EXCURSION FROM EDINBURGH TO DUBLIN.
BY AN AMERICAN.
Glasgow, Friday, April 11, 1817.
At the hour of dinner we went to 'North wood-side,' a delightful country residence about two miles from Glasgow, the property of an opulent merchant. It is situated upon the Kelvin, a tributary stream of the Clyde, and together with its grounds, exhibits striking evidences of the elegant but costly taste of its proprietor. The gentleman has been in America, and was not a little attached to its form of government,—a partiality which naturally extended itself to the individuals concerned in its administration; and, accordingly we were gratified with beholding the portraits of several of our most distinguished countrymen adorning the walls of his apartments. The afternoon passed highly to our satisfaction; and we would gladly have accepted an invitation, which was given with a sincerity which could not be mistaken, to protract our visit beyond the day, but for engagements which required our return to Glasgow. After coffee we left North Wood-side, and reached the city in season to sup at the Rev. Dr. Chalmers'.
It had been my good fortune to meet and become partially acquainted with this extraordinary man in Edinburgh. He has politely invited me to visit him in Glasgow, and this morning I called at his house, and passed half an hour with him. I found him then much engaged in completing some preparations for a journey to London which he is to commence on Monday. He desired my company at supper in the evening, and extended the invitation to my companion. We found a few friends at his house, among whom were several ladies. Mrs. C. possesses a pleasing person, and engaging manners, and performed the honours of the table with great propriety. Dr. C. had finished the necessary arrangements for his journey, and entered freely into an animated and instructive conversation. His colloquial powers are of a high order. Even in familiar conversation, he is impressive and striking;—although he seems not to be ambitious of display or the distinction of taking a lead.—He is at home on most of the popular topics of the day. In discussing any of interest, he engages 'totus in illis.' His thoughts in that case are rapid, and his remarks,—assuming the complexion of his fervid mind,—abound in glowing but easy illustrations. He spoke very feelingly upon the subject of the English poor laws, and the alarming increase of mendicity in Scotland. As in instance of the unnatural state of things in Glasgow itself, he referred to the sum of 14,000l. sterling, which in less than a month had been raised by subscription in this single city, for the relief of the poorer classes. To the honour, however, of the wealthy population of Glasgow, it should be added, that the moneys thus contributed, have been more than enough, with other private benefactions, to supply the present need; and the surplus has been funded to meet some future, and I hope, very distant exigency.
Conversation at table turned upon that dark and malignant spirit of infidelity, which under various forms, seems insidiously stealing like a pestilence throughout society. Dr. C's. remarks upon this subject were very eloquent, both in commenting upon the different masks which it assumes, and the coverts wherein it lurks, and in suggesting some seemingly effectual checks to the prevalence of this tremendous evil. The inquiries of Dr. C. relative to America, as well now as during a former interview, indicated no small degree of attention which he has paid to its civil and religious institutions. He spoke in terms of great commendation of the writings of the late Jonathan Edwards, and pronounced them to be among the ablest in English theology. In metaphysics he considers Edwards to have equalled the deepest thinkers of his age.
The supper at Dr. C's. was liberally and tastfully provided. Immediately after its removal, and before the wine was placed upon the table, the service of evening devotion was introduced. It was simple but engaging; consisting of a portion of scripture, which was read with great solemnity, and a prayer, during which all the company kneeled, as is usual to family devotions throughout this country. The servants were present. It was nearly twelve o'clock when we took leave of Dr. C. A very friendly request which he made that I would visit him hereafter in Glasgow, I fear that I shall never have it in my power to comply with.
