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Quantitative Methods in the Humanities
and Social Sciences

Taylor Arnold
Lauren Tilton

Humanities
Data in R
Exploring Networks, Geospatial Data,
Images, and Text
Second Edition
Quantitative Methods in the Humanities
and Social Sciences

Series Editors
Thomas DeFanti, Calit2, University of California San Diego, La Jolla, CA, USA
Anthony Grafton, Princeton University, Princeton, NJ, USA
Thomas E. Levy, Calit2, University of California San Diego, La Jolla, CA, USA
Lev Manovich, Graduate Center, The Graduate Center, CUNY, New York, NY, USA
Alyn Rockwood, KAUST, Boulder, CO, USA
Quantitative Methods in the Humanities and Social Sciences is a book series
designed to foster research-based conversation with all parts of the university
campus – from buildings of ivy-covered stone to technologically savvy walls
of glass. Scholarship from international researchers and the esteemed editorial
board represents the far-reaching applications of computational analysis, statistical
models, computer-based programs, and other quantitative methods. Methods are
integrated in a dialogue that is sensitive to the broader context of humanistic study
and social science research. Scholars, including among others historians, archaeolo-
gists, new media specialists, classicists and linguists, promote this interdisciplinary
approach. These texts teach new methodological approaches for contemporary
research. Each volume exposes readers to a particular research method. Researchers
and students then benefit from exposure to subtleties of the larger project or corpus
of work in which the quantitative methods come to fruition.

Editorial Board:
Thomas DeFanti, University of California, San Diego & University of Illinois at
Chicago
Anthony Grafton, Princeton University
Thomas E. Levy, University of California, San Diego
Lev Manovich, The Graduate Center, CUNY
Alyn Rockwood, King Abdullah University of Science and Technology
Publishing Editor for the series at Springer: Faith Su, faith.su@springer.com
Taylor Arnold • Lauren Tilton

Humanities Data in R
Exploring Networks, Geospatial Data,
Images, and Text

Second Edition
Taylor Arnold Lauren Tilton
University of Richmond University of Richmond
Richmond, VA, USA Richmond, VA, USA

ISSN 2199-0956 ISSN 2199-0964 (electronic)

Quantitative Methods in the Humanities and Social Sciences
ISBN 978-3-031-62565-7 ISBN 978-3-031-62566-4 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-62566-4

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland
AG 2015, 2024
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether
the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse
of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and
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The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book
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the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any
errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional
claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.

This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

If disposing of this product, please recycle the paper.

Preface

Published in 2015, the first edition of this book was written as digital humanities was
fully entering the lexicon of the academy. Debates over ideas such as computation,
digital, and data ensued. Questions such as what does it mean to think of sources
as data, or “humanities data,” were posed by Miriam Posner [75], while Jessica
Marie Johnson brought the longer history of quantification to ask pressing questions
about the process and effect of continuing to turn people into data [47]. Amid
these questions and debates, cultural institutions such as the Library of Congress
made an incredible commitment to digitization and open data, making sources once
only accessible in person available in digital formats that were now amenable to
computational methods. What could be possible with all these sources of data?
We set out to demonstrate how methods from text, spatial, and image analyses
could animate humanities fields by rethinking of our sources as data and using
programming, specifically the language R. This was a rather radical move at the
time, when humanities fields were particularly resistant to the idea of thinking of
materials such as books, photographs, and TV as the subject of analysis through
counting and probabilities, much less algorithms and modeling. The field of digital
humanities was pushing against this impulse, particularly led by scholars in digital
history and what we now call computational literary studies. For those interested in
learning how to bring them together, they were still often on their own. For many,
programming and humanities inquiry still seemed like a contradiction.
Yet, as graduate students, one in American Studies (Lauren) and the other in
Statistics (Taylor), bringing together humanities data such as historical photographs
with computational methods such as mapping seemed incredibly powerful. Our
work building photogrammar.org, and the project’s positive reception, demon-
strated the possibilities of layering mapping, text analysis, and image analysis to
further the study of visual culture. Computational methods did not replace all
the training of humanities fields, but rather fit with the experimentation, trans-
disciplinarity, and creativity that American Studies articulated as central to its
project. At the same time, fields such as Statistics were continuing their emphasis
on mathematical theory, often disconnected from many of the realities of working
with actual data and the methodological problems that the messiness of human data

v
vi Preface

elicited. An openness to thinking across these boundaries is a significant reason why

this book exists.
Our advisors Laura Wexler and Jay Emerson along with graduate colleague Carol
Chiodo at Yale fundamentally understood what was possible, supporting us when
others questioned these two, perhaps precocious, graduate students. We eagerly
joined exciting projects like the Programming Historian and work by Matthew
Jockers and Lev Manovich, both of whom we are deeply grateful for their support,
to demonstrate how computational methods could be a part of the methodological
toolkit of the humanities. Rather than designed for industry or a very technical
audience, Humanities Data in R filled a need for a book designed to introduce
audiences to computational methods and were interested in the sources that served
as primary evidence for understanding the human experience.
Fast forward almost a decade, and a fair amount has changed. We are now
tenured professors at a flourishing small liberal arts college where interdisciplinarity
is celebrated. We teach digital humanities across the Department of Rhetoric
and Communication, Department of Mathematics and Statistics, and programs
in American Studies and Data Science. At the same time, the rapid ascent of
data science over the past 5 years has mostly silenced debates over whether the
humanities should be involved with data and computation. In fact, many of us
are noting how data and computation have never needed the humanities more.
Humanities scholars should be key interlocutors in interpreting the findings of
computational analysis of humanities data as well as have important insights into
the ethical and social impact of computational methods. One goal of this book is
to provide the programming and methodological background to be a part of these
interdisciplinary conversations and debates.
For the computational approaches, fields such as Statistics are now grappling
with the realities of working with messy data. It was already a decade ago that
Taylor realized that the most complicated data came from sources that animated the
humanities. How does one work with film, for example? The data is multimodal,
defies easy classifications, and breaks computer vision algorithms. To use the
gendered logic that permeates so many discussions of academia, humanities fields
weren’t some soft, squishy area of study that was easier, but rather worked with
the hard, complex sources and data that challenged what was seen as a given in
statistical and computational fields. We co-author because we believe that inter-
and transdisciplinary scholarship is key to the (digital) humanities and data science,
and we have so much to learn from each other. We see this book as a part of that
exchange, and for anyone who wants to work with humanities data.

Preface to Second Edition

The second edition is a significant revision, with almost every aspect of the text
rewritten in some way. The biggest difference is the incorporation of the set
of R packages commonly known as the tidyverse, consisting at its core of the
Preface vii

packages ggplot2 and dplyr. These packages have grown significantly in stability
and popularity over the past decade. They allow the kinds of functionality that we
wanted to highlight in the first version of the book, but do so with less code while
being backed by theoretical models of how data processing should work. These
features make them perfect elements to use for an introduction to R for working
with humanities data.
As before, Part I introduces the R programming language and key concepts for
working with data. Exploratory data analysis (EDA) remains a key concept and
philosophy. EDA is an approach for analyzing and summarizing to identify patterns
(and outliers) in data. It is also a way of knowing that is amenable to the kinds
of questions and heuristics that animate how humanistic fields approach studying
the human experience. Based on years of teaching, we have come to realize how
important understanding data collection is to data analysis yet how few resources
there are, so we have added Chap. 5: Collecting Data and Chap. 12: Data Formats to
address perhaps the most time-consuming part, collecting and organizing data.
Part II of the text is still organized around data types. We have decided to reorder
the chapters because of our approach to data. In this edition, we wanted to show how
one can layer types of analysis using the same data set. Rather than each chapter
introducing a new data set, we build our analysis of Wikipedia data from Chaps. 6
to 8 as we move from text to networks to temporal data. Chapter 8: Temporal
Data is a new chapter given the importance of time information, particularly if
we want to study change over time. Chapter 9: Spatial Data returns to the data
that was used in Part I to show how we can layer the information with additional
data. Chapter 10: Image Data introduces a new data set of 1940s photographs to
apply computer vision. While we are always hesitant of hype about technological
change, particularly given all the current (generative) AI boosterism, a significant
methodological shift in the last 10 years is the advances in computer vision,
particularly the ascent of deep learning. We now focus on several of the most popular
tasks such as object detection, and how we can also layer them with additional
methods such as networks. The reorganization, additional chapters, and new data
sets are a part of trying to demonstrate how layering methods can add context and
nuance to our analysis.

