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now probably reduced to the fiftieth part of what it once was, it follows, that the human race, instead of having suffered a considerable diminution since the time of the Romans, is, on the contrary, more numerous and more generally diffused. This superiority in the numbers and the arts of the human species, while it suffices to conquer the Lion, serves also to enervate and to discourage him; for he is brave only in proportion to the success of his former encounters. Accustomed to measure his strength with every animal he meets, the habit of conquering renders him intrepid and terrible. Having never experienced the dangerous arts and combinations of man, these animals have no apprehensions from his power. They boldly face him, and seem to brave the force of his arms. They are not daunted even with the opposition of numbers: a single Lion of the desert often attacks an entire caravan; and,
after an obstinate combat, when he finds himself overpow
ered, instead of flying, he continues to combat, retreating, and still facing the enemy, till he dies. On the contrary, the Lions which inhabit the peopled countries of Morocco, or India, having become acquainted with man, and experienced the superiority of his arms, have lost all their courage, so as to be scared away with a shout; and seldom attack any but the unresisting flocks or herds, which even women and children are sufficient to protect. “His force and muscular power he manifests outwardly by his prodigious leaps and bounds; by the strong and quick agitation of his tail, which alone is sufficient to throw a man on the ground; by the facility with which he moves the skin of his face, and particularly that of his forehead, which adds greatly to his physiognomy, or rather to the expression of fury in his countenance; and lastly, by the
facility he has of shaking his mane, which is not only bristled up, but moved and agitated on all sides when he is enraged.
“The largest Lions are about eight or nine feetin length, from the snout to the insertion of the tail, which is of itself four feet long; and these large Lions are about four or five feet in height. Those of the small size are about five feet and a half in length, and three and a half in height. In all her dimensions, the Lioness is about onefourth less than the Lion.
“The Lion is furnished with a mane, which becomes longer in proportion as he advances in age. The Lioness, however, is without this appendage at every age. The American animal, which the natives of Peru call Puma, and to which the Europeans have given the denomination of Lion, has no mane: it is also much smaller, weaker, and more cowardly than the real Lion. In truth it is more than doubtful whether these animals are at all of the same species.
* Both the ancients and the moderns allow that the Lion when newly born is in size hardly superior to a weazel; in other words, that he is not more than six or seven inches long: and if so, some years at least must necessarily elapse before he can increase to eight or nine feet. They likewise mention, that he is not in a condition to walk till two months after he is brought forth; but, without giving entire credit to these assertions, we may with great appearance of truth conclude that the Lion, from the largeness of his size, must be at least three or four years in growing, and that, consequently, he must live seven times three or four years, that is, about twenty-five years.
[To be continued.]
herself to death. Another cause, which will presently be noticed, doubtless contributed to instil into the mind of Mr Elwes that saving principle by which he was so eminently distinguished. At an early period of life he was sent to Westminster school, where he remained ten or twelve years and became a good classical scholar; yet it is not a little extraordinary that at no future period of his life was he ever seen with a book, nor did he leave behind him at all his different houses two pounds worth of literary furniture. Of accounts, he had no knowledge whatever, and this may perhaps have been, in part, the cause of his total ignorance of his own concerns. From Westminster school he removed to Geneva, to complete his education, and after an absence of two or three years, returned to England. At this time, his uncle, Sir Harvey Elwes, resided at Stoke, in Suffolk, the most perfect picture of penury that o ever existed. To this gentleman he was introuced, and as he was to be his heir, it was of course policy to endeavour to please him. A little disguise was now sometimes necessary even in Mr. Elwes, who, as he mingled with the gay world, dressed like other people. This however would not have gained him the favour of Sir Harvey: his hopeful nephew used, therefore, when he visited him, to stop at a little inn at Chelmsford, where he dressed in a manner more likely to ensure his uncle's approbation. He made his appearance at Stoke in a pair of small iron buckles, darned worsted stockings, an old wornout coat, and tattered waistcoat, and was contemplated with a miserable satisfaction by Sir Harvey, who was delighted to see his heir bidding fair to rival him in the accumulation of useless wealth. There they would sit with a single stick on the fire and indulge occasionally with one glass of wine between them, while they inveighed against the extravagance of the times; and when night approached, they retired to bed because they thus saved the expense of candle-light. The nephew, however, had then what he never lost, a very keen appetite, and this in the opinion of his uncle would have been an unpardonable of. fence. He therefore first partook of a dinner with some country neighbour, and then returned to his uncle with a little diminutive appetite, which quite charmed the old gentleman. Sir Harvey died at the age of between eighty and ninety, leaving his name and his whole .