one foot seven inches, you will have an idea of its diminsions. The practice of erecting monolithic (single stone) temples was very general in Egypt, some striking specimens having been preserved in various parts of the country. Pilgrimages and sacrifices were a part of the system of religion. The latter were employed for the expiation of sins. The worshipper placed his hand on the head of the victim, loaded it with imprecations, and its last gasp was the seal of his pardon. Till the reign of Amasis, even human victims were offered. Besides the heavenly bodies, some kinds of animals, also, were worshipped. These were not regarded as mere symbols, but adored as actual gods, like the Apis and Mnevis; this worship arose from the hieroglyphics of the Egyptians. In one of their places of worship, the painting below was found, which represents offerings, attended by priestesses, coming to the temple. And with this, I shall conclude my notes upon Egypt.

THE WILLOW TREE.

FROM MARY HOWITT’s “DIAL OF LOVE AT NOON-DAY.”

In a valley deep a little stream did run,
Dashing o’er the pebbles in the blithsome sun;
By the river’s edge the forget-me-not did grow,
And a weeping willow kissed the water’s flow.

The violet raised its head from under the willow-tree,
Whispering gentle words, as also did the bee,
Who came to gather honey from the lovely flowers
Of the valley meadow, till the cruel mowers
Came, each scythe in hand, to that valley deep,
And cut down the flowers. Weep, weep, oh weep!
Now no more the flowers fill with scent the air,
Now no more the skylark has a young brood there.

Lonely is the willow, by the water’s flow,
Weeping, ever weeping, to the stream below:—
Weeping, ever weeping, like a thing forlorn—
Mourning for the flowers that were cut down at morn.

The corn is ripe and golden, the autumn sun o’erhead,
But in that silent valley the willow-tree is dead.

The Regimental Goat.

Goats are the oddest creatures that can be imagined, and are as varied as to species as they are as to tricks. He is a sheepish looking animal, but nothing at all like the sheep in its habits. He can bear heat and cold, wind and storm—it is only very severe cold that kills him, as it did my poor “Billy,” in St. John’s Churchyard, seven years ago. The inconstancy of his disposition is marked by the irregularity of his actions. He walks, stops short, runs, leaps, approaches, retires, shows or conceals himself, or flies off, as if actuated by mere caprice, and without any other cause than what arises from an eccentricity of temper. Yet he is a very docile and attached beast. He can be made to draw a carriage, and patiently submits to labour. He will also bear a saddle, and in some mountain countries it is no uncommon thing to see little children mounted on goats, who ride with great ease, and sometimes with great speed. These goats are very fond of horses, and horses are very fond of them. I have often found our poor “Billy” standing on the back of “Bessie,” the mare, when the stable-door has been opened of a morning. They are, too, from their very nature, prone to climb: and master “Billy,” not always content with “Bessie’s” back as a mountain, on one occasion leaped from the wall of the dung-pit on to a higher wall, and from that to the tiles of the stable, and from there he soon mounted to the top of the roof; and after capering about there for some time, he, evidently pleased with the mountain-like elevation, bounded to the roof of another house, from that to a third, and so on from roof to roof, over half the houses in the town. It was difficult to know what to do—“Billy” would not come down till he liked. It was of no use to call “Billy, Billy,” and to hold up bunches of hay or Shrewsbury cakes—“Billy” only snorted at them; and every person over whose roof “Billy” pattered had a reverential fear for their tiles, and the outcry was loud to get him from them. One “savage bear” proposed to shoot him, a “cunning old fox” proposed to throw a lasso over him, but to no purpose. “Billy” was delighted with his elevated position, and felt as proud as if he had been called to the chair at a public dinner, and felt no desire to come down whatever. It so happened, however, that being Whit-Monday—Punch’s Holiday—the parish engines had to be called out for exercise, and the principal churchwarden of the place, the renowned Robert Balderdash, Esq., proposed that the water-spout should be brought to bear upon Billy. After some remonstrance on the part of Jemmy Barerib, the Secretary of the Teetotallers, at the unnecessary waste of water, the engine made play, and poor Billy was soused over head and ears, and nearly knocked over by the force of the water, whereupon he snorted and rose on his hind legs, and kicked and scampered homewards as fast as his legs would carry him.

