THE BIG BOOK-MAN: A GREAT FACT. FROM NOTES OF AN AFRICAN TRAVELLER. "Beware the man of one Book."-Erasmus. I. is knowledge power" prevails in these regions as well as elsewhere. Here, however, the Koran a upon the fears and credulity of their numerous victims. The "wet season" is famous for its natural and artificial products; the "dry" for its crops, travelling, and traffic; and where hospitality is proverbial, and strangers always welcome, the best entertainment and profound respect everywhere await a Karamojah who has taken his degrees! The following tale is no imaginary fiction, but ELDOM as we hear a narrative of an actual fact:of the "School"The Gallinas" is a part of the Western coast, master abroad" as well known for the heathenish superstition of among the tribes its inhabitants, as for its palm oil or its speckled of inter-tropical poultry. Hither our hero has worked his way Africa, such func- as an itinerant priest, doctor, lawyer, trader, or tionaries, under the huckster; taking everybody into his confidence, name of "Kara- and cajoling everybody in turn. It is now the mojabs," are not turn of the chief, by whom he is honourably enonly numerous, but tertained, and who is a fair type of those petty they enjoy very dis- rulers, in the coast districts, who exercise a kind tinguished rank. of patriarchal authority over a few families and The doctrine that personal slaves; and whose traditional predilections reflect rather the tone and character of European intercourse than the less sophisticated habits and aspirations of the chiefs and people of the interior. They have high notions of "whiteman's savey," and white-man's lingo. They regarded as love to indulge in that mental "blind-man's "treasury of know- buff," in which they grope about for puncheons ledge" in itself. of rum, hogsheads of tobacco, and runaway enables the student slaves; and they occasionally rejoice in a superto take his own de- annuated naval uniform coat, or cocked hat, conferred upon them in a spree," as the ceremony grees. Public opinion grants him his of a diplomatic mission from the Court of St. James's, with the brevet rank of "King;" and diploma, and, as a Karamojah, he is the honorary sobriquet of "Snow-ball" or "Bottlenose." In a personal sense, Obesity is something more than the School- the prominent characteristic of our host; Slimness that of his guest. On this score, a capital O master: he is a "Book-man," or may represent the one, and a capital I the other, professor of everywith the advantage, too, of being convertible thing; and as old into numerals; as Nought, and Number One! On the score of dress, and address, the contrast age is everywhere held in veneration, is not less striking. A simple, loose, rusty, blue his progress in life, cotton robe, a red woollen cap upon his orbicuas well as his prolar head, and a gree-gree necklace of alligators' gress in knowledge, teeth, complete the outward and visible attire of constitutes the "sliding scale" by which he the chief; who prefers ease to dignity. Not so rises to the more exalted rank of a Big Book- his distinguished guest, who with a blue robe, also, and a black scull-cap,-charms dangling man, whether professionally or not. As more humble preceptors, however, of reading and from his neck and affixed to his wrists and writing in the earlier stages of their career, the fraternity of Karam jahs devote much time to copying particular passages from the "sacred book," and they are celebrated for the neatness of their writing, and the taste of their initial capitals, which are frequently illuminated with gaudy colours, especially blues and reds. Shorter extracts are, also, in constant demand to be enclosed in leather cases and worn as charms, or amulets, about the person. Hence the fraternity of "Garangays," or leather-workers, acquire distinction also; and hence, again, distinction settles upon another numerous class, who, as wandering religious merchants, well stocked with amulets and gree-grees, and cunning in making them,-simulate sanctity as a charm in itself, and drive a charming trade in working • The j is sounded as a guttural, something like k. VOL. I. ankles,-tall, long-limbed and long-visaged, a high forehead, protruding cheek-bones, thin aquiline nose, a most insinuating mouth, and small piercing eyes,—prefers dignity to ease. Mystery is the very soul of superstition, and the Book-man knows it. He is by turns mysteriously reserved-and the chief cogitates; mysteriously chief reciprocates; troubled in spirit as if with an aching heart— and the chief commiserates. affable-and the now "Come, come, smoke pipe; try lilly rum!" says the old man; but he is now wrapped in ecstacy as he speaks-to himself-of heaven, and the fruition of his hopes-when he gets there!