Glasgow, 14th April.—Yesterday I had the satisfaction to hear Dr. Chalmers preach once more. It was generally understood that it would be the last time that he would officiate in Glasgow for two or three months, and the crowds which assembled to hear him were very great. He was absent from his own pulpit, by exchange, in the morning, which did not prevent, however many from following him to the church where he preached. The Tron, in the afternoon, was overflowing some time before the hour of service, and the rush of people to the doors was as great as I have seen at Covent Garden, when John Kemble was to play. I repaired early to the church with some ladies, and we were fortunate in procuring excellent seats. Dr. C. fully equalled my expectations, although I have heard him in Edinburgh produce a superior effect. The eloquence of this great man is very vehement and impassioned. The effect which he produces in preaching, does not consist in approaching his point by any artful and covert process of reasoning and illustration, but by openly marching up and confronting it with unhesitating and manly intrepidity. Whatever faults may be detected in Dr. C's. style by the cool eye of fastidious criticism,—from the profusion of his ornaments, the overstraining of his metaphors, the redundancy of his expression,—perhaps there is no person living who, when once seen and heard, would be pronounced more free from the petty or laboured artifices which are generally employed to recommend and enforce instruction. So regardless is he of the factitious aids of composition, that his style may often be considered negligent, and sometimes even coarse. This again may be regarded by hyper-critics as a species of affectation; a contrary, and, I believe, a juster inference may be drawn from the fact. Dr. C. unconsciously overlooks, while he is thought studiously to disdain, the more common trappings and gilding of composition. In preaching, he seems wholly absorbed in his sublime occupation, and to be irresistibly borne along by the grandeur of his theme. As a man, he appears to sink under a prostrating sense of his own personal nothingness, but as a herald of the Christian faith, he rises to the majesty of more than mortal elevation. In discussing the great truths of Revelation, his imagination kindles; and strange it would be if it did not. The fire which is elicited is the natural effect of the rapid motion of his thoughts, combined with the fervour of his ardent piety. His single services yesterday were enough to prove him the first preacher of his age. In each of his discourses there are some parts which are particularly impassioned, and at such moments he hurries onward as with the excitement of inspiration, and produces an effect which Whitefield could not have surpassed. At these times, too, the listening audience may be seen bending forward, as if with breathless interest, to catch each word as it falls from his lips; and, on his arriving at the conclusion of the particular train of sentiment, again arousing as from the spell of a dream to the reality of conscious existence. This is not fancy, or if it be, it is one which I am not singular in possessing. Dr. C. at least produces the effect of awakening susceptibilities in the most obdurate bosoms. I was present one evening when he was preaching in lady Glenorchy's chapel, in Edinburgh, and occupied a seat next to Spurzheim, the celebrated craniologist. I noticed that he was deeply engaged by the preacher. On his finishing, I inquired what he thought of him? "It is too much, too much," said he, passing his hand across his forehead, "my brain is on a fever by what I have been hearing," a striking declaration from a cold and phlegmatic German.
Dr. C. seems to act and feel as one, who, possessed of great intellectual endowments, is conscious that he owes them all to the service of religion. His aim apparently is, to "bring every thought into captivity to the truth of Christ," and to "cast down each lofty imagination," at the foot of the cross. To add to the weight of his discourses, he is accustomed to call into requisition the abounding stores of his various knowledge. In delivering his sermons he usually commences in a low, but always a distinct tone of voice; and proceeds for some time with a calm and uniform utterance. As his subject is developed, his mind and feelings gradually expand, and his voice is insensibly raised. His manner at first is not prepossessing; nor indeed is his voice to an English ear, as it has much of the Fifeshire accent. The hearer, however, soon loses whatever is disagreeable in each; and even forgets the man while listening to the message of the preacher. Dr. C. appears turned of thirty-eight, in his person he is tall, and rather slender; his hair and complexion incline to dark; his eye is a blue tending to gray, and is distinguished at first only by a certain heaviness in its expression. It beams however in conversation, and flashes in public discourse.
