The eighth was August, being rich array'd
      In garment all of gold downe to the ground:
   Yet rode he not, but led a lovely mayd
      Forth by the lily hand, the which was crown'd
   With cares of corne, and full her hand was found.
      That was the righteous Virgin, which of old
   Liv'd here on earth, and plenty made abound;
      But after wrong was lov'd, and justice solde,
She left th' unrighteous world, and was to heav'n extoll'd.


August is the eighth month of the year. It was called Sextilis by the Romans, from its being the sixth month in their calendar, until the senate complimented the emperor Augustus by naming it after him, and through them it is by us denominated August.

Our Saxon ancestors called it "Arnmonat, (more rightly barn-moneth,) intending thereby the then filling of their barnes with corne."* [Verstegan.] Arn is the Saxon word for harvest. According to some they also called it Woedmonath, as they likewise called June.† [Dr. F. Sayers.]

The sign of the zodiac entered by the sun this month is Virgo, the Virgin. Spenser's personation of it above is pencilled and engraved by Mr. Samuel Williams.

"Admire the deep beauty of this allegorical picture," says Mr. Leigh Hunt. "Spenser takes advantage of the sign of the zodiac, the Virgin, to convert her into Astrea, the goddess of justice, who seems to return to earth awhile, when the exuberance of the season presents enough for all."

Mr. Leigh Hunt notes in his Months, that,—"this is the month of harvest. The crops usually begin with rye and oats, proceed with wheat, and finish with peas and beans. Harvest-home is still the greatest rural holiday in England, because it concludes at once the most laborious and most lucrative of the farmer's employments, and unites repose and profit. Thank heaven there are, and must be, seasons of some repose in agricultural employments, or the countryman would work with as unceasing a madness, and contrive to be almost as diseased and unhealthy as the citizen. But here again, and for the reasons already mentioned, our holiday-making is not what it was. Our ancestors used to burst into an enthusiasm of joy at the end of harvest, and appear even to have mingled their previous labour with considerable merry-making, in which they imitated the equality of the earlier ages. They crowned the wheat-sheaves with flowers, they sung, they shouted, they danced, they invited each other, or met to feast, as at Christmas, in the halls of rich houses; and what was a very amiable custom, and wise beyond the commoner wisdom that may seem to lie on the top of it, every one that had been concerned, man, woman, and child, received a little present—ribbons, laces, or sweatmeats. [sic]

"The number of flowers is now sensibly diminished. Those that flower newly are nigella, zinnias, polyanthuses, love-apples, mignionette, capsicums, Michaelmas daisies, auriculus, asters, or stars, and China-asters. The additional trees and shrubs in flower are the tamarisk, altheas, Venetian sumach, pomegranates, the beautiful passion-flower, the trumpet-flower, and the virgin's bower, or clematis, which is such a quick and handsome climber. But the quantity of fruit is considerably multiplied, especially that of pears, peaches, apricots, and grapes. And if the little delicate wild flowers have at last withdrawn from the hot sun, the wastes, marshes, and woods are dressed in the luxuriant attire of ferns and heaths, with all their varieties of green, purple, and gold. A piece of waste land, especially where the ground is broken up into little inequalities, as Hampstead-heath, for instance, is now a most bright as well as picturesque object; all the ground, which is in light, giving the sun, as it were, gold for gold. Mignonette, intended to flower in the winter, should now be planted in pots, and have the benefit of a warm situation. Seedlings in pots should have the morning sunshine, and annuals in pots be frequently watered[.]

"In the middle of this month, the young goldfinch broods appear, lapwings congregate, thistle-down floats, and birds resume their spring songs: —a little afterwards flies abound in windows, linnets congregate, and bulls make their shrill autumnal bellowing; and towards the end the beech tree turns yellow,—the first symptom of approaching autumn."

The garden blooms with vegetable gold,
And all Pomona in the orchard glows,
   Her racy fruits now glory in the sun,
The wall-enamour'd flower in saffron blows,
Gay annuals their spicy sweets unfold,
   To cooling brooks the panting cattle run:
Hope, the forerunner of the farmer's gain,
Visits his dreams and multiplies the grain.

More hot it grows; ye fervours of the sky
Attend the virgin—lo! she comes to hail
   Your sultry radiance.—Now the god of day
Meets her chaste star—be present zephyr's gale
To fan her bosom—let the breezes fly
   On silver pinions to salute his ray;
Bride of his soft desires, with comely grace
He clasps the virgin to his warm embrace.

The reapers now their shining sickles bear
A band illustrious, and the sons of Health!
   They bend, they toil across the wide champaign,
Before them Ceres yields her flowing wealth;
The partridge-covey to the copse repair
   For shelter, sated with the golden grain,
Bask on the bank, or thro' the clover run
Yet safe from fetters, and the slaughtering gun.

August 1.

St. Peter ad Vincula, or St. Peter's chains. The seven Machabees, Brothers, with their Mother. Sts. Faith, Hope, and Charity. St. Etholwold, Bp. A. D. 984. St. Pellegrini, or Peregrinus, A. D. 643.

St. Peter ad Vincula, or the Feast of St. Peter's chains.

The Romish church pretending to possess one of the chains wherewith Peter was bound, and from which the angel delivered him, indulges its votaries with a festival in its honour on this day. "Pagan Rome," says Alban Butler, "never derived so much honour from the spoils and trophies of a conquered world, as christian Rome receives from the corporal remains of these two glorious apostles, (Peter and Paul,) before which the greatest emperors lay down their diadems, and prostrate themselves." Be it observed, that the papacy also pretends to possess the chains of Paul: pope Gregory writing to the empress Constantia tells her he will quickly send her some part of Paul's chains, if it be possible for him to file any off;—"for," says Gregory, "since so many frequently come begging a benediction from the chains, that they may receive a little of the filings thereof, therefore a priest is ready with a file; and when some persons petition for it, presently in a moment something is filed off for them from the chains; but when others petition, though the file be drawn a great while through the chains, yet cannot the least jot be got off." Upon this, bishop Patrick says,—"One may have leave to ask, why should not this miraculous chain of St. Paul have a festival appointed in memory of it, as well as that of St. Peter? you may take Baronius's answer to it till you can meet with a better." Baronius, the great Romish luminary and authority in the affairs of papal martyrs, relics, and miracles, says,—"Truly the bonds of St. Peter seem not without reason to be worshipped, though the bonds of the other apostles are not: for it is but fit, that since he has the chief power in the church of binding and loosing other men's bonds, that his bonds also should be had in honour of all the faithful." This is a sufficing reason to the believers in the "binding and loosing" according to the gloss put upon that power by Romish writers.

The empress Eudocia is affirmed to have brought the two chains of St. Peter from Jerusalem, in the year 439, one whereof she gave to a church in Constantinople, and sent the other to Rome, where the old lady's chain has yielded, or not yielded, to the raspings of the file from time immemorial. This chain was pleased to part with some of its particles to the emperor Justinian, who sent ambassadors begging to the pope for a small portion, "The popes," says Butler, "were accustomed to send the filings as precious relics to devout princes —they were often instruments of miracles—and the pope himself rasped them off for king Childebert, and enclosed them in a golden key to be hung aboout the neck." Childebert, no doubt, experienced its aperient qualities. They would be very serviceable to the papal interest at this period.

Gule of August.

The first day of August is so called. According to Gebelin, as the month of August was the first in the Egyptian year, it was called Gule, which being latinized, makes Gula, a word in that language signifying throat. "Our legendaries," says Brand, "surprised at seeing this word at the head of the month of August, converted it to their own purpose." They made out of it the feast of the daughter of the tribune Quirinus, who they pretend was cured of a disorder in the throat, (Gula,) by kissing the chain of St. Peter on the day of its festival. Forcing the Gule of the Egyptians into the throat of the tribune's daughter, they instituted a festival to Gule upon the festival-day of St. Peter ad Vincula[.]


So stands the first of August in our English almanacs, and so it stands in the printed Saxon Chronicle. "Antiquaries," says Brand, "are divided in their opinions concerning the origin of Lammas-Day; some derive it from Lamb-Mass, because on that day the tenants who held lands under the cathedral church in York, which is dedicated to St. Peter ad Vincula, were bound by their tenure to bring a live lamb into the church at high mass: others derive it from a supposed offering or tything of lambs at this time." Various other derivations have been imagined. Blount, the glossographer, says, that Lammas is called Hlaf-Mass, that is Loaf-Mass, or Bread-Mass, which signifies a feast of thanksgiving for the first fruits of the corn. It was observed with bread of new wheat, and in some places tenants are bound to bring new wheat to their lord, on, or before, the first of August. New wheat is called Lammas-Wheat. Vallancey affirms that this day was dedicated, in Ireland, to the sacrifice of the fruits of the soil; that La-ith-mas the day of the obligation of grain, is pronounced La-ee-mas, a word readily corrupted to Lammas; that ith, signifies all kinds of grain, particularly wheat, and that mas signifies fruit of all kinds, especially the acorn, whence the word mast.* [Brand.] From these explications may easily be derived the reasonable meaning of the word Lammas.


To the Editor of thte Every-Day Book.

As in your little calendar of worthy observancies you sometimes notice the birthdays of those whom we most desire, and who most deserve to be remembered, and as I am one, who like yourself, am unwilling any thing should be forgotten, or trodden down under the feet of thoughtless and passing generations, that has pleasant speculation in it, pray remember that on the first day of August, Francisco Petrarca was born.—But remember also, that on that same day, in 1578, was born our Juliet Capulet. "On Lammas eve at night shall she be fourteen. That shall she, marry; I remember it well. 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years, an' she was weaned." Shakspeare's characters, as we all know, be they of what country or of what age they may, speak as an Englishman would have done in his own times, and the earthquake here referred to was felt in 1580. That Juliet, our Juliet, should have been born on the very same day as Petrarch was certainly accidental; yet it is a coincidence worth observing; and if a calendar of birthdays be to recall pleasant recollections, over "our chirping cups," why may not Juliet be remembered, and her sweetly poetical existence be associated with the reality of Petrarca's life. And where is the difference? Petrarca is,

———nor hand nor foot
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man.

And what are all the great men that have ever lived but such mocking names! Montaigne who translated a theological work by Raimondi di Sibondi, on being told by some learned friend that he suspected it was but an abstract of St. Thomas of Aquin, says "'tis a pity to rob Sibondi of his honours on such slight authority:"—what honours? when are they offered? to whom? it is not known that such a man ever had existence! Not love, nor reverence, nor idolatrous admiration can stay the progress of oblivion: the grave shuts us out for ever from our fellows, and our generation is the limit of our personal and real existence:—mind only is immortal. Francisco Petrarca was dead, and buried, and forgotten, five hundred years ago: he is now no more in reality than Juliet; nay, to myself, not so much so. The witches in Macbeth, though pure creations, have more of flesh and blood reality, are more familiar to the thoughts of all, than the Lancashire witches that lived cotemporary with the poet, and suffered death from the superstition of the age. There have been many Shakspeares, we know but one; that one indeed, from association and recollection, has a real character in our minds, and a real presence in our hearts:—have we neither association nor recollection with the name Juliet Capulet?



Stramony. Datura Stramonium.
Dedicated to St. Peter ad Vincula.

August 2.

St. Stephen, Pope, A.D. 257. St. Etheldrida, or Alfrida. A.D. 834.


Tiger Lily. Lilim tigrinum.
Dedicated to St. Alfrida.

August 3.

The Invention of St. Stephen, or the discovery of his relics, A.D. 415. St. Nicodemus. St. Gamaliel, A.D., 415. St. Walthen, or Waltheof, A.D. 1160.


Holyhock. Althea rosea.
Dedicated to The Invention of St. Stephen's Relics.

August 4.

St. Dominic, Confessor, founder of the friar preachers, A.D. 1221. St. Luanus, or Lugid, or Molua, of Ireland, A.D. 622.


Holinshed records, that in the year 1577, "on Sundaie the fourth of August, betweene the houres of nine and ten of the clocke in the forenone, whilest the minister was reading of the second lesson in the parish church of Bliborough, a towne in Suffolke, a strange and terrible tempest of lightening and thunder strake thorough the wall of the same church into the ground almost a yard deepe, draue downe all the people on that side aboue twentie persons, then renting the wall up to the veustre, cleft the doore, and returning to the steeple, rent the timber, brake the chimes, and fled towards Bongie, a towne six miles off. The people that were striken downe were found groueling more than halfe an houre after, whereof one man more than fortie yeares, and a boie of fifteene yeares, old were found starke dead; the other were scorched. The same or the like flash of lightening and cracks of thunder rent the parish church of Bongie, nine miles from Norwich, wroong in sunder the wiers and wheels of the clocks, slue two men which sat in the belfreie, when the other were at the procession or suffrages, and scorched an other which hardlie escaped."

This damage by lightning to the church of Bungay, in Suffolk, is most curiously narrated in an old tract, entitled "A straunge and terrible Wunder wrought very late in the parish Church of Bongay, a Town of no great distance from the citie of Norwich, namely the fourth of this August in y[e] yeere of our Lord, 1577, in a great tempest of violent raine, lightning, and thunder, the like whereof hath been seldome seene. With the appeerance of an horrible shaped thing, sensibly perceiued of the people then and there assembled. Drawen into a plain method, according to the written copye, by Abraham Fleming."

Mr. Rodd, bookseller, in Great Newport-street, Leicester-square, well known to collectors by his catalogues and collections of rare and curious works, has reprinted this tract, and says, on the authority of Newcourt's "Repertorium," vol i., p. 519, wherein he is corroborated by Antony Wood, in his "Athenæ Oxoniensis;" that of the narrator, Abraham Fleming, nothing more is known than that he was rector of St. Pancras, Soper-lane, from October, 1595, till 1607, in which year he died. "He was probably," says Mr. Rodd, "a schoolmaster, as his almost literal translation of 'Virgil's Pastorals' into English metre without rhime, and his edition of 'Withall's Dictionary,' were intended for the use of beginners in Latin. From his numerous writings and translations, "a list of which may be seen in Ames, Tanner, &c.,) he appears to have been an industrious author, and most probably subsisted on the labours of his pen."

In a monitory preface, well befitting the context, Abraham Fleming says, "The order of the thing as I receiued the same I have committed to paper, for the present viewe and perusing of those that are disposed. It is grounded uppon trueth, and therefore not only worthie the writing and publishing, but also the hearing and considering." He then proceeds to "reporte" his "straunge and wonderful spectacle," in these words:—

"Sunday, being the fourth of this August, in ye yeer of our Lord, 1577, to the amazing and singular astonishment of the present beholders, and absent hearers, at a certein towne called Bongay, not past tenne miles distant from the citie of Norwiche, there fell from heaven an exceeding great and terrible tempest, sodein and violent, between nine of the clock in the morning and tenne of the day aforesaid.

"This tempest took beginning with a rain, which fel with a wonderful force an with no lesse violence then abundance, which made the storme so much the more extream and terrible.