-The chief pricks his ears. He descants on the temporal benefits conferred by gree-grees, and the relative virtues of the genuine and the adulterated. His remarks naturally tend to enhance the value No. 2. of the particular gree-gree he has so liberally self at the idea of such confidence, earnestly bestowed on his "good friend" as a present, asseverates his observance of secrecy. But "You must know, then," continues the book to "make his heart lie down easy.' he knows, full well, how rebellious the hu-man, " that an ancestor of mine bequeathed meman heart is: he knows how prone it is to jump up and "dance" till it is tired; and he knows, also, that this is an intercalated period of the chief's existence-The old man is about to think so himself-and that his heart must get up and dance! The hearts of his people have all been gree-greed, and are all dancing; while their voices are singing the praises of the Big Book-man! Though we have not the slightest evidence of it-not even a transient gleam of inward joyousness reflected upon his impassive countenance, it may be questioned whether the heart of the great Book-man, itself, is not, at least, indulging in an allegro movement, if not a decided jig; and this, not so much in unison with the popular inspiration, or the vocal sounds, as with his own mental enumeration of all the gree-grees he has already disposed of, while he glances at the heaps of rice and corn he has to carry away with him, with whatever else may represent their convertible value. No wonder that such a man should have moments of abstraction; that his pagan host should reverence such conclusive evidence of a great mind, or that such a mind, such calm imperturbable gravity, such dignity, and such a something which the chief cannot yet comprehend, should inspire ideas of super-superlative eminence. It is that "something" which most puzzles him. "What can it be ?" He has seen the great man draw a mysterious paper from the folds of his robe, spread it before him, and pore over it with the deepest solicitude, and conceal it in haste when conscious of being observed. The chief's curiosity, however, has kept pace with his apparent caution, and obtained a glance at it. "It is very beautiful! it must be a Big gree-gree!" But here he is wrong; and his guest at once tells him so. "It is wholly a private matter, my good friend; and has nothing to do with this worldnothing!" And yet, such is the perverseness of human nature, this announcement only makes the old man more importunate to have, at least, another look at it; he acknowledges to have seen "a little bit." "You have!" exclaims his companion, with simulated surprise; "do you really mean that?" "Yes!" replied the chief; "my eye catch lilly bit; my heart hungry for lilly more; come, come, you let me see him, eh ?" The other deliberates-that charming mouth of his is practising the spasmodic wriggle of vexation-the chief is the more urgent. "You no call me good friend, eh?" he asks persuasively. Well, well, I suppose I must tell you what it is; but-" he pauses, and looks round suspiciously-"the truth is, though it cannot possibly concern you, and I ought not to show it to anybody, still, as a friend I so much esteem, I may, perhaps, trust you:-yes, I think I may.' The chief, exalted in his own opinion of him and it is this that makes me happy, apart from what I can do to make others happy; I have, indeed, little to disturb me here, and I have more than I need hereafter." He pauses again, and sighs; the eye-balls of the old chief dilate, and his breath is checked by an acute throb at his heart, as his companion now produces, but without yet unfolding, the precious document. "Well, then," resumes his guest, with greater solemnity; "this ancestor of mine"-he here taps upon the mysterious paper with his forefinger to give point to his words "this ancestor of mine, I say, was a great man; a good man too, and a great Book-man; and when he died, he bequeathed me SEVEN LOTS IN HEAVEN! and secured them to me by this book. This big Book."* The chief is staggered with amazement; and well he may be. His eyes gloat upon the folded paper, while a convulsive action of his throat checks, for awhile, his utterance. "And may I no see him!" he at length exclaims. His guest shows some reluctance-a struggle between his scruples and his kindlier feelings; but he presently, with great care, unfolds and spreads before the wondering eyes of his credulous host, the tantalizing passport to heaven; the title-deed of the inheritance that awaits him there; the surveyed plan of the domains (of course on a very reduced scale, but beautifully coloured), free from all "contingent remainders" or incumbrances whatsoever! With their foreheads now brought nearly in and our hero proceeds to expatiate on the contact, they pore over the wonderful book, transcendant sources of unalloyed happiness in store for him; to explain in glowing terms the settled boundaries. He refers particularly to merits of the several lots so clearly defined by the centre of the middle lot as the location of his own house : fine hammock, too; close by that big cotton "Fine house there-very fine; fine piazza; tree,-all them palm,-and that fine river; plenty gold in that river." "Ah!" exclaims the chief. "Plenty, plenty!" reiterates his expositor; no alligator there, no shark there." He now enlarges on the exuberant fertility of The term "lots" is familiarly used among the natives as signifying pieces of land allotted, or otherwise possessed by them as farms. The word "book" is also applied indiscriminately to all writings or representations on of the matter than to the bulk of the paper. paper; the prefix "big," referring rather to the importance the land; the never-failing crops of rice and corn, and cassava, and yams; the perpetual serenity and purity of the atmosphere : "Hab tobacco dere?" asks the old man; "rum too!" "F-i-n-e tobacco! fine, fine, very fine! too much rum, too much!" is the ready reply. "No tornado there," he continues; no "saucy sea, no thunder, no lightning, no thieves, no quarrel, no fight, no slaves." "What!" again exclaims the chief, interrupting him, "no slaves!" "Slaves ?