Sept. 23, 1882.] VINTAGE-TIME. OLD Father Rhine was bearing his share of the last contingent of summer travellers to their various homes. These included the ubiquitous American; the grave and solemn Russian ; the portly German with wife and family, who, having soused themselves thoroughly at some watering-place, were wending their way back to their sauerkraut and indigestion; and lastly, many a son and daughter of Albion, whose healthy happy faces, bronzed by Alpine and Italian suns, showed that they had not been wasting the summer in idleness or in drinking drumlie German water.' The towns and villages were reaping the last of their annual spoils from the tourists; the air was filled with the scent of ripening fruit; the steamers and river-barges were piled high with baskets of apples and pears; and the last of the great rafts from the Black Forest with its floating village, moved silently down the majestic river towards the sea. A rich harvest was in store for the Rhinelander. The destructive night-frosts of May had not molested his vines this year; a warm and generous June had helped them through the precarious season of blossom; a broiling August sun had ripened the fruit, and a beautiful September had brought the grapes to perfection. Autumn had already changed the green of the leaves into the richest of yellows and reds and browns; but these gorgeous tints failed to conceal the deep blue purple of the ripe clusters beneath, which lent their colour to the mountain-sides. Mountain and valley glowed in the richest of autumnal tints, the reflection of which was taken up by the deep flowing river, and mirrored back on its constantly changing surface. The whole Rhineland population was in a state of anxious excitement, and all hopes and fears were centred in the one question-the weather. Rain at this critical period would blight all the hopes a glorious summer had raised. The vintage does not take place simultaneously all along the Rhine; indeed, weeks often intervene between the gathering of the grapes in various districts; and in the Rheingau, where grow the wines which render the names of Johannisberg, Steinberg, Rüdesheim, &c., justly famous, the gathering-in is often so long delayed, that it is only approaching winter which hurries the housing of the grapes. In other districts, where vineyards unknown to general fame yield good and generous wines that later on adopt the names of their more famous sisters, the day for commencing the vintage is fixed by the local magnates, among whom the village burgomaster and the larger proprietors stand supreme. At the village of H-, the local magnate was indeed a portly person, credited with being able to drink several gallons of wine daily. He was a short, thick-set man about five feet high, and about as many in circumference, dressed in a blue linen blouse, blue linen trousers, and a blue cowl on his head. His broad face vied in its reds and purples with the colouring of the richest cluster of grapes; and his small sharp twinkling eyes floated in two welling lakes of tears. The way in which this village oracle, constantly buried in clouds of tobacco-smoke, gave forth his autocratic utterances, and then lapsed instantly into the severest silence, was well calculated to impress the peasantry with a sense of his unfathomable wisdom. Almost every village possesses some such magnate, who, grown up in their midst, knows everything about everybody, and possessed of a little more than average shrewdness, is looked to for advice in almost every emergency. He acts as arbitrator in small matters of dispute; and many little squabbles and quarrels are prevented from growing into lengthy matters of litigation by his fair and The oracle equitable administration of justice. had fixed the following day for the commencement of the vintage, many an anxious eye was turned towards the glowing heavens, and every little cloud was scanned as it floated across and melted into space. The evening promised well, and the quiet romance pervading everything was delightful as we watched the signs of the night from among the moonlit ruins of the old Schloss on the top of the mountain. To the south lay the ancient town of Andernach, with its old old towers and spires, bathed in the softest moonlight, guarding the entrance of the gorge. The villages below lay hushed in sleep, and no sound broke the solemn stillness but the gentle murmuring of the mighty river as it rolled along. Daybreak came, and found everybody up and busy. Old and young-the wealthy proprietor with his guests and friends, for everybody who has friends and has house-room to offer them asks them to join in helping at vintage-time; the peasant who with his children cultivates a few odd patches of ground-all are dressed in blue linen, the women in short blue gowns, the men in blue blouses and trousers. Armed with knives, shears, clippers, of all dimensions and shapes, some carrying great wicker baskets lined with pitch, and called Lehne, they moved off to the mountain-sides. The women carry the Lehne on their heads; the men carry them on their left shoulders, and support them with a thick crooked stick. When full, these Lehne weigh upwards of a hundredweight, and are often borne over the roughest and rockiest of tracks for miles. Oxen were yoked to huge lumbering wagons, on which were placed vats. These toiled up the precipitous paths to every accessible point among the terraced vineyards. In the pressing-houses in the village, all was bustle and activity. Vats were being rapidly prepared to receive the grapes; huge