"This tempest was not simply of rain, but also of lightning and thunder, the flashing of the one whereof was so rare and vehement, and the roaring noise of the other so forceable and violent, that it made not only people perplexed in minde and at their wits end, but ministred such straunge and unaccustomed cause of feare to be co[n]ceived, that dumb creatures with ye horrour of that which fortuned, were exceedingly disquieted, and senselesse things void of all life and feeling, shook and trembled.

"There were assembled at the same season, to hear divine service and common prayer, according to order, in the parish church of the said towne of Bongay, the people thereabouts inhabiting, who were witnesses of the straungenes, the rarenesse and sodenesse of the storm, consisting of raine violently falling, fearful flashes of lightining, and terrible cracks of thu[n]der, which came with such unwonted force and power, that to the perceiving of the people, at the time and in the place aboue named, assembled, the church did as it were quake and stagger, which struck into the harts of thos that were present, such a sore and sodain feare, that they were in a manner robbed of their right wits.

"Immediately hereupo[n], there appeared in a most horrible similitude and likenesse to the congregation then and there present, a dog as they might discerne it, of a black colour; at the sight whereof, togither with the fearful flashes of fire which then were seene, moved such admiration in the mindes of the assemblie, that they thought doomes day was already come.

"This black dog, or the divel in such a linenesse (God hee knoweth al who worketh all,) runing all along down the body of the church with great swiftnesse, and incredible haste, among the people, in a visible fourm and shape, passed between two persons, as they were kneeling uppon their knees, and occupied in prayer as it seemed, wrung the necks of them bothe at one instant clene backward, in somuch that even at a mome[n]t where they kneeled, they stra[n]gely dyed.

"This is a wo[n]derful example of God's wrath, no doubt to terrifie us, that we might feare him for his iustice, or pulling back our footsteps from the pathes of sinne, to love him for his mercy.

"To our matter again. There was at ye same time another wonder wrought: for the same black dog, stil continuing and remaining in one and the self same shape, passing by an other man of the congregation in the church, gave him such a gripe on the back, that therwith all he was presently drawen togither and shrunk up, as it were a peece of lether scorched in a hot fire; or as the mouth of a purse or bag, drawen togither with a string. The man, albeit hee was in so straunge a taking, dyed not, but as it is thought is yet alive: whiche thing is mervelous in the eyes of men, and offereth much matter of amasing the minde.

"Moreouer, and beside this, the clark of the said church beeing occupied in cleansing of the gutter of the church, with a violent clap of thunder was smitten ddowne, and beside his fall had no further harme: unto whom beeing all amased this straunge shape, whereof we have before spoken, appeared, howbeit he escaped without daunger: which might peradventure seem to sound against trueth, and to be a thing incredible: but, let us leave thus or thus to iudge, and cry out with the prophet, O Domine, &c.—O Lord, how wonderful art thou in thy woorks.

"At the time that these things in this order happened, the rector, or curate of the church, beeing partaker of the people's perplexitie, seeing what was seen, and done, comforted the people, and exhorted them to prayer, whose counsell, in such extreme distresse they followed, and prayed to God as they were assembled togither.

"Now for the verifying of this report, (which to so[m]e wil seem absurd, although the sensiblenesse of the thing it self confirmeth it to be a trueth,) as testimonies and witnesses of the force which rested in this straunge shaped thing, there are remaining in the stones of the church, and likewise in the church dore which are mervelously r[et]ten and torne, ye marks as it were of his clawes or talans. Beside, that all the wires, the wheeles, and other things belonging to the clock, were wrung in sunder, and broken in peces.

"And (which I should haue tolde you in the beginning of this report, if I had regarded the observing of order,) at the time that this tempest lasted, and while these stormes endured, ye whole church was so darkened, yea with such a palpable darkensse, that one persone could not perceive another, neither yet might discern any light at all though it were lesser the[n] the least, but onely when ye great flashing fire and lightning appeared.

"These things are not lightly with silence to be over passed, but precisely and throughly to be considered.

"On the self same day, in like manner, into the parish church of another towne called Blibery, not above seve[n] miles distant from Bongay above said, the like thing entred, in the same shape and similitude, where placing himself uppon a maine balke or beam, whereon some ye Rood did stand, sodainly he gavie a swinge downe through ye church, and there also, as before, slew two men and a lad, and burned the hand of another person that was there among the rest of the company, of whom divers were blasted.

"This mischief thus wrought, he flew with wonderful force to no little feare of the assembly, out of the church in a hideous and hellish likenes."

For "a necessary prayer," and other particulars concerning this "straunge and terrible wunder," which was "Imprinted at London, by Frauncis Godly, dwelling at the West End of Paules," the curious reader may consult Mr. Rodd's verbatin reprint of the tract itself, which is a "rare" distortion of a thunder storm with lightning, well worthy to be possessed by collectors of the marvellous untruths with which Abraham Fleming's age abounded.

1825. This day at the Northumberland assizes, James Coates, aged twenty-two, and John Blakie, aged sixteen, were found guilty of robbing Thomas Hindmarch of his watch, on Sunday, the 20th of March last. It appeared that Hindmarch, who lived at Howden Panns near Shields, had been at Newcastle on Carling Sunday, a day so called, because it is the custom of the lower orders in the north of England to eat immense quantities of small peas, called carlings, fried in butter, pepper, and salt, on the second Sunday before Easter, and that on his way home about half-past ten at night his watch was snatched from him. The circumstance is noticed as an instance of the practice of keeping Care Sunday at the present time.


Blue Bells. Campanula rotundifolia.
Dedicated to St. Dominic.

August 5.

The Dedication of St. Mary ad Nives. St. Oswald, King. St. Afra, and Companions, A. D. 304. St. Memmius, or Menge, Bp. A. D. 290.

An Every-Day Complaint.

In the "London Chronicle" of the 5th of August, 1758, there is an advertisement from a sufferer under a disease of such a nature that, though the cure is simple, a description of the various afflictions and modes of relief peculiar to the progress of the disorder would fill many volumes. To guard the young wholly against it is impossible; for like the small pox, every one must expect to have it once, and when it is taken in the natural way, and if the remedy is at hand, and the patient follows good advice, recovery speedily follows. the advertisement alluded to runs thus:—

A YOUNG LADY who was at Vauxhall on Thursday night last, in company with two gentlemen, could not but observe a young gentleman in blue and a gold-laced hat, who, being near her by the orchestra during the performance, especially the last song, gazed upon her with the utmost attention. He earnestly hopes (if unmarried) she will favour him with a line directed to A. D . at the bar of the Temple Exchange Coffee-house, Temple-bar, to inform him whether fortune, family, and character, may not entitle him upon a further knowledge, to hope an interest in her heart. He begs she will pardon the method he has taken to let her know the situation of his mind, as, being a stranger, he despaired of doing it any other way, or even of seeing her more. As his views are founded upon the most honourable principles, he presumes to hope the occasion will justify it, if she generously breaks through this trifling formality of the sex, rather than, by a cruel silence, render unhappy one, who must ever expect to continue so, if debarred from a nearer acquaintance with her, in whose power alone it is to complete his felicity.


Egyptian Water Lily. Nelumbo Nilotica.
Dedicated to Our Lady ad Nives.

August 6.

The Transfiguration of our Lord. St. Xystus, or Sixtus II., Pope and Martyr. Sts. Justus and Pastor, A. D. 304.


This, which stands in the English almanacs on the present day, is the name of a popish festival, in celebration of the glorified appearance of Christ on mount Tabor.


Meadow Saffron. Colchicum autumnale.
Dedicated to the Transfiguration.

August 7.

St. Cajetan, A. D. 1547. St. Donatus, Bp. A. D. 361.

Name of Jesus.

There is no satisfactory reason for this nomination in the present day in our almanacs.


On the 7th of August, 1783, the princess Amelia, daughter to his late majesty, was born; and on the 2d of November, 1810, she died at Windsor. Her constitution was delicate, and subject to frequent and severe indispoition. On her death-bed she anxiously desired to present his majesty with a token of her filial duty and affection; himself was suffering under an infirmity, the most appalling and humiliating in our nature, and in that state he approached her death-bed. She placed on his finger a ring containing a small lock of her hair, set beneath a crystal tablet, enclosed by a few sparks of diamonds, and uttered with her dying breath "Remember me!" The words sunk deep into the paternal heart, and are supposed to have increased a malady in the king, which suspended his exercise of the royal functions, and ended in the extinction of the man's noblest faculty.

The princess Amelia's character has hitherto lain in the oblivion of silent merit. The editor of these sheets is enabled to disclose sentiments emanating from her, under circumstances peculiarly affecting. Dignity of station and absence of stain upon her reputation, commanded towards her the respect and sympathy which accident of birth, and abstinence from evil, always command in the public mind: but there are higher claims upon it.

Homage, by rule and precedent prescribed,
To royal daughters from the courtier-ring
Amelia had; and, when she ceased to live,
The herald wrote her death beneath her birth;
And set out arms for scutcheons on her pall;
And saw her buried in official state;
And newspapers and magazines doled out
The common praise of common courtesy;
She was "most" good, "most" virtuous, and—
Thus, ere the Chamberlain's gazetted order
To mourn, so many days, and then half-mourn,
Had half expired, Amelia was forgotten!
Unknown by one distinguish'd act, her fate,
The certain fate of undistinguished rank,
Seems only to have been, and died; no more.
Yet shall this little book send down her name,
By her own hand inscribed, as in an album,
With reverence to our posterity.
It will revive her in the minds of those
Who scarce remember that she was; and will
Enkindle kind affection to her memory,
For worth we knew not in her when she lived;
While some who living, shared her heart, perchance,
May read her sentences with wetted eyes,
And say, "She, being dead, yet speaketh."

The princess Amelia relieved the indigent friends of three infant females from care, as to their wants, by fostering them at her own expense. She caused them to be educated, and placed them out to businesses, by learning which they might acquire the means of gaining their subsistence in comfort and respectability. They occasionally visited her, and to one of them she was peculiarly attached; her ryoal highness placed her with Mrs. Bingley, her dressmaker, in Piccadilly. In this situation

——"long she flourish'd,
Grew sweet to sense and lovely to the eye,
Until at length the cruel spoiler came,
Pluck'd this fair flow'r and rifled all its sweetness,
Then flung it like a loathsome weed away."

The seduction of this young female deeply afflicted the princess's feelings; and she addressed a letter to her, written throughout by her own hand, which marks her reverence for virtue, and her pity for one who diverged from its prescriptions. It is in the possession of the editor, and because it has never been published, he places it to note the anniversary of her roayl highness's birth in the Every-Day Book. It is a public memorial of her worth; the only record of her high principles and affectionate disposition.


The accounts I have received of you, My poor Mary from Mrs. Bingley, have given me the greatest concern, and have surprised me as well as hurt me; as I had hoped you were worthy of the kindness you experienced from Mrs. Bingley, and were not undeserving of all that had been done for you.

Much as you have erred, I am willing to hope, My poor Girl, that those religious principles you possessed are still firm, and that they will, with the goodness of God, show you your faults, and make you to repent, and return to what I hoped you were—a good and virtuous Girl. You may depend on my never forsaking you as long as I can be your friend. Nothing but your conduct not being what it ought to be, can make me give you up. Forget you, I never could. Believe me, nothing shal be wanting, on my part, to restore you to what you were; but you must be honest, open, and true. Make Mrs. K——, who is so sincerely your wellwisher, your friend. Conceal nothing from her, and believe me, much as it may cost you, at the moment, to speak out, you will find relief afterwards, and I trust it may enable us to make you end your days happily.

To Mrs. Bingley, and all with her, you never can sufficiently feel grateful. Her conduct has been that of the kindest mother and friend, and, I trust, such friends you will ever try to preserve; for, if with propriety they can continue their kindness to you, it will be an everlasting blessing for you: but, after all that has happened, My dear Mary, I cannot consent to leaving you there. Though I trust, from all I hear, your conduct now is proper, and will continue so, yet, for the sake fo the other young people, it must be wrong, and if you possess that feeling, and repent, as I hope you do, you cannot but think I am right. I trust you feel all your errors, and with the assistance of God you will live to make amends; yet your conduct must be made an example of. The misfortune of turning out of the right path, cannot be too strongly impressed on the minds of all young people.—Alas! you now know it from experience. All I say I feel doubly, from wishing you well.

Be open and true, and whatever can be done, to make you happy, will. Truth is one of the most necessary Virtues, and whoever deviates from that, runs from one error into another—not to say Vice. I have heard you accused Mrs. Bingley of harshness; that I conceive to be utterly impossible; but I attribute your saying so to a mind in the greatest affliction, and not knowing what you were about. I pity you from my heart, but you have brought this on yourself, and you must now pray to God, for his assistance, to enable you to return to the right path.

Why should you fear Me? I do not deserve it, and your feeling the force of your own faults can only occasion it; for I feel I am, and wish to be, a friend to three young people I have the charge of, and to make them fit to gain their own bread, and assist their families. For you I have felt particularly, being an orphan, and I had never had cause to regret the charge I had. Your poor parents have been saved a heavy blow. Conceive what their affliction must have been, had they lived to know of your conduct. I trust my poor Mary may yet live to renew all our feelings of regard for her, and that I shall have the comfort to hear many good accounts of your conduct and health. Unless your mind is at ease you cannot enjoy health.

Be assured I shall be happy to find I have reason, always, to subscribe myself,

So wrote one of the daughters of England. We hail her a child of the nation by her affiance to virtue, the creator of our moral grandeur, and the preserver of our national dignity. Private virtue is the stability of states.

In the princess Amelia's letter there is a natural union of powerful sense and exquisite sensibility; it has an easy, common-place air, but a mind that examines the grounds, and searches into the reasons of things, will discover the "root of the matter." Comment upon it is abstained from, that it may be read and studied.

The crime of seduction is fashionable, because hitherto fashion has been criminal with impunity. The selfish destroyer of female innocence, can prevail on some wives and mothers by varnish of manner, and forcefulness of wealth, to the degradation of sanctioning his entertainments by their presence. Like the fabled upas tree of Java, he lives a deadly poison to wither and destroy all within his shadow. Uneasiness from a lash of small cords in a feeble hand, he retaliates by a horse-whip: monstrous sensualists must be punished by scourges of flame from vigorous arms, and be hunted by hue and cry, till they find sanctuary in some remote hiding-place for blood-guiltiness.


Common Amaranth. Amaranthus hypochondriacus.
Dedicated to St. Cajetan[.]

August 8.

Sts. Cyriacus, Largus, Smaragdus, and their Companions, Martyrs, A. D. 303. St. Hormisdas.


