or not.

The creed of the Confucians of the present day must not be supposed to present the views and principles of the great philosopher without addition or perversion. The commentators on the sacred books have been many, and they have doubtless construed them on many occasions in a way quite different from the intentions of the author. The mode of worship in use at the present time among the Confucians consists, first, of the great sacrifices" which are offered to "Heaven and Earth,' but which are not allowed by the wiser among the worshippers to be an adoration of material things, but of an animating intelligence which presides over the world, rewarding virtue and punishing vice. The "medium sacrifices," and the lesser sacrifices" are offered to a multitude of objects, such as the powers presiding over agriculture, manufactures, and the useful arts; spirits of deceased statesmen, eminent scholars, martyrs to virtue, &c. Thus the state religion is indeed one of "gods many and lords many.'

66

I,

The worship of "Heaven" is confined to the emperor and his court, and should one of the common people dare to assume the right of worshipping Heaven, he is punished with eighty blows, and even with strangulation. The power of the emperor in interceding for the people is supposed to be great. On the occasion of a great drought in the year 1832, the emperor prayed thus: the minister of Heaven, am placed over mankind, and made responsible for keeping the world in order, and tranquillizing the people. Unable as I am to sleep or eat with composure, scorched with grief, and trembling with anxiety, still no genial and copious showers have yet descended. . . I ask myself whether in sacrificial services I have been remiss-whether pride and prodigality have had a place in my heart, springing up there unobserved whether, from length of time, I have become careless in the concerns of government-whether I have uttered irreverent words, and deserved reprehension--whether perfect equity has been attained in conferring rewards and inflicting punishments whether, in raising mausoleums and laying out gardens, I have distressed the people, and wasted property-whether, in the appointment of officers, I have failed to obtain fit persons, and thereby rendered government vexatious to the people whether the largesses conferred on the afflicted southern provinces were properly applied, or the people left to die in ditches. Prostrate I beg Imperial Heaven to pardon my ignorance and dulness, and to grant me self-renovation; for myriads of innocent people are involved by me, a single man. My sins are so numerous that it is hopeless to escape their consequences. Summer is passed, and autumn arrived; to wait longer is impossible. Prostrate, I implore Imperial Heaven to grant a gracious deliverance."

There is a third sect in China quite distinct from the Confucians, and the Budhists. This is the Taou sect, so called from Taou, a philosopher, contemporary with Confucius. This sect is idolatrous and superstitious, like the rest, and its sacred books

Thus the state of the Chinese, as to spiritual and eternal things, is one of "gross darkness;" while the tendency of their various superstitions is to inflate the mind with pride and self-importance, and to hinder the reception of simple truth. The wise doctrines of Confucius, indeed, tend to earthly prosperity, and maintain a state of order and subordination among the people; but all progress in real knowledge is sadly encumbered by false and superstitious views on the subject of religion. The education and literature of the Celestial Empire has been much extolled, on account of its universality, as it regards the male sex, and the sure prospects of advancement to posts of honour which are held out to successful scholars. But the instruction itself is extremely limited, and none dare swerve from the prescribed track, or study other matters than those which are necessary to make them good subjects of the empire. All must be done exactly after the ancient manner, and there is no thirsting for new discoveries, or prying into the mysteries of nature. The dresses of literary men, and their method of keeping and arranging their books, are shown in Case III. of the collection.

The Chinese have few public holidays. There is, of course, no regular observance of a sabbath, but there are feasts dependent on the sun and moon. The greatest of these is that of the New Year. The people sit up the whole of the preceding night, letting off fireworks, performing sacred rites, and preparing their houses for the solemnities of the new year. No work that can possibly be omitted is done for the first three days, and public business is suspended for forty days, that the prescribed ceremonials may be duly observed. Tickets of congratulation are sent, and presents exchanged; crowds repair to the different temples, and visits are universally paid. The Feast of Lanterns, which occurs soon after this, is a general illumination throughout the empire. On this occasion a vast variety of lanterns are displayed, made of silk, varnish, horn, paper, and glass, some of them having figures of men and animals in full motion. The moving power is the heated air of the lamp, which turns a horizontal wheel; the lamp itself is simply a cotton wick, immersed in a cup of oil. This Feast of Lanterns is represented with considerable brilliancy and effect at the Exhibition.