*. amounting to at least two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, to his neE. who at the time possessed a fortune very little inerior. For many years, Mr Elwes was known in all the fashionable circles of the metropolis. His numerous acquaintance and large fortune conspired to introduce him into every society; he was admitted a member of a club at Arthur's and various other clubs at that period. His passion for play was only exceeded by his avarice, and it was not till late in life that he was cured of the inclination. Few men, according to his own acknowledgment, had played deeper and with more various success. He once played two days and a night without intermission, and the room being small, the party, one of whom was the late Duke of Northumberland, were nearly up to their knees in cards. At this sitting, Mr. Elwes lost some thousands. No one will be supposed to deny that avarice is a base ion. It will therefore be the more difficult to conceive ow a mind organized like that of Mr. Elwes, could be swayed by principles of such peculiar honour and delicacy as often influenced his conduct; the theory which he professed, that it was impossible to ask a gentleman for money, he adhered to in practice, and this feeling he never violated to the last. Had he received all he won, he would have been richer by many thousands, for many sums owing him by persons of very high rank were never liquidated. Nor was this the only pleasing trait in the character of Mr. Elwes ; his manners were so gentlemanly, so mild, and so engaging, that rudeness could not ruffle them, nor strong ingratitude oblige him to cease the observance of his usual attentions. After sitting up a whole night at play, for thousands, with the most fashionable and profligate men of the time,
surrounded with splendour and profusion, he would wałk out about four in the morning, not towards home, but to Smithfield, to meet his own cattle which were coming to market from Theydon Hall, a mansion he possessed in Essex. There forgetting the scenes he had just left, he would stand in the cold or rain squabbling with a carcass butcher for a shilling. Sometimes, if the beasts had not arrived, he would-walk on in the mire to meet them ; and more than once he has gone on foot the whole way to his farm, which was seventeen miles from London, without stopping, after sitting up the whole night. The principal residence of Mr. Elwes at this period of his life, was at his his own seat at Marcham in Berkshire. Here he had two sons born by Elizabeth Moren, his housekeeper; and these natural children at his death inherited by will, the greatest part of his immense property. He, however, paid frequent visits to his uncle Sir Harvey, and used to attend him in his favourite amusement of partridgesetting. He always travelled on horseback, and to see him preparing for a journey was a matter truly curious. His first care was to put two or three eggs, boiled hard, into his great-coat pocket, together with a few scraps of bread; then mounting one of his hunters, his next care was to get out of London into that road where there were the fewest turnpikes. Stopping on these occasions under any hedge where grass presented itself for his horse and water for himself, he would sit down and refresh himself and his beast together. On the death of his uncle, Mr. Elwes went to reside at Stoke, in Suffolk. Bad as was the mansion-house he found there, he left one still worse behind him at Marcham, of which his nephew, the late Colonel Timms, used to relate the following anecdote:—A few days after he went thither, a great quantity of rain falling in the night, he had not been long in bed before he found himself wet through, and found that the rain was dropping from the ceiling on the bed. He rose and moved the bed; but he had not lain long before he found that he was just as much exposed as before. After making a tour of the room with his bed, he retired into a corner where the ceiling was better secured, and there he slept till morning. At breakfast, he told Elwes what had happened. “Aye, aye,” said the old man seriously, “I don't mind it myself; but to those that do, that's a nice corner in the rain.” On his removal into Suffolk, Mr. Elwes first began to keep fox-hounds, and his stable of hunters was at that time considered the best in the kingdom. This was the only instance of his ever sacrificing money to pleasure; but even here, every thing was managed in the most frugal manner. His huntsman led by no means an idle life: he rose at four every morning, and after milking the cows prepared breakfast for his master and any friends he might happen to have with him ; then, slipping on a great coat, he hurried into the stable, saddled the horses, got the hounds out of the kennel, and away they went into the field. After the fatigues of hunting, he refreshed himself by rubbing down two or three horses as quickly as possible; then running into the house, he would lay the cloth and wait at dinner. This business being despatched, he again hurried into the stable to feed the horses, and the evening was diversified with an interlude with the cows again to milk, the dogs to feed, and eight horses to litter down for the night. It may perhaps appear extraordinary, that this man should live in his place some years, though his master used often to call him an idle dog, and say the rascal wanted to be paid for doing nothing. Thus the whole fox-hunting establishment of Mr. Elwes, huntsman, dogs, and horses, did not cost him three hundred pounds a year. In the summer, the dogs always passed their lives with the different tenants, where they had more meat and less work, and were collected together a few days before the season began. W. he kept hounds, which was for a period of nearly fourteen years, Mr. Elwes resided almost entirely at Stoke, in Suffolk. He sometimes made excursions to Newmarket, but never engaged on the turf. A kindness which he performed on one of these occasions, ought not to pass unnoticed. Lord Abingdon, who was slightly known to him, in Berkshire, had made a match for 7000l. which it was supposed he would be obliged to forfeit, from inability to produce the sum, though the odds were greatly in his favour. Unasked, and unsolicited, Mr. Elwes made him an offer of the money, which he accepted, and won his engagement.
