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whenever they can obtain it. Some tribes subsist wholly upon curdled milk, berries, and bulbous roots, with what game they can occasionally kill; but they have generally a dislike to fish. The Kaffirs will not touch elephant's flesh, which is considered a delicacy by the Hottentots. The Boshemans are some of the lowest of the Hottentots. They are not numerous; for it has been their practice to make inroads upon the settlers, who have consequently often attacked and destroyed them. They are expert in the use of the bow; and their small poisoned arrows are deadly weapons. They besmear their bodies with grease and paint, and their general habits of life are barbarous and disgusting. Their dwellings are often nothing better than holes they have scraped out of the sand. The Griquas, another Hottentot tribe, possess horses, and are more advanced towards civilization than perhaps any of the rest, if we except Bechuanas, who inhabit the country to the north of Lattakoo. These have built towns of neat appearance.
The South Africans have no regular system of idolatry, nor any priesthood or temples. It is a kind of wild superstition that prevails among them; and they attach much value to spells and charms, and various kinds of sorcery. To the Supreme Being, some of the Hottentot tribes give the name of Utika, or "beautiful." They have a vague belief that the soul is immortal, but no definite idea of a future state of happiness or misery. Among some tribes an entire apathy seems to prevail; and their only sense of happiness consists eating and drinking and sleeping. The Kaffirs carry their sick into the woods to die alone, as they have a horror of coming near a dead body. They bury their chiefs in the cattle-fold, as the place of greatest honour.
The inhabitants of our own country were as degraded 2,000 years ago, as these people are now. It is our knowledge of the gospel which has raised us to the position in which we stand. What an imperative reason for every exertion to teach these debased ones the unsearchable riches of Christ !
BY THE REV. DENIS KELLY, M.A., Minister of Trinity Church, Gough Square, Fleet
"The fast, that wins deliverance and suspends
To vanquish lust, and wear its yoke no more."
man wakes the dead at the resurrection; those deep shades, those gloomy cloisters, the perpetual silence, the cold, the fasts, the coarse garb, the flinty couch, the scanty dinner of roots, the short repose, the midnight bell, the only sound disturbing the silence of those everlasting solitudes, summoning the poor shivering monk from his hard bed; the crossing, in the dark wintry blast, at the dead hour of night, to the dimly-lighted chapel, the masses, the mournful dirge; thence back to the cell again for private devotion, and from thence again to the chapel; prayer and meditation, and meditation and prayer, diversified only by the laborious toil of digging the soil and digging their own grave-all this solemnizes the mind: it is an almost overwhelming theme to dwell upon.
I envy not the understanding or the heart of the man who can regard it with a feeling bordering on levity. He must be a cold, callous, heartless sneerer that does so. His taste must be as vicious as his heart is cold. I prefer rather the cast of that man's mind who would be solemnized and oppressed in spirit at the thought of it, and who would be compelled to give vent to his feelings in a flood of tears. For never, perhaps, did any thing in the world preach more awfully and impressively than such "voluntary humility" and mortification a man's sense of the worth of the eternal soul.