Humanities Data

We now return to the term “humanities data.” For us, this means any data that is
engaged with analyzing any aspect of human societies and cultures. This is bigger
than any disciplinary or institutional formation. When we are working with the
messiness of human creativity and meaning, we are engaged in a challenging task,
particularly when we want to understand peoples’ beliefs, values, and behaviors,
whether today or in the past. This is inherently a transdisciplinary project that
traverses any walls that we try to build through academic journals, departments,
scholarly associations, and the university itself. Working with humanities data
viii Preface

happens in industry and beyond. Working with this data carefully, ethically, and
precisely takes collaboration. The book is designed to provide the groundwork for
those who seek to engage with and analyze the data that documents, shapes, and
communicates who we are, where we have been, and the worlds we are building.
No book can do everything, and our orientation is centered around the United
States. The goal of this book is to walk readers through the methods and provide
the code that will give one the resources and confidence to computationally explore
humanities data. Data and methods such as image analysis are the subject of tens of
thousands of articles and books. At the end of each chapter and through our citations,
we offer further reading to start connecting with the wide range of scholarship on
each of these chapters. We also do not go directly into all the debates over the
epistemology and ontology of data and statistics itself; we find a great place to start
is with Lisa Gitelman’s “Raw Data” is an Oxymoron [36] and Chris Wiggins and
Matthew L. Jones’s How Data Happened: A History from the Age of Reason to
the Age of Algorithm [104]. Along with work by dana boyd, Kate Crawford, Safiya
Noble, and Meredith Broussard, we find Catherine d’Ignazio and Lauren Klein’s
Data Feminism to be also be a great place to start when it comes to data ethics and
justice [30].
Zooming out, there is significant domain-specific scholarship to draw on to
see the power of humanities data analysis. There are series and journals such as
Current Research in Digital History, Debates in the Digital Humanities, Digital
Scholarship in the Humanities, Journal of Cultural Analytics, Journal of Open
Source Software, and the new journal Computational Humanities Research along
with digital humanities special issues in journals like American Quarterly, Cinema
Journal, and Digital Humanities Quarterly. There are books like Ted Underwood’s
Distant Horizons, [87] Andrew Piper’s Enumerations [73], and our own Distant
Viewing [7] that offer theories for computational methods. As well, there are
domain-specific works such as Cameron Blevins’ Paper Trails: The US Post and
the Making of the American West [16] and Lincoln Mullen’s America’s Public Bible
[63] that show how computational methods provide key evidence for scholarship in
religious studies, US history, and rhetorical studies. We offer the work above as a
starting point for the rich conversations and debates around humanities data.

Supplementary Materials

We make extensive use of example datasets through this text. Particular care was
taken to use data in the public domain, or otherwise freely and openly accessible.
Whenever possible, subsets of larger archives were used instead of smaller one-
off datasets. This approach has the dual benefit that these larger sets are often of
independent interest, as well as providing an easy source of additional data for
use in course projects, lectures, and further study. These datasets are available (or
Preface ix

linked to) from the text’s website: http://humanitiesdata.org. Complete code

snippets from the text, further references, and additional links and notes are also
included in that site and will continue to be updated.

Acknowledgments

For the first edition, it would not have been possible to write this text without
the collaboration and support offered by our many colleagues, friends, and family.
In particular, we would like to thank those who agreed to read and comment on
the early drafts of this text: Carol Chiodo, Jay Emerson, Alex Gil, Jason Heppler,
Matthew Jockers, Mike Kane, Lev Manovich, Laura Wexler, Jeri Wieringa, and two
anonymous readers.
For the second edition, we are deeply appreciative of the University of Richmond,
which has given us the time and resources to pursue a second edition. We
are grafteful to Justin Wigard, who read a complete draft and offered crucial
feedback, and Agnieska Szymanska, who provided guidance in countless ways.
Working with Rob Nelson and the Digital Scholarship Lab (DSL) has been
incredible; their commitment to bringing together digital humanities and social
justice through award-winning projects like Mapping Inequality continue to inspire.
We are also grateful to our departments—Rhetoric and Communication and Math
and Statistics—along with Dean Jenny Cavanaugh, whose support, generosity, and
deep commitment to the liberal arts is a model for us all. It is a special place where
the University President takes the time to engage with faculty’s scholarship. Thank
you, Kevin Hallock, for your time and leadership. And finally, to the awesome UR
students who took our classes and helped us refine our teaching and shared in the
joys and challenges of working with humanities data.

Richmond, VA, USA Taylor Arnold

April 2024 Lauren Tilton
Contents

Part I Core
1 Working with Data in R. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
1.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
1.2 Setup . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4
1.3 Working with R and R Markdown. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
1.4 Running R Code . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
1.5 Functions in R . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
1.6 Loading Data in R . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
1.7 Datasets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
1.8 Formatting R Code . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
1.9 Extensions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
2 EDA I: Grammar of Graphics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
2.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
2.2 Text Geometry . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
2.3 Lines and Bars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
2.4 Optional Aesthetics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
2.5 Scales . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
2.6 Labels and Themes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
2.7 Conventions for Graphics Code . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
2.8 Extensions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
3 EDA II: Organizing Data . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
3.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
3.2 Choosing Rows . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40
3.3 Data and Layers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
3.4 Selecting Columns . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
3.5 Arranging Rows . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
3.6 Summarize and Group By . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
3.7 Geometries for Summaries. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
3.8 Mutate. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
3.9 Extensions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
xi
xii Contents

4 EDA III: Restructuring Data . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59

4.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
4.2 Joining by Relation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
4.3 Mutating and Filtering Joins . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64
4.4 Pivot Longer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
4.5 Pivot Wider . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
4.6 Patterns for Table Pivots . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
4.7 Extensions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
5 Collecting Data. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
5.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
5.2 Rectangular Data . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
5.3 Naming Variables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79
5.4 What Goes in a Cell . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80
5.5 Dates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
5.6 Output Format . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
5.7 Data Dictionary. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
5.8 Summary of Data Collection Guidelines . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
5.9 Extensions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84

Part II Data Types

6 Textual Data . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
6.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
6.2 Working with a Textual Corpus. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90
6.3 Natural Language Processing Pipeline . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
6.4 Term Frequency-Inverse Document Frequency (TF-IDF). . . . . . . . . . 97
6.5 Document Distance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99
6.6 Dimensionality Reduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104
6.7 Word Relationships . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109
6.8 Texts in Other Languages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111
6.9 Extensions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114
7 Network Data . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117
7.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117
7.2 Creating a Network Object . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118
7.3 Centrality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122
7.4 Clusters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
7.5 Co-citation Networks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
7.6 Directed Networks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131
7.7 Distance Networks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134
7.8 Nearest Neighbor Networks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
7.9 Extensions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140
8 Temporal Data . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143
8.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143
8.2 Temporal Data and Ordering . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144
Contents xiii

8.3 Date Objects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147

8.4 Datetime Objects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151
8.5 Language and Time Zones . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 154
8.6 Manipulating Dates and Datetimes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160
8.7 Window Functions and Range Joins. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162
8.8 Extensions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167
9 Spatial Data . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169
9.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169
9.2 Spatial Points . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169
9.3 Polygons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 174
9.4 Spatial Metrics. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179
9.5 Spatial Joins . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183
9.6 Raster Maps . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189
9.7 Extensions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
10 Image Data . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201
10.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201
10.2 Loading Images . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201
10.3 Pixels and Color . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205
10.4 Computer Vision . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212
10.5 Object Detection. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213
10.6 Face Detection . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218
10.7 Pose Detection . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223
10.8 Embeddings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 226
10.9 Extensions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 232

Part III Additional Methods

11 Programming in R . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235
11.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235
11.2 Vectors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 236
11.3 Data Types and Lists . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237
11.4 Selecting and Modifying Vectors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239
11.5 Matrices . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241
11.6 Control Flow. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 243
11.7 Functional Programming. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 246
11.8 Extensions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 248
12 Data Formats . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
12.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
12.2 Strings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250
12.3 Regular Expressions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 254
12.4 JSON Data . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260
12.5 XML and HTML Formats . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263
12.6 XML Path Language (XPath). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 268
xiv Contents

12.7 Building Datasets Through an API . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 270

12.8 Extensions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275

References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277
Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 281
Part I
Core
Chapter 1
Working with Data in R

1.1 Introduction

In this book, we focus on tools and techniques for exploratory data analysis or EDA.
Initially described in John Tukey’s classic text by the same name, EDA is a general
approach to examining data through visualizations and broad summary statistics
[19, 85]. It prioritizes studying data directly in order to generate hypotheses and
ascertain general trends prior to, and often in lieu of, formal statistical modeling.
The growth in both data volume and complexity has further increased the need
for a careful application of these exploratory techniques. In the intervening 50
years, techniques for EDA have enjoyed great popularity within statistics, computer
science, and many other data-driven fields and professions.
The histories of the R programming language and EDA are deeply entwined.
Concurrent with Tukey’s development of EDA, Rick Becker, John Chambers,
and Allan Wilks of Bell Labs began developing software designed specifically
for statistical computing. By 1980, the “S” language was released for general
distribution outside Bell Labs. It was followed by a popular series of books and
updates, including “New S” and “S-Plus” [10–12, 21]. In the early 1990s, Ross
Ihaka and Robert Gentleman produced a fully open-source implementation of S
called “R.” It is called “R” for it is both the “previous letter in the alphabet” and
the shared initial in the authors’ names. Their implementation has become the de
facto tool in the field of statistics and is often cited as being amongst the top 20 used
programming languages in the world. Without the interactive console and flexible
graphics engine of a language such as R, modern data analysis techniques would be
largely intractable. Conversely, without the tools of EDA, R would likely still have
been a welcome simplification to programming in lower-level languages but would
have played a far less pivotal role in the development of applied statistics.
The historical context of these two topics underscores the motivation for studying
both concurrently. In addition, we see this book as contributing to efforts to bring
new communities to learn from and to help shape data analysis by offering other

