We pass our time here in a delightful manner—there is such a nice mixture of amusement and useful employment. My cousins read a great deal, and have much real knowledge. Accomplishments are not neglected; but my aunt thinks that most people make them of too much importance, as they should be the ornament, not the object of our life. Mary says she considers the various things she learns, not as tasks, but as the means of enabling her to get through the business of life with pleasure and success; and that were she to call them lessons, she should feel as if they were to be laid aside with childhood.
That reminds me of what my uncle said just after I came here.—“At your age, Bertha, all you learn must be voluntarily acquired, not hammered into your head. Whether it be science, or history, or languages—whatever you learn, try to feel an interest in it; you will then apply with energy, and what is acquired in that way will always be liked. Music and drawing are valuable pleasures; but they are only pleasures: never forget that your mind is to be cultivated; and that if a part of each day be not employed on objects of a higher and more useful nature, you are only preparing yourself for a trifling, selfish life.”
I shall think of this advice every day, but I assure you, dear Mamma, that I will not neglect any of those things you used to encourage me to learn.
My cousins have no governess, and yet my aunt says, she has never found teaching them by any means laborious. She says, the chief part of education is to make children comprehend the difference between right and wrong—to teach them self-command—and to give them a love for rational occupation; and then they do not require to be watched. You would be surprised to see how much they accomplish in the course of the day; and yet they always seem at liberty; every thing is done methodically. Besides their regular employments, many things are done privately without any show; such as visiting the poor—and attending a school for poor children, which my aunt has established. It is in a small white cottage, about five minutes walk from the shrubbery. My aunt, or my cousins, visit it frequently—and I go there sometimes. I forgot to tell you in the right place, that I sing every day. We are all three, just now, learning the glee of “Hark the Lark,” that we may sing it on my uncle’s birth-day. Caroline takes the tenor—she has a very good voice.
Sept. 1.—Last night, my uncle read a paragraph to us, from Ker Porter’s travels, as a curious instance of the permanence of customs, in countries where the indolence of the inhabitants and a despotic government are continual obstacles to improvement.
“The Tigris is navigable for vessels of twenty tons burthen, only sixty miles above Bagdad; but there is also a kind of float called a kelek, having been in very ancient use, which carries both passengers and merchandise, from Mosoul to Bagdad. Its construction is singular; consisting of a raft in the form of a parallelogram. The trunks of two large trees, crossing each other, are the foundation of its platform, which is composed of branches of osier. To this light bottom are attached several sheepskins, filled with air, and so arranged, that they can be replenished at will. The whole is wattled and bound together with wicker work; and a raised parapet of the same secures the passengers. It is moved by two large oars, one on each side, and a third acts as the rudder.
“When these machines reach their place of destination, and the cargo is disposed of, all the materials are sold, except the skins, which, being previously exhausted of air, are laid on the backs of camels, and return to Mosoul with their masters.
“But the kelek is not the only vessel on these rivers, which may be traced to antiquity. The kufa, so named from an Arabic word that means basket, is still used there as a ferry-boat. Its fabric is of close willow work, and a good coat of bitumen completely secures it from sinking. Perfectly circular, it resembles a large bowl on the surface of the stream; it holds about three or four persons, though not very agreeably; and is paddled across with ease.
“Herodotus,” my uncle added, “exactly describes these boats; he notices their circular form, the three oars, and their construction of willows and skins, and he mentions, that on their arrival in Babylon, the owners sold all the materials, except the skins, which were returned to Armenia by land. And it is a very curious testimony to the truth of that historian, that after the lapse of twenty-two centuries, we find the same customs and the same implements that he described, still in use.”
“But is it not more extraordinary, uncle,” said I, “that the people of those countries have not adopted boats like ours, which would convey themselves and the rich merchandise of the east, so much more securely?”