To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

The variety of funeral-rites and ceremonies, prevalent in different ages and countries, has been so great as to forbid any attempt to enumerate them; but it is consistent with the character and design of the Every-Day Book, to record the peculiar customs which have existed in different districts of our native land: for although your motto from old Herrick, does not refer to any thing of a serious kind, yet, in the number of those which you promise the world to "tell of" I perceive that such matters are sometimes related. I proceed, therefore, to detail the circumstances which preceded and attended the interment of the dead in the county of Cumberland, within the last twenty years: they are now discontinued, except, perhaps, in some of the smaller villages, or amongst the humblest class in society. Whether the customs I am about to describe, have been observed in the southern parts of England, I know not; I shall, therefore, confine myself to what has frequently passed under my own observation in my native town.

No sooner had the passing-bell intimated to the inhabitants that an acquaintance or heighbour had departed for that "bourne whence no traveller returns," than they began to contemplate a call at the "Corse-house," (for such was the denomination of the house of mourning,) within which preparations were made by the domestics to receive all who might come. To this end all the apartments were prepared for the reception of visitors with the exception of the chamber of death: one for the seclusion of the survivors of the family, and the domestic offices.

The interval between the death and the interment is at present, I believe, extended beyond what was usual at the time I refer to: it was then two days and two nights, varying accordingly as the demise took place in the early or latter part of the day.

The assemblage at the Corse-house, was most numerous during the evening; at which time many persons, who were engaged during the day in their several avocations, found leisure to be present: many of the females made their call, however, during the afternoon. The concourse of visitors rendered the house like a tavern; their noise and tumult being little restrained, and their employment being the drinking of wine or spirits with the smoking of tobacco; and if only some made use of the "stinking herb," all partook of the juice of the grape. Instances could be adduced in which moderation gave way to excess.

The conversation turned, often upon the character of the deceased, at least when generally respected; "de mortuis nil nisi bonum;" the ordinary topics of the day were discussed: perhaps the Irish people were ridiculed for their barbarism in waking their dead: and each individual as inclination prompted him, retired to make room for another, thus maintaining a pretty rapid succession of arrivals and departures, with the exception of, perhaps, one or two who embraced so favourable an opportunity for economical indulgence. "Where the carcase is there will the eagles be gathered together."

I must, however, observe in justice to the good taste of my townsmen, that many of them rather assented to the custom than approved it; but an omission to attend a corse-house, with the occupants of which you were even slightly acquainted, was considered a mark of disrespect to the memory of the dead, and the feelings of the survivors.

I happened, however, that a gentleman (a stranger to this custom,) settled in the town I refer to, and, after a short residence, a death occurred in his family: he at once resolved to deviate from a practice which he did not approve. The first visitors to his house observed that no preparations were made for their reception, and were respectfully told by a servant, that open house would not be kept on the occasion: the news soon spread, and so did the example; a native of the town soon followed it, and a custom fell into desuetude, which the warmest admirers of ancient practices could scarcely desire to perpetuate. Originating probably in the exercise of the social affections, and of that hospitality which was convenient enough in periods when population was thin and widely scattered, they degenerated from their original use, and were "more honoured in the breach than the observance." Antiquity might, perhaps, plead in their defence. The ancient Jews made great use of music in their funeral rites; before Christ exerted his power in the restoration of the ruler's daughter, who was supposed to be dead, he caused to be put forth "the minstrels and the people making a noise." Matt. c. 9, v. 23, et seq.

The ceremonies, which I am now going to describe, are still in existence; and evince no symptoms of decay. On the evening preceding the day appointed for the interment, the parish-clerk perambulates the town, carrying a deep and solemn-toned bell, by means of which he announces his approach to various places at which he is accustomed to stop, and give utterance to his mournful message. Well do I remember the deep interest with which I and my youthful associates listened to the melancholy tones of his sepulchral voice, whilst toys were disregarded, and trifling for a moment suspended! As the sounds of the "Death-bell" died away, it was proclaimed thus: "All friends and neighbours are desired to attend the funeral of ——— from ———street, to Mary's Chapel: the corpse to be taken up at — o'clock." What crowds of little urchins feeling a mixed sensation of fear and curiosity were congregated! What casements were half-opened whilst mute attention lent her willing ear to seize upon the name of the departed, and the hour of burial!

I have known a party at "a round game" hushed into silence: and a whist party thrown into a sort of reverie, and there remain till Mrs. What-d'ye-call-'em asked Mrs, What's-her-name, if clubs were trumps? or chid her partner for being guilty of a revoke on account of so common a thing as the "Death-bell."

On the following day the clerk proceeds to the Corse-house, about an hour before the procession is formed. A small table covered with a white napkin, on which are placed wines and spirits, is put at the door of the house within and around which the poeple assemble: the clerk takes his place by the table, to assist to a glass of liquor, any person who may approach it. The coffin being brought forth, the clerk takes his place in front of the procession, and is usually attended by a number of those who form the choir on Sunday, all being uncovered. A psalm is sung as the cavalcade moves slowly through the streets. The rest of the "friends and neighbours" follow the corpse to the church, where the ordinary services conclude; and thus concludes the "strange eventful history," related by, sir,

Yours faithfully,
J. B——.


Love lies bleeding. Amaranthus procumbens.
Dedicated to St. Hormisdas.

August 9.

St. Romanus. St. Nathy, or David, A. D. 530. St. Fedlemid, or Felimy, Bp. of Kilmore, 6th Cent.


Jacobæan Ragweed. Senecio jacobea.
Dedicated to St. Romanus.

The Willow.

According to T. N., a Cambridge correspondent, this tree is, in that county, called the Cambridge oak. Old Fuller calls it "a sad tree, whereof such who have lost thier love make their mourning garlands; and we know that exiles hung up their harps upon such doleful supporters. The twigs hereof are physick to drive out the folly of children. This tree delighteth in moist places, and is triumphant in the Isle of Ely, where the roots strengthen their banks, and top affords fuell for their fire. It groweth incredibly fast, it being a by-word in this county, that the profit by willows will buy the owner a horse before that by other trees will pay for his saddle. Let me add, that if green ashe may burne before a queen, withered willows may be allowed to burne before a lady." The old saying, "She is in her willows" is here illustrated; it implies the mourning of a female for her lost mate.

The Willow (Salix)

In Sylvan Sketches, to an account of the willow, elegant poetical illustrations are attached, from whence are extracted the subjoined agreeable notices.

According to some botanists, there are more than fifty British willows only. The sweet, or bay-leaved willow, salix pentaxdria, is much used in Yorkshire for making baskets; its leaves afford a yellow dye. Baskets are also made from the osier, which belongs to this genus; but of the willows, the bitter purple willow, salix purpurea, is the best adapted for the finest basket-work. The common, or white willow, salix alba, takes its specific name from the white silken surface of the leaves on the under side. The bark is used to tan leather, and to dye yarn of a cinnamon colour. It is one of the trees to which the necessitous Kamtschatdales are often obliged to recur for their daily bread, which they make of the inner bark ground into flour. The bark of this willow has in some cases been found a good substitute for Peruvian bark. The grey willow, or sallow, salix cinerea, grows from six to twelve feet high. In many parts of England, children gather the flowering branches of this tree on Palm Sunday, and call them palms. With the bark, the inhabitants of the Highlands and the Hebrides tan leather. The wood, which is soft, white, and flexible, is made into handles for hatchets, spades, &c. It also furnishes shoemakers with their cutting-boards, and whetting-boards to smooth the edges of their knives upon.

The weeping willow, salix Babylonica, a native of the Levant, was not cultivated in this country till 1730. This tree, with its long, slender, pendulous branches, is one of the most elegant ornaments of English scenery. The situation which it affects, also, on the margins of brooks or rivers, increases its beauty; like Narcissus, it often seems to bend over the water for the purpose of admiring the reflection:—

——"Shadowy trees, that lean
So elegantly o'er the water's brim."

There is a fine weeping willow in a garden near the Paddington end of the New Road, and a most magnificent one, also, in a garden on the banks of the Thames, just before Richmind-bridge, on the Richmond side of the river. Several of the arms of this tree are so large, that one of them would in itself form a fine tree. They are propped by a number of stout poles; and the tree appears in a flourishing condition. If that tree be, as it is said, no more than ninety-five years old, the quickness of its growth is indeed astonishing.

Martyn relates an interesting anecdote, which he gives on the authority of the St. James's Chronicle, for August, 1801:

"The famous and admired weeping willow planted by Pope, which has lately been felled to the ground, came from Spain, enclosing a present for lady Suffolk. Mr. Pope was in company when the covering was taken off; he observed that the pieces of stick appeared as if they had some vegetation; and added, 'Perhaps they may produce something we have not in England.' Under this idea, he planted it in his garden, and it produced the willow-tree that has given birth to so many others." It is said, that the destruction of this tree was caused by the eager curiosity of the admirers of the poet, who, by their numbers, so disturbed the quiet and fatigued the patience of the possessor, with applications to be permitted to see this precious relic, that to put an end to the trouble at once and for ever, she gave orders that it should be felled to the ground.

The weeping willow, in addition to the pensive, drooping appearance of its branches, weeps little drops of water, which stand like fallen tears upon the leaves. It will grow in any but a dry soil, but most delights, and best thrives, in the immediate neighbourhood of water. The willow, in poetical language, commonly introduces a stream, or a forsaken lover:—

"We pass a gulph, in which the willows dip
Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink."


Chatterton describes

"The willow, shadowing the bubbling brook."

Churchill mentions, among other trees,

"The willow weeping o'er the fatal wave,
Where many a lover finds a watery grave;
The cypress, sacred held when lovers mourn
Their true love snatched away."

Besides Shakspeare's beautiful mention of the willow on the death of Ophelia, and notices of it by various other poets, there are several songs in which despairing lovers call upon the willow-tree:—

"Ah, willow! willow
  The willow shall be
  A garland for me,
Ah, willow! willow!"

Chatterton has one, of which the burthen runs—

"Mie love ys dedde,
Bon to hys deathe-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree."

In the "Two Noble Kinsmen," said to have been written by Shakspeare and Fletcher, a young girl, who loses her wit with hopeless love for Palamon—

Nothing but 'Willow! willow! willow! and between
Ever was 'Palamon, fair Palamon!'"

Herrick thus addresses the willow-tree:

"Thou are to all lost love the best,
  The only true plant found;
Wherewith young men and maids distrest,
  And left of love, are crowned.

"When once the lover's rose is dead,
  Or laid aside forlorn,
Then willow garlands 'bout the head,
  Bedewed with tears, are worn.

"When with neglect, the lover's bane,
  Poor maids rewarded be
For their love lost, their only gain
  Is but a wreath from thee.

"And underneath thy cooling shade,
  When weary of the light,
The love-spent youth and love-sick maid
  Come to weep out the night."

This poet has some lines addressed to a willow garland also:—

"A willow garland thou didst send
  Perfumed, last day, to me;
Which did but only this portend,
  I was forsook by thee.

"Since it is so, I'll tell thee what;
  To-morrow thou shalt see
Me wear the willow, after that
  To die upon the tree.

"As beasts unto the altars go
  With garlands dressed, so I
Will with my willow-wreath also
  Come forth, and sweetly die."

The willow seems, from the oldest times, to have been dedicated to grief; under them the children of Israel lamented their captivity:—"By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept when we remembered Zion: we hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof."* [The Psalms.]

The wicker-baskets made by our forefathers are the subject of an epigram by Martial:—

"From Britain's painted sons I came,
And basket is my barbarous name;
Yet now I am so modish grown,
That Rome would claim me for her own.' [sic]

It is worthy to be recollected, that some of the smallest trees known are willows; nay, the smallest tree known, without any exception. The herbaceous willow, salix herbacea, is seldom higher than three inches, sometimes not more than two; and yet it is in every respect a tree, notwithstanding the name herbaceous, which, as it has been observed, is inappropriate. Dr. Clarke says, in his "Travels in Norway," "We soon recognised some of our old Lapland acquaintances, such as Betula nana, with its minute leaves, like silver pennies; mountain-birch; and the dwarf alpine species of willow: of which half a dozen trees, with all their branches, leaves, flowers, and roots, might be compressed within two of the pages of a lady's pocket-book, without coming into contact with each other. After our return to England, specimens of the salix herbacea were given to our friends, which, when framed and glazed, had the appearance of miniature drawings. The author, in collecting them for his herbiary, has frequently compressed twenty of these trees between two of the pages of a duodecimo volume." Yet in the great northern forests, Dr. Clarke found a species of willow "that would make a splendid ornament in our English shrubberies, owing to its quick growth, and beautiful appearance. It had much more the appearance of an orange than of a willow-tree, its large luxuriant leaves being of the most vivid green colour, spendidly shining. We believed it to be a variety of salix amygdalina, but it may be a distinct species: it principally flourishes in Westro Bothnia, and we never saw it elsewhere."

So much, and more than is here quoted, respecting the willow, has been gathered by the fair authoress of Sylvan Sketches.

In conclusion, be it observed, that the common willow is in common language sometimes called the sallow, and under that name it is mentioned by Chaucer:—

"Whoso buildeth his hous all of salowes,
And pricketh his blind hors over the falowes
And suffreth his wife for to seche hallowes,
He is worthy to be honged on the gallowes."


August 10.

St. Lawrence, A. D. 258. St. Deusdedit. St. Blaan, Bp. of Kinngaradha, A. D. 446.

St. Lawrence.

His name stands in the church of England calendar. He suffered martyrdom at Rome, under Valerian. Mr. Audley relates of St. Lawrence, "that being peculiarly obnoxious, the order for his punishment was, 'Bring out the grate of iron; and when it is red hot, on with him, roast him, broil him, turn him: upon pain of our high displeasure, do every man his office, O ye tormentors.' These orders were obeyed, and after Lawrence had been pressed down with fire-forks for a long time, he said to the tyrant, 'This side is now roasted enough; O tyrant, do you think roasted meat or raw the best?' Soon after he had said this he expired. The church of St. Lawrence Jewry, in London, is dedicated to him, and has a gridiron on the steeple for a vane, that being generally supposed the instrument of his torture. The ingenious Mr. Robinson, in his 'Ecclesiastical Researches,' speaking about this saint, says, 'Philip II. of Spain, having won a battle on the 10th of August, the festival of St. Lawrence, vowed to consecrate a PALACE, a CHURCH, and a MONASTERY to his honour. He did erect the ESCURIAL, which is the largest Palace in EUROPE. This immense quarry consists of several courts and quadrangles, all disposed in the shape of a GRIDIRON. The bars form several courts; and the Royal Family occupy the HANDLE.' 'Gridirons,' says one, who examined it, 'are met with in every part of the building. There are sculptured gridirons, iron gridirons, painted gridirons, marble gridirons, &c. &c. There are gridirons over the doors, gridirons in the yards, gridirons in the windows, gridirons in the galleries. Never was an instrument of martyrdom so multiplied, so honoured, so celebrated: and thus much for gridirons.'"* [Companion to the Almanac.]


