17.] OF THE Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY. THE CAPE BUFFALO-BOS CAFFER, [JULY 7, 1832. 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*, 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 The Boors and Hottentots describe the buffalo to be, rough pastime, was related to me by a Dutch-African what his aspect strongly indicates, an animal of a fierce, farmer, who had been an eye-witness of the scene some treacherous, and cruel disposition. Even when not fifteen years before. A party of Boors had gone out to provoked by wounds or driven to extremity in the chase, hunt a troop of buffaloes, which were grazing in a they say he will attack, with the utmost ferocity, his great piece of marshy ground, interspersed with groves of enemy man, if he happens to intrude incautiously upon yellow wood and mimosa trees, on the very spot where his haunts; and what renders him the more dangerous the village of Somerset is now built. As they could not is his habit of skulking in the jungle, when he observes conveniently get within shot of the game without travellers approaching, and then suddenly rushing out crossing part of the valei or marsh, which did not afford upon them. It has been remarked, too, (and this ob- a safe passage for horses, they agreed to leave their servation has been corroborated by the Swedish traveller steeds in charge of their Hottentot servants and to Sparrman,) that if he succeeds in killing a man by goring advance on foot, thinking that if any of the buffaloes and tossing him with his formidable horns, he will should turn upon them, it would be easy to escape by stand over his victim afterwards for a long time, tram-retreating across the quagmire, which, though passable pling 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 ven VOL. I for man, would not support the weight of a heavy T 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. P. 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. 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." 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 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 pass-out, and immediately the pricking pain in the ends of ing 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 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."" 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 roundtopped 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. THE WEAVER'S SONG. [From English Songs, and other Poems, by Barry Cornwall'] The shuttle athwart the loom, And show us how brightly your flowers grow, The violet, deep as your true love's eyes, Sing,-sing, brothers! weave and sing! Let grace in each gliding thread be hid? ye Let your skein be long, and your silk be fine, And time nor chance shall your work untwine; But toil is the lot of men: One gathers the fruit, one gathers the flowers, There is not a creature, from England's King, 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. 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. 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. WESTMINSTER ABBEY. THIS magnificent and venerable pile, the second architectural glory of our metropolis, is, like St. Paul's, the last of several successive structures which have occupied the same spot. The ground on which Westminster Abbey stands was anciently part of a small island, called Thorney Island, or the Isle of Thorns, formed by a branch of the Thames. This branch, leaving the main course of the river near the end of Abingdon Street, ran in a westerly direction along the line of the present College Street, and the south side of Dean's Yard. It then turned northwardly, skirting the western side of Dean's Yard, and, crossing Tothill Street, continued its course along Prince's Street (then Long Ditch). From thence it ran in an eastern direction along Gardener's Lane, crossing King Street, Parliament Street, and Cannon Row (formerly Channel Row), and rejoined the river near the southern termination of Privy Gardens. The hollow bed of this water-course is still mostly preserved, forming part of the sewers; and in the twelfth century, and probably for a long time afterwards, the open stream was crossed by a bridge at the place where it passed through King Street. Originally, as was indeed the case with the borders of the Thames along nearly the whole of its course to the sea, the ground beyond this hollow was probably to a considerable distance a mere marsh. There is reason to conclude that this was the case almost as far as the present Chelsea Water-Works in one direction, and to the north side of St. James's Park in another. The island itself may be supposed to have been nearly in the same state. It is said to have derived its name of Thorney from the quantity of thorns with which it was covered. As our old legends have placed a temple of Diana on the site of the present Cathedral of St. Paul's, so they have conceived it necessary to maintain the equal honour of the Abbey Church by making it the successor of a temple to Apollo; of the existence of which, however, no traces ever have been found. Thorney Island, nevertheless, is generally considered to have had its Christian church as early as its rival in sanctity, the mount on which St. Paul's is bui't The account which has been commonly received is, that Sebert, King of Essex, having been baptized about the year 605, immediately afterwards, to give proof of the sincerity of his conversion, built a church here and dedicated it to St. Peter. It is certain that Sebert was in old times universally regarded as the original founder of the Abbey ; no better evidence of which can be desired than the care which is known to have been taken on more than one occasion to preserve his remains and those of his queen Ethelgotha on the repair or reconstruction of the build. ing, and to re-deposit them in the most honourable place within it. Some writers, however, have contended that this church could not really have had any existence till more than a century after the time of Sebert. According to other accounts, again, Sebert was not only the founder of Westminster Abbey, but also of St. Paul's Cathedral. So imperfect, obscure, and perplexing, are the notices that have come down to us of those times. A fable of no ordinary audacity was invented by the monks in regard to the first consecration of this Abbey. It was pretended that the ceremony had been actually performed by St. Peter in person. We need not repeat the circumstantial details of the story; suffice it to mention, that towards the middle of the thirteenth century the brethren of the monastery actually sued the minister of Rotherhithe for the tithe of the salmon caught in his parish, on the plea, as Fleta informs us, that St. Peter had given them this right at the time when he consecrated their church. After the death of Sebert, his subjects relapsed into paganism, and the church fell into decay. It was restored by the celebrated Offa, King of Mercia, but was again almost entirely destroyed in the course of the Danish invasions. King Edgar, instigated by St. Dunstan, in the year 969, once more repaired the establishment, and endowed it both with lands and privileges. But it was Edward the Confessor who, nearly a century after