On the day when this match had to take place, a clergyman agreed to accompany Mr. Elwes, to see the issue of it. They went on horseback; and as they were to set off at seven in the morning, the gentleman took no refreshment, imagining that they were to breakfast at Newmarket. About eleven they reached that place, where Mr. Elwes was occupied in enquiries and conversation till twelve, when the match was decided in favor of Lord Abingdon. His companion now expected they should move off to the town to take some breakfast, but Elwes still continued to ride about. The hour of four at length arrived, at which time the gentleman became so impatient that he mentioned something of the keen air of Newmarket Heath, and the comforts of a good dinner. “Very true,” said old Elwes, “Very true. So here, do as I do,” at the same time offering him from his great-coat pocket a piece of an old crushed pancake, which he said he had brought from his house at Marcham two months before, but that it was as good as new. It was nine in the evening before they reached home, when the gentlemen was so fatigued, that he could think of no refreshment but rest; and Elwes, who in the morning had risked seven thousand pounds, went to bed happy in the reflection that he had saved three shilli
"; had brought with him his two sons out of Berkshire, to his seat at Stoke, and if he ever manifested a fondness for any thing it was for those boys. But he would lavish no money on their education, often declaring, that “putting things into people's heads, was taking money out of their pockets.” That he was not, however, overburthened with natural affection, the following anecdote appears to prove. One day he had sent his eldest boy up a ladder, to get some grapes for the table, when, the ladder slipping, he sell down and hurt his side against the end of it. The boy took the precaution to go up the villiage to the barber and get bleeded. On his return, being asked where he had been, and what was the matter with his arm, he informed his father that he had got bled.—“Bled? bled !” cried the old gentleman; “but what did you give!” “A shilling,” answered the boy. “Pshaw "returned the father, you are a blockhead; never part with your blood!” From the parsimonious manner in which he lived, and the two large fortunes, of which he was possessed, riches rolled in upon him like a torrent; but as he knew scarcely anything of accounts, and never reduced his affairs to writing, he was obliged in the disposal of his money, to trust much to memory, and still more to the suggestions - of others. Every person who had a want or a scheme, with an apparently high interest, adventurer or honest, it signified not, was prey to him. He caught at every bait, and to this cause must be ascribed visions of distant property in America, phantoms of annuities on lives that could never pay, and bureaus filled with bonds of promising peers and senators. In this manner Mr. Elwes lost at least one hundred and fifty thousand pounds. Thus there was a reflux of some portion of that wealth which he was denying himself every comfort to amass. All earthly enjoyments he voluntarily renounced. When in London, he would walk home in the rain rather than pay a shilling for a coach, and would sit in wet clothes rather than have a fire to dry them. He would eat his o in the last stage of putrefaction, rather than ave a fresh joint from the butcher; at one time he wore a wig above a fortnight, which he picked out of a rut in a lane, and which had been apparently thrown away by some beggar. . The day on which he first appeared in this ornament, he had torn an old brown coat which he generally wore, and had therefore been obliged to have recourse to the old chest of Sir Jervaise, (his uncle's father,) from which he selected a full-dress green velvet coat, with sash sleeves; and there he sat at dinner, in boots, the
•bove mentioned green velvet, his own white hair appear
Henry G. Woodhull, Wheatland,
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[From Good's Book of Nature.]