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 3

T. Arnold, L. Tilton, Humanities Data in R, Quantitative Methods in the Humanities
and Social Sciences, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-62566-4_1
4 1 Working with Data in R

Fig. 1.1 Diagram of the process of exploratory data analysis

fields of study to engage with [4]. It is an attempt to provide an introduction for

students and scholars in the humanities and the humanistic social sciences to both
EDA and R. It also shows how data analysis with humanities data can be a powerful
method for humanistic inquiry. A visual summary of the steps of EDA are shown in
Fig. 1.1. We will see that the core chapters in this text map onto the steps outlined
in the diagram.

1.2 Setup

While it is possible to read this book as a conceptual text, we expect that the majority
of readers will eventually want to follow along with the code and examples that are
given throughout the text. The first step in doing so is to obtain a working copy
of R. The Comprehensive R Archive Network, known as CRAN, is the official
home of the R language and supplies download instructions according to a user’s
operating system (i.e., Mac, Windows, Linux): http://cran.r-project.org/.
Other download options exist for advanced users, up to and including a custom
build from the source code. We make no assumptions throughout this text regarding
which operating system or method of obtaining or accessing R readers have chosen.
In the rare cases where differences exist based on these options, they will be
explicitly addressed. While one can work from the terminal, we recommend using
an integrated development environment (IDE) to more easily see the code and data.
A piece of open-source software called the RStudio IDE is highly recommended:
https://posit.co/download/rstudio-desktop/. When installed in conjunc-
tion with the R environment, RStudio provides a convenient way of running R
code and seeing the output in a single window. We will show in the next section
screenshots from running R code in RStudio.
In addition to the R software, walking through the examples in this text requires
access to the datasets we explore. Care has been taken to ensure that these are all in
the public domain so as to make it easy for us to redistribute to readers. The materials
and download instructions can be found at https://humanitiesdata.org/. A
complete copy of the code from the book is also provided to make replicating (and
extending) the results as easy as possible.
1.3 Working with R and R Markdown 5

A major selling point of R is its extensive collection of user-contributed add-

ons, called packages. Details of how to install packages are included in the
supplemental materials. Specifically, the supplemental materials have a document
called setup.Rmd. Opening this in RStudio provides instructions for installing
all the packages that are needed throughout this book. Like R itself, all the
packages used here are free and open-source software, thanks to a robust community
dedicated to developing and expanding R.
As mentioned in the preface, we make heavy use in this text of a set of R packages
known as the tidyverse. These include ggplot2, readr, dplyr, and tidyr. The meta-
package tidyverse can be loaded to automatically load all the other associated R
packages. One of the other packages included in this book is hdir (Humanities Data
in R), which contains a set of wrapper functions specifically created for the text.
This package, like all the others used in this book, is released under an open-source
license and can be reused in other projects.
Learning to program is hard and invariably questions and issues will arise
in the process (even the most experienced users require help with surprisingly
high frequency). As a first source of help, searching a question or error message
online will often pull up one of the many third-party question and answer sites,
such as http://stackoverflow.com/, which are heavily frequented by new and
advanced R users alike. If we cannot find an immediate answer to a question, the
next best step is to find some local, in-person help. While we have done our best with
this static text to explain the concepts for working with R, nothing beats talking to
a real-life person. As a final step, we could post questions directly on third-party
sites. It may take a few days to get a response, but usually someone helpful from
the R community will answer. We invite everyone to participate in the community
by being active on forums, contributing packages, and supporting colleagues and
friends. There are also great groups like R-Ladies (rladies.org) and regional
groups that can provide further connections (see: r-community.org).

1.3 Working with R and R Markdown

The supplemental materials for this book include all the data and code needed to
replicate all of the analyses and visualizations in this book. We include the exact
same code that will be printed in the book. We have used the R Markdown file
format, which has an .Rmd extension, to store this code, with a file corresponding
to each chapter in the text. The R Markdown file format is a great choice for data
analysis because it allows us mix code and descriptions within the same file [51].
In fact, we even wrote the text of this book in the R Markdown format before
converting it into LaTeX for printing.
The RStudio environment offers a convenient format for viewing and editing R
Markdown files. If we open an R Markdown file in RStudio, we should see a window
similar to the one shown in Fig. 1.2. We made this image on a recent version of
macOS; the specific view may be slightly different on Windows and may change
6 1 Working with Data in R

Fig. 1.2 Default view of an R Markdown file in RStudio shown in a recent version of macOS

slightly depending on the screen size and the version of RStudio being used. On the
left is the actual file itself. Some output and other helpful bits of information are
shown on the right. There is also a Console window, which we generally will not
need. We have minimized it in the graphic, which we often do whenever working
on a smaller screen
Looking at the R Markdown file, notice that the file has parts that are on a
white background and other parts that are on a gray background. The white parts
correspond to text and the gray parts to code. In order to run the code, and to see
the output, click on the green triangle play button on the upper-right corner of each
block. When we run code to read or create a new dataset, the data will be listed in
the Environment tab in the upper-right-hand side of RStudio. Finally, clicking on
the data will open a spreadsheet version of the data that we can view to understand
the structure of our data and to see all the columns that are available for analysis.
As with any digital file, it is a good idea to make sure to save the notebook
frequently. Keep in mind, however, that only the text and code itself is saved.
The results (plots, tables, and other output) are not automatically stored. While
counterintuitive at first, this is a helpful feature because the code is much smaller
compared to the results. Saving the code helps to keep the file sizes small and tidy.
If we would like to save the results in a way that can be shared with others, we need
to knit the file by clicking on the Knit button (it has a ball of yarn icon) at the top of
the notebook. After running all the code from scratch, the knit function will produce
an HTML version of our script that we can open in a web browser.
1.4 Running R Code 7

1.4 Running R Code

Now, let’s see some examples of how to run R code. In this book, we will show
snippets of R code and the output rather than a screenshot of the entire RStudio
session. Though, know that we should think of each of the snippets as occurring
inside of one of the gray boxes in an R Markdown file. In one of its most basic
forms, R can be used as a fancy calculator. We can add 1 and 1 by typing 1+1
into the code chunk of an R Markdown file. Hitting the run button will display the
output (2) below. An example in RStudio is shown in Fig. 1.2. In the book, we will
write this code and output using a black box with the R code written inside of it.
Any output will be shown below, with each line proceeded by two hash tags. An
example is given below.

1 + 1

## [1] 2

We will often see numbers in the output surrounded by square brackets, such as the
[1] in the output above. These are a common cause of confusion and worry for
new users of R. These numbers are simply counting the values in the output. In the
example above, the [1] that it is showing that the value 2 is first output from our
code.
In addition to just returning a value, running R code can also result in storing
values through the creation of new objects within R. Objects in R are used to store
anything—such as numbers, datasets, functions, or models—that we want to use
again later. Each object has a name associated with it that we can use to access it in
future code. To create an object, we will use the <- (arrow) symbol with the name on
the left-hand side of the arrow and code that produces the object on the right-hand
side. For example, we can create a new object called mynum with a value of 8 by
running the following code.

mynum <- 3 + 5

Notice that the code here did not print any results because the result was saved as
a new object. We can now use our new object mynum exactly the same way that we
would use the number 8. For example, adding it to 1 to get the number nine:

mynum + 1

## [1] 9

Object names must start with a letter but can also use underscores and periods. We
recommend using only lowercase letters and underscores. That makes it easier to
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people were accustomed to see him every year in a character directly
opposite; so that no way appeared of making the impression he
desired, except by abolishing the annual ceremony. Until then the
relics of St. Victor, who was esteemed the patron saint of Marseilles
were always borne in the procession. They were likewise carried in
procession at the time of any public calamity; but on these occasions
the armed cavalier did not make his appearance.