On the 10th of August, 1575, Peter Bales, one of our earliest and most eminent writing-masters, finished a performance which contained the Lord's prayer, the creed, the decalogue, with two short prayers in Latin, his own name, motto, the day of the month, year of our Lord, and reign of the queen, (Elizabeth,) to whom he afterwards presented it at Hampton-court, all within the circle of a single penny, enchased in a ring with borders of gold, and covered with a crystal, so accurately wrought, as to be plainly legible, to the great admiration of her majesty, her ministers, and several ambassadors at court.

In 1590, Bales kept a school at the upper end of the Old Bailey, and the same year published his "Writing School-Master." In 1595, he had a trial of skill in writing with a Mr. Daniel (David) Johnson, for a "golden pen" of £20 value, and won it. Upon this victory, his contemporary and rival in penmanship, John Davies, made a satirical, ill-natured epigram, intimating that penury continually compelled Bales to remove himself and his "golden pen," to elude the pursuit of his creditors. The particulars of the contest for the pen, supposed to be written by Bales himself, are in the British Museum, dated January 1, 1596.

So much concerning Peter Bales is derived from the late Mr. Butler's "Chronological Exercises," and excellent arrangement of biographical, historical, and miscellaneous facts for the daily use of young ladies.

Peter Bales according to Mr. D'Israeli, "astonished the eyes of beholders by showing them what they could not see." He cites a narrative, among the Harleian MSS., of "a rare piece of work brought to pass by Peter Bales, and Englishman, and a clerk of the chancery." Mr. D'Israeli presumes this to have been the whole Bible, "in an English walnut no bigger than a hen's egg. The nut holdeth the book: there are as many leaves in his little book as the great Bible, and he hath written as much in one of his little leaves, as a great leaf of the Bible." This wonderfully unreadable copy of the Bible was "seen by many thousands."

Peter Huet, the celebrated bishop of Avranches, long doubted the story of an eminent writing-master having comprised "the Iliad in a nut-shell," but, after trifling half an hour in examining the matter, he thought it possible. One day, in company at the dauphin's, with a piece of paper and a common pen, he demonstrated, that a piece of vellum, about ten inches in length, and eight in width, pliant and firm, can be folded up and enclosed in the shell of a large walnut; that in breadth it can contain one line of thirty verses, perfectly written with a crow-quill, and in length two hundred and fifty lines; that one side will then contain seven thousand five hundred verses, the other side as much, and that therefore the piece of vellum will hold the whole fifteen thousand verses of the Iliad.

The writing match between Peter Bales and David Johnson, mentioned by Mr. Butler, "was only traditionally known, till, with my own eyes," says Mr. D'Israeli, "I pondered on this whole trial of skill in the precious manuscript of the champion himself; who, like Cæsar, not only knew how to win victories, but also to record them." Johnson for a whole year gave a public challenge, "To any one who should take exceptions to this my writing and teaching." Bales was magnanimously silent, till he discovered that since this challenge was proclaimed, he "was doing much less in writing and teaching." Bales then sent forth a challenge, "To all Englishmen and strangers," to write for a gold pen of twenty pounds value, in all kinds of hands, "best, straightest, and fastest," and most kind of ways; "a full, a mean, a small, with line and without line; in a slow-set hand, a mean facile hand, and a fast running hand;" and further, "to write truest and speediest, most secretary and clerk-like, from a man's mouth, reading or pronouncing, either English or Latin." Within an hour, Johnson, though a young friend of Bales, accepted the challenge, and accused the veteran of arrogance. "Such an absolute challenge," says he, "was never witnessed by man, without exception of any in the world!" Johnson, a few days after, met Bales, and showed him a piece of "secretary's hand," which he had written on fine parchment, and said, "Mr. Bales, give me one shilling out of your purse, and, if within six months you better or equal this piece of writing, I will give you forty pounds for it." Bales accepted the shilling, and the parties were thereby bound over to the trial of skill. The day before it took place, a printed paper posted through the city taunted Bales's "proud poverty," and his pecuniary motives as "ungentle, base, and mercenary, not answerable to the dignity of the golden pen!" Johnson declared that he would maintain his challenge for a thousand pounds more, but that Bales was unable to make good a thousand groats. Bales retorted by affirming the paper a sign of his rival's weakness, "yet who so bold," says Bales, "as blind Bayard, that hath not a word of Latin to cast at a dog, or say 'Bo!' to a goose!" The goose was mentioned, perhaps, in allusion to Michaelmas-day, 1595, when the trial commenced before five judges; and "ancient gentleman" was intrusted with "the golden pen." The first trial was for the manner of teaching scholars; this terminated in favour of Bales. The second, for secretary and clerk-like writing, dictated in English and in Latin, was also awarded to Bales; Johnson confessing that he wanted the Latin tongue, and was no clerk. On the third and last trial, for fair writing in sundry kinds of hands, Johnson prevailed in beauty and most "authentic proportion," and for superior variety of the Roman hand; but in court-hand, and set-text, Bales exceeded, and in bastard secretary was somewhat perfecter than Johnson. For a finishing blow, Bales drew forth his "master-piece," and, offering to forego his previous advantages if Johnson could better this specimen, his antagonist was struck dumb. In compassion to the youth of Johnson, some of the judges urged the others not to give judgment in public. Bales remonstrated against a private decision in vain, but he obtained the verdict and secured the prize. Johnson, however, reported that he had won the golden pen, and issued an "Appeal to all impartial Penmen," wherein he affirmed, that the judges, though his own friends, and honest gentlemen, were unskilled in judging of most hands, and again offered forty pounds to be allowed six months to equal Bales's "master-piece." Finally, he alleged, that the judges did not deny that Bales possessed himself othe golden pen by a trick: he relates, that Bales having pretended that his wife was in extreme sickness, he desired that she might have a sight of the golden pen, to comfort her, that the "ancient gentleman," relying upon the kind husband's word, allowed the golden pen to be carried to her, and that thereupon Bales immediately pawned it, and afterwards, to make sure work, sold it at a great loss, so that the judges, ashamed of their own conduct, were compelled to give such a verdict as suited the occasion. Bales rejoined, by publishing to the universe the day and hour when the judges brought the golden pen to his house, and painted it with a hand over his door for a sign.* [Mr. D'Israeli's Curiosities of Literature.] This is shortly the history of a long contest, which, if it has not been paralleled in our own time, we have been reminded of by the open challenges of living calligraphers.

John Flamsteed.

On the 10th of August, 1675, the foundation stone of the Royal Observatory, for watching and noting the motions of the celestial bodies, was laid on the hill where it now stands, in Greenwich Park. The edifice was erected by order of king Charles II., at the instance of sir Jonas Moor, under the direction of sir Christopher Wren; and it is worthy of record here, that the celebrated Flamsteed, constructed a "Scheme of the Heavens," at the very minute when the foundation stone was laid. It has never appeared in any work, and as the public are wholly unacquainted with its existence, it is subjoined exactly as Flamsteed drew it with his own hand.

Flamsteed's 'Scheme of the Heavens'

"Few men rightly temper with the stars."—Shakspeare.

Flamsteed was the first astronomer-royal, and from him the Observatory at Greenwich derives its popular name, "Flamsteed-house." His "Scheme of the Heavens," may be found there in a folio vellum-bound manuscript on the second page. Opposite to it, also drawn by himself, with great exactness, and signed by his own name within it, is a ground plan of the Observatory. On the following, being the fourth page, is a list of "Angles, betwixt eminent places observed with the sextant in the months of February and March, 1679-80." The remainder of the book consists of about one hundred and seventy pages of "Observations," also in Flamsteed's hand-writing. Whatever astrological judgment he may have exercised upon the positions of the stars in his horoscope, he has not left his opinion in writing; but the circumstance of his having been at some pains to ascertain and set them down among his other "Observations," may be taken as presumptive that this great astronomer practised astrology.

In another folio manuscript in calf binding, containing also one hundred and thirty-two pages of his "Observations," there is a document of more general importance; namely, a series of notices or memoranda also in his own hand-writing of circumstances in his life which he deemed nost worthy of committing to paper. The most curious portion of this labour relates to a difference which is well known to have existed between himself, and sir Isaac Newton. The whole of these memoirs, with the astrological scheme, a scientific gentleman was permitted by Dr. Maskelyne, the late astronomer-royal, to transcribe from the MSS. at the Observatory. Until now, they have been unprinted, and having been obligingly communicated to the Editor of the Every-Day Book, the latter conceives that the public will be gratified by their perusal, and therefore preserves them in the pages of this work without comment. Without any view of detracting sir Isaac Newton, or Mr. Flamsteed, by their publication, he offers the singular statements as Flamsteed wrote them. His birth is stated at their commencement; he died at Greenwich, on the 31st of December, 1719.

Memoirs of Mr. John Flamsteed, by himself.

I was borne At Denby, 5 miles from Derby, August 19, 1646—my father having removed his family thither because the Sickness was then in Derby.

Educated in the free school at Derby till 16 years old.

At 14 years of Age 1660, Got a great cold—was followed by 5 years sickness—a Consumption.

Recovered, by God's blessing, on a journey into Ireland 1665, in the months of August and Sept.

Began to study Mathematics in 1662. The first book I read was Sacrobusco de Sphæra, which I turned into English.

In 1665 Calculated Eclipses and the planets, places from Street's Caroline tables, and wrote my Treatise of the æquation of Days.

In 1666 observed the Eclipse of ye Sun.

In 1669 observed a Solar Eclipse and some appulses, and presented the prædictions of more for the year 1670 to the R. S.* [[Royal Society.]] this brought on a Correspondence with Mr. Oldenburg—Collins.

Mr. Oldenburg's first letter to me is dated Jan. 14. 1669—70.

Mr. Collins 2°ree; Feb. 3. 1669—70.

My Predn. of Appulses 1670, printed in ye Ph. Tr. No. 55 for Jan. 1669—70.

Mr. N's.† [[Newton's Theory.]] The. of light and Colors, 80. Feb. 19. 1671—2.

I was in London after Whitsuntide 1670; came acquainted with Sir. Jo. Moor; bought telescope glasses, and had Mr. Townly's Micrometer presented to me by Sir Jonas Moor.

Set a Pole up to raise my glasses, March 21, 1671, at Derby.

Began to measure distances in the heavens, Octo. 17, 1672.

Continued them there till Jan. 167_.

1672. Sept. Observed [astronomical sign]— deduced his parallax from the Observations = to his diameter.

1674. May the 2d. came to London.
29, went to Cambridge.
June the 5th. My degree.
July 13, returned to London.
Aug. 13, left London.
29, Got to Derby.

1674. First acquaintance with Sir I. N. at Cambridge, occasioned by my fixing there the Microscope, which he could not; the object glass being forgot by him.

1675. Feb. 2. Came to London Again.
Mar. 4. Warrant for my Sallary.

Sieru de St. Piex proposes to find the Longitude by Observations of the Ds. *     *    *    Letters hereon.* [[Distances of the stars?]]

1675. June 22. Warrant dated for building the Royl. Observatory.

[fem sign] August 10. foundation layd.

1676. July 10. entred into it to inhabit wth T. Smith, and Cutler Denton Servant.

Sept. 19. began to measure distances in the heavens wth the sextant.

76. Sir Jonas Moor gave me the sextant, some books, and glasses, with charge to dispose of them by my Will: all the other instruments and tubes provided at my own charge.

1679. Aug. 17. Sir Jonas Moor died. His Sonn Sir J. M. thrown from his horse, died.

1680. Made the Voluble [?] Quadrant at my own Charge.

1680. Dec. 12. [astronomical sign] first saw and observed ye great Comet; observed it till Feb. 5, (80-81.)

1680. Mr. Newton's first Letter to me about the Comet.

81. Imparted my observations of the Comet with ye                   may [be] derived from them.

85 or 86. gave him* [[Sir Isaac Newton.]] the diameters of the planets in all Positions of the earth, and them in their orbits: got it back with much difficulty after 2 years detention.

He disputed against the comets of Nov. and Dec. being the same, in 2 long letters in Feb. and March 81°ree;; now, in 85, he owned they might be so as I had asserted, and slightly mentioned me as disputing for their being the same as in ye 4th book of his principles; whereas I affirmed it, and himself disputed against it.

1687. his principles published: little notice taken of her Ma[ties.] Observatory.

1688 & 9. made the New large Arch and Staff * * * Sharp.

89. Began my observations of the * * s distances from our vertix with it.

Sept. 12. [astr. symbol] & 13 [astr. symbol]s got the Clock removed by Nov. 15 [fem sign]:

89. Dec. 10. first observation of the [Moon]'s place compared with my lunar Tables in ye 4th book of calculations, pag. 5.

After this I observed the [Moon] and planets frequently wth the New Arch; examined the lunar observations, commonly the morning after they were got, and compared them with my Tables, till April, 1692, whereby I saw the faults of the Tables sometimes were near one-third of a degree.

1694. Sept. 1 [astr. sign] Mr. Newton come to visit me; I shewed him these Collations drawn up in 3 large Synopses, and on his request gave him copys of them, he promising me not to impart or communicate them to any body; this promise I required of him because, as I then told him, I made use of some places of the fixed Stars which I had derived from observations made with the Sextant, which were not so exact as those taken with the Murall Arch; that I had now gotten a good stock of observations of the fixed * * s, should make a larger and much exacter Catalogue, that the [Moon]'s observed places should be derived from the places of the stars in my New Catalogue, and then I would impart them to him, which he approved, and by a Letter of his dated          confest.

Nevertheless he imparted what he derived from them both to Dr. Gregory and Mr. H:* [Halley.] contra datam fidem.

After he had got the 3 Synopses of [Moon]'s observations to him he desired more of them, and this caused an Intercourse of letters betwixt us, wherein I imparted to him about 100 more of ye [Moon] places, but finding this took up much time, and being now entered in my Rectification of the places of the fixed stars, and very busy in it, I was forced to leave off my correspondence wth him at that time, having found that his corrections of my numbers still gave ye Moon's places 8 or 9 minutes erroneous, tho; Dr. G. and Dr. Halley had boasted they would agree wth in 2' or 3'—I was ill of the stone very oft and had [illegible] ye head ach till Sept. when freed of it by a violent fit of ye stone and my usuall medicine—Deo Laus.

1695 or 1696. Sir I. N.† [[Sir Isaac Newton]] being made an Officer in the Mint came to London. I sometimes visited him there or at his own house in Jermin Street: we continued civil, but he was not so friendly as formerly, because I could            Mr. H. and Dr. G. assertions concerning his corrections of ye Horroccian lunar theorys.

1696. A Correspondence begun wth Mr. Bosseley and Apothecary of Bakewell in Derbyshire and Mr. Luke Leigh a poor Kinsman of Mr. Halleys of the same clan, and myself. Mr. Bosseley wanted observation for correcting the planets places I furnished him, and set him on [astr sign] and [astr sign].

Mr. Leigh I hired to calculate the places of the fixed Stars from their Right Ascentions and distances from the Northern Pole determined by myself.