ol, NATURAL or INARTICULATE, AND ARTIFICIAL or ARTICULATE
The same theory might be exemplified from many of the terms significative of the most common animals. Our English word cow is of this description, and may serve as a familiar example; gouah, in Hebrew, imports a herd (as of oxen;) the very same word in Greek, means a yoke of oxen; in both which cases the word is used in a collective sense. In Sanscrit, gava imports, as among ourselves, a single animal of the kind, or or cow; in Persian, and ancient Persian or Palavi, it is gow; in German, kuh ; and among the Hottentots, as an example of a savage tongue, koos koose; while among the New-Zealanders, who have no cows, eu imports paps or breasts, the organ of milk. . Mouse is in like manner musheh in Hebrew, literally “a groper in the dark ;” in Sanscrit, mushica; in Persian and Palavi, mush; in Greek, avo, without the aspirate; in German, mous; in English, mouse; in Spanish, musgano; all, as I have already observed, confederating in proof that the various languages and dialects of languages that now are or ever have been spoken, have originated from one common source; and that the various nations that now exist, or have existed, have originated from one common cradle or quarter of the world, and that quarter an eastern region. Finally, and before I close this argument, and deduce from it its fair and legitimate result, let me pointedly call your attention to that most extraordinary act of correspondence between all nations whatever, in all quarters of the globe, wherever any trace of the art exists, which is to be found in their employment of a decimal gradation of arithmetic ; an argument which, though I do not know that it has ever been advanced before, is, I freely confess to you, omnipotent of itself to my own mind. Let me, however, repeat the limitation, wherever any trace of this art is found to erist; for in the miserable state to which some savage tribes are reduced, without property to value, treasures to count over, or a multiplicity of ideas to enumerate; where the desires are few and sordid, and the fragments of language that remain are limited to the narrow train of every day idea occurrences, it is possible that there may be some hordes who have lost the art entirely; as we are told by Crantz is the case with the wretched natives of Greenland, and by the Abbe Chappe with some families among the Kamtschatkadales; while there are other barbarian tribes, and especially among those of America,” who cannot mount higher in the scale of numeration than five, ten, or a hundred; and for all beyond this point to the hair of their head, as a sign that the sum is innumerable. But, putting by these abject and degenerated specimens of our own species who have lost the general knowledge of their forefathers, whence comes it to pass, that blacks and whites in every other quarter, the savage and the civilized, wherever a human community has been found,
have never either stopped short of nor exceeded a series of
ten in their numerical calculations; and that as soon as they have reached this number, they have uniformly commenced a series with the first unit in the scale, one-ten,
• Robertson, vol. ii. b. iv. 91
two-ten, three-ten, four-ten, till they have reached the end of the seoond series; and have then commenced a third, with the next unit in rotation; and so on, as far as they have had occasion to compute? Why have not some nations broken off at the number five, and others proceeded to fifteen before they have commenced a .. series 4 Or why have the generality of them had any thing more than one single and infinitesimal series, and consequently, a new name and a new number for every ascending unit! Such a universality cannot possibly have resulted except from a like universality of cause ; and we have, in this single instance alone, a proof, equal to mathematical demonstration, that the different languages into which it enters, and of which it forms so prominent a feature, must assuredly have originated, not from accident, at different times and in different places, but from direct determination and design, at the same time and in the same place; that it must be the result of one grand, comprehensive, and original system. We have already proved, however, that such system could not be of human invention; and what, then, remains for us but to confess peremptorily, and ea: necessitate rei, as the fair conclusion of the general argument, that it must have been of divine and supernatnral communication 1
It may be observed, I well know, and I am prepared to admit the fact, that the examples of verbal concordance in languages radically distinct, and not mere dialects of the same language, are, after all, but few, and do not occur perhaps once in five hundred instances.t. But I still contend that the examples, few as they are, are abundant, and superabundant, to establish the conclusion; and the fact on which the objection is founded, instead of disturbing such conclusion, only leads us to, and completely establishes, a second and catenating fact; namely, that by some means or other the primary and original language of man, that divinely and supernaturally communicated to him in the first age of the world, has been broken up and confounded, and scattered in various fragments over every part of the globe: and the same sort of disruption which has rent asunder the solid ball of the earth; that has swept away whole species and kinds, and perhaps orders of animals, and vegetables, and minerals, and given us new species, and kinds, and orders in their stead ; and has confounded continents and oceans, the surface and the abyss, and intermingled the natural productions of the different hemispheres; that the same sort of disruption has assaulted the world's primeval tongue, has for ever overwhelmed a great part of it, wrecked the remainder on distant and opposite shores, and turned up new materials out of the general chaos. And if it were possible for us to meet with an ancient historical record which professed to contain a plain and simple statement of such supernatural communication, and such subsequent confusion of tongues it would be a book that, independently of any other information, would be amply entitled to our attention, forit would bear an index of commanding authority on its own forehead.
To pursue this argument would be to weaken it. Such a book is in our hands; let us prize it. It must be the work of God, for it has the direct stamp and testimony of his works.
+ Compare also with Stewart's Phil. Essays, vol. 1, p. 150, 4to Edin. 1810.