casks were placed upright, with the top ends taken out; crushers and stampers got a final cleaning; and weighing-machines were placed in readiness to record the weight of the various baskets as they were brought in. Those who remained in the village were all awaiting the first arrival of the grapes from the mountain-sides, when suddenly a cold draught of air swept down through the narrow gorge of the Rhine-the tolling of distant bells was wafted warningly on the breeze from village to village, and down came a dense white damp fog, burying mountain and river in its gray vapoury folds. The bells of the village church at H— joined in the ringing lament which summoned the workers back from the vineyards. All gathering operations must cease when this wet fog comes down. Apart from the actual danger to those employed in collecting the grapes, the air becomes so impregnated with moisture, that the grapes in a few minutes are covered with large beads of water. Were they gathered in this state, the produce would be as much deteriorated as if the grapes were gathered in a pelting rain. The burgomaster, in the interest of the community, and to preserve the good name of the district, causes the village bells to summon all to cease gathering. For those high up on precipitous ledges of rock where the vine loves to grow, such a fog brings its own element of danger, and lucky are they if they can reach safe ground before the mist renders each step one of peril. that one pound-weight of water is equal to one pound of grapes, and costs less. The gathering of the grapes in the vineyards ceased at about half-past five P.M. for the day; and charming it was to listen to the happy voices of the people in the soft balmy air, at first distant and low, but gradually approaching nearer and nearer, and bursting out into rich melody as they descended from the echoing hills to their village homes. In the vineyards, the work was over for the day; but not so in the pressing-houses. The ripeness of the fruit caused fermentation to set in immediately; and as simultaneous and regular fermentation is of essential importance in the making of good wine, all the gathered grapes must be crushed and vatted without delay. No individual berries must be left to burst of themselves later on, and thus disturb the harmony of the fermentation. The old method of stamping the grapes with the feet, though still pracA couple of hours elapsed. Groups of anxious tised in the south of Europe, has long since people wistfully watched the cold wet fog as it died out on the Rhine. The crushing is here swept slowly by, at times dense and impenetrable, effected by passing the grapes through large at others thin and vapoury, exposing for a second revolving rollers. The great care which has to or so the pale disc of the sun as it struggled be taken in the cultivation of the vine on through. These were two anxious hours. If the the Rhine, owing to the changeable climate, and fog rose, rain was inevitable; whereas if the fog the constant nursing required to bring the fell to the earth, a fine day was certain. At extremely delicate wines to maturity, have brought length the question was happily settled. The the science of viticulture to the highest perfection. vapoury masses collected in the hollows of the The high prices paid to the growers for their mountains, the blue sky appeared overhead, and produce is sufficient proof of this. the sun burst forth triumphantly. With happy faces and gladsome songs, the people once more streamed forth to the vineyards, and for that day they had no interruption to fear. Soon the heavily filled baskets began to arrive, and the fruit was eagerly scanned. Very different indeed were these bunches and clusters of grapes from what one is accustomed to see on the table in England, and a poor figure these little shrivelled-up berries would make beside the produce of an English vinery. Their value, however, does not lie in their looks, in the ordinary acceptation of the term. The thick saccharine juice they contain -the result of excessive ripeness-the deep-red hue of the stalks and stems of the clusters-these are what call forth the admiration of those who know what such juice will yield. The first baskets had hardly been in the pressinghouse a few minutes, before the happy vintner came forth and told us that the must-tester floated higher than it had been known to do for years. This meant that there was more saccharine matter in the juice of the pressed grapes than had been known for years. Next he came with a small flat silver cup to taste the must, the shallow cup and brightness of the metal enabling you to judge of the colour. And now men and women began to arrive in greater numbers; wagons came lumbering heavily laden from the vineyards. Crushing and pressing went on briskly in the pressinghouses all day long. Occasionally some of the bearers themselves toppled over into the vats as they emptied their heavy baskets, and had to be extricated, sticky and dejected, by their laughing comrades. All mouldy and rotten bunches have to be removed; and sometimes it is necessary to ascertain that some of those who bring in their produce do not add water. As a rule, the Rhinelander is honest; but there are black-sheep among them, who have been clever enough to find out Knowledge gained by long experience is the only guide in selecting and arranging the grapes suitable to be allowed to ferment together. The wind and cooler air to which the vines on the higher mountain slopes are exposed, influence the fruit materially; the excessive