1696. Dec. 11 I received from him the places of the Stars in the Constellations of [astr sign] and [astr sign], which whilst he had been doing the same, were done by my then servant Mr. Hodgson in ye Observatory, so that I easily found the errors of either and corrected them.

Astronomy Table.

The Stars in Hevelius his Sextant and Monsceros. ye Linx, Camelopardalus, Canes, Vanatici, were calculated afterwards in 1705. 6. 7. 8 by my servants, J. Woolferman and J. Crosthwaite, and the Constellations of Hercules and Cassiopea enlarged with ye addition of many Stars observed in the years 1705. 6. 7. 8. by them and Mr. Ab. Ryley.

In the mean time as often as I met with Sir I. N. he was very inquisitive how the Catalogues went on, I answered as it stood; and when he came here commonly shewed him how it stood in my books, not suspecting any design, but hoping he might serve me as kindly as I had assisted him freely with my pains when he desired me.

1698. At Michaelmas was at Derby and Bakewell.

1697—8. Feb. 6, ye CZAR first came to Greenwich.

1704. April 11. [masc sign] Mr. Newton came to the Observat[or]y dined with me, saw the Volumes of Observations, so much of the Catalogue as was then finished, with the Charts of the Constellations both J. W's* [[J. Woolferman, Ant.]] and those copied by Vansomer: desired to have the recommending of them to ye Prince: I knew his temper, that he would be my fr. no further than to serve his own ends, and that he was spitefull and swayed by those that were worse than himself; this made me refuse him: however, when he went away he promised me he would recommend them, tho he never intended me any good by it, but to get me under him, that I might be obliged to boy him up as E H† [[Dr. Edmund Halley.]] has done hitherto.

1704. Nov. 8. Wrote the Estimate, which was read without my knowledge at the R. S. The Members thought it ought to be recommended to the Prince; the President joynd with them, a Committee was appointed to attend his R. H. even without acquainting me with it, an estimate of the charges drawn up without my knowledge: the Prince allows it—Mr. N. says [illegible.]

He concludes me now in his power, does all he can to hinder the work, or spoyls it by encouraging the printers to commit faults.

We must print the Observations, tho I had shewed in my printed Æstimate, that for very good reasons the Charts of the Constellations ought first to be set upon.

Mr. N. told me he hoped I would give a Note under my hand of security for the Prince's Money; this I knew was to oblige me to be his slave: I answered that I had, God be thanked, some estate of my own which I hoped to leave for my wife's support, to her during her life, to my own Relations after; that therefore I would not cumber my own estate with imprests or securitys, but if they would please to take his Rl Hs moneys into their hands I would sign the workmen's bill to them, whereby they would see if they were reasonable at the same time.

I was told I should have all the printed copys save what his R. H. should have to present to the Universitys.

And Mr. N. granted that since I refused to handle any of his R. H. money there was no need of securitys or Articles —Nevertheless———

  *    *    *

The preceding are all the memoranda by Mr. Flamsteed respecting himself: he breaks off with the word "Nevertheless."

To conclude this article a fac-simile is added of Mr. Flamsteed's autograph from his copy of "Streete's Caroline Tables," mentioned in the preceding memoir, and now in the possession of the Editor of the Every-Day Book. It is to a memorandum made in that book by Mr. Flamsteed, in these words:—

"The greatest declination of ye sun is not more yn 23°ree;. 29'. 00 his horizontall parallax but 10 seconds; the semidiameters of ye Sunn in the Caroline tables less yn they ought to be by 12 seconds."

Flamsteed signature


Common Balsam. Impatiens balsama.
Dedicated to St. Lawrence.

August 11

Sts. Tiburtius and Chromatius, A. D. 286. St. Susanna, 3rd Cent. St. Gery, or Gaugericus, Bp. A. D. 619. St. Equitius, A. D. 540.

The dog-days end on this day. This period in the year 1825, was remarkable for longer absence of rain and greater heat than usual. It was further remarkable for numerous conflagrations, especially in the metropolis and its environs.


Dr. Forster in his Perennial Calendar, observes, that the gentle refreshing breezes by day, and the delicious calms by night, at this time of year, draw a vast concourse of persons of leisure to the shores of Great Britain and France in the months of August and September. There is perhaps no period of the year when the seaside is more agreeable. Bathing, sailing, and other marine recreations, are at no time better suited to beguile the hours of the warm summer day than at present; and the peculiar stillness of a seaside evening scene, by moonlight, is now to be enjoyed in perfection, as Cynthia begins to ascend higher in her car after the termination of the nightless summer solstice, and when the unremitted heat of the dog-days at length gives place to the more refreshing dews of a longer period of nocturnal coolness. The peculiar beauties of a sea-scene by night are thus described by a cotemporary [sic] poet:—

The sky was clear and the breeze was still,
  The air was soft and the night was fine,
And all was hush save the tinkling rill,
  While the moonbeams played on the sparkling brine;
Scylla had pulled off her glacous vest,
  No longer responsive to whirlwinds' roar,
But in white flowing silvery mantle drest,
  With silken shoons danced along the shore.

But the imagery of a calm sea is more poetically described by Milton, perhaps, than by any other author when he tells us:—

That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed,
The air was calm, and on the level brine
Sleek Panope with all her sisters played.

The swift, hirundo apus, is missed, says Dr. Forster, in its usual haunts about this time. The great body of these birds migrate at once, so that we are struck with their absence about the old steeples of churches and other edifices which they usually inhabit, and from whence they sally forth on rapid wings each morning and evening in search of food, wheeling round and round, and uttering a very loud piercing and peculiar cry, wherefore they are called squeakers. For the last month past, these birds may have been seen flying in lofty gyrations in the air, and seemingly exercising their wings and preparing for their aërial voyage. It is not precisely ascertained to what countries they go when they leave Europe.

Insects, says Dr. Forster, still continue to swarm and to sport in the sun from flower to flower. It is very amusing to observe, in the bright sun of an August morning, the animation and delight of some of the lepidopterous insects. That beautiful little blue butterfly, papilio argus, is then all life and activity, flitting from flower to flower in the grass with remarkable vivacity: there seems to be a constant rivalship and contention between this beauty, and the not less elegant little beau, papilio phlæas. Frequenting the same station, attached to the same head of clover, or of harebell, whenever they approach, mutual animosity seems to possess them; and darting on each other with courageous rapidity, they buffet and contend until one is driven from the field, or to a considerable distance from his station, perhaps many hundred yards, when the victor returns to his post in triumph; and this contention is renewed, as long as the brilliancy of the sun animates their courage. When the beautiful evening of this season arrives, we again see the bat:—

The bat begins with giddy wing
  His circuit round the shed and tree;
And clouds of dancing gnats to sing
  A summer night's serenity.


China Aster. Aster Chinensis.
Dedicated to St. Susanna.

August 12.

St. Clare, Aggess, A. D. 1253. St. Euplius, A. D. 304. St. Muredach, First Bp. of Killala, A. D. 440.


King George IV. was born on the 12th of August, 1762; but the anniversary is kept on St. George's-day, the 23d of April.

Twelfth of August.

The the Editor of the Every-Day Book.


I am a poor wronged Day. I appeal to you as the general patron of the family of Days. The candour with which you attended to the expostulations of a poor relative of ours—a sort of cousin thrice removed* [Twenty-ninth Day of February.]—encourages me to hope that you will listen to the complaint of a Day of rather more consequence. I am the Day, Sir, upon which it pleased the course of nature that your gracious Sovereign should be born. As such, before his Accession, I was always observed and honoured. But since that happy event, in which naturally none had a greater interest than myself, a flaw has been discovered in my title. My lustre has been eclipsed, and —to use the words of one of your own poets,—

"I fade into the light of common day."

It seems, that about that time, an Impostor crept into Court, who has the effrontery to usurp my honours, and to style herself the King's-birth-Day, upon some shallow pretence that, being St. George's-Day, she must needs be King-George's-Day also. All-Saints-Day we have heard of, and All-Souls-Day we are willing to admit; but does it follow that this foolish Twenty-third of April must be All-George's-Day, and enjoy a monopoly of the whole name from George of Cappadocia to George of Leyden, and from George-a-Green down to the George Dyer?

It looks a little oddly that I was discarded not long after the dismission of a set of men and measures, with whom I have nothing in common. I hope no whisperer has insinuated into the ears of Royalty, as if I were any thing Whiggishly inclined, when, in my heart, I abhor all these kind of Revolutions, by which I am sure to be the greatest sufferer.

I wonder my shameless Rival can have the face to let the Tower and Park Guns proclaim so many big thundering fibs as they do, upon her Anniversary—making your Sovereign too to be older than he is, by an hundred and odd days, which is no great compliment one would think. Consider if this precedent for ante-dating of Births should become general, what confustion it must make in Parish Registers; what crowds of young heirs we should have coming of age before they are one-and-twenty, with numberless similar grievances. If these chops and changes are suffered, we shall have Lord-Mayor's-Day eating her custard unauthentically in May, and Guy Faux preposterously blazing twice over in the Dog-days.

I humbly submit, that it is not within the prerogatives of Royalty itself, to be born twice over. We have read of the supposititious births of Princes, but where are the evidences of this first Birth? why are not the nurses in attendance, the mid-wife, &c. produced?—the silly story has not so much as a Warming Pan to support it.

My legal advisers, to comfort me, tell me that I have the right on my side; that I am the true Birth-Day, and the other Day is only kept. But what consolation is this to me, as long as this naughty-kept creature keeps me out of my dues and privileges?

Pray take my unfortunate case into your consideration, and see that I am restored to my lawful Rejoicings, Firings, Bon-Firings, Illuminations, &c.

And your humble Petitioner shall ever pray,

Twelfth Day of August


You mistake my situation: I am not the "patron," but a poor servant of the Days—engaged to attend their goings out and comings in, and to teach people to pay proper respect to them. Mine is no trifling post, Madam; for without disrespect to you, many of your ancient family were spoiled long ago, by silly persons having taken undue notice of them; and in virtue of my office, I am a sort of judge in their court of claims, without authority to enforce obedience to my opinions. However, I shall continue to do my duty to the Days, and to their firends, many of whom are mere hangers-on, and, in spite of their pretended regard, grossly abuse them:—but this only verifies the old saying, "Too much familiarity breeds contempt:" such liberties must not be allowed, nor must the antiquity of the Days be too much insisted on. It is said, "there's reason in every thing," but there's very little in some of the OLD Days—excuse me, Madam, you are a young one; and I have something to excuse in you, which I readily do, on account of your inexperience, and of your bringing up.

That you are "the King's-birth-Day" is undisputed: you are stated so to be in the almanac; as witness this line in August, 1825:—

"12. F. K. Geo. IV. b."

Can any thing be plainer than the b. or more certain than that it stands for born? So much then for your rank in the Day family, and at Court, where you are acknowledged, and received as the birth-Day once a year, and "kept" as well as His Majesty can keep you. A king represents the majesty of the public welfare, and maintains the dignity of the throne whereon he is placed by promoting the interests of the people. His present Majesty regards your, and their, and his own, interest by remembering you, when you are not entitled to especial recollection with another day in the almanac, and this remembrance stands in April 1825, thus—

23. S. St. Geo. K. b. d. k.

St. George's-Day does not supersede you; it is not called the King's-birth-Day; the almanac by K. b. d. k. denotes that you, the King's-birth-Day, are kept with all the honours due to your August quality on St. George's-Day. If it had not "pleased the course of nature," you would only have been distinguished as the first Day after the Day whereon the almanac says "Dog-Days end"—a fine distinction!

"It looks a little oddly" you say that you should have been "discarded not long after the dismission of a set of men and measures with whom you have nothing in common;" and you "hope," that "no whisperer has insinuated" that you are "whiggishly inclined." Allow me to tell you, Madam, that if the family of the Days had not been "whiggishly inclined" in the year 1688, you might still have been a "common Day." I know not how you incline now, and it is of very little consequence; for all "parties" are busy in promoting the happiness of the commonwealth, and I hope, in my lifetime at least, that no Day will be dishonoured by dissensions about trifles at home, or war upon any pretence abroad. And now, Madam, after this indispensable notice of your little flaunt, let me add, that the prorogation of parliament during that season when "in the course of nature" you arrive, and the king's attention to the manufacturing and trading of the country, are obvious reasons for keeping the King's-birth-Day, in customary splendour on the 23d Day of April, instead of the 12th Day of August. You are honoured again in your own season at the palace; and your complaint amounts to no more than this, that having received your honours in the presence of a full court circle before you are entitled to them, they are not all repeated to a semi-circle:—how childish! Then, you talk about the "ante-dating of births" and "Parish Registers" as if you were the daughter of a parish cleark—remember yourself, Madam.

St. George's-Day has far more cause for vexation than you. The little respect usually paid to her celebration is eclipsed by the uproar of yours. "The Tower and Park guns proclaim so many big thundering fibs upon her anniversary" for you; and you call her, your elder sister, a "naughty kept creature;" poor thing! How eloquent is her silence compared with your loquacity! how dignified! yet she has antiquity to boast of—the antiquity of many generations, while you at the utmost, are only of sixty-three years standing; indeed, as the KING'S-birth-Day, you are not halfway to your teens. A quarrel among the Days would be odious; this would be detestable. Happily the Day-family is saved from this disgrace by the prudence of your more experienced sister, who will no doubt decline provocation even under your spiteful collocation of George of Leyden with George of Appadocia—she understand the taunt well enough; and can see through the whimsical association of Geroge-a-Green with George Dyer. The dead George-a-Green no one can harm, and the living George Dyer is as harmless. This is pitiful work, and if you were not the King's-birth-Day you would be made to suffer for it. "However," as my friend Dyer would say, "let that pass:" he is a good creature, and maintains his innocence spite of his union—with George-a-Green.

On the presentation of your petition I had some doubt whether I ought to entertain such a petition for a moment; but on reconsideration I doubted whether the justice of the case would not be better answered by dealing with it in another way; and I give you the benefit of that doubt: the petition is dismissed.



Great Sowthistle. Sonchus palustris.
Dedicated to St. Clare

August 13.

St. Hippolytas, A. D. 252. St. Cassian. St. Radegundes, queen of France, A. D 587. St. Wigbert, Abbot, A. D. 747.


