THE CORAL INSECT * TOIL on! toil on! ye ephemeral train, Who build in the tossing and treacherous main; With your sand-based structures and domes of rock; And your arches spring up to the crested wave; Ye bind the deep with your secret zone. And mountains exult where the wave hath been. Ye slumber unmarked 'mid the desolate main, SIGOURNEY. * See Saturday Magazine, Vol. III., p. 219. THE works of God are many and wonderful; we know but a very small part of them, and we cannot comprehend all the reasons of His conduct in the government of the world. God is so great, so powerful, so just and wise, that we ought not to presume to question anything that He does, nor pry into His works with too much curiosity. We ought rather to be firmly persuaded that He governs all things with wisdom, justice, and goodness, and humbly submit to all His dispensations.-OSTERVald. If the mind be well ordered, we cannot enjoy the scenes of nature without grateful hearts, to that bounteous Benefactor, who smooths our passage through the troubles of life with so many pleasing circumstances.-GILPIN SKETCHES OF NEW SOUTH WALES. THE NATIVES; THEIR METHODS OF FISHING, &c. UPON the edges of the flat rocks which jut out into the sea from beneath the headlands of the coast between Port Jackson and Broken Bay, the natives were accustomed to fish for snappers. They are often seen to great advantage when employed in these occupations, and they being very clever at this sport, it is highly amusing to watch their actions and dexterous management; provided as they are, with only the most simple tackle, still they invariably succeed in catching as many of these fish as they require. Snappers are voracious fishes, weighing generally from five to fifteen pounds, and even twenty pounds, and measuring from twenty to thirty inches in length, and often longer. They are also handsome glittering fishes, when first taken out of the water, and they mostly resort near the deep waters, (bottomless to the eye,) at the extremity of these rocks. Probably they find shelter, and places of refuge in the rocky cavities below, from the monsters which prey upon them, for both whales and sharks, of enormous size, frequent those shores, and have been seen within the harbour of Port Jackson. The head of the snapper is large and bony, the mouth comparatively small, and the teeth are not sharp, but thick and rounded, and the whole fish is covered with large, broad, silvery scales. It must here be remarked, that upon the surface of these foundation rocks, are, here and there, holes or basins of various depths and sizes, which are always filled with salt water, beautifully clear. In these the cunning native catches his bait-the starfish, a creature formed of a dark gelatinous substance, and appearing like a mass of jelly. They are seen at the bottom of the basins fastened to the rock, with their arms radiating from the centre, moving about: their arms are provided with most powerful suckers, which enable them to adhere so strongly to any substance, as to be with the greatest difficulty removed: and they have, moreover, the power of emitting a black fluid, which instantly discolours the water all around, thus very often effecting an escape. In addition to this, they have also the power of stinging the hand that touches, very severely, inflicting a pain like that of a burn*. The natives, therefore, are obliged to be very expert and dapper in first securing a sufficient quantity of the starfish as bait, which, from the circumstances above mentioned, are not easily caught by those who are inexperienced. They then prepare the line in such a manner, that when they throw off the baited end with their right hand the line will run out its full length. Thus, as shown in the sketch, the natives stand at the very extremity of the rocks, the breakers sometimes forcing them from their position; and, as soon as they have thrown out their line, they cautiously, but gradually, bring it in, coiling it with care as before; but when they feel a bite, they haul it with great rapidity, to prevent the fish from carrying the line under the rocks, and as soon as they have brought it out, they immediately kill it, by piercing the back of the head. In this manner I have seen a native catch eight large snappers in less than half an hour from the time he commenced fishing. A party of blacks assembled together on the coast for the purpose of fishing for themselves, as they were sometimes accustomed to do, forms an animated and lively group of figures. On these occasions, they make good fires as near their fishing ground as possible, and generally roast and eat their captures as soon as they are caught, until they are all satisfied. While the men are fishing, the women attend the fires, the boys catch bait, and collect oysters. The natives in this instance are correct, for these fish are never so good as when eaten as soon as possible after being taken from the water. Their cooking is certainly rude, but the fish are exceedingly good when cooked in this way. They eat their oysters, also, in a similar manner, by roasting them before the fire until they open. Having stated in a