Nor do I go along with those who class those children of the solitude with the low wretched deinvotees of the east. It is unfair to make such a comparison. The one class are the lowest, the most degraded, besotted, and impure of human beings, immersed in all the blackness of heathen ignorance and blindness. The other are comparatively enlightened and intelligent, pure in morals, living in the light of Christianity, and who profess to make an appeal to the word of God as the sanction for all they practise. No, no; we must not get rid of the subject by this summary method, by this degrading comparison. It is one for grave and weighty reflection. If there be error in the system, as I believe there is, it is one of those mistakes which should inspire us with feelings of awe, which should cause a shudder and a tear, and not provoke a heartless sneer. For, if the energy of the will, if the sublime determination of purpose which led those men to that terrible sacrifice, to doom themselves to a living death, were rightly directed, what would it accomplish? I suffer not, therefore, the miserable witling who would not forego the slightest personal gratification, who would not sacrifice so much as a single dinner for conscience' sake, to sneer at the man who voluntarily relinquishes all that the heart holds dear, and enters upon a course of life which it makes one almost tremble to think of, in order to save his immortal soul. No: the proper, the natural effect which the contemplation of such a subject should produce on the mind is, to solemnize our feelings, while the thought involuntarily arises, "What are we to say of a life of earthly enjoyment in comparison of such a life as this? What are we to think of that happy home, health, ease, competence, the summer's sun and the winter's cheerful fire-side, the wife like the fruitful vine, the children like the olivebranches round about the table'"? If this one
THERE is a stern sublimity, a gloomy grandeur about the Romish monastic institutions, especially the order of the Trappists, that wonderfully captivates the imagination, that almost overwhelms the mind. That long, that eternal adieu to the world, and all its pleasures and engagements, its pomps and vanities; the entering under that porch from which there is to be no exit till the Son of
be the only way to heaven, how hardly shall they who are in the other enter the kingdom? It is not by a contemptuous sneer or scoff I would dismiss such a subject. It deserves deep, earnest, solemn, cool, and dispassionate consideration; and that will, probably, lead us to modify greatly our first impression both of the one kind of life and of the other; both as to the rigor of the monkish asceticism and the danger of the supposed life of self-indulgence.
First, then, we are apt to be misled by imagination in contemplating the rigour of this ascetic life. Gloomy, repulsive, awfully repulsive, and self-denying as it appears, yet even that life may not be so gloomy as imagination paints the picture of it. It involves, it is true, an abandonment of the world, and of all its engagements and harmless indulgences. But he that has bid an adieu to that world has not only taken leave of a world of enjoyment, but has also taken a farewell of a thousand cares and troubles. If within those gloomy enclosures no sounds of mirth are ever heard, neither does the cry of oppression and wrong and cruelty arise there. No wailings and weepings of the broken in heart are heard there. None of those words which are as the piercings of swords are there uttered. None of those looks which are as the basilisk are there given. No unkindness and ingratitude and betrayal of confidence are experienced-none of the disappointments of fondly-cherished expectations; none of those stings, which are sharper than the serpent's tooth; none of those reverses and calamities, which turn so many brains and which break so many hearts; none of those domestic sorrows and "shames ;" none of those early misfortunes blighting the happiness of those in whom our hearts were 66 bound up;" none of those secret trials which stamp wrinkles upon the brow of youth, or which bring down the grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. Dreadful, also, as must be the rigour of the cloistered life at first, time softens it, and reconciles one to it. We grow reconciled to, nay, we get to like that which we at first loathed. All the powers and faculties of the mind get habituated to the ascetic mode of life. In process of time the monkish recluse settles down into a sort of contentment with this dull routine of the monotonous life. We can easily conceive of the cloistered monk growing indolent, selfish, and apathetic in those monastic retreats; and we know, upon the authority of Luther, who had been himself a most rigorous ascetic, that the life led there does not reconcile the mind much to that unseen world which it seems the great object of the Trappist to live in by anticipation. It is far from taking away all love of life, or disarming death of its sting. I have seen many," he says, "who with the utmost diligence and scrupulosity have omitted nothing that might pacify conscience have worn hair-cloth, fasted, prayed, afflicted and exhausted their bodies by various austerities, so that even if they had been made of iron they must at length have been destroyed, yet the more they laboured the more fearful they became. And especially as the hour of death drew nigh they were so full of trepidation that I have seen many murderers, condemned to die for their crimes, meet death with more confidence than those persons who had lived so strictly."