Some facts in the history of this extraordinary man are peculiar. For the first few years of his ministry he was settled in Kilmany, an inconsiderable parish in the county of Fife. While there, he was generally accounted a man of talents, but rather indifferent to the duties of his profession, fond of social and gay company, proud of his intellectual powers no less so of his acquirements, and careless of the construction which the more serious part of the community might put upon his principles and sentiments. If I am correctly informed, he occasionly gave lectures in natural philosophy at the university of St. Andrews, and was considered as belonging to the moderate party in the kirk. Dr. Brewster applied to him to write the article Christianity, in his Encyclopedia; and it is said, that the train of thought into which his investigation led him, terminated in convictions which had the effect of changing his whole course of life and sentiments; and from that moment, entering into the ranks of orthodoxy, he became an eminent and powerful champion of the faith. His essay has since been published in a separate form, and entitled the "Evidences of Christianity." Shortly after this remarkable change, his reputation rose with astonishing rapidity; his zeal in the service of religion became inextinguishable; and if the excellence of a preacher is to be estimated by his popularity, Dr. C. is decidedly the first in Great Britain. He was transferred to Glasgow two or three years ago. His parish is very large, consisting, as he told me, of nearly ten thousand souls. So great a number imposes duties upon him peculiarly heavy: nor does his constitution seem capable of sustaining his fatigues. In delivering his discourses from the pulpit, which generally occupy an hour, it is usual with him to stop about midway, and read a hymn of six or eight verses, to be sung by the audience, while an opportunity is given him to recover from the partial exhaustion occasioned by this vehement oratory. The people in Edinburgh are desirous of erecting a church for him, and requesting him to settle among them; but an obstacle is found in the jealousy of the inhabitants of Glasgow, who look with no small uneasiness upon every thing which tends to aggrandize the reputation of Edinburgh.
THE NATURAL HISTORY OF ANTS.[1]
Natural history is perhaps the most amusing of studies, though not so useful as botany or chemistry. It is curious to observe, however, on the score of utility, that the more minute parts of creation are of infinitely greater importance than the superior creatures in the scale of animal life. A knowledge of entomology is calculated to elicit more for the benefit of man, than an acquaintance with the habits of the larger brutes: the bee, the silk-worm, the cochineal insect, the Spanish fly, &c. &c. are far more essential to our purposes than the lion, the elephant, the rhinoceros, or the bear; even the sheep and the cow, only compete with these insects, as clothiers and victuallers; and the horse is merely physical force, subjected to the direction of the higher animal, man.
If we consider further, how very limited our research has yet been into the micrographick world, we may, without being thought too speculative, lose ourselves in the idea of the immensity of stores that remain to be discovered in the merest particles of animated nature: there is nothing too much to be imagined on the subject. But our business is rather to disclose the remarkable circumstances ascertained by the ingenious M. Huber, than to indulge in theorising; and we therefore proceed to his History of Ants, which we have found so entertaining, that we have no doubt it will furnish more than one interesting paper for our work.
The first chapter treats of the architecture of ants. The various habits of these wonderful insects are amply described; and were we not assured by ocular examination, of the truth of many of the particulars, we could hardly extend our belief to the prodigies related by the author: but we have witnessed so much that we can credit all. To return to the architecture; we find that their habitations, their cities, are not the least curious of their performances. Mr. Huber details the formation of a domicile by the fallow ants, and adds—
"Our little insects, now in safety in their nest, retire gradually to the interior before the last passages are closed, one or two only remain without, or concealed behind the doors on guard, whilst the rest either take their repose, or engage in different occupations in the most perfect security.
"I was impatient to know what took place in the morning upon these ant-hills, and therefore visited them at an early hour. I found them in the same state in which I had left them the preceding evening. A few ants were wandering about on the surface of the nest, some others issued from time to time from under the margin of the little roofs formed at the entrance of the galleries: others afterwards came forth who began removing the wooden bars that blockaded the entrance, in which they readily succeeded. This labour occupied them several hours. The passages were at length free, and the materials with which they had been closed scattered here and there over the ant-hill.
"Every day, morning and evening, during the fine weather, I was a witness to similar proceedings. On days of rain, the doors of all the ant-hills remain closed. When the sky is cloudy in the morning, or rain is indicated, the ants who seem to be aware of it, open but in part their several avenues, and immediately close them when the rain commences. It would appear from this they are not insensible of the motive for which they form these temporary closures.