previous paper that the natives were not cowards of the deep, but surprisingly bold both in swimming and diving," I will relate a There are some kinds of sea-weed upon the beaches (no. foliated, but wiry or stringy,) which inflict a similar pain or burn. circumstance which happened to me while surveying this part of the coast, which convinced me of their boldness. I one day accompanied a native for the purpose of seeing him fish. He was very successful, and after a while gave up. I had been watching him with attentive curiosity, and being desirous of trying my skill, I requested him to lend me his line and tackle, assuring him that I would take the greatest care of it. He first seemed to object, but afterwards entrusted them to me with apparent unwillingness, and returned to my camp not far distant, with his fish, leaving me to manage as I best could. I very soon found it was a difficult matter to throw out the line properly, and to lift it through the ceaseless motion of the waters, gradually bringing it in without entanglement, required both skill and experience. In short, I made but a bungling attempt, and after throwing out the line, entangling it, and disentangling it for an hour, I felt a fish, the line being carried underneath the rocks. I pulled in vain for some time, till I had reason to think that the line was fastened some thirty or forty feet below, but whether to a fish or the rock I could not say. In this predicament, I began to conjecture what was best to be done, and how I could satisfy the black, for I had no other tackle to give him. Having tied the end of the line securely to the rock, I left it, much dissatisfied with my performance. On arriving at my camp, I was informed that the native had hastily eaten some fish, and gone northward to join some others of his tribe, stating that he intended to return early next morning, and fish again. This, at any rate, gave me time to consider, and I actually sent off a man to Sydney, to purchase lines and necessary tackle, with orders, if possible, to return before the native, by travelling all night. This could have easily been done, if the man should be fortunate to get a boat at North Harbour. The morning came, and the native arrived before the messenger, in company with two others. "Goot marning, massa, you catch him fish." "Bale," (no) said I. "Me want it line," said the native. I shook my head. He looked suspicious, and presently exclaimed, "I believe you hook him rock, murray, murray (very) stupid you." You are right, thought I, nodding assent; and seeing his anxiety, I immediately offered him some tobacco, and requested them to eat, &c., both of which he refused in his disappointment. I told him we would go the rock where the line was, and I explained on the way, whilst he listened to my story attentively. He seemed to blame himself for trusting his line to such unworthy hands, as he constantly sighed "murray stupid me;" but when he heard that I had secured the line to the rock, his countenance brightened with a hope, and he felt that I was not deceiving him. When we arrived at the spot, I was full of anxiety to know whether the line had been washed away; but there it was in statu quo. I would then willingly have lost fifty pounds rather than the line, for the natives are very tenacious of their property, however trifling, and will take more pains to find a bit of broken pipe, than a white man would to find a purse of gold. The native examined the position of the line, chatted with his companions, and presently was seen to unloose his waistband, throw off his cloak, and giving, as I imagined, some directions to them, stood upon the verge of the rock. In an instant, he plunged through a rising wave, and disappeared. He must have been under water full a minute before he again appeared about fifteen yards from the edge of the rock, and came in safe on allfours upon a heaving surge. The line had been unfastened, was hauled in without sustaining any damage, or even the loss of the hook, to which was attached the tendons of a fish's jaw. I felt excessively pleased both at the recovery of the line, and the bold daring of the native, who commenced fishing again with success; and on his return to my camp I had the satisfaction of presenting him with a new line, and as many hooks as he was pleased to take. W. R. G. LONDON Publisned by JOHN WILLIAM PARKER, WEST STRAND and sold by all Booksellers: UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE COMMITTEE OF GENERAL LITERATURE AND EDUCATION, APPOINTED BY THE SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE. VIEW OF SELBORNE. THE view which appears in this number of the Saturday Magazine, is reduced from an old engraving which has lately fallen into our hands, inscribed, "North East View of Selborne, from the SHORT LYTHE." A small strip, apparently about an inch wide, has been torn off towards the right hand, leaving the engraving about sixteen inches and a half long, by ten and a half high. It is, however, the only general view of Selborne, which we remember to have ever seen: and we hope that we shall gratify our readers, especially those who have been instructed and