Another very singular example of these extraordinary appearances in the atmosphere, is given by Dr. Buchan. Walking on the cliff, about a mile east of Brighton, in the latter end of November, just as the sun was rising, he saw the face of the cliff on which he was standing represented precisely opposite to him, at some distance in the sea; and both he and his companion perceived their own figures standing on the summit of the apparent cliff, as well as the picture of a windmill near them. This phenomenon lasted about ten minutes, when it seemed to be elevated into the air, and to be gradually dissipated; and he remarks, that the surface of the sea was covered with a dense fog many yards in height, which slowly receded before the sun’s rays.
How frequently it happens, when the curiosity has been awakened by any new subject, that chance leads one to some circumstance in books, or conversation, that exactly applies to it! By mere accident, I opened Scoresby’s voyage at the following passage, which I have just time to transcribe.
After describing the amusing spectacle of some distant ships, which were either curiously distorted, or inverted in the air, by means of this wonderful kind of refraction, he says, “When looking through the telescope, the coasts of ice, or rock, had often the appearance of the remains of an ancient city, abounding with the ruins of castles, churches, and monuments, with other large and conspicuous buildings. The hills often appear to be surmounted with turrets, battlements, spires, and pinnacles, while others, subjected to another kind of refraction, seem to be large masses of rock, suspended in the air, at a considerable elevation above the actual terminations of the mountains to which they refer. The whole exhibition is a grand and majestic phantasmagoria; scarcely is the appearance of any object fully examined and determined, before it changes to something else; it is perhaps alternately a castle, a cathedral, or an obelisk,—and then expanding and coalescing with the adjoining mountains, it unites the intermediate vallies, though they may be miles in width, by a bridge of a single arch, of the most magnificent appearance.”
29th.—We have been visiting Franklin’s farm to-day, and have had a very pleasant walk, late as it is in the year. He is so diligent, that he has done a great deal to it since we were last there. Between it and the next land he has made a ditch, with a high firm fence of flat stones placed edgeways, in three rows, each row sloping a little, and all supported by a bank of earth behind them; between the two upper rows of stones, he has planted quick-thorns, and on the top of the bank a few young oak and elm trees. The deep ditch will serve to carry off the water from some drains that are to be made in a part of the ground which is wet and marshy. These drains are to be covered with earth; and something must be done to keep them from filling up. Some people line them with stone, but that is too expensive; and as he has just clipped some of his hedges, he intends, I believe, to put the branches of the thorn-bushes into the bottom of the drains, which will also prevent the sides from falling in.
Springs are formed in the bosom of the earth, my uncle says, by the rain water which sinks through the surface, and which, gently oozing, or percolating, as he calls it, through the sand or gravel, or through other porous strata, continues to descend till it is intercepted by some bed of clay or rock. No longer being able to descend, it follows the course of this impassable bed, and if thus conducted to the outside of the ground, lower down the hill, it forms then a spring. But if prevented by any obstacle from flowing freely out of the ground, it diffuses itself under the surface, and produces swamps and marshes. My uncle has been of great use to Franklin, not only by teaching him how to discover from the form of the ground where it is most likely to meet with and tap these concealed springs, but by laying out the drains for him with a levelling instrument, so that they should have sufficient fall into the main ditch, or into a little rivulet which skirts his farm. I could not have conceived that science might be made so useful even in common agriculture.
Franklin is also ploughing a field for wheat—and is going afterwards to plough up another field that looks all rough and ugly—but which is to be left unsown the whole winter; he intends to plough it two or three times, and then in Spring, after it has lain fallow in this way, he will sow it with barley. Another grand operation is the preparing a piece of ground for an orchard; my uncle has promised him some nice young fruit-trees for it; and Franklin, very prudently, brought over some American apple-trees, which he says are very productive.
The blind basket-maker sometimes walks to the farm with the assistance of Bessy’s arm; and it is impossible to see the happiness of the whole family without feeling the strongest interest in their welfare. She now looks quite blooming and healthy; and she is so industrious that besides her in-door occupations, she has persuaded her husband to give her an acre of ground for flax, with which she hopes to do a great deal. This will be a very uncommon crop in this country, but I am sure, from what my uncle says, that it will be very profitable.
30th., Sunday.—We had a conversation this morning on the character of Joseph, which my uncle thinks a fine example of all the Christian virtues. “If we follow him,” said my uncle, “from his youth to the height of his preferment, we see him, in every part of his life, virtuous and religious; patient and courageous under misfortune; modest and temperate in the greatest success. He suffered injustice from his master who imprisoned him, though he had been just and faithful; but under this great trial he had the comfort of knowing that he was innocent. He had the still greater comfort of confiding in the support of God, who, in his own good time, delivered him from prison, and permitted him to be raised to a high situation, where his integrity might be made manifest. Then, if we consider his generous forbearance towards his brethren, how highly does it raise our admiration of his truly amiable disposition! When they were in his power—in just resentment of their former cruelty, he thought it right to mortify and humble them—but no sooner did he see that they were penitent, than his anger ceased.—And when he discovered himself to them, with what kindness and magnanimity he endeavoured to make them less dissatisfied with their former conduct!
“‘Be not grieved nor angry with yourselves, that ye sold me hither; for God did send me before you to preserve life: to preserve you a posterity in the earth. So now it was not you that sent me hither, but God.’
“Can any thing be more touching,” added my uncle, “than his generous anxiety to make his brethren forgive themselves, by shewing the advantages that were ultimately produced by their conduct to him?”