The grotto, which for a short time had been the residence of Mary
Magdalen, was, on the foundation of the monastery converted into a
chapel, and a tomb erected to her memory. It was said that no woman
could enter this chapel without being immediately struck blind; and for
some centuries no female attempted to penetrate the sanctity of the
place, till the celebrated queen Joan insisted on admission, when it is
said she had sooner passed the portal than she was deprived of her
sight. It was afterwards restored, on her putting a balustrade of solid
silver round the image of the virgin. This image has been preserved,
and a place has been allotted her in the church; but one of the
remarkable effects of the French revolution is, that a woman can now
look at it without experiencing the least inconvenience.
On the tomb of the Magdalen, which was of white marble, were
many curious figures carved in relief—among others a wolf suckling
two children; and in the inferior church were seven very fine marble
columns of the Corinthian order. These are supposed to have been
some of the many spoils of the Pagan temples, which the monks of St.
Victor are known to have appropriated to their own use.
It was formerly a popular belief, that in this place were deposited
the bodies of seven brothers who were not dead, but lay there to
sleep till the general resurrection. What became of them at the
demolition of the abbey does not appear.

Among the curiosities of the abbey of St. Victor was a well, with a
small column of granite on each side of it. On one of the columns was
a figure which was called the impression of the devil’s claw; and the
story concerning it was, that the old gentleman, being envious of the
superior sanctity of the holy fathers, stole one day into the monastery
with a malicious intention to corrupt them. What form he assumed is
not stated by the record, but he was soon discovered, and obliged to
make his escape; in doing which he stepped over these two columns,
and left the impression of his claw upon one of them. The truth was,
that the columns were ancient ones, and the devil’s claw the remains
of an acanthus’ leaf.

The abbey of St. Victor was secularized under Louis XV. Formerly
none but natives of Marseilles could be members of the community,
and the city had the right of placing in it, a certain number of youth
for education free of expense. These valuable privileges were
surrendered, and the canons were in future only to be chosen from
among such families of Provence, as could produce a title of a
hundred and fifty years’ nobility on the paternal side. From that time
the foundation assumed the title of “the noble and illustrious collegiate
church of St. Victor.”
In a few years afterwards, the new canons, being all nobles,
petitioned the king for a badge to distinguish them from the other
chapters of the province; and they obtained permission to wear a
cross, or rather a star of enamel, similar to that worn by the knights of
Malta, slung round the neck with a deep red ribband. In the centre of
the cross was represented on one side the figure of St. Victor with the
dragon, and round it “Divi Victoris Massiliensis,” and on the other, the
great church of the abbey, with the words “Monumentis et nobilitate
insignis.”
The luxury and libertinism of the new canons were matter of
notoriety and scandal, and in the great overthrow of the sceptre and
priesthood, the abbey of St. Victor became one of the first objects of
popular vengeance. So complete was the demolition of many parts of
the buildings, that even the very stones were carried away; but in the
greater part fragments of the walls are still left standing. Among the
ruins are many fragments of carved work, which the monks had
appropriated to the decoration of their monastery. The most beautiful
of these remains were deposited in the Lyceum at Marseilles.[265]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 61·87.
 [265] Miss Plumptre.

July 22.
Magdalene.
This name is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs.
The character of Magdalen is ably vindicated from the common and
vulgar imputation by the illustrious Lardner, in a letter to the late
Jonas Hanway, wherein he urges on the eminent philanthropist, the
manifest impropriety of calling a receptacle for female penitents by the
name of Magdalen.

St. Mary Magdalen.

Sainte Beaume near Marseilles is a vast cavity in a mountain,
thence called the mountain of the Sainte Beaume. Here Mary
Magdalen has been reputed to have secluded herself during the latter
years of her life, and to have died. The spot is considered as holy
ground; and in former times the pilgrimages undertaken to it from
very distant parts, occasioned the cavern to be converted into a chapel
dedicated to the Magdalen. About the end of the thirteenth century, a
convent of Dominican friars was built close to the cavern, and the
chapel was from that time served by the monks of the convent.
Afterwards an hospice, or inn, for the accommodation of pilgrims, and
travellers, was added, and in this state it remained till the revolution.

Miss Plumptre describes an interesting visit to Sainte Beaume:—

From Nans we soon began to ascend the lesser mountains, which
form the base of the principal one, and, after pursuing a winding path
for a considerable distance, came to a plain called the Plan d’Aulps, at
the foot of the great mountain. The whole side of this latter is covered
with wood, except an interval in one spot, which presents to the eye
an enormous rock, almost perpendicular. As this opened upon us in
crossing the plain, monsieur B——, who was acquainted with the spot,
said, “Now you can see the convent.” We looked around, but saw no
signs of a habitation: “No,” said he, “you must not look round, you
must look upwards against the rock.” We did so, and to our utter
astonishment descried it about halfway up this tremendous precipice;
appearing, when beheld in this point of view, as if it had no
foundation, but was suspended against the rock, like any thing hung
upon a nail or peg. The sensation excited by the idea of a human
habitation in such a place was very singular; it was a mixture of
astonishment mingled with awe, and an involuntary shuddering, at the
situation of persons living in a spot which had the appearance of being
wholly inaccessible: it seemed as if the house could have been built
only by magic, and that by magic alone the inhabitants could have
been transported into it.
Having crossed the plain, we entered the wood through which the
pathway that leads up to the grotto and the convent winds. A more
complete or sublime scene of solitude can scarcely be conceived.
Though great numbers of the trees were cut down during the
revolution, sufficient still remain to form a thick shade.
On arriving at the convent, we found that the appearance we had
observed from below, was a deception occasioned by the distance;
that it was built on a narrow esplanade on the rock, which just
afforded room for the building and a walk before it, guarded on the
side of the precipice by a parapet. It was indeed a formidable sight to
look over this upon the precipice below. Both the convent and the inn
were pillaged in the revolution, and little more than their shells
remain.
The grotto is a fine specimen of the wild features of nature. The
roof is a natural vault, and the silence of the place is only interrupted
by the dripping of water from the roof at the further end, into a basin
formed by the rock, which receives it below. This water is remarkably
clear and limpid, and is warm in winter, but very cold in summer. It is
considered of great efficacy in the cure of diseases, from the
miraculous powers with which it is endowed through the sanctity of
the place. The cures it performs are confined, therefore, to those who
have faith enough to rely upon its efficacy. The great altar of the
chapel was very magnificent, all of marble, enclosed within an iron
balustrade. The iron is gone, but most of the marble remains, though
much broken and scattered about; and what appeared remarkable
was that a great many fleurs-de-lys in mosaic, with which the altar
was decorated, were left untouched. Behind the altar is a figure in
marble of the Magdalen, in a recumbent posture, with her head
resting upon her right hand.

Another point of the mountain, directly above the grotto of the

Sainte Beaume, is called St. Pilon: it is nearly six hundred feet higher
than the esplanade on which the convent stands, and between two-
thirds and three-quarters of an English mile perpendicular height
above the level of the sea. It is said, that while the Magdalen was
performing her penitence in the grotto, she was constantly carried up
to St. Pilon by angels seven times a day to pray; and in aftertimes a
chapel in form of a rotunda was erected there in commemoration of
this circumstance; but this is now destroyed. Very small models of it in
bone, containing a chaplet and crucifix, used to be made at the
convent, which were purchased by visiters.

Among the illustrious visiters to Sainte Beaume, were Francis I.,

with his mother, the queen his first wife, and the duchess of Alençon
his sister. In commemoration of this visit, which was in 1516, a statue
of Francis was erected in the grotto: it remained there nearly to the
time of the revolution. In 1517, the duchess of Mantua, accompanied
by a numerous train of attendants, made a pilgrimage thither, as she
was passing through Provence; sixteen years afterwards it was visited
by Eleanor of Austria, second wife to Francis, with the dauphin and
the dukes of Orleans and Angoulême. In 1660 it was honoured with
the presence of Louis XIV., his mother, the duke of Anjou, and the
numerous train by whom they were attended in their progress through
the south.
Since this period it does not appear that any persons of note
visited the shrine from devotional motives; but it has always been a
great object of the devotion of the Provençeaux, particularly of the
lower class. It was often made a part of the marriage contract among
them, that the husband should accompany the wife in a pilgrimage
thither, within the first year after they were married; but even if no
express stipulation was made, the husband who did not do so was
thought to have failed very much in the attention and regard due to
his wife. Whitsun week was the usual time for making these visits, and
all the avenues to the grotto were at this time thronged with company,
as if it had been a fair. All the way from Nans to the grotto are little
oratories by the road side at certain distances, in which there used to
be pictures of the Magdalen’s history.

Among the most illustrious guests the grotto ever received, must
be reckoned Petrarch. He went at the solicitation of Humbert, dauphin
of the Viennois, and of cardinal Colonna, very much against his own
inclination. In a letter which he wrote thirty-four years afterwards to
his intimate friend Philip of Cabassole, bishop of Cavaillon, he says,
“We passed three days and three nights in this holy and horrible
cavern. Wearied with the society of persons whom I had accompanied
spite of myself, I often wandered alone into the neighbouring forest. I
had even recourse to my usual remedy for chasing the ennui which
arises from being in company not perfectly agreeable to me. My
imagination at such moments recurs to my absent friends, and
represents them as if present with me: though my acquaintance with
you was not then of long standing, yet you came to my assistance; I
fancied that you were seated by me in the grotto, and invited me to
write some verses in honour of the holy penitent, towards whom you
had always a particular devotion; when I immediately obeyed, and
wrote such as first occurred.” The verses are little more than a poetical
description of the place.