But imagination draws an equally falacio s picture of the supposed self-indulgent life of him that asserts and uses this liberty of the gospe 1 Ah, what different opinion should we, on a closer inspection of that life, be compelled to draw! Were the curtain drawn aside, what should we often behold under the supposed life of dangerous self-indulgence? We should often see the heart oppressed, the mind distracted with a thousand cares, with incessant toil and labour and anxiety. How often should we behold this supposed selfindulgent ecclesiastic toiling like the galley-slave, exhausting health and strength, sapping and undermining the spring of life to support those dependent on his exertions, like the bird feeding her young from the life-stream of her own breast. The self-indulgent ecclesiastic is the father, it may be, of a young helpless family, unable to buffet with the waves of the world, all depending on his sole feeble arm for protection and support. What an ignorance, then, of facts does it often betray to rail against the imaginary selfindulgent life! That supposed self-indulgent life may be one that bows the heart, that breaks the spirit, that shatters the nerves, and brings the poor sufferer more often upon his knees in helpless wretchedness than the rigorous fasts or midnight vigils of the Trappist. That supposed self-indulgence is often allied with feelings which, if the Trappist knew them, he would forget his own sorrows. The grand mistake which originated the monastic life was to suppose that, in order to be mortified in spirit, it was necessary to fly to rocks and caves and solitudes; that selfimposed penances were necessary to aid the operations of the Almighty in subduing the spirit of man, and in fitting it, through much tribulation, "to enter the kingdom of God." Alas! the Almighty needs not these auxiliaries to carry on his work of humbling and afflicting the soul which, by chastening, he would make "a vessel of mercy." He can conduct that process in any scene, in any station in life. He can accomplish it, and does accomplish it, in those who are placed in what are esteemed the most enviable lots and stations of life. He can humble, mortify, and break the spirit in these as much as amidst the solitudes of La Trappe. We need not leave the busy haunts of life in order that the spirit should be humbled and mortified. The acts, the words, the looks of men, the hatred, the cruelty, the oppression, the fraud, the treachery of man to his fellow-man can bow the spirit worse than the most rigorous austerities of the conventual life. In whatever sphere our lot in life is cast, we may meet with sorrows which may bow down and wither the heart. Amidst the busiest throngs of men we see locks growing grey, and brows growing wrinkled, faces growing wan and fleshless through grief, faster than within those convent walls from which there is no exit. Hundreds, who are at this hour the object of envy to their fellows, are broken-hearted men. If the truth were known, they would be seen to be like those who are striving to maintain their ground on a slippery ledge of a rock, or like " the stricken deer, with the arrows deep infixed in its panting side." Griefs have been endured, and are endured, by those who are surrounded by the honours and splendour of life, compared with which the Trappist's privations
would be light. They who sat on thrones have died of sheer wretchedness. Princes and statesmen and senators and generals have died of heartdevouring chagrin and sorrow. God, when he would bow the spirit-and he does so "in every son whom he receiveth"-can do it equally, whether the outward lot be ostensibly the most happy, and even enviable, or the most dark and repellant. Hearts have pined and sickened in grief in the most lordly mansions as much as they could amidst the solitudes of Milleray. There are cases of "splendid misery," compared with which the asceticism of the poor monk were almost an enviable lot. Yea, even society itself-keen, polished, elegant, fastidious, sarcastic society may prove an ordeal to the spirit, compared with which the tranquil cloister of the Trappist would be happiness. Therefore, man needs not fly to the rocks and caves of the earth as necessary to aid the work of heaven in mortifying and subduing the spirit of man. The Lord can and will carry on that work wherever a vessel of mercy is to be prepared."