Once upon a time—on or about the 13th of August, 1819; it might have been a few or many days before or after that day, or a month or so before or after that month—the day or month is of less consequence to the reader, than to the editor, who desires to "bring in" an interesting anecdote or two on the 13th day of August. Once upon a time, a cat—it is a fact—for it is in The Scotsman newspaper of the 23d of October, 1819— once upon a time, a cat, belonging to a shipmaster, was left on shore, by accident, when his vessel sailed from the harbour of Aberdour, Fifeshire, which lies about half a mile from the village. The vessel was absent about a month, and, on her return, to the astonishment of the shipmaster, puss came on board with a fine stout kitten in her mouth, apparently about three weeks old, and went directly down to the cabin. Two others of her young were afterwards caught, quite wild, in a neighbouring wood, where she must have remained with them till the return of the vessel. The shipmaster did not allow her again to go on shore, otherwise it is probable she would have brought the whole litter on board. What is more remarkable, vessels were daily entering and leaving harbour, none of which she ever thought of visiting till the one she had left returned.* [Zoological Anecdotes.] This extraordinary instance of feline sagacity, on the day before mentioned or imagined, is paralleled by another:—

A lady lately living at Potsdam, when a child of six years, ran a splinter into her foot, sat down upon the floor, and cried most violently. At first her cries were not regarded, as they were considered to be more the effect of a pettish and obstinate temper, than of any great pain which the accident could have occasioned her. At length the elder sister of the child, who had been lying asleep in bed, was roused by her cries, and as she was just about to get out of bed, in order to quiet her sister, she observed a cat, who was a favourite playmate of the children, and otherwise of a very gentle disposition, leave her seat under the stove, go to the crying girl, and having given her with one of her paws so smart a blow upon the cheek as to draw blood, walk back again with the utmost gravity to her place under the stove. As this cat was by no means of a malicious disposition, for she had grown up together with the younger children of the family, and never designedly scratched any of them it seems that her intention upon this occasion was to chastise the pettish girl, and put an end to her troublesome cries, in order that she might herself be able to finish her morning nap without further interruption.* [Zoological Anecdotes.]

In the "Orleans Collection" of pictures there was a fine painting of a "Concert of Cats," by F. Breughel, from whence there is a print, among the engravings of that gallery, sufficiently meritorious and whimsical to deserve a place here; and therefore it is represented in the sketch on the present page. In justice, to the justice done to it, Mr. Samuel Williams must be mentioned as the artist who both drew and engraved it. The fixed attention of the feline performers is exceedingly amusing, and by no means unnatural; for it appears by the notes that mice is their theme, and they seem engaged in a catch.

Breughel's Concert of Cats.

"Breughel's Concert of Cats."

Ye rats, in triumph elevate your ears!
Exult, ye mice! for fate's abhorred shears
Of Dick's nine lives have slit the cat-guts nine;
Henceforth he mews midst choirs of cats divine!

So sings Mr. Huddesford, in a "Monody on the Death of Dick, an Academical Cat," with this motto,—

"MI-CAT inter omnes."
        Hor. Carm. Lib. i. Ode 12.

He brings his cat Dick from the Flood, and consequently through Rutterkin, a cat who was "cater-cousin to the great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother of Grimalkin, and first cat in the caterie of an old woman, who was tried for bewitching a daughter of the countess of Rutland in the beginning of the sixteenth century." The monodist connects him with cats of great renown in the annals of witchcraft; a science whereto they have been allied as closely as poor old women, one of whom, it appears, on the authority of an old pamphlet entitled "Newes from Scotland," &c. printed in the year 1591, "confessed that she took a cat and christened it, &c. and that in the night following, the said cat was conveyed into the middest of the sea by all these witches sayling in their RIDDLES, or CIVES, and so left the said cat right before the towne of Leith in Scotland. This done, there did arise such a tempest at sea as a greater hath not been seen, &c. Againe it is confessed, that the said christened cat was the cause of the kinges majestie's shippe, at his coming forthe of Denmarke, had a contrarie winde to the rest of the shippes then being in his companie, which thing was most straunge and true, as the kinges majestie acknowledgeth, for when the rest of the shippes had a fair and good winde, then was the winde contrarie, and altogether against his majestie," &c.

All sorts of cats, according to Huddesford, lamented the death of his favourite, whom he calls "premier cat upon the catalogue," and who, preferring sprats to all other fish,—

"Had swallow'd down a score without remorse,
And three fat mice slew for a second course,
But, while the third his grinders dyed with gore
Sudden those grinders clos'd—to grind no more!
And, dire to tell! commission'd by Old Nick,
A catalepsy made an end of DICK.

"Calumnious cats who circulate faux pas,
And reputations maul with murd'rous claws;
Shrill cats whom fierce domestic brawls delight,
Cross cats who nothing want but teeth to bite,
Starch cats of puritanic aspect sad,
And learned cats who talk their husbands mad;
Confounded cots who cough, and croak, and cry,
And maudlin cats who drink eternally;
Fastidious cats who pine for costly cates,
And jealous cats who catechise their mates;
Cat-prudes who, when they're ask'd the question,
And ne'er give answer categorical;
Uncleanly cats, who never pare their nails,
Cat-gossips full of Canterbury tales,
Cat-grandams vex'd with asthmas and catarrhs,
And superstitious cats who curse their stars;
Cats of each class, craft, calling, and degree
Mourn DICK's calamitious catastrophe!

"Yet, while I chant the cause of RICHARD'S end,
Ye sympathizing cats, your tears suspend!
Then shed enough to float a dozen whales,
And use, for pocket-handkerchiefs, your tails!—

"Ah! tho' thy bust adorn no sculptur'd shrine,
No vase thy relics rare to fame consign,
No rev'rend characters thy rank express,
Nor hail thee, DICK! D. D. nor F.R.S.
Tho' no funereal cypress shade thy tomb
For thee the wreaths of Paradise shall bloom.
There, while GRIMALKIN'S mew her RICHARD greets,
A thousand cats shall purr on purple seats:
E'en now I see, descending from his throne,
Thy venerable cat. O Whittington!
The kindred excellence of RICHARD hail,
And wave with joy his gratulating tail!
There shall the worthies of the whisker'd race
Elysian mice o'er floors of sapphire chase,
Midst beds of aromatic marum stray,
Or raptur'd rove beside the Milky Way.
Kittens, than eastern houris fairer seen,
Whose bright eyes glisten with immortal green,
Shall smooth tabby swains their yielding fur,
And to their amorous mews assenting purr.—
There, like Alcmena's, shall GRIMALKIN'S SON
In bliss repose,—his mousing labours done,
Fate, envy, curs, time, tide, and traps defy,
And caterwaul to all eternity."


Cats neither like to be put out of their way, nor to be kept out of their food:—

In cloisters, wherein people are immured in Roman catholic countries, to keep or make them of that religion, it is customary to announce the hours of meals by ringing a bell. In a cloister in France, a cat that was kept there was used never to receive any victuals till the bell rung, and she therefore never failed to be within hearing of it. One day, however, she happened to be shut up in a solitary apartment, and the bell rang in vain, as far as regarded her. Being some hours after liberated from her confinement, she ran, half famished, to the place where a plate of victuals used generally to be set for her, but found none this time. In the afternoon the bell was heard ringing at an unusual hour, and when the people of the cloister came to see what was the cause of it, they found the cat hanging upon the bell-rope, and setting it in motion as well as she was able, in order that she might have her dinner served up to her.* [Zoological Anecdotes.]

There is a surprising instance of the sensibility of cats to approaching danger:—

In the year 1783, two cats, belonging to a merchant at Messina, in Sicily, announced to him the approach of an earthquake. Before the first shock was felt, these two animals seemed anxiously to endeavour to work their way through the floor of the room in which they were. Ther master observing their fruitless efforts, opened the door for them. At a second and third door, which they likewise found shut, they repeated their efforts, and on being set completely at liberty, they ran straight through the street, and out of the gate of the town. The merchant, whose curiosity was excited by this strange conduct of the cats, followed them into the fields, where he again saw them scratching and burrowing in the earth. Soon after there was a violent shock of an earthquake, and many of the houses in the city fell down, of which the merchant's was one, so that he was indebted for his life to the singular forebodings of his cats.* [Zoological Anecdotes.]

Few who possess the faculty of hearing, and have heard the music of cats, would desire the continuance of their "sweet voices," yet a concert was exhibited at Paris, wherein cats were the performers. They were placed in rows, and a monkey beat time to them. According as he beat the time, so the cats mewed; and the historian of the fact relates, that the diversity of the tones which they emitted produced a very ludicrous effect. This exhibition was announced to the Parisian public by the title of Concert Miaulant.† [Ibid.]

Cats werre highly esteemed by the Egyptians, who under the form of a cat symbolized the moon, or Isis, and placed it upon their systrum, an instrument of religious worship and divination. Count Caylus engraved a cat with two kittens, which, while he supposes one of the kittens to be black and the other white, he presumes to have represented the phases of the moon.

Cats are supposed to have been brought into England from the island of Cyprus, by some foreign merchants who came hither for tin. In the old Welsh laws, a kitten from its birth till it could see was valued at a penny; when it began to mouse at twopence; and after it had killed mice at fourpence, which was the price of a calf. Wild cats were kept by our ancient kings for hunting. The officers who had the charge of these cats seem to have had appointments of equal consequence with the masters of the king's hounds; they were called catatores.

Gray's elegy on a cat drowned in a globe of water with gold fishes is well-known. Dr. Jortin wrote a Latin epitaph on a favourite cat.


Imitated in English

Worn out with age and dire disease, a cat,
Friendly to all, save wicked mouse and rat:
I'm sent at last to ford the Stygian lake,
And to the infernal coast a voyage make.
Me PROSERPINE receiv'd, and smiling said,
"Be bless'd within these mansions of the dead;
Enjoy among thy velvet-footed loves,
Elysium's sunny banks and shady groves."
"But if I've well deserv'd, (O gracious queen,)
If patient under sufferings I have been,
Grant me at least one night to visit home again
Once more to see my home, and mistress dear,
And purr these grateful accents in her ear.
Thy faithful cat, thy poor departed slave,
Still loves her mistress ev'n beyond the grave."* [Star, Nov. 3, 1735]


Marsh Grounsel. Senecio paludotus.
Dedicated to St. Radigundes.

August 14.

S. Eusebius, 3rd Cent. St. Eusebius, Priest.

It is stated in The Times, on the authority of an "Evening Paper," that two beautiful old trees in Nottingham park during the hot weather (of July and August, 1825,) shed all their leaves, and were as completely stripped as they are usually in November. Their appearance afterwards was more surprising. Wet weather came, they put forth new leaves and were as fully clothed in August as they were before the long season of the dry hot weather.


Sever'd from thy slender stalk,
  Wither'd wand'rer! knowest thou?
Would'st thou tell, if leaves might talk,
  Whence thou art?—Where goest thou?

Nothing know I!—tempests' strife
  From the proud oak tore me;
Broke my every tie to life,
  Whelm'd the tree that bore me.

Zephyr's fickle breath,—the blast
  From the northern ocean,
Since that day my lot have cast
   By their varying motion.

From the mountain's breezy height
  To the silent valley,
From the forest's darksome night
  To the plain I sally.

Wheresoever wafts the wind,
  Restless flight constraining,
There I wander unconfin'd,
  Fearless, uncomplaining.

On I go—where all beside
  Like myself are going;
Where oblivion's dreamless tide
  Silently is flowing.

There like beauty, frail and brief,
  Fades the pride of roses;
There the laurel's honour'd leaf—
  Sear[']d and scorn'd [—] reposes.

Bernard Barton.

About the middle of August, the viper brings forth her young. She produces from twelve to twenty-five eggs, from which, when hatched, her offspring come forth nearly of the size of earthworms.* [Aikin's Nat. Hist. of the Year.]


Elegant Zinnia. Zinnia elegans.
Dedicated to St. Eusebius.


"He gives me the motions."             Shakspeare.

Mr. George Cruikshank's pencil has been put in requisition for a fantoccini, and his drawing, engraved by Mr. Henry White, appears above.

This exhibition took place in a street at Pentonville, during the present month, 1825. Its coming was announced by a man playing the Pan-pipes, or "mouth-organ," which he accompanied by beating the long drum; after him followed the theatre, consisting of a square frame-work about ten feet high, boarded in front, and painted as represented in the print, carried by a man within the frame; the theatrical properties were in a box strapped on the inside towards the bottom. The musician was preceded by a foreign-looking personage—the manager. As soon as he had fixed on a station he deemed eligible, the trio stopped, the theatre was on its legs in a minute, and some green baize furled towards the top of each side, and at the back, was let down by the manager himself, who got within the frame and thus concealed himself. The band of two instruments was set in motion by its performer, who took his station on one side, and the carrier of the theatre assuming the important office of money collector. "Come ladies and gentlemen," he said, "we can't begin without you encourage us—some money if you please—please to remember what you are going to see!" Boys came running in from the fields, women with children got "good places," windows were thrown up and well filled, the drummer beat and blew away lustily, the audience increased every minute, a collection was made, and the green curtain at length drew up, and discovered a stage also lined with green cloth at the top, bottom, and sides. In about a minute the tune altered, and the show began.

Scene 1. A jolly-looking puppet performed the tricks of a tumbler and posture master with a hoop.

Scene 2. The money taker called out, "This is the representation of a skeleton." The music played solemnly, and the puppet skeleton came slowly through a trap door in the floor of the stage; its under jaw chattered against the upper, it threw its arms up mournfully, till it was fairly above ground, and then commenced a "grave" dance. On a sudden its head dropped off, the limbs separated from the trunk in a moment, and the head moved about the floor, chattering, till it resumed its place together with the limbs, and in an instant danced as before; its efforts appeared gradually to decline, and at last it sank into a sitting posture, and remained still. Then it held down its skull, elevated its arms, let them fall on the ground several times dolorously; fell to pieces again; again the head moved about the stage and chattered; again it resumed its place, the limbs reunited, and the figure danced till the head fell off with a gasp; the limbs flew still further apart; all was quiet; the head made one move only towards the body, fell sideways, and the whole re-descended to a dirge-like tune. Thus ended the second scene.

Scene 3. This scene was delayed for the collector again to come round with his hat:—"You can't expect us to show you all for what you've given. Money if you please; money; we want your money!" As soon as he had extracted the last extractable halfpenny, the curtain drew up, and — enter a clown without a head, who danced till his head came from between his shoulders to the wonder of the children, and, almost to their alarm, was elevated on a neck the full length of his body, which it thrust out ever and anon; after presenting greater contortions than the human figure could possibly represent, the curtain fell the third time.

Scene 4. Another delay of the curtain for another collection, "We have four and twenty scenes," said the collector, "and if you are not liberal we can't show 'em all—we must go." This extorted something more, and one person at a window, who had sent three-pence from a house where other money had been given, now sent out a shilling, with a request that "all" might be exhibited. The showman promised, the curtain drew up, and another puppet-tumbler appeared with a pole which, being placed laterally on the back of two baby-house chairs, he balanced himself on it, stood heels upwards upon it, took the chairs up by it, balanced them on each end of it, and down fell the curtain.

Scene 5. A puppet sailor danced a hornpipe.

Scene 6. A puppet Indian juggler threw balls.

Scene 7. Before the curtain drew up the collector said, "This is the representation of Billy Waters, Esq." and a puppet, Billy Waters, appeared with a wooden leg, and danced to the sound of his fiddle for a minute or two when the curtain dropped, and the manager and performers went off with their theatre, leaving the remaining seventeen scenes, if they had them, unrepresented. On the show was painted, "Candler's Fantoccini, patronised by the Royal Family." Our old acquaintance, "Punch," will survive all this.

