“I now recollected the description I had long ago read of the Fata Morgana, and I was satisfied that this was no vision of my fancy, but the reflection of real scenery upon some peculiar vapour which only appears at that early hour of the morning.”
2nd.—I spent a great part of this morning in examining the ingenious leaf-nests of some little caterpillars, which Mary says are the larvæ of the tinea moths. She explained to me their construction. The caterpillar fixes a number of fine silken cords from one edge to the other of the leaf, and by pulling at them with its many strong feet, the sides are gradually forced to approach each other till they meet, when it fastens them together with short threads. Sometimes the large nerves of the leaf are too strong to yield to these efforts, and the clever little creature immediately weakens them by gnawing them half through, in different places. I could distinctly perceive those places in several of the leaves which we opened. Some species cut out a long triangular portion from the edge of the leaf, and form it into a conical roll, like a paper of comfits: in one spot, however, they let it remain attached to the leaf, by way of a base; and then, by fastening little cords to the point of the cone, it is actually pulled upright on the remainder of the leaf, where it stands like a tent. But there are other tineæ which shew still more dexterity in constructing their habitations. Some of them we found on the under sides of the leaves of the rose-tree, apple, elm, and oak; and Mary made me observe how nicely they form an oblong cavity in the interior of the leaf, by eating the pulpy substance between the two membranes composing its upper and under sides. The detached pieces are then joined with silk, so as to make a case or horn, which is cylindrical in the middle, with an orifice at each end, the one being circular and the other triangular; and the seam is so artfully made, as to be scarcely perceptible even with a glass. Were this case all circular, it would be more simple, but the different shape of the two ends renders it necessary that each side should be cut into a different curve.
But I should fill my whole journal, were I to tell you all the beautiful contrivances of these insects, and the instinct, or, I might say, the reason which appears in all their contrivances.
3rd.—My uncle mentioned yesterday, that in returning a few years ago from Berwick upon Tweed, he was much surprised, as night came on, at seeing two immense fires near Newcastle. Upon inquiring, he found that they were the small coal which does not readily sell, and is therefore separated by screens from the larger blocks. Prodigious heaps are thus formed at the mouths of the pits; and from the decomposition of the pyrites, they take fire, and continue to burn for years. One of these huge mounds was but a few miles from the road; it was said to cover twelve acres of ground, and to have been burning for eight years.
As all that small coal might be made use of to produce coal gas, he says the legislature should interfere to prevent such a shameful waste, for not less than one hundred thousand chaldrons are thus annually destroyed on the banks of the River Tyne; and nearly the same quantity on the Wear. Beneath these burning heaps, he found a bed of blackish scoria, which resembles basalt, and which is used for mending the roads.
To the west of Dudley, in the great Staffordshire coal district, my uncle says that some of the collieries took fire spontaneously many years ago. The subterraneous conflagration spread to a great extent, and produced some singular effects; smoke and steam were seen to rise from the earth, the vegetation appeared to be hastened by the heat, and even the ponds were warm. What was still more remarkable, where the ignited part of the coal came near the surface, the argillaceous strata (or potter’s-clay) covering it have been converted, by the intense heat, into a species of porcelain jasper, which is sometimes beautifully striped; this last circumstance being caused by the various degrees of oxidation of the iron that is contained in the clay.
4th, Sunday.—This morning—perhaps the last Sunday that we shall spend at Fernhurst for many months—my uncle finished explaining to us the three dispensations; and it made the more impression on me, as I fear that, on our journey, we shall not have any of those regular Sunday conversations, which have been so instructing and satisfactory.
“The object of the Christian Dispensation,” said he, “was to ratify the promises of redemption and of eternal life, through the merits of a divine mediator. What the former dispensations announced as to come, this concluding dispensation has exhibited in actual accomplishment. The long-expected Redeemer has been manifested; he has made the promised atonement for the sins of mankind; he has shewn himself as the mediator of the new covenant, and the doubts of ages have vanished before the light of the Gospel.”
I ventured to interrupt my uncle, to ask why it is called the new covenant, as if it was of a different nature from the two former ones.
“It is so styled,” he answered, “not as being new in its nature, or different from those which preceded it; but merely as being new, or last, in order, and therefore superseding all others. The typical sacrifices of the two former were, you know, the symbols of the real victim who consummated the Christian covenant. In each of them provision was made for the reconciliation of fallen man; and the object of each being the same, the terms were the same: Jehovah graciously promising on his part to accept the meritorious death of the Messiah, as a full acquittal and satisfaction of all sin; but, on the two-fold condition, of faith, and of obedience on our part.