A carmelite friar of the seventeenth century, whose name was Jean

Louis Barthelemi, but who always called himself Pierre de St. Louis,
determined to amuse his solitary hours with writing a poem upon
some illustrious saint. He hesitated awhile between Elias, whom he
considered as the founder of his order, and Mary Magdalen, a female
with whom he had been enamoured before his retirement. Love at
length decided the question, and he composed a poem in twelve
books, which he entitled, “The Magdalenéïde, or Mary Magdalen at the
Desert of the Sainte Beaume in Provence, a Spiritual and Christian
Poem.” This work cost five years of close application, and came forth
one of the most whimsical effusions that ever flowed from the pen of
pious extravagance. Some idea of it may be collected from a few
extracts literally translated.
Having treated at large of the Magdalen’s irregular conduct in the
early part of her life, and of her subsequent conversion, he says, “But
God at length changed this coal into a ruby, this crow into a dove, this
wolf into a sheep, this hell into a heaven, this nothing into something,
this thistle into a lily, this thorn into a rose, this sin into grace, this
impotence into power, this vice into virtue, this caldron into a mirror.”
Again, speaking of the thirty years which she is reputed to have
passed in the grotto and the woods adjoining, deploring the sins of
her youth, he says, “The woods might make her pass for a
Hamadryad, her tears might make her to be thought a Naiad;—come
then, ye curious, and you may behold an aquatic nymph in the midst
of a forest.” And again, in a panegyric upon her penitence, is the
following very extraordinary passage: “While she occupies herself in
expatiating the offences of her preterite time, which was but
imperfect, the future is destined to repair the loss;—the present is
such that it is indicative of a love which mounts to the infinitive, and in
a degree always superlative, turning against herself the accusative.”
The poet concludes his work by saying, “If you desire grace and
sweetness in verses, in mine will you find them; and if you seek
ingenious thoughts, you will find that the points of these are not
blunted.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 62·47.

July 23.
Longevity.
Died, at Elderslie, on the twenty-third of July, 1826, Hugh Shaw, at
the great age of 113 years. Till within the previous eighteen months
he walked every Saturday to Paisley, and returned, a distance of seven
miles. While able to go about, he had no other means of support than
what he collected by begging from door to door. After his confinement
to the house, he was supported by private bounty. Previous to the last
three weeks of his life, he was able to leave his bed every day. Latterly
he was blind and deaf. He is said to have left strict charges that, as he
had never received parish relief, he should be buried without its aid,
even if he were interred without a coffin. His funeral was attended by
a number of respectable inhabitants of Paisley, and by a party of the
forty-second regiment, wherein he had served.[266]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 64·25.

[266] Scotch paper.

July 24.
Remarkable Earthquake.
The following communication was received too late for insertion on
the fifteenth of the month, under which day the reader will be pleased
to consider it to belong.
For the Every-Day Book.
July 15.
On the fifteenth of July, 1757, a violent shock of an earthquake
was felt on the western part of Cornwall. Its operations extended from
the islands of Scilly, as far east as Leskeard, and as far as Camelford
north. The noise exceeded that of thunder; the tremours of the earth
were heard and seen in different mines, particularly the following:—In
Carnoth Adit in St. Just, the shock was felt eighteen fathoms deep;
and in Boseadzhil Downs mine, thirty fathoms. At Huel-rith mine in the
parish of Lelant, the earth moved under the miners, quick, and with a
trembling motion. In Herland mine, in the parish of Gwinear, the noise
was heard sixty fathoms deep. In Chace-water mine, near Redruth, at
seventy fathoms deep, a dull and rumbling sound. The effect on the
miners may easily be conceived; they are generally a very
superstitious race of men.[267]
 Cornish Hurling.
“Hurling matches” are peculiar to Cornwall. They are trials of skill
between two parties, consisting of a considerable number of men,
forty to sixty aside, and often between two parishes. These exercises
have their name from “hurling” a wooden ball, about three inches
diameter, covered with a plate of silver, which is sometimes gilt, and
has commonly a motto—“Fair play is good play.” The success depends
on catching the ball dexterously when thrown up, or dealt, and
carrying it off expeditiously, in spite of all opposition from the adverse
party; or, if that be impossible, throwing it into the hands of a partner,
who, in his turn, exerts his efforts to convey it to his own goal, which
is often three or four miles’ distance. This sport therefore requires a
nimble hand, a quick eye, a swift foot, and skill in wrestling; as well as
strength, good wind, and lungs. Formerly it was practised annually by
those who attended corporate bodies in surveying the bounds of
parishes; but from the many accidents that usually attended that
game, it is now scarcely ever practised. Silver prizes used to be
awarded to the victor in the games.
Cornish Wrestling and the Hug.
The mode of wrestling in Cornwall is very different from that of
Devonshire, the former is famous in the “hug,” the latter in kicking
shins. No kicks are allowed in Cornwall, unless the players who are in
the ring mutually agree to it. A hat is thrown in as a challenge, which
being accepted by another, the combatants strip and put on a coarse
loose kind of jacket, of which they take hold, and of nothing else: the
play then commences. To constitute a fair fall, both shoulders must
touch the ground, at, or nearly, the same moment. To guard against
foul play, to decide on the falls, and manage the affairs of the day,
four or six sticklers (as the umpires are called) are chosen, to whom
all these matters are left.
In the “Cornish hug,” Mr. Polwhele perceived the Greek palæstral
attitudes finely revived; two Cornishmen in the act of wrestling, bear a
close resemblance to the figures on old gems and coins.
The athletic exercise of wrestling thrives in the eastern part of
Cornwall, particularly about Saint Austle and Saint Columb. At the
latter place resides Polkinhorne, the champion of Cornwall, and by
many considered to be entitled to the championship of the four
western counties. He keeps a respectable inn there, is a very good-
looking, thick-set man—still he does not look the man he is—“he has
that within him that surpasses show.” A contest between him and
Cann, the Devonshire champion, was expected to take place in the
course of this summer; much “chaffing” passed between them for
some time in the country papers, but it appears to be “no go;” no fault
of the Cornish hero, “who was eager for the fray”—the Devonshire lad
showed the “white feather” it is acknowledged by all. Polkinhorne has
not practised wrestling for several years past; while Cann has carried
off the prize at every place in Devon that he “showed” at. They
certainly are both “good ones.” Parkins, a friend of the Cornish hero, is
a famous hand at these games; and so was James Warren, of
Redruth, till disabled in February, 1825, by over exertion on board the
Cambria brig, bound for Mexico—the vessel that saved the crew and
passengers of the Kent East Indiaman. He has been in a very ill state
of health ever since; the East India Company and others have voted
him remuneration, and many of the sufferers have acknowledged their
debt of gratitude to him for saving their lives.
With a view of maintaining the superiority in amusements in which
the Cornish delight, John Knill, Esq. of great eminence at St. Ives,
bequeathed the income of an estate to trustees, that the same might
be distributed in a variety of prizes, to those who should excel in
racing, rowing, and wrestling. These games he directed should be held
every fifth year for ever, around a mausoleum which he erected in
1782, on a high rock near the town of St. Ives.
The first celebration took place in July, 1801, when, according to
the will of the founder, a band of virgins, all dressed in white, with four
matrons, and a company of musicians, commenced the ceremony by
walking in pairs to the summit of the hill, where they danced, and
chanted a hymn composed for the purpose round the mausoleum, in
imitation of druids around the cromlechs of the departed brave. Ten
guineas were expended in a dinner at the town, of which six of the
principal inhabitants partook. Some idea of the joyous scene may be
conceived by reading an account of an eye-witness.
 “Early in the morning the roads from Helston, Truro, and Penzance
were lined with horses and vehicles of every description, while
thousands of travellers on foot poured in from all quarters till noon,
when the assembly formed. The wrestlers entered the ring; the troop
of virgins, dressed in white, advanced with solemn step to the notes of
harmony; the spectators ranged themselves along the hills; at length
the mayor of St. Ives appeared in his robes of state. The signal was
given; the flags were displayed in waving splendour from the towers
of the castle; the sight was grand. Here the wrestlers exerted their
sinewy strength; there the rowers in their various dresses of blue,
white, and red, urged the gilded prows of their boats through the
sparkling waves—the dashing of oars—the songs of the virgins—all
joined to enliven the picture. The ladies and gentlemen of Penzance
returned to an elegant dinner at the Union hotel, and a splendid ball
concluded the evening entertainments.”
These games were again celebrated in 1806, 1811, 1816, and
1821, with increased fervour and renewed admiration.
The following chorus was sung by the virgins:—
Quit the bustle of the bay,
Hasten, virgins, come away;
Hasten to the mountain’s brow
Leave, oh! leave St. Ives below;
Haste to breathe a purer air,
Virgins fair, and pure as fair.
Quit St. Ives and all her treasures,
Fly her soft voluptuous pleasures;
Fly her sons, and all the wiles
Lurking in their wanton smiles
Fly her splendid midnight-halls,
Fly the revels of her balls;
Fly, oh! fly the chosen seat,
Where vanity and fashion meet.
Hither hasten; form the ring,
Round the tomb in chorus sing,
And on the loft mountain’s brow, aptly dight,
Just as we should be—all in white,
Leave all our baskets and our cares below.
The celebration of the foregoing game falls in this year, 1826.
Should any thing particular transpire more than the foregoing, you
shall hear from
Sam Sam’s Son.
July 20, 1826.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·70.