requires not impossibilities of us. "He knoweth
ILLUSTRATIONS OF SOCIETY, MANNERS,
"And here and there, as up the crags you spring,
An undue admiration of the ascetic life is a characteristic feature of a certain party that has sprung up lately. There is something about such a life that fascinates the imagination. It carries in it the appearance of extraordinary piety and self-devotion. We hear great commendations on the duty of fasting. If the men who are loud in their praises of fasting were consistent with themselves, and drew after their admired model, we might at least respect their sincerity. But these commendations on fasting, this enthusiastic admiration of an ascetic life, and this horror of self-indulgence, when expressed over a wellfurnished table, and amidst all the comforts and many of the luxuries of life, cannot carry very much weight. They approach too near the absurd. A man descanting, with gloomy brow, on the virtues of fasting over a good substantial meal, may commend what is very excellent; but his example does not seem to say that he himself thinks it to be so. If these persons so admire the rigorous asceticism of the monkish life, let them be consistent with themselves, as the Trappists are. Let them copy their austerities. Will they do so? They would, perhaps, reply that it is not required. They themselves will admit, then, that scripture contains no express and stringent injunctions on the duty of fasting. It contains no rules as to the number of fasts to be observed. But, if they go beyond what scripture requires, and begin to make rules for themselves, what must be the consequence? That men's morbid fancies will usurp the place of the only infallible standard of right and wrong. This will give birth to a perverse emulation and rivalry. Each will strive to outdo the other in the rigours of asceticism, and will carry their acts of mortification to an insane and dangerous excess, ruinous alike to body and mind. He that fasts most rigorously will come to be regarded with the greatest admiration and respect. Such is human nature, that, when once man's Dr. Cheever was an American. His life was but a short one, ambition is aroused, we know not to what length and had been embittered by constant bodily suffering; but he it may proceed. But the Almighty has given no had an active and cheerful spirit, and his end was peace. This direct and specific rules about the duty of fasting.brother. Dr. Cheever appears to have been a man of con memoir is the affectionate record of the departed by a surviving If he has, where are they to be found? And we may perceive a most merciful intent in the latitude which he has left us regarding the subject. God
Ar the time of our residence in the south of Spain the condition of the country was very much the same as when Gil Blas of Santillana, wishing, as he said, to avoid Scylla, struck upon Charybdis, and fell into the hands of the robbers of the subterranean cave; and the materials of which the robber-bands were composed at the time of our observations upon society and life in Andalusia were not essentially different from that notable
The writer is not to be understood as condemning fasting in general. It would be unscriptural to do so. Every serious Christian knows that there are occasions on which fasting may be advisable and profitable. But such fasting is as different, as to the nature, the principle, and the rule, from the superstitious fasts condemned as day from night. Christian, as developed in the biography of Nathaniel Cheever, + From "Memorials of the Life and Trials of a youthful M.D."; by the rev. H. T. Cheever. London: Routledge.
siderable attainments, of amiable disposition, and genuine piety. We have been much interested in the examination of
knot of highway men, or ladrones, among which it was the fortune of Gil Blas to be thrown; assassins, criminals escaped from justice, disgraced officers, runaway soldiers, mis-educated and castoff sons of wealthy families; sometimes men unfortunate in business or love, soured and misanthropic from failures and disappointments; now and then a recreant friar, along with villains who had served their time as contrabandistas, vagabond paisanos, and loafers of the city and village. The rule that
"He may keep who has the power,
And he may get who can,"
then prevailed to such a degree that travellers and natives were naturally under black-mail tribute to lawless hordes of banditti, who roamed the country and spoiled whom they pleased. We knew of a man, in the very city of Malaga, who, acting as an agent of the robbers, would give to travellers, for a sum of money according to their ability, a sort of paper-passport, that would ensure them safe conduct through all parts of Andalusia. If robbers appeared, and this paper were produced, signed by the well-known name or sign of their city confederate, the traveller would pass unmolested. Even for the governor himself it was said this paper would be as good a safeguard as a file of soldiers.
It will be at once seen how the following personal narrative confirms these statements. Though not all within the proper field of biography, the matter of it is in part of such thrilling interest to the general reader, and withal so strikingly illustrative of life in Spain, and of the mind and heart of the writer, that we have not felt at liberty to exclude it here. The journal begins, and is dated, at Alhaurin el Grande, June, 1837:
"Having, some time since, received a kind invitation from Mr. Loring to spend a few days at his country house, in this pleasant village, I left Malaga yesterday afternoon at two o'clock, on horseback, accompanied by a good-natured muleteer, who lives rent-free, in a little house adjoining that of Mr. Loring, which latter he takes care of when the family are absent, carrying letters and packages to and fro between this and Malaga. The ride for the first part of the way was through a dry plain, destitute of trees, and without any thing to refresh the vision. There is so little rain in this country (indeed I may say almost none, except in the fall and winter), that the land, when it is not artificially irrigated, has during the summer months an arid and baked appearance. Once in a while we passed a cortejo, or farmhouse, built of stone or brick, stuccoed, or whitewashed outside, and at a distance looking quite neat, but generally naked and desolate, being a single, lone building, without any trees around it, or any signs of taste in its inhabitants.