August 15.

The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. St. Alipius, Bp. A. D. 429. St. Arnoul, or Arnulphus, Bp. A. D. 1087. St. Mac-Cartin, or Aid, or Aed, Bp. of Clogher, A. D. 506.

Assumption, B. V. M.

So stands this high festival of the Romish church in the church of England calendar. No reason can be imagined for its remaining there; for the assumption of the virgin is the pretended miraculous ascent of her body into heaven. Butler calls it "the greatest of all the festivals the Romish church celebrates in her honour." In his account of this day, he especially enjoins her to be invoked as a mediator. The breviaries and offices of her worship embrace it as an opportunity for edifying the devotees with stories to her honour; one of these may suffice.

There was a monk very jolly and light of life, who on a night went forth to do his accustomed folly; but when he passed before the altar of our lady, he saluted the virgin, and then went out of the church; and as he was about to pass a river he fell in the water, and the devils took his soul. Then angels came to rescue it, but the devils maintained that it was their proper prey. And anon came the blessed virgin, and rebuked the devils, and said the soul belonged to her; and they answered, that they had found the monk finishing his life in evil ways; and she replied, that which ye say is false, for I know well, that when he went into any place, he saluted me first, and that when he came out again he did the same, and if ye say that I do you wrong, let us have the judgment of the sovereign king thereon. Then they contended before our Lord on this matter; and it pleased him that the soul should return again to the body, and that the monk should repent him of his sins. In the while, the monks had missed their brother, for he came not to matins, and they sought the sexton and went to the river, and found him there drowned; and when they had drawn the body out of the water, they knew not what to think, and marvelled what he had done. Then suddenly he came to life, and told them what had happened to him, and finished his life in good works.* [Golden Legend.]

Durandus, the great Romish ritualist, anxious for devotion to be maintained to the virgin, observes, that though her office is not to be read on the Sundays between Easter and Whitsuntide, as on every other Sunday, yet there is not any danger to be apprehended for introducing it on the Sundays not appointed. A priest once did actually intrude the virgin's office on one of these non-appointed Sundays, for which the bishop suspended him; "but he was soon forced to take off the suspension, in consequence of the virgin appearing to him, and scolding him for his unjust severity."

It is stated by Mr. Brady, that the festival of the assumption of the Virgin Mary was first regularly instituted in 813; and, that the assumption commemorated actually took place, is what none within the power of the late Inquisition would dare to disbelieve; and, that since its first introduction, further, there has been a zeal displayed on this holiday, which must be considered truly commendable, in all those who believe in the fact, and are amiably desirous of convincing others. The pageantry used in celebrating this festival has often been the subject of remark by travellers, but that at Messina seems for its grandeur and ingenuity to claim the preference: Mr. Howel, in his descriptive travels through Sicily, gives a very particular account of the magnificent manner in which this festival is kept by the Sicilians under the title of Bara; which, although expressive of the machine he describes, is also, it appears, generally applied as a name of the feast itself. An immense machine of about fifty feet high is constructed, designing to represent heaven; and in the midst is placed a young female personating the virgin, with an image of Jesus on her right hand; round the virgin twelve little children turn vertically, representing so many seraphim, and below them twelve more children turn horizontally, as cherubim; lower down in the machine a sun turns vertically, with a child at the extremity of each of the four principal radii of his circle, who ascend and descend with his rotation, yet always in an erect posture; and still lower, reaching within about seven feet of the ground, are placed twelve boys, who turn horizontally without intermission around the principal figure, designing thereby to exhibit the twelve apostles, who were collected from all corners of the earth, to be present at the decease of the virgin, and witness her miraculous assumption. This huge machine is drawn about the principal streets by sturdy monks, and it is regarded as a particular favour to any family to admit their children in this divine exhibition, although the poor infants themselves do not seem long to enjoy the honours they receive as seraphim, cherubim, and apostles; the constant twirling they receive in the air making some of them fall asleep, many of them sick, and others more grievously ill.* [Clavis Calendaria.]

It is stated of a poor Frenchwoman a century ago, when invention was not so quick as it is in the present generation, that finding herself really incapable, from extreme poverty, of nourishing her infant, she proceeded with it near the church of Notre-Dame at Paris, during the procession in honour of the virgin, on the 15th of August; and holding up her meagre infant, whilst the priest was giving his solemn benediction to the populace, besought him so earnestly to "bless the child," that the crowd instinctively made a passage for her approach. The good priest took the infant in his arms, and, whilst all eyes were fixed on his motions, in the act of complying with the parent's request, she escaped back through the crowd, and was nowhere to be found; so that the infant became appendixed to its rich mother—the church.

In a very rare print of the Death of the Virgin, by Wenceslaus of Olmutz, she is drawn surrounded by her family and others; St. John places a holy candle in her right hand, St. Peter with a brush sprinkles holy water upon her before the Romish church existed, and therefore before that device was contrived; and another apostle with an ink-horn hanging from his side, looks through a pair of spectacles, to assist his sight, before spectacles were invented, in reading a book which another person holds. This subject has also been represented by Martin Schoen, Israel van Mechelen, and other artists.


Virgin's Bower. Clematis Vitalba.
Dedicated to the Assumption, B. V. M.

August 16.

St. Hyacinth, A. D. 1257. St. Roche, A. D. 1327.

St. Roche

St. Roche.

["]Sound as a roach."

All that Butler can affirm of him is, that making a pilgrimage from Montpellier to Rome, during a pestilence, he devoted himself to the sick, became infected, made a shift to crawl into a neighbouring forest, bore incredible pains with patience and joy, returned to France, practised austere penance and piety, and died at Montpellier.

In the "Golden Legend" he is called St. Rock; and it relates that when infected by the pestilence, and lacking bread in the forest, a hound belonging to one Gotard daily took bread away from his master's board, and bare it to Rock, whom Gotard thereby discovered, and visited, and administered to his necessities; wherefore the hound came no more; and Rock was healed by revelation of an angel; and with touching and blessing he cured the diseased in the hospital, and healed all the sick in the city of Placentia. Being imprisoned, and about to die, he prayed that he might live three days longer in contemplation of the Passion, which was granted him; and on the third day an angel came to him, saying, "O! Rock, God sendeth me for thy soul; what thou now desirest thou shouldst ask." Then St. Rock implored that whoever prayed to him after death might be delivered from pestilence; and then he died. And anon an angel brought from heaven a table whereon was divinely written, in letters of gold, that it was granted—"that who that calleth to Saynte Rocke mekely, he shall not be hurte with ony hurte of pestylence;" and the angel laid the table under Rock's head; and the people of the city buried St. Rock solemnly, and he was canonized by the pope gloriously. His life in the "Golden Legend" ends thus: "The feest of Saynte Rocke is alwaye holden on the morowe after the daye of the assumpcyon of our lady, whiche life is translated out of latyn into englysse by me, Wyllyam Caxton."

There is an entry among the extracts from the churchwardens' accounts of St. Michael Spurrier-gate, York, printed by Mr. Nichols, thus: "1518. Paid for writing of Saint Royke Masse, 0l. 0s. 9d." * [Brand.] His festival on this day was kept like a wake, or general harvest-home, with dances in the churchyard in the evening.† [Fosbroke's Dict. of Antiq.]

The phrase "sound as a roach" may have been derived from familiarity with the legend and attributes of this saint. He is esteemed the patron saint of all afflicted with the plague, a disease of common occurrence in England when streets were narrow, and without sewers, houses were without boarded floors, and our ancestors without linen. They believed that the miraculous intermission of St. Roche could make them as "sound" as himself.

The engraving of St. Roche at the head of this article is from a print published by Marriette. He gathers up his garment to show the pestilence on his thigh, whereat the angel is looking; the dog by his side with a loaf in his mouth is Gotard's hound.

There is a rare print of this saint, with an angel squeezing the wound, by D. Hopfer.


Belladonna Lily. Amaryllis Belladonna.
Dedicated to St. Hyacinth.

August 17.

St. Manus, A. D. 275. Sts. Liberatus, Abbot, and six monks, A. D. 483.


To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

I know nothing more respecting the subjoined marrative than that I am almost certain I copied it some years ago from that mass of trifling, the papers of old Cole, in the British Museum. It purports to be an extract fron [sic] the Cambridge journal, from whence he no doubt took it.

I am, Sir, &c.

Account of the Earl of Roseberry's Son, and a Clergyman's Wife, in Essex.

In the Cambridge Journal of October, 1752, is the following Article.

Extract of a Letter from Colchester, August 18.

"Perhaps you have heard that a chest was seized by the Custom-house officers, which was landed near this place about a fortnight ago: they took it for smuggled goods, though the person with it produced the king of France's signature to Mr. Williams, as a Hamburgh merchant: but people not satisfied with the account Mr. Williams gave, opened the chest, and one of them was going to run his hanger in, when the person to whom it belonged clapt his hand upon his sword, and desired him to desist (in French,) for it was the corpse of his dear wife. Not content with this, the officers plucked off the embalming, and found it as he had said. The man, who appeared to be a person of consequence, was in the utmost agonies, while they made a spectacle of the lady. They sat her in the high church, where any body might come and look on her, and would not suffer him to bury her, till he gave a further account of himself. There were other chests of fine clothes, jewels, &c. &c. belonging to the deceased. He acknowledged at last that he was a person of quality, that his name was not Williams, that he was born at Florence, and the lady was a native of England, whom he married, and she desired to be buried in Essex: that he had brought her from Verona, in Italy, to France, by land, there hired a vessel for Dover, discharged the vessel there, and took another for Harwich, but was drove hither by contrary winds. This account was not enough to satisfy the people: he must tell her name and condition, in order to clear himself of a suspicion of murder. He was continually in tears, and had a key of the vestry, where he sat every day with the corpse: my brother went to see him there, and the scene so shocked him he could hardly bear it, he said it was so like Romeo and Juliet.

"He was much pleased with my brother, as he talked both Latin and French, and to his great surprise, told him who the lady was: which proving to be a person he knew, he could not help uncovering the face. In short, the gentleman confessed he was the earl of Roseberry's son, (the name is Primrose,) and his title lord Delamere, [Dalmeny,] that he was born and educated in Italy, and never was in England till two or three years ago, when he came to London, and was in company with this lady, with whom he fell passionately in love, and prevailed on her to quit the kingdom, and marry him: that having bad health, he had travelled with her all over Europe; and when she was dying, she asked for pen and paper, and wrote, 'I am the wife of the rev. Mr. G. — rector of Th—, in Essex: my maiden name was C. Cannom; and my last request is to be buried at Th—.'

"The poor gentleman, who last married her, protests he never knew, (till this confession on her death-bed,) that she was another's wife: but in compliance with her desire, he brought her over, and should have buried her at Th— (if the corpse had not been stopped) without making any stir about it. After the nobleman had made this confession, they sent to Mr. G—, who put himself in a passion, and threatened to run her last husband through the body; however, he was prevailed on to be calm: it was represented to him, that this gentleman had been at great expense and trouble to fulfil her desire; and Mr. G— consented to see him. They say the meeting was very moving, and that they addressed each other civilly. The stranger protested his affection to the lady was so strong, that it was his earnest wish, not only to attend her to the grave, but to be shut up for ever with her there.

"Nothing in romance ever came up to the passion of this man. He had a very fine coffin made for her, with six large silver plates over it: and at last, was very loth to part with her, to have her buried: he put himself in the most solemn mourning, and on Sunday last in a coach, attended the corpse to Th—, where Mr. G— met it in solemn mourning likewise.

"The Florentine is a genteel person of a man, seems about twenty-five years of age, and they say, a sensible man: but there was never any thing like his behaviour to his dear, dear wife, for so he would call her to the last. Mr. G— attended him to London yesterday, and there were very civil to each other; but my lord is inconsolable: he says he must fly England, which he can never see more. I have heard this account from many hands, and can assure you it is fact. Kitty Cannom is, I believe, the first woman in England that had two husbands attended her to the grave together. You may remember her to be sure: her life would appear more romantic than a novel."


Snapdragon Toadflax. Anterrhenum Linaria.
Dedicated to St. Manus.

August 18.

St. Helen, Empress, A. D. 328. St. Agapetus, A. D. 275. St. Clare of Monte Falco, A. D. 1308.

For the Every-Day Book.

AUGUST 18 TO 23.

"Rare doings at Camberwell."—"All holiday at Peckham."

I do not know Mr. Capper's authority for saying in his "Topographical Dictionary," that the fair, held at Camberwell from time immemorial, is suppressed.

Although much has been done towards accomplishing this end, it does not seem likely to prevail. It commenced formerly on the 9th of August, and continued three weeks, ending on St. Giles-day. Booths were erected in the churchyard, for the sale of "good drinke, pies, and pedlerie trash:" but these doings were suppressed by a clause, in the statute of Winchester, passed in the 13th of Edward I., which enacts "que feire, ne marche desoremes ne soient tenuz en cimet pur honur di Seinte Eglise." In the evidence adduced before a petty session at Union-hall, on the subject of putting down the fair on the 4th of July, 1823, it is said that "Domesday Book" speaks of the custom of holding it. I cannot find that this statement rests on good grounds, but something like it seems to have obtained as early as 1279, for in that year Gilbert de Clare was summoned before John of Ryegate and his fellow justices at Guildford, to show by what right he claimed the privilege of holding the assize of ale and bread in "his Vill. of Cam'well."* [Placitu de Quo Warranto 7 Ed. I. Abuses of the laws regulating these assizes were in no respect uncommon. Few were "Anie what looked unto but ech one suffered to sell and set up what and how himself listeth." And such "headie ale and beer" were vended, that the people stood peculiarly open to imposition. "They will drinke" says Hollingshed, (i. 202.) till they be red as cocks, and little wiser than their combes."] Mention is made in the following reign of "eme'das in Stoke et Pecham." Camberwell fair was held "opposite the Cock public-house" till the Green was broken in upon.

Peckham is said to be only a continuation of Camberwell, and not a district fair, though there is a tradition that king John hunting there killed a stag, and was so well pleased with his day's sport, that he granted the inhabitants a charter for it. It may be inferred from the "right merrie" humour of this monarch at the close of his sport, that it was somewhat in different style to that of Henry the Fifth: for he, "in his beginning thought it meere scofferie to pursue anie fallow deere with hounds or greihounds, but supposed himselfe always to have done a sufficient act when he had tired them by his own travell on foot."† [Hollingshed i. 226.]



African Marigold. Tagites erecta.
Dedicated to St. Helen.

August 19.

Sts. Timothy, Agapius, and Thecla, A. D. 304. St. Lewis, Bp., A. D. 1297. St. Mochteus, A. D. 535. St. Cumin, Bp. 7th Cent.