[267] Friday, July 15, 1757, about seven in the evening, a smart shock of an
earthquake was felt at Falmouth, attended with great noise, which almost
every one heard, and saw the windows and things in the houses in motion.
As the shock did not last above half a minute, the people were not sensible
what it was till afterwards. It was thought to come from the south-west and
to go eastward.—Gentleman’s Magazine.

July 25.
St. James.
This name in the calendar refers to St. James the Great, who was
so called “either because he was much older than the other James, or
because our Lord conferred upon him some peculiar honours and
favours.”[268] He was put to death under Herod.

“The Death Fetch.”

A new piece under the title of “The Death Fetch, or the Student of
Gottingen,” was brought out on this day in 1826, at the English Opera-
house, in the Strand. The following notice of its derivation, with
remarks on the tendency of the representation, appeared in the
“Times” the next morning:—“It is a dramatic resurrection of the story
of ‘The Fetches,’ which is to be found in the ‘Tales of the O’Hara
Family,’ and has been introduced to the stage by Mr. Benham, the
author of those tales. Considering that it is exceedingly difficult,
through the medium of a dramatic entertainment, to impress the
minds of an audience with those supernatural imaginings, which each
individual may indulge in while reading a volume of the mysterious
and wonderful, we think Mr. Benham has manifested considerable
adroitness in adapting his novel to the stage. We think, at the same
time, that his abilities might have been much better employed. The
perpetuation of the idea of such absurd phantasies as fetches and
fairies—witches and wizards—is not merely ridiculous, but it is
mischievous. There was scarcely a child (and we observed many
present) who last night witnessed the ‘fetch’ or double of the
Gottingen student and his mistress, and who recollects the wild glare
of Miss Kelly’s eye, (fatuity itself, much less childhood, would have
marked it,) that will not tremble and shudder when the servant
withdraws the light from the resting-place of the infant. Such scenes
cannot be useful to youth; and, leaving the skill of the actor out of the
question, we know not how they can give pleasure to age. This
theatre was ostensibly instituted as a sort of stay and support to
legitimate ‘English opera;’ and we feel convinced that one well-written
English opera, upon the model of the old schooll—that school so well
described by general Burgoyne, in his preface to his own excellent
work, ‘The Lord of the Manor,’ would do more credit to the proprietor
of this theatre, and bring more money to his treasury, than ‘a
wilderness of Frankensteins and Fetches.’”

Rightly ordered minds will assent to the observations in the

“Times.” Every correct thinker, too, is aware that from causes very
easily to be discovered, but not necessary to trace, the “regular
houses” must adopt degrading and mischievous representations or
close their doors. Nor is any accession to our “stock plays” to be
expected; for if perchance a piece of sterling merit were written, its
author would be lamentably ignorant of “the business of the stage”
were he to think of “offering it.” The “regular drama” is on its last legs.

Leaving the fable of the play of the “Death Fetch” altogether, and
merely taking its name for the purpose of acquainting the reader with
the attributes of a “fetch,” recourse is had in the outset to the “Tales
of the O’Hara Family.” The notions of such of the good people of
Ireland, as believe at this time in that “airy thing,” are set forth with
great clearness by the author of that work, who is a gentleman of the
sister kingdom with well-founded claims to distinction, as a man of
genius and literary ability. The following is extracted preparatory to
other authorities regarding “fetches” in general.

A Tale of the O’Hara Family.