"Within, these Spanish farm-houses generally present a more rude and barbarous appearance than without, scarcely more inviting than the snug barn of a New England farmer. Indeed, the whole state of agricultural affairs in the two countries is right opposite. Here the proprietors of the soil are generally noblemen, rich men, or the church, who do not cultivate it themselves, but let it out to the peasantry of the country. Unlike the sturdy, independent farmers of our
land, who own the soil they till, and are for the most part decently intelligent, these are a class of ignorant boors, seldom knowing either how to read or write; the limit of their knowledge being to cultivate the land as their fathers did before them, and to sell its products for the best price.
"As we arrived at the river of Malaga, we struck off to the right, and crossed it farther up, leaving the village of Churianna on the left, our road now lying further inland, towards the mountains. The depth of water in the river was only about two and a half or three feet, but in the fall and winter, when it has been raining in the mountains, it comes down with great violence; and then, as it would be impossible to ford it, they have a ferry-boat, which is pulled across from one side to the other by a rope. A mile or so beyond where we crossed is an aqueduct, reaching to the edge of the river, and having the remains of some piers in its bed, but, like many fine public works in Spain, here left unfinished. It is already carried several miles from its fountain-head, built of good solid mason-work, sometimes raised on arches to the height of fifteen or twenty feet, and at others on a level with the ground, varying in height according to the nature of the land it crosses, having on the top a channel for the water, covered with bricks, which, if it were led into Malaga, would exempt the inhabitants from that painful scarcity of water which they now often suffer in the dry season.
"About one or two leagues from Alhaurin my guide pointed out the house where General Torrejos and Pinto, the brother of Lopez Pinto, formerly civil governor of Malaga, were surrounded and taken prisoners by the troops of Moreno, then governor of Malaga, in 1831, and afterwards, with about forty-eight others (including Mr. Boyd, a young English officer, who had volunteered in their cause), were publicly shot on the beach at Malaga, on Sunday the 11th of Dec. of the same year.
"It was during the despotism of Ferdinand VII. that they wished to make a movement in favour of the liberal cause, and devised their plans for the purpose at Gibraltar. This becoming known in Malaga to the bloody despot, Moreno, who ruled with a rod of iron, he wrote false letters to the patriots at Gibraltar, pretending they would be well received, and inviting them to come to Malaga. Having thus succeeded in deceiving and decoying them into his clutches, he had them all shot in cold blood. He is now one of Don Carlos' principal chiefs, and his memory is most heartily execrated by every soul in Malaga.
"When he was governor of the city, I have been told that every person that had a bible was obliged to go and deliver it at the bishop's palace; and the spiritual despotism of the church was in full play. At that time, when the hour for evening prayer arrived, and the bell of the cathedral struck to announce it, wherever a man might be, or whatever his situation in the house, or in the street, he was obliged to take off his hat immediately, and kneel down, at the risk of having it knocked off by a blow from some soldier or bystander.
"For about a league before we arrived at Alhaurin the scenery was made up of beautiful vineyards, orange, lemon, and olive groves, fig-trees and pomegranates, and fine green vegetable gar
my native roof with my dear mother and sister, who now occupy it! May God in his loving-kindness grant that I may pass, yet, many more in their beloved society, with the added blessing of perfect health!
dens, or huertas,' refreshing the eye in every direction with their bright rich verdure. About a quarter before eight I arrived safe, with my guide, at Mr. Loring's house, and was very cordially received by its inmates with Americo-Spanish hospitality. The place is charmingly situated on the declivity of Wednesday, 21st, Alhaurin.-A scene altoa hill, just at the foot of the Sierra of Mijus, over-gether in keeping with the state of things in this looking an extensive undulating plain, bounded in country, and illustrative of a life in Spain, took almost all directions by lofty mountains. The soil place in this very house the night before last. is very rich, and, being irrigated by an abun- About half-past eight in the evening a man dance of water from a number of never-failing came to the door to announce that some men, springs, it produces bountifully. whose character he well knew, wished to see Mr. Loring (el amo de casa'); and, as they had no place to leave their arms, they would have to bring them upon their persons. We were just at tea; but a ham was put on the table, with wine, &c., to give them a hospitable reception, and Mr. and Mrs. Loring were with them at table, as it is necessary to receive them in a free and unembarrassed manner. They all came armed with carbines and pistols, and knives in their belts, making a formidable appearance; and, with their peaked hats and dark swarthy faces, their tout ensemble was not a bad sample of Spanish brigands.