An interesting festival is held by the Chinese in honour of the return of spring. Musicians, and children decked with flowers, escort a clay figure of the buffalo (the animal used to plough the flooded rice grounds) into the city. The Governor goes out at the eastern gate to meet it, and delivers an address, in his capacity of "Priest of Spring." About the same time of the year, after the performance of certain sacrifices, the emperor goes through the ceremony of ploughing a few furrows, in which he is followed and imitated by the princes and ministers of state, in token of the protection they are willing to afford to agriculture. The empress also appears in person in the silkworm districts; and, after sacrificing at the altar of the inventor of the silk manufacture, proceeds, with her principal ladies, to gather the mulberry leaves, feed the silkworms, heat the cocoons in water, wind off the silk, &c. The dresses of ladies of distinction, their

ceding deposit. The clay seems to be moistened in some way by a secretion from the bird's mouth-glands, and thus to acquire that glue-like property which renders the nest firm and durable. When well placed, they will resist for years both summer and winter storms, with all the alternations of heat and cold, drought and wet; after which time it requires some powerful blows of a stick to effect their destruction. So viscid is the substance of the nest, that the marks of its adhesion cannot be obliterated from the wood-work of a house without the application of mop and brush.

"It wins my admiration

To view the structure of that little work,
Yon bird's nest. Mark it well, within, without,
No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut;
No nail to fix; no bodkin to insert;
No glue to join; his little beak was all:
And yet, how neatly finished! What nice hand,
With every implement, and means of art,
And twenty years' apprenticeship to boot,
Could make me such another ?"

The martins are sometimes exceedingly unfortunate in the choice of a place for the nest, raising it where its destruction is inevitable; an illustration of the oft-repeated remark, that a little reason would avoid dangers which the finest instinct rushes into.

A pair began this year to build on the top frame of a window, opening outside in the manner of a door. As this window was shut every evening, the whole work of each day was constantly swept off the ledge by its closing. The writer hoped the birds would desist from building in that spot after one or two instances of destruction had occurred; instead of which, they pertinaciously repaired every morning the ruins of the previous evening, till after repeated disappointments the hopeless attempt was relinquished. One circumstance, rendering this pertinacity more remarkable, was the late hour at which the window was opened in the morning, thus foreing the birds to delay their labours some hours after their usual time of work had commenced. I was sorry to disturb or incommode the little things, but their instinct-illogicalness had led them to a place whence their dislodgement was unavoidable.

These nests are fully occupied during a season, as the martin has generally two broods in a summer, which sport round the houses honoured by their choice, till the autumnal gales sound the alarm of winter. As the martins do not appear to increase in numbers, such numerous families are clearly designed to replace the losses caused by their migrations to warmer homes. Thousands and tens of thousands of these snow-bosomed birds perish during their long journeyings, in which they are necessarily exposed to the fierce winds of the tropics, so prevalent during spring and autumn. The martins probably suffer more than the other swallows, in consequence of their less vigorous powers of flight, and this waste is repaired by the large families raised in a year by each pair. Perhaps no birds leave such numbers of their companions dead in the ocean waters as the martins Thus, after a gay life, amid the pastures, and along the banks of the fair winding rivers, of England, hosts of the Hirundines perish in the cold blue waves of the Mediterranean.