"To have an idea how the straw or stubble roof is formed, let us take a view of the ant-hill at its origin, when it is simply a cavity in the earth. Some of its future inhabitants are seen wandering about in search of materials fit for the exterior work, with which, though rather irregularly, they cover up the entrance; whilst others are employed in mixing the earth, thrown up in hollowing the interior, with fragments of wood and leaves, which are every moment brought in by their fellow-assistants; and this gives a certain consistence to the edifice, which increases in size daily. Our little architects leave here and there cavities, where they intend constructing the galleries which are to lead to the exterior; and as they remove in the morning the barriers placed at the entrance of their nest the preceding evening, the passages are kept entire during the whole time of its construction. We soon observe it to become convex; but we should be greatly deceived did we consider it solid. This roof is destined to include many apartments or stories. Having observed the motions of these little masons through a pane of glass which I adjusted against one of their habitations, I am enabled to speak with some degree of certainty upon the manner in which they are constructed."
"I never found, even after long and violent rains, the interior of the nest wetted to more than a quarter of an inch from the surface, provided it had not been previously out of repair, or deserted by its inhabitants."
"The ants are extremely well sheltered in their chambers, the largest of which is placed nearly in the centre of the building; it is much loftier than the rest, and traversed only by the beams that support the ceiling: it is in this spot that all the galleries terminate, and this forms, for the most part, their usual residence."
"Those ants who lay the foundation of a wall, a chamber, or gallery, from working separately, occasion now and then a want of coincidence in the parts of the same or different objects. Such examples are of no unfrequent occurrence, but they by no means embarrass them. What follows proves that the workman on discovering his error, knew how to rectify it.
"A wall had been erected with the view of sustaining a vaulted ceiling, still incomplete, that had been projected from the wall of the opposite chamber. The workman who began constructing it, had given it too little elevation to meet the opposite partition upon which it was to rest. Had it been continued on the original plan, it must infallibly have met the wall at about one-half of its height, and this it was necessary to avoid. This state of things very forcibly claimed my attention; when one of the ants, arriving at the place, and visited the works, appeared to be struck by the difficulty which presented itself; but this it as soon obviated, by taking down the ceiling and raising the wall upon which it reposed. It then, in my presence, constructed a new ceiling with the fragments of the former one.
"When the ants commence any undertaking, one would suppose that they worked after some preconceived idea, which indeed would seem verified by the execution. Thus, should any ant discover upon the nest, two stalks of plants, which lie cross-ways, a disposition favourable to the construction of a lodge; or some little beams that may be useful in forming its angles and sides, it examines the several parts with attention, then distributes with much sagacity and address parcels of earth, in the spaces, and along the stems, taking from every quarter materials adapted to its object, sometimes not caring to destroy the work that others had commenced; so much are its motions regulated by the idea it has conceived, and upon which it acts, with little attention to all else around it. It goes and returns, until the plan is sufficiently understood by its companions."
"From these observations, and a thousand similar, I am convinced that each ant acts independently of its companions. The first who conceives a plan of easy execution, immediately gives the sketch of it: others have only to continue what this has begun, judging, from an inspection of the first labours, in what they ought to engage. They can all lay down plans, and continue to polish or retouch their work as occasion requires. The water furnishes the cement they require, and the sun and air hardens the materials of which their edifice is composed. They have no other chisel than their teeth, no other compass than their antennæ, and no other trowel than their fore-feet, of which they make use in an admirable manner, to affix and consolidate the moistened earth."
We have thus some idea of that masonry which erects the abodes familiar to every eye, though the execution may not be familiar to many minds. The second chapter contains an account of the eggs, larvæ pupæs; and here other marvels are unfolded. In the ants nest are males whose sole business is to perpetuate the species and die; females who are waited upon like peeresses in their own right, who neither toil nor spin, but are served by neutrals, labourers, who tend their innumerable eggs, nourish and unfold the larvæ, and in short, do all the duties of mothers, nurses, and menials. The author devised means to observe their internal economy; and he says—
"Let us now open the shutter which conceals from us the interior of the ant hill, and let us see what is passing there.