I was sauntering in hot summer weather by a little stream that
now scarce strayed over its deep and rocky bed, often obliged to
glance and twine round some large stone, or the trunk of a fallen tree,
as if exerting a kind of animated ingenuity to escape and pursue its
course. It ran through a valley, receding in almost uniform perspective
as far as the eye could reach, and shut up at its extremity by a lofty
hill, sweeping directly across it. The sides of the valley bore no traces
of cultivation. Briers and furze scantily clothed them; while, here and
there, a frittered rock protruded its bald forehead through the thin
copse. No shadow broke or relieved the monotonous sheet of light
that spread over every object. The spare grass and wild bushes had
become parched under its influence; the earth, wherever it was seen
bare, appeared dry and crumbling into dust; the rocks and stones
were partially bleached white, or their few patches of moss burnt
black or deep red. The whole effect was fiercely brilliant, and so
unbroken, that a sparrow could not have hopped, or a grass-mouse
raced across, even in the distance, without being immediately
detected as an intrusion upon the scene.
The desertion and silence of the place, sympathized well with its
lethargic features. Not a single cabin met my eye through the range of
the valley; over head, indeed, the gables of one or two peeped down,
half hidden by their sameness of colour with the weather-tanned rocks
on which they hung, or with the heather that thatched them; but they
and their inmates were obviously unconnected with the solitude in
which I stood, their fronts and windows being turned towards the level
country, and thence the paths that led to them must also have
diverged. No moving thing animated my now almost supernatural
picture; no cow, horse, nor sheep, saunteringly grazed along the
margin of my wizard stream. The very little birds flew over it, I
conveniently thought, with an agitated rapidity, or if one of them
alighted on the shrivelled spray, it was but to look round for a moment
with a keen mistrustful eye; and then bound into its fields of air,
leaving the wild branch slightly fluttered by his action. If a sound
arose, it was but what its own whispering waters made; or the
herdsboy’s whistle faintly echoed from far-off fields and meadows; or
the hoarse and lonesome caw of the rook, as he winged his heavy
flight towards more fertile places.
Amid all this light and silence, a very aged woman, wildly habited,
appeared, I know not how, before me. Her approach had not been
heralded by any accompanying noise, by any rustle among the
bushes, or by the sound of a footstep; my eyes were turned from the
direction in which she became visible, but again unconsciously
recurring to it, fixed on the startling figure.
She was low in stature, emaciated, and embrowned by age, sun,
or toil, as it might be; her lank white hair hung thickly at either side of
her face; a short red mantle fell loosely to her knees; under it a green
petticoat descended to within some inches of her ankles; and her
arms, neck, head, and feet, were bare. There she remained, at the
distance of only about twenty yards, her small grey eyes vacantly set
on mine; and her brows strenuously knit, but, as I thought, rather to
shadow her sight from the sun, than with any expression of anger or
agitation. Her look had no meaning in it; no passion, no subject. It
communicated nothing with which my heart or thought held any
sympathy; yet it was long, and deep, and unwincing. After standing
for some time, as if spell-bound by her gaze, I felt conscious of
becoming uneasy and superstitious in spite of myself; yet my
sensation was rather caused by excitement than by fear, and saluting
the strange visitant, I advanced towards her. She stood on a broad
slab in the centre of the bed of the stream, but which was now
uncovered by the water. I had to step from stone to stone in my
approach, and often wind round some unusually gigantic rock that
impeded my direct course; one of them was, indeed, so large, that
when I came up to it, my view of the old woman was completely
impeded. This roused me more: I hastily turned the angle of the rock;
looked again for her in the place she had stood—but she was gone.—
My eye rapidly glanced round to detect the path she had taken. I
could not see her.
 Now I became more disturbed. I leaned my back against the rock,
and for some moments gazed along the valley. In this situation, my
eye was again challenged by her scarlet mantle glittering in the
sunlight, at the distance of nearly a quarter of a mile from the spot
where she first appeared. She was once more motionless, and
evidently looked at me. I grew too nervous to remain stationary, and
hurried after her up the stony bed of the stream.
A second time she disappeared; but when I gained her second
resting-place, I saw her standing on the outline of the distant
mountain, now dwindled almost to the size of a crow, yet, boldly
relieved against the back-ground of white clouds, and still manifested
to me by her bright red mantle. A moment, and she finally evaded my
view, going off at the other side of the mountain. This was not to be
borne: I followed, if not courageously, determinedly. By my watch, to
which I had the curiosity and presence of mind to refer, it took me a
quarter of an hour to win the summit of the hill; and she, an aged
woman, feeble and worn, had traversed the same space in much less
time. When I stood on the ridge of the hill, and looked abroad over a
widely-spreading country, unsheltered by forest, thicket, or any other
hiding-place, I beheld her not.
Cabins, or, to use the more poetical name, authorized by the
exquisite bard of “O’Connor’s child,” sheelings, were now abundantly
strewed around me, and men, women, and children, at work in the
fields, one and all assured me no such person had, that day, met their
notice, and added, it was impossible she could have crossed without
becoming visible to them. I never again beheld (excepting in my
dreams) that mysterious visitant, nor have ever been able to ascertain
who or what she was.
After having spoken to the peasants, I continued my walk,
descending the breast of the mountain which faced the valley, but now
avoiding the latter, and sauntering against the thready current of the
stream, with no other feeling that I can recollect, but an impatience to
ascertain its hidden source. It led me all round the base of the hill. I
had a book in my pocket, with which I occasionally sat down, in an
inviting solitude; when tired of it, I threw pebbles into the water, or
traced outlines on the clouds; and the day insensibly lapsed, while I
thus rioted in the utter listlessness of, perhaps, a diseased
imagination.
Evening fell. I found myself, in its deepest shades, once more on
the side of the mountain opposite that which turned towards the
valley. I sat upon a small knoll, surrounded by curves and bumps, wild
and picturesque in their solitude. I was listening to the shrill call of the
plover, which sounded far and faint along the dreary hills, when a vivid
glow of lightning, followed by a clattering thundercrash, roused me
from my reverie. I was glad to take shelter in one of the cabins, which
I have described as rather numerously strewed in that direction.
The poor people received me with an Irish cead mille phalteagh
—“a hundred thousand welcomes”—and I soon sat in comfort by a
blazing turf fire, with eggs, butter, and oaten bread, to serve my need
as they might.
The family consisted of an old couple, joint proprietors of my
house of refuge; a son and daughter, nearly full grown; and a pale,
melancholy-looking girl of about twenty years of age, whom I
afterwards understood to be niece to the old man, and since her
father’s death, under his protection. From my continued inquiries
concerning my witch of the glen, our conversation turned on
superstitions generally. With respect to the ancient lady herself, the
first opinion seemed to be—“the Lord only knows what she was:”—but
a neighbour coming in, and reporting the sudden illness of old Grace
Morrissy, who inhabited a lone cabin on the edge of the hill, my
anecdote instantly occurred to the auditory, one and all; and now, with
alarmed and questioning eyes, fixed on each other, they concluded I
had seen her “fetch:” and determined amongst themselves that she
was to die before morning.
The “fetch” was not entirely new to me, but I had never before
been afforded so good an opportunity of becoming acquainted with its
exact nature and extent among the Irish peasantry. I asked questions,
therefore, and gathered some—to me—valuable information.
In Ireland, a “fetch” is the supernatural fac-simile of some
individual, which comes to ensure to its original a happy longevity, or
immediate dissolution; if seen in the morning the one event is
predicted; if in the evening, the other.
 During the course of my questions, and of the tales and remarks to
which they gave rise, I could observe that the pale, silent girl, listened
to all that was said with a deep, assenting interest: or, sighing
profoundly, contributed only a few melancholy words of confirmation.
Once, when she sighed, the old man remarked—“No blame to you,
Moggy mavourneen, fur it’s you that lives to know it well, God help
you, this blessed night.” To these words she replied with another long-
drawn aspiration, a look upwards, and an agitation of feature, which
roused my curiosity, if not my sympathy, in no ordinary degree. I
hazarded queries, shaped with as much delicacy as I could, and soon
learned that she had seen, before his death, the “fetch” of her beloved
father. The poor girl was prevailed on to tell her own story; in
substance as follows:—
Her father had, for some days, been ill of a fever. On a particular
evening, during his illness, she had to visit the house of an
acquaintance at a little distance, and for this purpose, chose a short
cut across some fields. Scarcely arrived at the stile that led from the
first into the second field, she happened to look back, and beheld the
figure of her father rapidly advancing in her footsteps. The girl’s fear
was, at first, only human; she imagined that, in a paroxysm, her
father had broken from those who watched his feverish bed; but as
she gazed, a consciousness crept through her, and the action of the
vision served to heighten her dread. It shook its head and hand at her
in an unnatural manner, as if commanding her to hasten on. She did
so. On gaining the second stile, at the limit of the second field, she
again summoned courage to look behind, and again saw the
apparition standing on the first stile she had crossed, and repeating its
terrible gesticulations. Now she ran wildly to the cottage of her friend,
and only gained the threshold when she fainted. Having recovered,
and related what she saw, a strong party accompanied her by a
winding way, back to her father’s house, for they dared not take that
one by which she had come. When they arrived, the old man was a
corpse; and as her mother had watched the death-struggle during the
girl’s short absence, there could be no question of his not having left
his bed in the interim.
 The man who had come into us, and whom my humble host called
“gossip,” now took up the conversation, and related, with mystery and
pathos, the appearance to himself of the “fetch” of an only child. He
was a widower, though a young man, and he wept during the recital. I
took a note of his simple narrative, nearly in his own words; and a
rhyming friend has since translated them into metre.
The mother died when the child was born,
And left me her baby to keep;
I rocked its cradle the night and morn,
Or, silent, hung o’er it to weep
’Twas a sickly child through its infancy,
Its cheeks were so ashy pale;
Till it broke from my arms to walk in glee
Out in the sharp fresh gale.
And then my little girl grew strong,
And laughed the hours away;
Or sung me the merry lark’s mountain song,
Which he taught her at break of day.
When she wreathed her hair in thicket bowers,
With the hedge-rose and hare-bell, blue;
I called her my May, in her crown of flowers,
And her smile so soft and new.
And the rose, I thought, never shamed her cheek,
But rosy and rosier made it;
And her eye of blue did more brightly break,
Through the blue-bell that strove to shade it.
One evening I left her asleep in her smiles,
And walked through the mountains, lonely;
I was far from my darling, ah! many long miles,
And I thought of her, and her only;
She darkened my path like a troubled dream,
In that solitude far and drear;
I spoke to my child! but she did not seem
To hearken with human ear;
She only looked with a dead, dead eye,
And a wan, wan cheek of sorrow—
I knew her “fetch!” she was called to die,
And she died upon the morrow.
 Our young readers are required to observe that these “Tales of the
O’Hara Family” are merely tales, invented to amuse the mind, or
create wonder. Yet things of this sort are still believed by ignorant
people, and in the dark ages they were credited, or affected to be
credited, by those who ought to have known better. Mr. Brand has
heaped together a great many of these superstitions.

Besides general notices of death, certain families were reputed to

have particular warnings; some by the appearance of a bird, and
others by the figure of a tall woman in white, who shrieked about the
house. This in Ireland is called the banshee, or “the shrieking woman.”

In some of the great families an admonishing demon or genius was

supposed to be a visiter. The family of Rothmurchas is alleged to have
had the bodack au dun, “the ghost of the hill;” and the Kinchardines
“the spectre of the bloody hand.” Gartinberg-house was said to have
been haunted by Bodach Gartin, and Tulloch Gorms by Maug Monlack,
or “the girl with the hairy left hand.”
The highlanders, like the Irish, imagined their deaths to have been
foretold by the cries of the benshi, or “the fairies’ wife,” along the
paths that their funerals were to take.

In Wales—the exhalations in churchyards, called corpse candles,

denoted coming funerals. Very few of the good people of Carmarthen
died without imagining they saw their corpse candles, or death-lights.
In Northumberland, the vulgar saw their waff, or “whiff,” as a
death token, which is similar to the Scotch wraith, or the appearance
of a living person to himself or others.

In some parts of Scotland, the “fetch” was called the fye. It was
observed to a woman in her ninety-ninth year, that she could not long
survive. “Aye,” said she, with great indignation, “what fye-token do
you see about me?” This is quoted by Brand from the “Statistical
Account of Scotland,” vol. xxi. p. 150; and from the same page he
cites an anecdote to show with what indifference death is sometimes
contemplated.
 James Mackie, by trade a wright, was asked by a neighbour for
what purpose he had some fine deal in his barn. “It is timber for my
coffin,” quoth James. “Sure,” replies the neighbour, “you mean not to
make your own coffin. You have neither resolution nor ability for the
task.” “Hout away man,” says James, “if I were once begun, I’ll soon
ca’t by hand.” The hand, but not the heart, failed him, and he left the
task of making it to a younger operator.
This anecdote brought to Mr. Brand’s remembrance what certainly
happened in a village in the county of Durham, where it is the
etiquette for a person not to go out of the house till the burial of a
near relation. An honest simple countryman, whose wife lay a corpse
in his house, was seen walking slowly up the village: a neighbour ran
to him, and asked “Where in heaven, John, are you going?” “To the
joiner’s shop,” said poor John, “to see them make my wife’s coffin; it
will be a little diversion for me.”