Their autumnal migration, which is generally towards the end of October, is performed in vast armies, which gather their companies together in our villages and hamlets, as if forming their battalions for some grand struggle with the elements of nature. The villages on the banks of gentle rivers, and especially those on the willow-fringed margins of the Thames, swarm with the gathering arrays, which send forth in still evening the not unmusical sounds from a thousand fluttering wings. None would willingly believe harsh things of these birds of beauty, but truth-loving philosophy will not hide the revelations of nature behind flimsy veils of fancy, nor substitute the gorgeousness of fable for the

pure and starry brightness of reality. An astronomer would gain little by wilfully closing his eyes to the spots on the sun or the moon; nor will the true naturalist degrade his pursuit to a collection of childish babblings, seeking no end but the excitement of a weak admiration. What then must truth declare of the martin? No less than this, that these apparently gentle birds often leave their young to perish in the nest, when hatched late in the year, and provide for their own safety by joining in the general migration.

Their nests have often been examined, and great numbers found to contain dead birds, or eggs which have been abandoned when on the point of hatching. These deserted nests are only found late in the year, when an irresistible passion impels the parent birds to abandon objects which, at other times, they would most fondly have cherished. These desertions appear, in some seasons, to be numerous, as out of thirty-six nests examined in one autumn, fifteen contained dead birds. Such abandonments of the young by a bird are singular exceptions to the general law which prompts the feathered tribes to nurture and protect, with a fond assiduity, their nestlings. But these cases of apparent cruelty in the martin arise from the strong influence of another law, that of migration in due time, upon obedience to which the existence of the swallow family depends. When the approach of winter stirs within the swallow the workings of this principle, all others yield for a time to its overpowering force; even a longtried affection for the young then submits to another impulse. To the last the martin watches and tends its nestlings. At length it sees its fellows congregate, hears their signal for departure, and, seized by the wild impulse, springs aloft, and joins the migrating host, whilst its young are necessarily left to perish. Our house-martin is not found in America, where its place is probably supplied by the green martin, (Hirundo Berides,) which is beautifully marked on the back and wings by tints of green and blue; or by the purple martin, (Hirundo Purpurea,) distinguished by the purplish hues of its breast and belly. This last bird is sometimes seen in flocks of two miles in length, by half a mile in width, and receives protection and shelter from the people, who build compact bird-houses to attract this martin to nestle in their gardens.

The Sand Martin, (Hirundo Riparia.) This species resembles, in its general habits, the other members of the Swallow family, and is here noticed on account of the peculiar tendency to form its nest in deep hollows of river banks, or such like localities. From this habit it has been characterised by the term, "riparia," which the English reader may translate by the word bank;" the full name, "Hirundo riparia," signifying the bank Swallow. This habit was noted ages ago; and Pliny the Elder, in his great work on natural history and science, applies the term " riparia" to the sand-martin. Thus, for nearly 1800 years, this bird has enjoyed the honour of an unchanged appellation. It is the smallest of the swallow family, and comparatively rare in the south of England, though more frequently seen than some imagine. These martins have not the bold and long-sweeping flight of the other swallows, but fly in a series of oscillations, somewhat resembling the motions of a butterfly, from which, perhaps, they are called, in some parts of Spain, Papilion di Montagna, or Mountain Butterfly.

The nests are usually formed in the banks of rivers, but are sometimes found in sand, at some distance from water. The active bird bores a winding opening into the bank, of more than two feet in length, at the extremity of which it forms a comfortable little home for its young. Some banks appear to have an especial attraction for these birds, and are completely riddled for some distance; 400 holes having been counted within a space of eighty yards, in such banks. The solitary shores of the great American rivers swarm with these birds, and the traveller is often startled by

the clouds which suddenly dart across the stream from their sandy hiding places.