delighted like ourselves, by the late Rev. Gilbert White's history of his native village, by presenting them with this view, accompanied by a brief memoir of the author, and of the principal objects introduced into the view. The following few biographical records of the author were prefixed to his "Works in Natural History," comprising amongst others, The Natural History of Selborne, published by his relative, Mr. J. White, bookseller in Fleet Street, 1802, whose initials, J. W., annexed to the notice, appear to indicate him as the author. GILBERT WHITE, was the eldest son of John White, of SELBORNE, Esq., and of Ann, the daughter of Thomas Holt, rector of Streatham, in Surry. He was born at Selborne on July 18, 1720; and received his school education at Basingstoke, under the Rev. Thomas Warton, vicar of that place, and father of those two distinguished literary characters, Dr. Joseph Warton, master of Winchester VOL. X. School, and Mr. Thomas Warton, poetry-professor at Oxford. He was admitted at Oriel College, Oxford, in December, 1739, and took his degree of bachelor of arts his college. He became master of arts in October, 1746, in June, 1743. In March, 1744, he was elected fellow of and was admitted one of the senior proctors of the University in April, 1752. Being of an unambitious temper, and strongly attached to the charms of rural scenery, he early fixed his residence in his native village, where he spent the greater part of his life in literary occupations, and espepatient assiduity, and a mind ever open to the lessons of piety cially in the study of nature. This he followed with and benevolence, which such a study is so well calculated to afford. Though several occasions offered of settling upon a college living, he could never persuade himself to quit the beloved spot, which was, indeed, a peculiarly happy situation for an observer. He was much esteemed by a select society of intelligent and worthy friends, to whom he paid occasional visits. Thus his days passed, tranquil and serene, with scarcely any other vicissitudes than those of the seasons, till they closed at a mature age, on June 26, 1793. the result of his observations as above described, was The Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne," published by him in 1788, in the form of letters addressed to his brother-naturalists, Thomas Pennant, Esq., and the Honourable Daines Barrington, with the former of whom he corresponded from August 4, 1767, to November 30, 1780; and with the latter, from June 30, 1769, to June 25, 1787. His Naturalist's Calendar, his Observations on Various Parts of Nature, and his Summary of the Weather, were made 291 during the same period, commencing with 1768, and extending to 1793, the year of his decease. The accuracy and extent of his observations, their variety and detail, the liveliness of their manner, and the pleasant, unaffected style in which they are expressed, have deservedly contributed to make his Natural History of Selborne one of the most popular books in our language: so that within the last five years, at least four new editions of it have been put out by different editors, entirely independent of each other. Few books, at the same time, let the reader so completely into the disposition, sentiments, habits, and character of the author, who may be there traced, step by step, wandering through the hanging woods, over the chalky downs, along the deep hollow lanes, and beside the living rills, of his own beautiful and delightful Selborne and finding in "each thing met," fresh occasion for curious remark and rational enjoyment. We wish that the accompanying wood-cut gave a more satisfactory view of the beauty of the scenery, which will well repay the admirer of nature the trouble of a pilgrimage. In order to which, we would apprize our readers in the language of Mr. White, that, The parish of Selborne lies in the extreme eastern corner of the county of Hampshire, bordering on the county of Sussex, and not far from the county of Surry; is about fifty miles south-west of London, in latitude 51, and near midway between the towns of Alton and Petersfield. ... The high part to the south-west consists of a vast hill of chalk, rising 300 feet above the village; and is divided into a sheep-down, the high wood, and a long hanging wood, called The Hanger. The covert of this eminence is altogether beech, the most lovely of all forest trees, whether we consider its smooth rind or bark, its glossy foliage, or graceful pendulous boughs. The down, or sheep-walk, is a pleasing, park-like spot, of about one mile, by half that space, jutting out on the verge of the hill country, where it begins to break down into the plains, and commanding a very engaging view, being an assemblage of hill, dale, woodlands, heath, and water. The prospect is bounded on the south-east and east, by the vast range of mountains called the Sussex-downs, by Guilddown, near Guildford, and by the downs round Dorking and Ryegate in Surry, to the north-east; which, altogether, with the country beyond Alton and Farnham, form a noble and extensive outline. At the foot of this hill, one stage or step from the uplands, lies