this, first raised it to the consequence which it has ever since maintained. This monarch, having fixed upon the Abbey for his burial-place, resolved to rebuild it from the foundation, and spared no cost in his endeavour to render the structure the most magnificent that had ever been erected in his dominions. He devoted to the work, we are told, "a tenth part of his entire substance, as well in gold, silver, and cattle, as in all his other possessions." It was completed in the year 1065, and the 28th of December, the day of the Holy Innocents, was appointed for its dedication. The King, however, was seized on Christmas-day with the illness which proved fatal on the 4th or 5th of January following; and he was not, therefore, present at the ceremony. On the 12th of January his body was interred with great pomp before the high altar; and the Abbey has since received the remains of many of his royal successors. Here also, on Christmas-day the year following, was performed the coronation of William the Conqueror; and in the same place has been crowned (with the single exception, we believe, of Edward V.) every prince who has reigned in England during the nearly eight centuries that have since elapsed. The structure raised by the Confessor (which was built in the form of a cross, and is supposed to have been the first English church built in that form) remained without receiving any repairs or additions till the reign of Henry III. That king, finding the eastern portion of the edifice much wasted by time, took it down, and began to rebuild it in a style of still greater magnificence than before. Edward I. and succeeding monarchs continued the work which had been thus commenced; but, owing probably in great part to the distracted state of the kingdom, it proceeded so slowly that it was still incomplete when Henry VII. came to the throne, towards the close of the fifteenth century. Henry added the chapel dedicated to the Virgin, which is commonly known by his name, and which, admirably restored as it has recently been, may challenge competition, not certainly in magnitude or grandeur, but in elegance and richness of ornament, and in what we may almost call gem-like beauty and perfection, with any specimen of architecture which the world has elsewhere to show. The principal repairs or alterations that have been made since the time of Henry VII., are those executed by Sir Christopher Wren, under whose superintendence the western towers, which had been till then of unequal heights, were raised to the same elevation, and the whole building was strengthened and renovated. These, it must be confessed, are not in the best taste. Sir Christopher, who despised Gothic architecture, was not the most fit person to be employed in restoring such a structure. The following wood-cut is a view of the Abbey, from St. James's Park, before the alterations of Wren. It is copied from a very rare print. the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow; when I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the bitter competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together." PERSEVERANCE.-King Robert Bruce, the restorer of the enemy, lay at night in a barn belonging to a loyal cottager. Scottish monarchy, being out one day reconnoitring the straw, he beheld a spider climbing up a beam of the roof. In the morning, still reclining his head on the pillow of The insect fell to the ground, but immediately made a second essay to ascend. This attracted the notice of the hero, who, with regret, saw the spider fall a second time from the same eminence. It made a third unsuccessful attempt. Not without a mixture of concern and curiosity, the monarch twelve times beheld the insect baffled in its aim; but the thirteenth essay was crowned with success: it gained the summit of the barn; when the King starting from his couch, exclaimed, "This despicable insect has taught me perseverance: I will follow its example. Have I not been twelve times defeated by the enemy's force? on one fight more hangs the independence of my country." In a few days his anticipations were fully realized by the glorious result to Scotland of the battle of Bannockburn. [Westm.nster Abbey and Hall.] It is impossible for us, within our narrow limits, to attempt either an enumeration of the various curiosities and objects of interest which this Abbey contains, or even any description of the form and architectural character of the building. What is properly the church is in the form of a cross; but its eastern end is surrounded by chapels, varying both in their shape and dimensions. Of these there were formerly fourteen; there are still twelve; and although that called Henry VII.'s stands out from the rest in richness and beauty, several of the others also display considerable luxury of decoration. Here, as probably all our readers are aware, is preserved the famous stone which was brought from Scone in Scotland, by Edward I. in 1296, and upon which our kings have since been crowned. But the principal attraction of Westminster Abbey to the generality of its visitors, arises from the numerous tombs which it contains, some of which are monumental erections of great splendour. Here, all around us, and under our feet, are the mouldering remains of kings, queens, nobles, statesmen, warriors, orators, poets-of those who have been most illustrious during the successive centuries of our history, for rank, power, beauty, or genius. This is surely a field of graves that cannot be trodden by any without emotion, or without many of those thoughts that make us both wiser and better. "I know," says Addison, in a paper on this subject, "that entertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark and dismal thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations; but, for my own part, though I am always serious, I do not know what it is to be melancholy; and can therefore take a view of nature in her deep and solemn scenes, with the same pleasure as in her most gay and delightful ones. By this means I can improve myself with those objects which others consider with terror. When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tomb of [John Hunter.j JULY 14.-On this day, in the year 1728, was born at Kilbride, in the county of Lanark, Scotland, the celebrated John Hunter, one of the greatest anatomists of modern times. The early life of this remarkable man formed a strange introduction to the scientific eminence to which he eventually attained. His father having died when he was about ten years old, he seems scarcely, after this, to have received any further school education; but was allowed to spend his time as he liked, till at last he was bound apprentice to a cabinet-maker in Glasgow, whom one of his sisters had married. After some time, however, this person failed-an event which was probably regarded at the moment as a severe family misfortune; but it turned out a blessing in disguise. Hunter's brother, William, who was ten years older than himself, had, after overcoming the difficulties arising from the expenses of a medical education at the University of Edinburgh, shortly before this settled in London, and was already fast bringing himself into notice, To him John applied when he found himself |