The Swift. (Hirundo Apus.) This species might be called a large swallow by the general observer, as its habits do not much differ from those of the other Hirundines. It is not classed by all naturalists amongst the Hirundinidæ, receiving a distinct appellation, (Cypselus Apus,) which is supposed to characterise the habits and appearance of the bird. This name signifies the footless hive-builder; cypselus expressing its habits of building in holes of walls, and apus referring to the shortness of the feet. The former name has been given to this swallow since the days of Aristotle, but the Linnean name, Hirundo Apus, seems not very unsuitable, as there can be little doubt respecting the claim of the swift to rank with the swallows. Linnæus classed it amongst the Hirundines, but he applied the term apus, or footless, to the bird, which is, of course, inaccurate, and so far objectionable. Cypselus Murarius has been thought a fitter designation by Temminck, as murarius denotes the Swift's habit of frequenting ancient walls, and the hollows of grey ruins. But surely Hirundo Murarius is sufficiently exact, avoiding the error implied by the word apus, and the fault of needlessly increasing the number of genera, to which objection the use of cypselus does certainly seem liable. The feet of the swift are so short as to unfit it for motion on the ground, on which it rarely alights. The toes are all in front of the foot, and so much curved, as to resemble the claws of the falcon. This structure enables the swift to cling firmly to the sides of perpendicular walls and rocks, which are its principal resting-places; and the feet are not designed for locomotion, but for a grasping apparatus. The long and powerful wings enable this bird of the airy realms to keep on the wing for sixteen hours through the long days of summer, when it may be seen disporting at immense heights, as if delighted to live beyond the many-voiced din of earth. Not till the last crimson rays have faded from the western clouds, do the swifts descend from their high paths to roost in some ivy-clad tower, or ruined castle wall. Should sultry thunder-clouds gather along the horizon, the swifts are seen to dart to and fro, with exulting glee, as if eager to mingle in the strife of the tempest. Probably such weather brings within its easy reach myriads of insects, and hence the bird's delight at such times can be explained on the most approved principles of

utilitarianism.

The swift does not remain in England longer than three months, arriving about the middle of May, and leaving in August; it therefore has but one brood in the season, which being reared, the warm regions of the South are again sought. But, though the stay is short, the bird retains its summer home in memory, returning year after year to the same places. Dr. Jenner tested this habit of the swift, by taking from each of twelve birds two of their claws, by which mark he was able to recognise at the end of seven years one of the maimed birds in its former haunt.

The colour of the swift is a bright black, except the chin, which is white. Their hues become much dimmed by the nesting labours, and they consequently leave us in worn and soiled apparel.

This bird is not much of an architect, satisfying itself by a rude nest of dry vegetable matter and feathers.

The Java Swallow. (Hirundo Esculenta.) Our li

mited space prevents more than a brief notice of this bird, which indeed offers little to attract attention, if its nests are excepted. Some birds gain ornithological distinction by their modes of life; this derives its imapplies of course to the nest, not to the bird, and is therefore a clumsy epithet when connected with the word Hirundo. Asiatic, Indian, or Java Swallow would be a more correct designation. The nests of this bird are formed from certain portions of its food, and are collected with the utmost care by the natives of the Chinese seas, who risk their lives to procure from precipitous rocks these prized specimens of bird-manufacture. The matter of which these nests are composed is sold in the Chinese markets, at a cost equal to thirty shillings of our money for a pound's weight, and is used for soup. The nests are reduced to a substance resembling isinglass, after twenty-four hours' boiling. More than 2,500lbs weight of these nests are collected yearly in Java, and, as each nest weighs about half an ounce, the number taken must be immense. Men have thus laid a swallow under contribution to increase their luxuries, and from the substance of a bird's nest extracted piquancy for their dishes. Some have imagined these singular nests to be formed from the scum floating on the sea, or from sea-plants, but this supposition appears unfounded.

Goldsmith is a little irritated when writing of this eastern food, exclaiming sarcastically, "What a pity this luxury hath not been introduced among us, and then our great feasters might be enabled to eat a little more!"

Here must terminate this account of the swallows, which are now in tens of thousands rejoicing amongst us, and enlivening by their beautiful forms the banks of our gentle streams, and broad rivers, whilst over tangled copses, and across flowery meads, these birds of brightness wheel in their fulness of delight.

ASCENT OF THE PETER BOTTE MOUNTAIN.

THE following interesting account of the Ascent of the Peter Botte Mountain, Mauritius, on the 7th September, 1832, extracted from a private letter from Lieutenant Taylor, R. A., is taken from the Transactions of the Royal Geographical Society, for 1832.