the village, which consists of one single straggling street, three-quarters of a mile in length, in a sheltered vale, and running parallel with the Hanger. At each end of the village, which runs from south-east and north-west, arises a small rivulet: that at the north-west end frequently fails, but the other is a fine perennial spring, little influenced by drought or wet seasons, called Well-head, This breaks out of some high grounds, joining to Nore-Hill, a noble chalk promontory. From this description may be formed a general idea of the scenery of Selborne. We would now beg the reader to look at the view, whilst we endeavour to particularise the objects. Look towards the end of the piece, on your left hand, and you may perceive a passage, going up the says, on occasion to appear in the character of a hermit," and as such represented in the frontispiece to the edition of 1802, and alluded to in the annexed poem. Still further to your right, about the centre of the view, and near midway up the Hanger, you may perceive, though not very conspicuous, another small building, a kind of arbour on the side of the hill, also alluded to in the annexed poem. Passing still to your right towards the church, the tall, white object in its neighbourhood,-a pole with a vane upon it, seems to point out "a square piece of ground, in the centre of the village, surrounded by houses, and vulgarly called the Plestor; in the midst of which spot stood, in old times, a vast oak, with a short, squat body, and huge, horizontal arms, extending about to the extremity of the area," the delight and resort of old and young, till it was overturned by an amazing tempest in 1703. The name Plestor is a corruption of the Saxon word Plegstow, or Pleystow, meaning a play-place. Of the remaining objects, the most conspicuous is the church, which consists of three aisles with a transept, making it almost as broad as it is long. It is a plain and unadorned building, supposed by Mr. White to be of the beginning of Henry the Seventh's reign, but rebuilt upon the remnants of an older building; and with windows of that simple sort, called lancet, some single, some double, and some in triplets, as partly represented in our view. The verses quoted below would lead us to expect a "pointed spire" to this edifice: but the engraving represents only a low, flat, embattled tower, and rising from it a long, iron rod, surmounted by a weather-cock, which, however, being somewhat indistinct in the engraving, has been omitted in our wood-cut. Close by the church, at the west end, stands the vicarage house,-an old, but roomy and convenient building. It faces agreeably to the morning sun, and is divided from the village by a neat and cheerful court. Behind the house is a garden, of an irregular shape, but well laid out; whose terrace, Mr. White adds, "commands so romantic and picturesque a prospect, that the first master in landscape might contemplate it with pleasure, and deem it an object well worthy of his pencil." The reader is now sufficiently acquainted with the different features of Selborne, to understand the accompanying view: its Hanger and village, its rivulets, its beeches, its forest roads, its zigzag path, its hermitage and hill-side arbour, its rustic play-place, its church and parsonage house; not to mention the other appurtenances of meadows, hop-grounds, or chards, corn-fields, gardens, lanes, hedge-rows, and scattered trees and cottages, which it partakes in common with other rural scenes. The same objects his native village, into a pleasing poem, which we for the most part, are introduced by the historian of subjoin as a companion to our view, in mutual illustration of each other, abridging it by the omission of some lines here and there, which are not to our At the same time it should be present purpose. This which do not enter into our view, that in the neighobserved, with reference to two allusions in the poem bourhood of Selborne are the ruins of a priory founded by Peter de Rupibus, Bishop of Winchester, in the thirteenth century, in a vale sequestered from the world, amidst woods and meadows, and watered by a stream or brook running down it, which vale is now called "the long Lithe or Lythe," a name of ancient date, and uncertain etymology and signification, but retained also in the name of the spot from which our view was taken, and which is called by contradistinction, "the short Lythe;" and that at When spouting rains descend in torrent tides, See the torn zigzag weep its channel'd sides. Look a little more to your right, near the top of the wooded hill, and you may perceive a small hut, with its gable towards you, and a round-headed door; and in front of it, what, if more distinctly traced, would appear to be a terrace: this hut is "a grotesque building, contrived by a young gentleman, who used the distance of about two miles east of the church are the remains of a preceptory of the Knights Templars, at least a farm dependent on a preceptory of that order; the dwelling-house being still called "Temple," and placed in a very particular situation upon the immediate verge of a steep, abrupt hill. THE INVITATION TO SELBORNE. SEE, Selborne spreads her boldest beauties round Oft on some evening, sunny, soft, and still, By Fancy planned; as once the inventive maid Hark! while below the village bells ring round, Adown the vale, in lone, sequestered nook, When madding Croisades set the world in flame; To mortal fight, Turcestan chivalry. Nor be the parsonage by the Muse forgot! Now climb the steep, drop now your eye below, Me far above the rest Selbornian scenes, The pendent forests, and the mountain greens, Strike with delight: there spreads the distant view, That gradual fades till sunk in misty blue : Here Nature hangs her slopy woods to sight, Rills purl between, and dart a quivering light. P.S.