moisture, on the other hand, to which the lower lying vineyards are subjected by the drainage from the hills, increases the quantity of the wine, but does so at the expense of the quality. As a rule, the finest wines are prepared from grapes grown half-way up the mountain-side. A great many considerations arise among others as to whether stems and husks should be allowed to ferment with the juice; but as regards this, no rule can be laid down, and only patient watching and experience enable_one to judge with any degree of accuracy. Temperature, again, is of vital importance; but a knowledge of when to arrest and how to control fermentation can only be gained by practical experience in the pressinghouses. The hard work of the first few days of the vintage did not allow of much merry-making; but the bright faces, the cheerful 'Guten Morgen' with which one was greeted everywhere, the joyous singing, sufficed to show that the spirit of thankfulness was abroad. As the days went on, and the work became lighter, the big room and the gardens surrounding the village inn became thronged with people; fiddles, trombones, violoncellos, and every available musical instrument, were brought into requisition; while mine host, who had taken time by the forelock, had already brimming bumpers of newly made wine to offer to his guests. Dancing and merry-making were carried on far into the night. For these people, a good vintage means a provision for months to come; the demon of want and starvation has been driven from their doors; winter may come Journal with its keenest blasts they are prepared, and they are happy; and their happiness and content are a genuine thanksgiving for the abundance showered upon the land. A MYSTERY OF THE PACIFIC. FAR away in the South Pacific Ocean, stretching from the coast of Asia for thousands of miles to the east, there extends a vast series of archipelagoes and island groups, partly, without doubt, the remains of a former continent now merged beneath the waves. Here is the far-famed Coral Sea, with its countless islets and calm lagoons; and here are numberless volcanic islands, rich in luxuriant vegetation, where Nature seems to have been especially prodigal of her gifts, but which are ever the sport of the terrible subterranean forces that act with such fearful potency throughout all this region. Till comparatively recent times, little was known for certain with respect to the islands of the Pacific. Mendana and other pioneers of exploration had, it is true, shed some light on the subject; but the tales of early travellers were mixed up with many wild improbabilities and exaggerations. Dim stories floated about of the savage nature of the South Sea Islanders, and of the exploits of Dampier or of the Spanish buccaneers. Tales, too, of the fabulous wealth to be derived from trading in the Pacific, found ready listeners everywhere; and the public credulity on the subject was too clearly shown in the history of the South Sea Bubble. Of late years, through the discoveries of gallant explorers, we have learned more of the true facts of the case, and many old illusions have been dispelled. But, as has been so often said, truth is stranger than fiction; and the facts to which we are about to draw attention will yield in their wonderful nature to none of the strange and fantastic tales with which sea-captains were formerly wont to astonish the credulous at home. numbers, seem to point inevitably to a former race of natives of far higher civilisation. We can understand that a former race may have erected the houses and carved the sculptures mentioned above, wonderful as they are compared with the huts of the existing natives. What follows is, however, more difficult of explanation. On nearly every promontory are erected huge stone platforms, facing the sea, and presenting a front sometimes nearly three hundred feet long and from twenty to thirty feet high. The stones composing these platforms are often six feet long, and are fitted together without cement. The top of the platform is generally about thirty feet broad; and the structures being built on sloping ground, the wall facing the interior of the island is only about a yard high. Another terrace, a hundred feet broad, is levelled landwards, and ends also in a wall of stone. On these immense platforms are great pedestals of stone, on which once stood gigantic statues, which, however, are now all thrown down and partially mutilated, with the exception of those on the platform near the crater of Otouli, which are still erect. Some of these images were thirty-seven feet high; but the average height was about sixteen or seventeen feet, other statues being much smaller. The heads of these sculptured images are flat, and were formerly capped by crowns of red tufa, a stone that is found only at a crater called Terano Hau, near which have been found a number of crowns ready for removal to the statues. The faces are square, and are said to be of a disdainful expression, the lips thin, and the eyesockets remarkably deep, perhaps to admit of the insertion of eyeballs formed of obsidian, which is also found on the island. Captain Cook, who during his second voyage visited Easter Island, remarks that the shade of one of these statues was sufficient to shelter all his party-nearly thirty persons. He believed them to be burying-places for certain tribes or families. But whatever may have been the In the far East, forming, as it were, the out- original intention of the sculptors, the present post of the South Sea groups, is a solitary vol- natives can have