It is not an uncommon thing to find goats attending an army on its march, and in some of those provinces which the Russian Emperor wishes to steal from the Turks, herds of goats follow in the rear of the Turkish troops. They are generally milch goats, and afford an agreeable supply of milk to the officers and others of the various regiments. One of our own regiments had a couple of goats attached to it; the last pair had been presented to it by Her Majesty the Queen, but one of these having died, the remaining one now does duty alone, as you see him in the picture.

Some goats have been taught very extraordinary tricks. They have been taught to climb a very high pole, by the aid of small pegs let into its sides, and then to balance themselves on its top. They have also been trained to take enormous leaps through blazing circles of fire: to dance to the sound of a tabor, and to do such wonderful things, that I am ashamed to relate them to you, for fear you would not believe me—therefore, let this be sufficient for a Chapter on Goats.

The Rain; or, the Child, the Fairy, and the Magic Bird.

A loving fairy watched over the slumbers of a beautiful child. The little maiden seemed to be dreaming uneasily, for she turned often in her sleep, then she rubbed a little ring on her finger, and then waving her arm upwards, she sang:—

“Rain, rain,
Go away.
Come again
Another day—
Little Johnny
Wants to play.”

“Mary! Mary! my pretty one!” said the kind fairy, “what is the matter? That magic ring, which I gave you,—you have been rubbing it for the last ten minutes,—what is it you want with me?”

“Did I rub the ring?” said Mary, starting up; “I did not know that:—but I do want you, dear fairy. You must know that I and my brother Johnny are invited to my auntie’s to-morrow, provided it be fine weather. It has been raining almost every day for the last week, and last night it looked very black, as if it would rain again. Now, dear fairy, grant me a favour?—Give me and Johnny a fine day for our visit to auntie’s.”

The fairy looked tenderly on the child, but yet grave. “Mary, my sweet, did I not tell you, when I gave you the magic ring, that you were not to summon me except when you wanted comfort, or advice, or help to strengthen your character? I said you were never to ask gifts of me, nor any change of _outward_ circumstances. However, it is well you have called me; for I have something to tell you. I am about to leave the Fairy realm for a short time, and during my absence I cannot answer the rubbing of the ring. But I will not leave you without some help. Until my return, I will lend you one of the birds that sing in the gardens of our Fairy-land.”

The fairy struck three times with her wand upon the floor, and a moment or two afterwards three or four little hands were lifted up, holding a golden bird-cage, with a beautiful canary in it.

“There, my child, cherish this little bird tenderly. Let the door of its cage be open all day, that it may wander about the garden where it will. It will not go away from you very far. Every night it will sleep in its cage.”

Mary looked on the little bird, and was greatly pleased. She put her lips to the golden wires, and the pretty little creature came and kissed them. She opened the door, and it flew upon her finger and sang, and with its pretty round eyes looked into hers, and played with its beak about her pretty mouth.

“Oh, fairy! dear fairy! a beautiful bird indeed! I will take great care of it, for I love it tenderly.”

“My child,” said the fairy, “I have lent you this beautiful creature for your good, not for your amusement merely. This little bird has the power of speaking to you when you need it. Listen attentively to his songs, and let the meaning and spirit of them sink deep into your heart.”

So saying, the fairy went away, and left Mary alone with the bird. For awhile the pleasure of looking at it quite filled her mind. Its beautiful plumage, its little round sparkling eye, its pretty, affectionate ways, its clear, sweet note, were always delightful and charming. After a time, however, she remembered the day’s pleasure that had been promised to her at her aunt’s, and she lifted up the blind of the window to look at the weather.