"Here the pupæ are heaped up by hundreds in their spacious lodges; there the larvæ are collected together, and guarded by workers. In one place, we observe an assemblage of eggs, in another place, some of the workers seem occupied in following an ant of larger size than the rest;—this is the mother, or at least one of the females, for there are always several in each ant-hill:—she lays as she walks, and the guardians, by whom she is surrounded, take up her eggs, or seize them at the very moment of her laying them; they collect them together, and carry them in little heaps in their mouths.[2] On looking a little closer, we find that they turn them continually with their tongues; it even appears, they pass them one after the other between their teeth, and thus keep them constantly moistened. Such is the first apercu which my glazed aparatus offered.
"Having directed my close attention to these eggs, I remarked they were of different sizes, shades and forms. The smallest were white, opake, and cylindrical; the largest, transparent, and slightly arched at both ends; those of a middle were semi-transparent. In holding them up to the light, I observed a sort of white oblong cloud; in some, a transparent point might be remarked at the superior extremity; in others, a clear zone above and underneath the little cloud. The largest presented a single opake and whitish point in their interior. There were some whose whole body was so remarkably clear as to allow of my observing very distinctly the rings. In fixing my attention more closely upon the latter, I observed the egg open, and the larva appear in its place."
"I have been enabled to observe through the glasses of my artificial ant-hill, the great care taken of these little worms, which bear also the name of Larvæ. They were generally guarded by a body of ants, who, raised upon their feet, with their abdomen brought between these members, were prepared to cast their venom upon all intruders, whilst here and there, other workers were engaged in clearing the passages, by removing the materials which were out of place: a great number of their companions taking at the same time their repose, and appearing to be fast asleep: but a busy scene occurred at the moment of transporting their little ones to enjoy the warmth of the sun. When the sun's rays fell upon the exterior portion of the nest, the ants, who were then on the surface, descended with great rapidity to the bottom of the ant-hill, struck with their antennæ the other ants, ran one after the other, and jostled their companions, who mounted at the moment under the bell glass, and redescended with the same speed, putting in their turn the whole colony in motion, so that we could observe a swarm of workers, filling up all the passages; but what proved still more their intention by these movements, was, the violence with which the workers sometimes seized, with their mandibles, those who did not appear to understand them, dragging them forth to the top of the ant-hill, and immediately leaving them, to go and seek those still remaining with the young.
"As soon as the ants had intimation of the appearance of the sun, they occupied themselves with the larvæ and pupæ; they carried them with all expedition above the ant-hill, where they left them exposed to the influence of the heat. Their ardour suffered no relaxation; the female larvæ (which are heavier, and much larger than those of the other cast) were carried passages, leading from the interior to the exterior of the ant-hill, and placed in the sun, by the side of those of the workers and males. After remaining there a quarter of an hour, the ants again took them up, and sheltered them from the direct rays of the sun, by placing them in chambers, situated under a layer of straw, which did not entirely intercept the heat.
The workers, after having fulfilled the duties imposed upon them in regard to the larvæ, did not forget themselves; they sought, in their turn, to stretch themselves in the sun, lay upon each other in heaps, and seemed to enjoy some repose, but it was of no long duration. I observed a great number constantly employed on the surface of the ant-hill, and others engaged in carrying back the larvæ, in proportion as the sun declined. The moment of nourishing them being at length arrived, each ant approached a larva, and offered it food. "The larvæ of ants," observes M. Latreille, "resemble, when they quit the egg, little white worms destitute of feet, thick short, and in form almost conical; their body is composed of twelve rings: the anterior part is slender and curved. We remark at the head two little horny pieces or hooks, too distant from each other to be regarded as true teeth; under these hooks we observe four little points or cils, two on each side, and a mamelon, or tubercular process, almost cylindrical, soft, and retractile, by which the larva receives its food."