had nothing to do with the canic island called Easter Island. It is thirteen execution of these wonderful monuments. They hundred miles east of Pitcairn, the next island possess, however, small wooden carved figures, in the series, and, with the exception of Sala y but totally different in features from the stone Gomez, a small rock without inhabitants or vege- images. We are forced to the conclusion that tation, there is no land between it and South the houses, platforms, and statues are all relics of America, which lies more than two thousand a remote age. The natives have a tradition that miles to the east. Easter Island is only eleven they formerly migrated to their present abode from miles long by four broad; yet in this small one of the islands of the Low Archipelago ;_ _but space is crowded perhaps the most wonderful this throws little light on the subject. How, and mysterious collection of remains of a pre- in any age, could a people furnished only with historic people to be found on the earth. At a stone chisel-for the Polynesians are still in the south-west end are nearly a hundred houses, built of stone, with walls five feet in thickThe inside of the walls is lined with upright slabs of stone, painted in black, white, and red, with figures of animals and birds, and with other designs. The houses are roofed in with overlapping slabs of stone. In some of the houses, numbers of univalve shells have been found. Near these wonderful ruins, the rocks are carved into fantastic shapes or faces, most of the sculptures being now almost overgrown with bush and underwood. The present inhabitants know nothing whatever of these houses, which, existing as they do in such large ness. the Stone epoch-have carved such statues by hundreds and built such enormous platforms? And the difficulty is immensely increased by the small size and complete isolation of the island. At present, Easter Island remains the greatest mystery of the Pacific-one of the great mysteries of the world. The ruins of Ponapé, however, are scarcely more easily explained than those we have been describing. Ponapé is one of the Caroline Islands, and is about fourteen miles long by twelve in width. On the bank of a creek in the Metalanien harbour stands a massive wall three hundred feet in length and about thirty five feet high. It is built of basalt, the stones being in some cases twenty-five feet long. On passing through a gateway in this wall, a court, inclosed by walls thirty feet high, is reached. This court is now almost hidden in parts by luxuriant vegetation; but on investigation, a terrace eight feet high and twelve broad is found to run round the inside of the inclosing wall. Low walls running north and south divide the court into three parts, in the centre of each of which is a closed chamber fourteen feet square, roofed over with basaltic columns. The labour of building these structures must have been enormous, for there are no basaltic rocks within ten miles, with an intervening country thickly wooded and precipitous. Such an exploit is evidently entirely out of the power of the present savage inhabitants. The theory that the buildings were the work of Spanish buccaneers is also untenable. No adequate explanation has yet been offered; but, as in the case of Easter Island, we seem driven to the hypothesis of an ancient civilisation extending over some parts at least of the Pacific. Admitting this, we might suppose that Easter Island was chosen, possibly expressly on account of its isolation, as the sanctuary of the religion of some confederacy or group of tribes, who might by their joint labours have produced the mighty structures which now baffle the archæologist. On the same supposition, the buildings at Ponapé might be considered to have been the temple of the gods of some powerful nation. But all this is mere conjecture. If there ever was such a civilisation, which way did it spread? Was it from the West or from the East? And in either case, how can we account for its spontaneous growth in such an isolated region and under conditions so unfavourable? These are questions which we cannot hope to answer; probably they will always remain unanswered. The past history of the South Seas is veiled in deep obscurity. Could we but gain an insight into the remote past of this quarter of the globe, perhaps a picture would be revealed, by the side of which the tales of Montezuma and the Incas of Peru would sink into insignificance. CIVILISED GAME. When we see the familiar pheasant on the table at meals, we take it for granted that until it fell a victim to the breech-loader of some fortunate sportsman, it was a simple child of nature. It is quite as likely, however, that it was not. Few people perhaps are aware of the thousands of these birds that are raised by hand, in order to provide an ample supply for those sportsmen who like to kill birds without having too much trouble in hunting for them. A great deal of labour is expended in furnishing such game. The business of rearing the birds from eggs, under the domestic hen, involves careful supervision by day and night on the part of a staff of experienced keepers, who, in the beginning, have also no little hard work to do in collecting the eggs. Besides the danger the little birds run of being stolen and sold to some neighbouring estate, they are also liable to be destroyed by weasels, stoats, and rats. Even the jackdaw, from a pure love of mischief, will bite off their heads if he gets the opportunity. In the case of the baby pheasants, they will not, until they are ten days old at least, enter the carefully boarded wire-run in front of their coops; and have to be fed upon a delicate mixture of finely chopped egg and meal. Even after they are strong enough to roam about, the keeper is compelled to maintain a sharp look-out when the day is wet, as the long damp grass often proves fatal to their constitution. Until the age of two months is reached, when they are turned into the woods, the pheasants have to be fed five times a day; and a vigilant watch must be kept at night, as they are liable to be pounced upon both by two-legged and four-legged thieves. 