-No!" he emphatically replies; "no want slaves there! no work there! no trouble there! no witches, no 'griffies,' no 'purrah' and 'red water' there! no wicked wangka there! Mumbo Jumbo no come there! no want gree-gree and fetish there! all happy there! nothing, nothing like what we have down here!" The poor old chief is nearly driven to ecstatic madness. One idea, now, alone absorbs his mind. If he could only obtain one of those lots-only one!-But the glow of hope, which is acting as a powerful diaphoretic, is suddenly checked by the aguish inroad of despair, as he sees, with almost idiotic stupor, his companion again folding the precious allotments, replacing them within his robe, and coolly leaving "his good friend" to his meditations. There, too, we must leave him for the present. (To be continued.) CHOPS. J. J. "CHOPS, sir; yes sir,"-replies the waiter, immediately gliding across the coffee-room, and transmitting to the priestess presiding over the destinies of the gridiron the following paraphrase of our order: "Two muttons to follow," which we again may, for the benefit of those gentle readers who have not been initiated in the mysteries of a city chop-house, explain to signify that one and the same individual requires two chops to be cooked and served up in succession, so that he may partake of both as they come reeking from the gridiron. Having made these arrangements for our prandial meal, we wait in perfect confidence the advent of the chops, spending the few minutes that elapse before their appearance in contrasting the wretched dish of thin, dry, hard, blackened, frizzled objects which we had at our friend Jenkins's this day week, with the plump, succulent, tender masses which we know right well, from numerous experiences, are preparing for our delectation. It is needless to ask any Benedict to institute a like comparison. Chops at home are an abomination, a makeshift-a mere means of ckeing out another wise insufficient dinner. Does a friend drop in, and Benedict's wife state that they have nothing left, but that they can soon get him a chop? Notice the alacrity with which the offer is "declined with thanks," like the bad articles forwarded to a magazine-whereupon Benedict and his friend sally forth to the nearest chop-house, and order the very dish they despised at home. If we seek to discover the causes which lead to the vast superiority of the chop at "Joe's" | over the chop at Jenkins's, we must have recourse to the first principles of culinary chemistry. The flesh of the sheep, like that of all other animals, is not a simple body, but consists of several distinct substances, each of which is acted upon in a different manner by heat. In order to practise the art of cookery successfully, and in accordance with the science of chemistry, we should know what the various substances are which compose our food, and what are the effects of different degrees of heat on each. The most abundant ingredient of flesh is water, which constitutes three quarters of its weight. It must, however, be borne in mind, that this water contains dissolved in it certain proportions of substances of the highest possible value as articles of food; hence it is exceedingly important, in all the processes of cookery, that not a single drop, if possible, of this juice of the flesh be permitted to escape. Its retention is necessary to secure the succulence and sapidity, as well as the nutritive character of the meat. Of the solid constituents of the flesh, one of the most important is that which constitutes the substance of the fibres, or grain, of the meat. This is termed by chemists fibrin; and, although in some mysterious condition it exists dissolved in the blood, in its solid form it is quite insoluble in either cold or hot water. Fibrin is hardened and contracted by heat, even when the temperature is not greater than that of boiling water. Another substance existing in the flesh is precisely similar in all its properties to the white of egg; hence it is appropriately termed albumen. In its liquid state, albumen readily dissolves in water; but, exposed to a temperature even thirty degrees short of boiling, it hardens or coagulates, and becomes quite insoluble in, and impervious to, water. In addition to these substances, a certain proportion of gelatine exists in the flesh. But, as the quantity is not large, except in the tendinous and sinewy portions, it is not very important to our present subject. Having spoken of the action of heat upon these constituents of flesh when in a separate condition, let us now consider its influence upon them as they exist combined in the meat. On putting the chop down to the fire, the first effect of heat is the coagulation of the albumen on the surface exposed to it; by this coagulation the flesh is rendered solid, and an outside layer