In the library, I was frequently interrupted in drawing or reading, by morning visiters—but into this charming retired room no visiters are admitted, and we shall seldom be disturbed. My aunt has given me just such a nice little table as each of my cousins has: the top serves as a desk for reading, or writing, or drawing, and can be raised to any slope, as it is joined by hinges at one side; while on the other side there is a light frame, which supports the book or drawing I am copying; and which, when not wanted, folds in under the top. It has places for pens, ink, and knife, and two drawers, besides many other conveniences. Indeed, I must be happy in this room, where a variety of useful and agreeable things, and much gaiety too, are always to be found.
I wish, Mamma, you could know your nieces. There is a nice mixture of gaiety and steadiness in both. Mary would be almost perfect, if she were not too timid. Caroline is the handsomest; she has such a fresh, bright complexion, and such pretty waving ringlets; yet she never seems to think of herself or her beauty. She is very active and very useful; always punctual, and ever ready to oblige and assist others, to walk out or stay at home with them—to search for a book, or to hunt out a passage in it—to converse or to remain silent. Yet she contrives to have time for all her own employments, and to lay up stores of knowledge, which are always ready when called for. Her temper is so mild, and her feelings are so much under her own controul, that one does not at first see exactly how much she enters into those of other people; but every day, her character has opened more and more to my observation.
Grace is a dear, little, animated creature—very obedient in general, very intelligent, and my uncle’s play-fellow, but never spoiled. What a pity you cannot see all these children of a brother you love so much. My aunt often expresses her anxiety for your return; she says, that if my uncle and she had their dear sister within reach of them, their family happiness would be complete.
I told you before, I believe, that my uncle, and my aunt too, though she does not say much, are not pleased, if we are not punctual—and must I confess it?—yes, I must acknowledge, that several mornings I have been rather late for breakfast; my uncle has been very patient however, and says he will make allowance a little while for the indolent habits I have acquired by living in a warm climate, and with “too indulgent a mother.”
So good night; I have been writing when I ought to have been in bed.
25th.—There was a good deal of conversation about salt and salt mines to-day. My uncle asked me, if there were many such salt marshes in Brazil as abound in North America, and of which cattle are so fond. I forgot at first, and said very foolishly, that I could not tell—I was in a silly fit, till at last I recollected myself, and told him I had heard that there were some, though they are obliged to import a great deal of salt. What an extraordinary appearance a salt plain must have, where the salt is open and uncovered! When we went up stairs, Mary showed me Mr. Salt’s description of one in Abyssinia.
He says, that some of his party and Mr. Coffin “stopped at the edge of an extensive salt plain to refresh themselves, under the shade of a group of acacias, near some wells of fresh water. At this place they were provided by the natives with a sort of sandal, for walking on the salt, made of the leaves of a dwarf palm.
“The plain lies perfectly flat, and is said to be four days’ journey in length. The first half mile was very slippery, and the feet sank at every step into the mud. After this, the surface became strongly crusted, resembling, in appearance, a rough coat of ice, covered with snow.
“On the Assa Durwa side of the plain, a number of Abyssinians were engaged in cutting out the salt, which they accomplished by means of a small adze. The salt lies in horizontal strata, so that when the edges are once divided, it separates without any great difficulty: that which is immediately under the surface is exceedingly hard, white, and pure; but as the workmen advance deeper, it becomes of a coarser quality, and much softer. In some places it continues tolerably pure to the depth of three feet, below which it becomes mixed with the soil, and consequently unfit for use.
“This salt plain, from which the whole of Abyssinia is supplied, is infested by a cruel race, who make it a practice to lie in wait for the individuals engaged in cutting it. These poor fellows, in the absence of their guards, lie down flat on the surface, when working, that they may escape the observation of their barbarous enemies, and on the approach of a stranger, they run in alarm to the mountains.”