In Cumberland, wraiths are called swarths, and in other places

“fetches.” Their business was to appear at the moment preceding the
death of the person whose figure they assumed. “Sometimes,” says
Brand, “there is a greater interval between the appearance and the
death.”
According to Dr. Jamieson, the appearance of the wraith was not to
be taken as indicating immediate death, “although, in all cases, it was
viewed as a premonition of the disembodied state.” The season of the
day wherein it was seen, was understood to presage the time of the
person’s departure. If early in the morning, it was a token of long life
and even old age; if in the evening, it indicated that death was at
hand.

A worthy old lady of exceeding veracity, frequently acquainted the

editor of the Every-Day Book with her supposed superhuman sights.
They were habitual to her. One of these was of an absent daughter,
whom she expected on a visit, but who had not arrived, when she left
her chamber to go to a lower part of the house. She was surprised on
meeting her on the stairs, for she had not heard the street door
opened. She expressed her surprise, the daughter smiled and stood
aside to let her mother pass, who naturally as she descended, reached
out her hand to rest it on her daughter’s arm as assistance to her
step; but the old lady mistook and fell to the bottom of the stairs. In
fact her daughter was not there, but at her own home. The old lady
lived some years after this, and her daughter survived her; though,
according to her mother’s imagination and belief, she ought to have
died in a month or two.

In 1823, the editor of this work being mentally disordered from too
close application, left home in the afternoon to consult a medical
friend, and obtain relief under his extreme depression. In Fleet-street,
on the opposite side of the way to where he was walking, he saw a
pair of legs devoid of body, which he was persuaded were his own
legs, though not at all like them. A few days afterwards when worse in
health, he went to the same friend for a similar purpose, and on his
way saw himself on precisely the same spot as he had imagined he
had seen his legs, but with this difference that the person was entire,
and thoroughly a likeness as to feature, form, and dress. The
appearance seemed as real as his own existence. The illusion was an
effect of disordered imagination.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 64·20.

[268] Mr. Audley.

July 26.
St. Ann.
She was the mother of the Virgin Mary, and is a saint of great
magnitude in the Romish church. Her name is in the church of
England calendar, and the almanacs.
There are curious particulars concerning Ann and her husband St.
Joachim, in vol. i. col. 1008.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
 Mean Temperature 63·67.

July 27.
Fall of Nanneu Oak.
This is a remarkable incident in the annals of events relating to the
memorials of past times.
The Haunted Oak of Nanneu,
Near Dolgelly, in Merionethshire.
On the twenty-seventh of July, 1813, sir Richard Colt Hoare, bart.,
the elegant editor of “Giraldus Cambrensis,” was at Nanneu, “the
ancient seat of the ancient family of the Nanneus,” and now the seat
of sir Robert Williams Vaughan, bart. During that day he took a sketch
of a venerable oak at that place, within the trunk of which, according
to Welsh tradition, the body of Howel Sele, a powerful chieftain
residing at Nanneu, was immured by order of his rival Owen Glyndwr.
In the night after the sketch was taken, this aged tree fell to the
ground. An excellent etching of the venerable baronet’s drawing by Mr.
George Cuitt of Chester, perpetuates the portrait of this celebrated oak
in its last moments. The engraving on the next page is a mere extract
from this masterly etching.
It stood alone, a wither’d oak
Its shadow fled, its branches broke;
Its riven trunk was knotted round,
Its gnarled roots o’erspread the ground
Honours that were from tempests won,
In generations long since gone,
A scanty foliage yet was seen,
Wreathing its hoary brows with green,
Like to a crown of victory
On some old warrior’s forehead grey,
And, as it stood, it seem’d to speak
To winter winds in murmurs weak,
Of times that long had passed it by
And left it desolate, to sigh
Of what it was, and seem’d to wail,
A shadeless spectre, shapeless, pale.
Mrs. Radclife.[269]
 The charm which compels entrance to Mr. Cuitt’s print within every
portfolio of taste, is the management of his point in the representation
of the beautiful wood and mountain scenery around the tree, to which
the editor of the Every-Day Book would excite curiosity in those who
happen to be strangers to the etching. But this gentleman’s fascinating
style is independent of the immediate object on which he has
exercised it, namely, “the spirit’s Blasted Tree,” an oak of so great
fame, that sir Walter Scott celebrates its awful distinction among the
descendants of our aboriginal ancestors, by the lines of “Marmion,”
affixed to the annexed representation.
 Ceubren yr Ellyll,
THE SPIRIT’S BLASTED TREE.

All nations have their omens drear,

Their legions wild of woe and fear,
To Cambria look—the peasant see,
Bethink him of Glendowerdy,
And shun “the spirit’s Blasted Tree.”
Marmion.
“The spirit’s Blasted Tree” grew in a picturesque part of Wales,
abounding with local superstitions and memorials of ancient times. At
the distance of a few miles from the beautiful valley of Tal y Lyn, the
aspect of the country is peculiarly wild. The hills almost meet at their
basis, and change their aspect. Instead of verdure, they have a
general rude and savage appearance. The sides are broken into a
thousand forms; some are spiring and sharp pointed; but the greater
part project forward, and impend in such a manner as to render the
apprehension of their fall tremendous. A few bushes grow among
them, but their dusky colour as well as the darkness of the rocks only
add horror to the scene. One of the precipices is called Pen y Delyn,
from its resemblance to a harp. Another is styled Llam y Lladron, or
“the Thieves’ Leap,” from a tradition that thieves were brought there
and thrown down. On the left is the rugged and far-famed height of
Cader Idris, and beneath it a small lake called Llyn y tri Graienyn, or
“the lake of the Three Grains,” which are three vast rocks tumbled
from the neighbouring mountain, which the peasants say were “Three
Grains” that had fallen into the shoe of the great Idris, and which he
threw out here, as soon as he felt them hurting his foot.
From thence, by a bad road, Mr. Pennant, in one of his “Tours in
Wales,” reached Nanneu. “The way to Nanneu is a continual ascent of
two miles; and perhaps it is the highest situation of any gentleman’s
house in Britain. The estate is covered with fine woods, which clothe
all the sides of the dingles for many miles.”
The continuation of Mr. Pennant’s description brings us to our tree
as he saw it: “On the road side is a venerable oak in its last stage of
decay, and pierced by age into the form of a gothic arch; yet its
present growth is twenty-seven feet and a half. The name is very
classical, Derwen Ceubren yr Ellyll, ‘the hollow oak, the haunt of
demons.’ How often has not warm fancy seen the fairy tribe revel
round its trunk! or may not the visionary eye have seen the
Hamadryad burst from the bark of its coeval tree.”
The inscription beneath Mr. Cuitt’s print mentions, that when sir
Richard Colt Hoare sketched this oak, it was within the kitchen-garden
walls of sir Robert W. Vaughan.
“Above Nanneu,” Mr. Pennant mentions “a high rock, with the top
incircled with a dike of loose stones: this had been a British post, the
station, perhaps, of some tyrant, it being called Moel Orthrwn, or ‘the
Hill of Oppression.’” Mr. Pennant says, the park is “remarkable for its
very small but very excellent venison:” an affirmation which may be
taken for correct, inasmuch as the tour of an antiquary in such a
region greatly assists tasteful discrimination. Within the park Mr.
Pennant saw “a mere compost of cinders and ashes,” the ruins of the
house of Howel Sele, whose body is alleged to have been buried in
“the spirit’s Blasted Tree” by Owen Glyndwr.

Owen Glyndwr, or Glendower, is rendered popular in England by

the most popular of our dramatic poets, from whom it may be
appropriate to take the outlines of his poetical character, in connection
with the legend of Howel Sele’s singular burial.
The first mention of Owen Glyndwr, in the works of our great bard,
is in “King Richard II.” by Henry of Lancaster, afterwards king Henry
IV. Before he passes over into Wales, he says in the camp at Bristol—
 ————————— Come lords, away,
To fight with Glendower and his complices,
A while to work, and after, holiday.
This line relating to Glendower, Theobald deemed an
interpolation on Shakspeare, and it has been so regarded by some
subsequent commentators. We have “Owen Glendower,” however, as
one of the dramatis personæ in “Henry IV.” wherein he is first
mentioned by the earl of Westmoreland as “the irregular and wild
Glendower:” king Henry calls him “the great magician, damn’d
Glendower;” Hotspur terms him “great Glendower;” and Falstaff tells
prince Henry—
“There’s villainous news abroad—that same mad fellow of the
north, Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon the bastinado—
and swore the devil his true liegeman—he is there too; that devil
Glendower. Art thou not horribly afraid?”
In the conference between “Glendower” and his adherents, he
says to Henry Percy:—
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