“The outward form of the Lion seems to speak the superiority of his internal qualities. His figure is striking, his look confident and bold, his gait proud, and his voice terrible. His stature is not overgrown, like that of the elephant or rhinoceros; nor is the shape clumsy, like that of the hippopotamus or the ox. He is in every respect compact and well proportioned, a perfect model of strength joined with agility. “It is usually supposed that the Lion is not possessed of the sense of smelling in such perfection as most other animals of prey. It is also remarked that too strong a light incommodes him; that he seldom goes abroad in the middle of the day; that he commits all his ravages in the night; that when he sees a fire kindled near a herd or flock, he will not venture near it; that though his sight is bad, it is not, however, so faulty as his smell; and that, unlike the dog or the wolf, he rather hunts by the former than by the latter. “The Lion, when hungry, boldly attacks all animals that come in his way; but, as he is very formidable, and as they all seek to avoid him, he is often obliged to hide, in order to take them by surprise. For this purpose he crouches upon his belly, in some thicket, or among the long grass, which is found in many parts of the forest. In this retreat he continues, with patient expectation, until his prey comes within a proper distance; and he then springs after it with such force, that he often seizes it at the first bound. If he misses the effort, and in two or three reiterated springs cannot reach his prey, he continues motionless for a time, seems to be very sensible of his disappointment and waits for a more favorable opportunity. He devours a great deal at a time, and generally fills him
self for two or three days to come. His teeth are so strong that he very easily breaks the bones, and swallows them with the rest of the body. It is reported that he sustains hunger a very long time; but thirst he cannot support in an equal degree, his temperament being extremely hot.— He drinks as often as he meets with water, lapping like a dog. He generally requires about fifteen pounds of raw flesh in a day; and seldom devours the bodies of animals when they begin to putrefy; but he chooses rather to hunt for fresh spoil, than return to that which he had half devoured before. While young and active, the Lion subsists on what he can obtain by the chase, and seldom quits his native deserts and forests; but when he becomes old, heavy, and less qualified for exercise, he approaches the habitations of man, to whom, and to domestic animals, he then becomes a more dangerous enemy. It is observed, however, that when he sees men and animals together, it is always on the latter, never on the former, that he vents his fury; unless indeed he should be struck, and then, at no loss to know whence the blow came, he instantly deserts his prey, in order to obtain revenge for the injury.— The flesh of the camel he is said to prefer to that of any other animal. He is likewise exceedingly fond of that of young elephants, which, from their inability to resist him till they have received the assistance of their tusks, he easily despatches, when unprotected by the dam ; nor are there any animals able to oppose the Lion, but the elephant, the rhinoceros, the tiger, and the hippopotamus.
“However terrible this animal may be, it is not uncommon, with dogs of a large size, and well supported with a proper number of men on horseback, to chase him, dislodge him, and force him to retire. But for this enterprise, it is necessary that the dogs and even the horses should be previously disciplined, since almost all animals tremble and fly at the very smell of the Lion.
“Though the skin of the Lion is firm and compact, it is not, however, proof against a musket ball, nor even a jawelin; but he is seldom known to be despatched with one blow. Like the wolf, he is frequently taken by stratagem; and for this purpose, a deep hole is dug in the earth, over which, when carefully covered with earth and sticks, some living animal is fastened as a bait. When thus entrapped, all his fury subsides; and if advantage is taken of the first moments of his surprise, or his disgrace, he may easily be chained, muzzled, and conducted to a place of security.
“The flesh of the Lion is of a strong and disagreeable flavour; yet the Negroes and the Indians do not dislike it, and it frequently forms a part of their food.
“The good qualities and, particularly, the courage and magnanimity of the Lion, have been the theme of panegyric to Buffon and other writers on natural history. Later naturalists, however, are disposed to estimate its merits at a much lower rate. “At the time when men first adopted the Lion as the emblem of courage (says that intelligent traveller, Mr. Burchell) it would seem that they regarded great size and strength, as indicating it; but they were greatly mistaken in the character they have given to this indolent, skulking animal, and have overlooked a much better example of courage, and of other virtues also, in the bold and faithful dog.” Mr. Barrow also brands him with the character of cowardly and treacherous.
“His forbearance and generosity (says Mr. Bennett,) if the facts be carefully investigated, will be found to resolve themselves into no more than this: that in his wild state he destroys only to satiate his hunger or revenge, and never, like the ‘gaunt wolves' and ‘sullen tigers,” of whom the poet has composed his train, in the wantonness of his power and the malignity of his disposition; and that, when tamed, his hunger being satisfied, and his feelings being free from irritation, he suffers smaller animals to remain in his den uninjured, is familiar with, and sometimes fond of, the keeper, by whom he is attended and fed, and will even, when under complete control, submit to the caresses of strangers.