is formed through which the juice cannot pass. If the application of heat be longer continued, the increased temperature causes the hardening and contraction of the fibrin; this contraction squeezes out the juice, which rapidly escapes on the side of the chop farthest from the fire, and should its action be allowed to continue, the meat becomes dry, hard, insipid and innutritious. The experienced cook, however, never permits the temperature to rise to such a degree, and the escape of the juice on either side is prevented by the frequent turning of the chop, so that the insoluble coating of albumen is formed on both sides before any can be forced out by the contraction of the fibrin. Practically, the rules to be borne in mind in broiling are as follow: The chops must be cut of a thickness cer tainly not less than an inch and a-half, and they should be severed from the loin by the saw, so as to be uniform in thickness; they should then be placed down to a clear bright fire, so that the albumen of one side may be immediately coagulated, and they should then be at once turned, and this turning repeated almost incessantly until they are done; if a fork is thrust into the flesh, the juice escapes through the punctures, and the chop is spoiled; therefore, a pair of tongs should be employed for that purpose. Should a chop be cut into, in order to ascertain if it sufficiently cooked, and then put down to the fire again, it is immediately spoiled. The Golden rules of broiling a chop are:-1. Select a thick chop. 2. Take care that your fire is clear and bright. 3. Let the turning be rapid and incessant. Attention to these will ensure a great improvement in our domestic cookery, and, with sufficient practice, the chops at Jenkins's may even rival those at "Joe's-" But here comes the light-footed waiter with my first "mutton." Ah! just what I expected a model chop-done to a turn. W. B. TEGETMEIER. TWO CHAPTERS ON KERANEES. BY JOHN LANG. II. HOSE Kerânees who are too idle and worthless to work for their livelihood and their name is legion, are the most inveterate beggars on the earth's surface. They seldom beg in person, however, but contrive by cajolery, or a small bribe, to have their "petitions" (enclosed in an envelope) delivered into the hands of the Sahib to whom it is addressed. The handwriting of the Keranee who has been a section writer in a Government office often resembles copper-plate, the letters are so regularly and beautifully formed; but his original composition is very quaint and meagre, founded, as it is invariably, on the length of the words employed, without any reference to their real signification; with him, the longest words are the best, and the most expressive. With the aid of a shilling edition of Johnson's Dictionary (the Vade Mecum of every Kerânee) the petitioner picks out and writes down all those words which are most pleasing to his eye, and with the assistance of a conjunction or two, puts them together, in the same random manner that a young child desirous of harmony or a noise, strikes the keys of a pianoforte. The pith of his appeal he reserves to the end, and it is always very curt and intelligible. Let me, however, give a specimen; I select it indiscriminately from a very large collection which I have the happiness to possess: SIR,-The animosity of your magnanimous Excellency's disposition, combined with your accurate appreciation of of occult sciences, leads your petitioner to believe that the misanthropic particles of a degenerate accumulation a simultaneous concordance of a predisposing imagination will not be destitute of a sympathetic acquiescence in stultiloquence of stupefaction, irritated theoretically by the fundamental proportions of despairing poverty. The the vicissitudes of indeterminable necessities, causes your petitioner the most excruciating agony. But for relief your petitioner begs that your honour will send him, per bearer, one rupee, or even eight annas, being in much want; and if your honour could oblige with a brass cooking dish, or a kettle to boil tea, it would be a great favour, for which your petitioner would ever pray, &c. ANTONIO GONSALVES. I Now and then you will find a poetical Kerânee. am not ashamed to say that I kept one for several months in the Upper Provinces of India: of my friends, to whom I used to enclose his not to sing my own praises, exactly; but those effusions. I only gave him ten rupees a month, and, considering the number of themes I laid before him to write upon, and the pleasure his efforts afforded me, he was, without exception, the cheapest amusement imaginable. I offered to back him, once, to write "heroics" against any of the European bards in India; but none of them dared accept the challenge. He acted as my messenger, as well as a poet, and thus he had an opportunity of seeing many of the ladies, whose glories I used to command him to singnot that he cared much about seeing themso very fertile was his imagination, and so comprehensive his fancy. The following lines were written in honour of a lady, the wife of a very old friend of mine, to whom the poet carried a basket of mangoes:O! beautiful lady, with eyes so blue, I never beheld such a lady as you: No wonder my master is tearing his hair, The following