"The huertas,' as they are called-or, as we should term them, vegetable and fruit gardensare very fine, yielding a great abundance of everything marketable. Oranges, lemons, apricots, cherries, plums, pears, apples and peaches, olives, grapes, quinces, and pomegranates, all abound in this fruitful region. Grains and a variety of vegetables also grow here, vast in quantity, and of excellent quality. Various kinds of beans-the 'garabanros,' or large Spanish bean-the 'altramuas,' or lupines, which are hawked about the streets, soaked in salted water; Spanish artichokes, cauliflowers, cabbage, onions, garlic, beets, carrots, tomatoes, green peppers, various kinds of stuff for salad, cucumbers, corn, wheat, barley, oats, and other cereals, which the earth here yields bountifully.
"From this and the neighbouring town of Coin the markets of Malaga receive their supplies. This compact little village is estimated to contain six thousand souls; the manner of building being such that a village very small in extent may contain a large number of inhabitants. The houses, instead of being interspersed, like those of a New England village, with pleasant little grass plats and gardens, are built like those of a city, in solid blocks, on each side of the street, generally of one story, composed of bricks, or stone and mortar, plastered and whitewashed outside, presenting one uniform surface throughout the town.
Alhaurin, Sabbath-day. While dear mother and E. are enjoying, as I hope, the precious privileges of the sanctuary, Henry at New Orleans, and George, I suppose, in London, I am here under the roof of my countryman, Mr. Loring, in a quiet little Spanish town, far retired from the noise and bustle of the world, in a calm retreat, with which prayer and praise may well accord:
"This calm retreat, this quiet shade,
But, who are they? The facts in the case are the following: These men were formerly guards on the road between this village and Malaga, obtaining their subsistence by the contributions received from the muleteers and others, which is a few quartos for every one that passes. For some reason or other they were dismissed by government from this employment, and have since been leading the life of freebooters, living upon robbery, or the black-mail paid to them to be freed from their attacks. They are indeed, now the keepers of the road; for, if they choose to molest passengers, the other guards, placed by government, would be of but little avail.
"Two of them are brothers, called the 'Noranjos'; they are well known in the village, and come in and out quite freely, as the authorities here are making no efforts to take them. Mr. Loring had previously had an intimation that they wished to see and obtain assistance from him; for they genteelly cover their demands in this way, under the guise of lending, though we may be quite sure they will not trouble themselves to return this kind of loan. He represented to them that, as the times were not favourable, they must be content with less than they asked; but, if not, he must pay them all. They took, however, what he offered; the amount I do not know.
"The whole of this affair is so astonishing, and almost incredible, that even one on the spot can pro-hardly realize it; and to those who are distant, the inhabitants of countries advanced in civilization, and not kept in awe by robbers, as the interior of this country may with truth be said to be, this state of things would hardly gain belief. That armed banditti should come into a peaceful village of six thousand inhabitants, enter the hoase of a gentleman there residing, partake of his forced hospitality, levy upon him their contributions, and then depart with their booty to their strongholds, or temporary abiding-places, unmolested, would be esteemed a tough story even for marines.
"These beautiful lines I may with much priety apply to my situation to-day. I look abroad from my window upon the face of nature, the distant mountains bounding the horizon, and the hills and valleys around covered with green trees and waving crops. All is quiet and serene, but few sounds are heard from the village to disturb the universal repose, everything seems to invite to calm meditation and prayer; and, O, may not the opportunity be lost upon me! Ilong to enjoy a really Christian sabbath; to be among those who keep holy time, and to go up with them to the house of God in company. How many happy sabbaths, and I hope in some measure spiritually profitable ones, have I passed under
"Mr. Dillon, an Irish gentleman, who lives opposite Mr. Loring's house, knew that these robber gentry had come to pay him a visit, and,