-The writer of the foregoing article had not access to the original edition of White's Selborne, and was not aware that the engraving, from which our wood-cut was taken, and which he has endeavoured to illustrate by reference to Mr. White's works, was, in fact, prefixed to the quarto edition of 1789. It has been just brought to his knowledge by his accidentally meeting with Sir William Jardine's edition, to which the view, reduced by Ewbank from Grimm's contemporary sketch, forms the frontispiece. Our wood-cut, we hope, will not be depreciated on a comparison. THE Arabians have several proverbial sayings concerning pretended false friendships. Some are taken from a pool which is filled by sudden hasty showers, and is extremely grateful to a thirsty traveller, but so deceitful, that when he returns he finds it quite exhausted. In the same manner they compare a treacherous friend to a torrent, or land-flood, which is soon raised, and as soon disappears.CHAPPELOW. SPIDERS. I. EVERY one who examines the web of a common Spider, whether it is formed of concentric circles, or supported by diverging rays, or whether it imitates any finely-woven substance, will be convinced, that she must be furnished with a peculiar set of organs to effect these purposes; that she must have something like a hand to work with. Amongst the small things that are wise upon earth, Solomon mentions the Spider, and the way by which he tells us she shows her wisdom, is by her prehensory powers,-she takes hold with her hands. And truly what Arachne does with her hands and her spinning organs, is very wonderful. Spiders are gifted with the faculty of walking. against gravity, even upon glass, and in a prone position. According to the observations of Mr. Blackwall, this is not effected by producing atmospheric pressure by the adhesion of suckers, but by a brush formed of "slender bristles, fringed on each side with exceeding fine hairs, gradually diminishing in length as they approach its extremity, where they occur in such profusion as to form a thick brush on its inferior surface." These brushes he first discovered on a living specimen of the bird-spider, and the same structure, as far as his researches were carried, he found in those Spiders which can walk against gravity and up glass. This is one of the modes by which they take hold with their hands, and thus they ascend walls, and set their snares in the palace as well as the cottage. Whoever examines the underside of the last joint or digit of the foot of this animal, with a common pocket-lens, will see that it is clothed with a very thick brush, the hairs of which, under a more powerful magnifier, appear somewhat hooked at the apex: in some species this brush is divided longitudinally, so as to form two. But the organs that are more particularly connected with the weaving and structure of the snares of the Spiders, are most worthy of attention. Setting aside the hunters, and others that weave no snares to entrap their prey, I shall consider those I intend to notice, under the usual names of weavers, and retiaries. Before Mr. Blackwall turned his attention to the proceedings of these ingenious and industrious animals, it had not been ascertained, in what respect their modes of spinning their webs, and the organs by which they formed their respective manufactures differed. But Mr. Black wall, whose observations were principally inade upon one of the weavers which frequents the holes and cavities of walls, and similar places, observes that it spins a kind of web of different kinds of silk, the surface of which has a flocky appearance, from the web being as it were ravelled. This web, he observes, is produced by a double scries of spines, opposed to each other, and planted on a prominent ridge of the upper-side of the metatarsal joint, or that usually regarded as the first joint, of the foot of the posterior legs on the side next the abdomen. These spines are employed by the animal as a carding apparatus, the low series combing, as it were, or extracting the ravelled web from the spinneret, and the upper series, by the insertion of its spines between those of the other, disengaging the web from them. By this curious operation, which it is not easy to describe clearly, the adhesive part of the snare is formed; thus large flies are easily caught and detained, which the animal, emerging from its concealment, soon despatches and devours. The organs by which the retiary Spiders form their |