were addressed to the Governor-General of India; and I would here mention to the reader that my poet had never read any of "Fitzgerald's Couplets," nor had he ever seen the "Rejected Addresses," God bless your lordship! bless your lordship's boots! I offered, through the Private Secretary, to place the services of my poet at the entire disposal of the Governor General; but as his lordship said he could not afford to keep a poet on his private account, and as he was fearful the Court of Directors would not sanction the item for his salary out of the revenues of India, "the matter dropped," like a desultory conversation in the House of Lords. Byron said that he always wrote best under the influence of drink. And, I know for a fact that such was the case with my poet. I had a pair of hill doves. They were snow-white, with pink feet and bills. One of them, the female bird, died; I gave it to the poet, and commanded him to write me some verses, in his most serious strain. He made a very sorrowful face, and complained of spasms in his stomach. I knew what he wanted, and gave him a strong dose of brandy and water. In less than half an hour he returned with the following: Poor little dove! Art thou, then, dead? Ah! where has it fled ? You drew your first breath. Much as I regretted it, I was obliged to sever my connexion with my "Portuguese" I did not care how much he sang poet. the praises of wine and brandy, but he took to drinking so much Bazaar arrack that he became a bore; for it not only intoxicated, but maddened him; and during these paroxysms he would break in upon me, at the most inopportune times, and, with bloodshot eyes and outstretched arms, extemporize to a frightful extent. This is the sort of strain in which he would indulge: &c., &c. Oceans, and seas, and rocks, and waves, and winds, 'Midst which man roams, and contemplation finds; And beauteous woman, from her azure brow, Proclaims the empire warriors must allow. Mountains and plains, and undulating fields, Where bounteous earth her golden harvest yields! Caverns and deserts of eternal sand, Without wherewith to slake the thirst, at hand! No water, wine, rum, beer; no gin, no brandy! No! Nothing! Not a drop of nothing handy! Now reigns eternal darkness on the deep; &c., After losing my poet I patronized a "Portuguese," who was a musician. He had been in the band of a Native Infantry regiment (by the way, the bands of all these regiments were composed entirely of Kerânees). He could play on the piano, the violin, and the flute; and play really well on the two last named instruments. When I was unable to go to the Mall, and hear the band of one of the royal regiments play a new polka, a set of quadrilles, or airs from the last opera, I used to send my musician to listen; and on his return he would give me all he heard, with a skill and a fidelity truly amazing; and what was more, he would play all sorts of variations to the different airs. He used to tell me that his soul was filled with music, and that as a boy of thirteen years of age he could play on the violin or flute anything he heard; but then only by ear. With my musician also I was obliged to part, and for the same reason as that which obliged me to part with the poet. He would drink so desperately hard, and he had so many opportunities; for those gentlemen to whom I used frequently to send him, to beguile a dull hour with his fiddle and flute, permitted him to go to the sideboard and slake his thirst much oftener than there was any occasion for. A friend of mine kept a Kerânee who used to sing charmingly. He was, however, so painfully ugly, so very black, and so pitted with the small pox, that my friend used to make him stand in a corner with his face to the wall while singing a ballad, in order that the effect of his beautiful voice might not be marred by a contemplation of his hideous features. He was a Spanish "Portuguese," and he bore the noble name of Guzman. ONE into parochial prose, the name of the Ugly Customer would appear to have been William Blaggett. But if you, being of an eccentric turn, had chosen to go round to all Mr. William Blaggett's acquaintance, and inquire for him by that name, they would one and all have repudiated any association with him; whereas, had you inquired for the Ugly Customer, you would shortly have been introduced to just as ugly a customer as any rational mortal could desire, in the person of the aforesaid Blaggett. The Ugly Customer was a perfect giant in height and bulk. He looked as though Nature, in some strange fit of moody melancholy, had gone on piling him up and up with no other object but that of building the very ugliest customer that ever had been, was, or would be. She flattened his skull; she heightened his cheek-bones; she elongated his jaws; she screwed his eyes; she slashed his mouth; she interfered even with his vaccination, which consequently failed, and laid him open to a highly ornamental attack, the results of which may still be seen. The "Berkshire Joskin" completed the work by battering in Mr. Blaggett's nose; and Nature, satisfied for the present with her work in that branch of art, has been remarked to make more beautiful girls since the celebrated Blaggett performance than ever were seen before. |