"You are no doubt aware from my former letter that the Peter Botte has always been considered inaccessible, and, although a tradition exists of a man of that name having ascended it and losing his life in returning, it is seldom believed, no authentic account remaining of the fact. A Frenchman, forty-two years ago, declared that he had got on the top by himself, and made a hole in the rock for a flagstaff, and his countrymen naturally believed him; but the value of this assertion may be also judged of by the present narrative. The ascent has been frequently attempted, and by several people, of late years; once by the officers of His Majesty's ship Samarang, who lost their way, and found themselves separated from the Peter Botte itself by a deep cleft in the rock, and in consequence were compelled to return. Captain Lloyd, chief civil engineer, and your old friend Dawkins, made the attempt last year, and succeeded in reaching a point between the shoulder and the neck, where they planted a ladder, which did not, however, reach half-way up a perpendicular face of rock that arrested their progress. This was the last attempt. Captain Lloyd was then, however, so convinced of the practicability of the undertaking that he determined to repeat the experiment this year, and accordingly made all his preparations by the beginning of this month. On the 6th

he started from town, accompanied by Lieutenant Phil- | potts, of the 29th Regiment, Lieutenant Keppel, R.N. (my 'old messmate), and myself, whom he asked to join him. He had previously sent out two of his overseers, with about twenty-five negroes and Sepoy convicts, to make all the necessary preparations. They carried with them a sort of tent, and ropes, crowbars, a portable ladder, provisions, and everything we could possibly want for three or four days, as we intended to remain on the shoulder of the mountain, close to the base of Peter Botte, until we either succeeded or were convinced of its impossibility. These men had worked hard, and on our arriving at the foot of the mountain, we found the tent and all our tools, &c., safely lodged on the shoulder of the Peter Botte. I may as well describe here the appearance of the mountain. From most points of view it seems to rise out of the range, which runs nearly parallel to that part of the sea-coast which forms the bay of Port Louis, but on arriving at its base you find that it is actually separated from the rest of the range by a ravine or cleft of a tremendous depth. Seen from the town (as you will perceive by the sketch) it appears a cone with a large overhanging rock at its summit, but so extraordinarily sharp and knife-like is this, in common with all the rocks in the Island, that when seen end on, as the sailors say, it appears nearly quite perpendicular. In fact, I have seen it in fifty different points of view, and cannot yet assign to it any one precise form.-But to my tale:

"We dined that evening and slept at the house of a Frenchman in the plains below, and rose early next morning, much exhausted by the attacks of bugs. All our preparations being made, we started, and a more

Our van

picturesque line of march I have seldom seen. was composed of about fifteen or twenty Sepoys in every variety of costume, together with a few negroes carrying our food, dry clothes, &c. Our path lay up a very steep ravine, formed by the rains in the wet season, which having loosened all the stones, made it anything but pleasant; those below were obliged to keep a bright look-out for tumbling rocks, and one of these missed Keppel and myself by a miracle.

"From the head of the gorge we turned off along the other face of the mountain; and it would have been a fine subject for a picture, to look up from the ravine below, and see the long string slowly picking their 'kittle' footsteps along a ledge not anywhere a foot broad; yet these monkeys carried their loads full four hundred yards along this face, holding by the shrubs above, while below there was nothing but the tops of the forest for more than nine hundred feet down the slope.

"On rising to the shoulder, a view burst upon us which quite defies my descriptive powers. We stood on a little narrow ledge or neck of land, about twenty yards in length. On the side which we mounted, we looked back into the deep wooded gorge we had passed up; while, on the opposite side of the neck, which was between six and seven feet broad, the precipice went sheer down fifteen hundred feet to the plain. One extremity of the neck was equally precipitous, and the other was bounded by what to me was the most magnificent sight I ever saw. A narrow, knife-like edge of rock, broken here and there by precipitous faces, ran up in a conical form to about three hundred or three hundred and fifty feet above us; and on the very pinnacle old 'Peter Botte'