'DAME AUTUMN HATH A MOURNFUL FACE' Vanished the mellow glory of the sheaves. That follows fast upon the shortened day; Now doth the peasant, hastening sadly home, To soar aloft; a creature wondrous fair! Above her head a veil's translucent sheen, A weird light flickers faintly round her head, Of mirth and joys that may not come again. Or plucks the drooping flowerets for her hair. And while the pattering rain-drops on the grass, Fall with a ceaseless monotone, the night Enwraps her, and the stars behold her pass Through the bleak darkness in her silent flight. R. C. L Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. All Rights Reserved. POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART. Fourth Series CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS. No. 979.-VOL. XIX. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 30, 1882. AN OLD STORY. IN Mr Jennings's delightful Rambles among the Hills, no description is more real than that of Bolsover Castle. Even on the minds of the most prosaic of mortals, very weird must be the impression left by that lonely old-world spot. Yet how impossible it is to instil into those who have it not, that love for every visible and tangible memento of bygone times, which some feel to be a continual source of pleasure. It may be doubted whether among the crowds who gaze on the gray walls of many a noble ruin, or pace the oakpanelled galleries and chambers of one of our well-preserved ancestral Halls, more than one or two in a hundred enter into the inner spirit of the place, and luxuriate in what may be called the true sentiment of antiquity. One will wonder at the massive walls, admire the beauty of the carving, and perfection of the site. Another, admitting these, possesses a keener enjoyment in the vivid realisation of the human interests connected with these old time-worn habitations; he will feel an intense longing to know something of those whose homes were here-a passing sadness at his entire ignorance. It is true that the dwellings of those whose names, from whatever cause, are inscribed on the 'roll of fame,' do to some extent satisfy these longings. The actions of their former occupants live in history; we know their faces, and are familiar with some of their inmost thoughts; and yet of these it is truly said: "Time hath his revolutions, and there must be a period and an end to all temporal things an end of names and dignities, and of whatsoever is terrene. For where is Bohun? Where is Mowbray? Where is Mortimer? Nay, where is Plantagenet? They are entombed in the tombs and sepulchres of mortality.' It is the small desolate ruined tower or grange, barely retaining the name, and some shadowy legend, generally of tragical shape, once the homes of those nearest to ourselves in rank and means, which we people with ideal figures; although the real ones, their countless different PRICE 11d. characters and natures, their quiet every-day life, joys and sorrows, faces and ways, are, and ever must be, absolutely unknown to us. There are few people in dear Old England who cannot, in their own neighbourhood, point to more than one edifice, whose remnants of carved stonework, half-obliterated inscriptions and coats of arms, and pillared gateway, show that it has seen better days, explained by the handle to its name,' the little addition of 'Hall' or 'Court.' How impossible to look without interest on the mass of gray buildings, gay with wallflowers and stonecrop, and not hunt out the place in the County History, where, among pages given to families long passed away, we find perhaps the forgotten crest, the name, and words, 'Extinct before 1600.' In some cottage near, when the quaint oak chair or old delf plate is noticed, the owner remarks: 'Ay, grandfather used to say that came from the old Hall.' A tinge of melancholy subdues the fancies in your mind while looking on the poor relics from that house whence the last of his race has so long departed. You feel the grandest castle, with all its glamour of chivalry and tragedy, 'lords and knights and ladies gay,' does not possess the nameless charm which invests such places. There is a false sentiment prizing things that are old solely because of their antiquity, or because they are the passing fashion of the day. For he who thus regards, there can be none of that feeling that makes the heart thrill, when the faded piece of patchwork is uncovered, and among the ancient hues and patterns is one small square of mayhap great-grandmother's wedding-gown. He will not understand in the least the wistful regret with which, when the little old red Prayer Book of the last century is opened, we gaze on the withered brown rose-leaves which drop from its timestained pages-gathered in such far-off summers, and though scentless and colourless, telling a tale of sunny days so long ago, that none are left on earth to remember them. Quite incomprehensible to him will be the tender, almost reverential touch with which that broad white 吧 |