On the 19th of August, 1823, Robert Bloomfield died at Shefford, in Bedfordshire, aged 57. He was born at Honington, near Bury, in Suffolk, where he received instruction in reading and writing at a common school, and became a "Farmer's boy;" which occupation he has related with simplicity and beauty in a poem under that title. He wrote that production when a journeyman shoemaker: under the auspices of the late Mr. Capel Llofft it was ushered into the world; and Bloomfield, unhappily for himself, subsequently experienced the unsufficient and withering patronage of ostentatious greatnesss. His first poem was succeeded by "Rural Tales," "Good Tidings, or News from the Farm," "Wild Flowers," "Banks of the Wye," and "May-Day with the Muses." In his retirement at Shefford, he was afflicted with the melancholy consequent upon want of object, and died a victim to hypochondria, with his mind in ruins, leaving his widow and orphans destitute. His few books, poor fellow, instead of being sent to London, where they would have produced their full value, were dissipated by an auctioneer unacquainted with their worth, by order of his creditors, and the family must have perished if a good Samaritan had not interposed to their temporary relief. Mr. Joseph Weston published the "Remains of Robert Bloomfield," for their benefit, and set on foot a subscription, with the hope of securing something the Mrs. Bloomfield for the exclusive and permanent advantage of herself and her fatherless children. It has been inadequately contributed to, and is not yet closed.


Thou shouldst not to the grave descend
   Unmourned, unhonoured, or unsung;—
Could harp of mine record thy end,
   For thee that rude harp should be strung;
And plaintive sounds as ever rung
   Should all its simple notes employ,
Lamenting unto old and young
   The Bard who sang THE FARMER'S BOY.

Could Eastern Anglia boast a lyre
   Like that which gave thee modest fame,
How justly might its every wire
   Thy minstrel honours loud proclaim:
And many a stream of humble name,
   And village-green, and common wild,
Should witness tears that knew not shame,
   By Nature won for Nature's child.

It is not quaint and local terms
   Besprinkled o'er thy rustic lay,
Though well such dialect confirms
   Its power unlettered minds to sway;
It is not these that most display
   Thy sweetest charms, thy gentlest thrall,—
Words, phrases, fashions pass away,
   But TRUTH and NATURE live through all.

These, these have given thy rustic lyre
   Its truest and its tenderest spell;
These amid Britain's tuneful choir
   Shall give thy honoured name to dwell:
And when Death's shadowy curtain fell
   Upon thy toilsome earthly lot,
With grateful joy thy heart might swell
   To feel that these reproached thee not.

How wise, how noble was thy choice
   To be the Bard of simple swains,—
In all their pleasures to rejoice,
   And sooth with sympathy their pains;
To paint with feelings in thy strains
   The themes their thoughts and tongues discuss,
And be, though free from classic chains,
   Our own more chaste Theocritus.

For this should Suffolk proudly own
   Her grateful and her lasting debt:—
How much more proudly—had she known
   That pining care, and keen regret,—
Thoughts which the fevered spirits fret,
   And slow disease,—'twas thine to bear;—
And, ere thy sun of life was set,
   Had won her Poet's grateful prayer.—

Bernard Barton.


Branched Herb Timothy. Phleum panniculatum.
Dedicated to St. Timothy.

August 20.

St. Bernard, Abbot, A. D. 1153. St. Oswin, King, 6th Cent.


Autumnal Dandelion. Apargia Autumnalis.
Dedicated to St. Bernard.

August 21.

Sts. Bonosus and Maxmilian, A. D. 363. St. Jane Frances de Chantal, A. D. 1641. St. Richard, Bp. 12th Cent. St. Bernard Ptolemy, Founder of the Olivetans, A. D. 1348.


French Marigold. Tagetes patula.
Dedicated to St. Jane Francis. [sic]

August 22.

St. Hippolytus, Bp. 3d Cent. St. Symphorian, A. D. 178. St. Timothy, A. D. 311. St. Andrew, Deacon, A. D. 880. St. Philibert, Abbot, A. D. 684.


On the 22d of August, 1818, Warren Hastings, late governor-general of India, died; he was born in 1733. His government in India, the subject of parliamentary impeachment, which cost the nation above a hundred thousand pounds, and himself more than sixty thousand, is generally admitted to have been conducted with advantage to the interests of the native powers, and the East India company. His translation of Horace's celebrated ode, beginning, "Otium divos rogat," &c., is admitted to be superior to all others:—

On the Passage from Bengal to England.

For ease the harassed seaman prays,
When equinoctial tempests raise
   The Cape's surrounding wave;
When hanging o'er the reef he hears
The cracking mast, and sees or fears,
   Beneath, his watery grave.

For ease the slow Mahratta spoils
And hardier Sic erratic toils,
   While both their ease forego;
For ease, which neither gold can buy,
Nor robes, nor gems, which oft belie
   The covered heart, bestow;

For neither gold nor gems combined
Can heal the soul or suffering mind:
   Lo! where their owner lies;
Perched on his couch destemper breathes,
And care, like smoke, in turbid wreathes
   Round the gay ceiling flies.

He who enjoys, nor covets more,
The lands his father held before,
   Is of true bliss possessed;
Let but his mind unfettered tread,
Far as the paths of knowledge lead,
   And wise as well as blest.

No fears his peace of mind annoy,
Lest printed lies his fame destroy,
   Which laboured years have won;
Nor packed committees break his rest,
Nor av'rice sends him forth in quest
   Of climes beneath the sun.

Short is our span; then why engage
In schemes, for which man's transient age
   Was ne'er by fate designed?
Why slight the gifts of nature's hand?
What wanderer from his native land
   E'er left himself behind?

The restless thought and wayward will,
And discontent, attend him still,
   Nor quit him while he lives;
At sea, care follows in the wind;
At land, it mounts the pad behind,
   Or with the postboy drives.

He who would happy live to-day,
Must laugh the present ills away,
   Nor think of woes to come;
For come they will, or soon or late,
Since mixed at best is man's estate,
   By heaven's eternal doom.

In allusion to his own situation, he wrote the following lines in Mickle's translation of Camoën's "Lusiad," at the end of the speech of Pacheo:—

Yet shrink not, gallant Lusiad, nor repine
That man's eternal destiny is thine;
Whene'er success the advent'rous chief befriends,
Fell malice on his parting steps attends;
On Britain's candidates for fame await,
As now on thee, the hard decrees of fate;
Thus are ambition's fondest hopes o'erreach'd,
One dies imprison'd, and one lives impeach'd.

Mr. Seward, who published these lines with a portrait of Mr. Hastings, from a bust by the late Mr. Banks, observes, that his head resembles the head of Aratus, the founder of the Achæan league, in the Ludovisi gardens at Rome.


The "Dramatist" of the present day, "stop him who can," ever on the alert for novelty, has seized on the "Living Skeleton." Poor Seurat is "as well as can be expected;" but it appears, from a "Notice" handed about the streets, that he has a rival in a British "Living Skeleton." This "Notice," printed by W. Glindon, Newport-street, Haymarket, and signed "Thomas Feelwell, 104, High Holborn," states, that a "humane individual, in justice to his own feelings and those of a sensitive public," considers it necessary to "expose the resources" by which the proprietors of the "Coburg Theatre" have produced "a rival to the Pall-Mall object." One part of his undertaking, the "resources" honest "Thomas Feelwell" leaves untouched, but he tells the following curious story:—

"A young man of extraordinary leanness, was, for some days, observed shuffling about the Waterloo-road, reclining against the posts and walls, apparently from excessive weakness, and earnestly gazing through the windows of the eating houses in the neighbourhood, for hours together. One of the managers of the Coburg theatre, accidentally meeting him, and being struck with his attenuated appearance, instantly seized him by the bone of his arm, and, leading into the saloon of the theatre, made proposals that he should be produced on the stage as a source of attraction and delight for a British audience; at the same time stipulating that he should contrive to exist upon but half a meal a day—that he should be constantly attended by a constable, to prevent his purchasing any other sustenance, and be allowed no pocket-money, till the expiration of his engagement—that he should be nightly buried between a dozen heavy blankets, to prevent his growing lusty, and to reduce him to the lightness of a gossamer, in order that the gasping breath of the astonished audience might so agitate his frame, that he might be tremblingly alive to their admiration."

If this narrative be true, the situation of the "young man of extraordinary leanness" is to be pitied. The new living skeleton may have acceded to the manager's terms of "half a meal" a day on the truth of the old saying, that "half a loaf is better than no bread," and it is clearly the manager's interest to keep him alive as long as he will "run;" yet if the "poor creature" is nightly buried between a dozen heavy blankets "to reduce him to the lightness of a gossamer," he may outdo the manager's hopes, and "run" out of the world. Seriously, if this be so, it ought not so to be. The "dozen heavy blankets to prevent his growing lusty" might have been spared; for a man with "half a meal a day" can hardly be expected to arrive at that obesity which destroyed a performer formerly, who played the starved apothecary in Romeo and Juliet till he got fat, and was only reduced to the wonted "extraordinary leanness" which qualified him for the character, by being struck off the paylist. The condition of the poor man should be an object of public inquiry as well as public curiosity.


Herb Timothy. Phleum pratense.
Dedicated to St. Timothy.

August 23.

St. Philip Beniti, A. D. 1285. Sts. Claudius, Asterius, Neon, Domnina, and Theonilla, A. D. 285. St. Apollinaris Sidonius, Bp. of Clermont, A. D. 482. St. Theonas, Abp. of Alexandria, A. D. 300. St. Eugenius, Bp. in Ireland, A. D. 618. St. Justinian, Hermit, A. D. 529.


Tanzey. Tanacetum vulgare.
Dedicated to St. Philip Beniti.

August 24.

St. Bartholomew, Apostle. The Martyrs of Utica, A. D. 258. St. Ouen, or Audoen, Abp. A. D. 683. St. Irchard, or Erthad, Bp.

St. Bartholomew the Apostle.

Mr. Audley says, "There is no scriptural account of his birth, labour, or death. It is commonly said, he preached in the Indies, and was flayed alive by order of Astyages, brother to Palemon, king of Armenia. I have heard this day called black Bartholomew. The reason, I suppose, for this appellation is, on account of the two thousand ministers who were ejected on this day, by the Act of Uniformity, in 1662. As it respects France, there is a shocking propriety in the epithet, for the horrid Massacre of the Protestants commenced on this day, in the reign of Charles IX. In Paris only, ten thousand were butchered in a fortnight, and ninety thousand in the provinces, making, together, one hundred thousand. This, at least, is the calculation of Perefixe, tutor to Louis XIV. and archbishop of Paris: others reduce the number much lower."* [Companion to the Almanac.]

The "Perennial Calendar" quotes, that—"In that savage scene, the massacre of St. Bartholomew, planned with all the coolness of deliberation, five hundred gentlemen, protestants, and ten thousand persons of inferior rank were massacred in one night at Paris alone, and great numbers in the provinces. The Roman pontiff, on hearing of it, expressed great joy, announcing that the cardinals should return thanks to the Almighty for so signal an advantage obtained for the holy see, and that a jubilee should be observed all over Christendom." Dr. Forster adds, that "nothing like this scene occurred till the bloody and terrible times of the French Revolution. It is shocking to reflect that persons professing a religion which says, 'Love your enemies, do good to them that despitefully use you,' should persecute and slay those whose only offence is difference of opinion. 'The Quakers and Moravians seem to be almost the only Christian sects of any note and character whose annals are unstained by the blood of their fellow-creatures, and who have not resorted to persecution in defence and promulgation of their particular doctrines. Must we, therefore, not judge a good tree from this distinguished good fruit?"

It was an ancient custom at Croyland Abbey, until the time of Edward IV. to give little knives to all comers on St. Bartholomew's day, in allusion to the knife wherewith Bartholomew was flead. Many of these knives of various sizes have been found in the ruins of the abbey, and the river. A coat borne by the religious fraternity of the abbey, quarters three of them, with three whips of St. Guthlac, a scourge celebrated for the virtue of its flagellations. These are engraved by Mr. Gough in his history of Croyland Abbey, from drawings in the minute books of the Spalding Society, in whose drawers, he says, one was preserved, and these form a device in a town piece called the "Poore's Halfepeny of Croyland, 1670."

St. Ouen.

He was in great credit with king Clotaire II. and his successor Dagobert I. of France, who made him keeper of his seal and chancellor, and he became archbishop of Rouen, in Normandy. Butler refers to a long history of miracles performed by the intercession and relics of St. Ouen. The shrine of this saint, at Rouen, had a privilege which was very enviable; it could once in a year procure the pardon of one criminal condemned to death in the prisons of that city: the criminal touched it, and pardon was immediate.

In all civilized countries justice has been tempered with mercy; and, where the life could not be spared, the pain of the punishment has been mitigated. Wine mingled with myrrh was known amongst the Jews for this purpose, and was offered to the Saviour of mankind by the very persons who hurried him on to his painful and ignominious death. In many cities of Italy a condemned criminal is visited by the first nobility the night before his execution, and supplied with every dainty in meat and in drink that he can desire; and some years ago, in the parish of St. Giles in the Fields, wine mixed with spices was presented to the poor condemned wretches in that part of their progress from Newgate to Tyburn.* [European Magazine, 1798.]


Sunflower. Helianthus Annuus.
Dedicated to St. Bartholomew.

August 25.

St. Lewis, king of France, A. D. 1270, St. Gregory, Administrator of the diocess of Utrecht, A. D. 776. St. Ebba. in English, St. Tabbs, A. D. 683.


An exact old writer† [Randle Holme, 1688.] says of printers at this season of the year, that "It is customary for all journeymen to make every year, new paper windows about Bartholomew-tide, at which time the master printer makes them a feast called a way-goose, to which is invited the corrector, founder, smith, ink-maker, &c. who all open their purses and give to the workmen to spend in the tavern or ale-house after the feast. From which time they begin to work by candle light."

Paper windows are no more: a well regulated printing-office is as well glazed and as light as a dwelling-house. It is curious however to note, that it appears the windows of an office were formerly papered; probably in the same way that we see them in some carpenters' workshops with oiled paper. The way-goose, however, is still maintained, and these feasts of London printing-houses are usually held at some tavern in the environs.

In "The Doome warning all men to the Judgment, by Stephen Batman, 1581," a black letter quarto volume, it is set down among "the straunge prodigies hapned in the worlde, with divers figures of revelations tending to mannes stayed conversion towardes God," whereof the work is composed, that in 1450, "The noble science of printing was aboute thys time founde in Germany at Magunce, (a famous citie in Germanie called Ments,) by Cuthembergers, a knight, or rather John Faustus, as sayeth doctor Cooper, in his Chronicle; one Conradus, an Almaine broughte it into Rome, William Caxton of London, mercer, broughte it into England, about 1471; In Henrie the sixth, the seaven and thirtith of his raign, in Westminster was the first printing." John Guttemberg, sen. is affirmed to have produced the first printed book, in 1442, although John Guttemberg, jun. is the commonly reputed inventor of the art. John Faust, or Fust, was its promoter, and Peter Schoeffer its improver. It started to perfection almost with its invention; yet, although the labours of the old printer have never been outrivalled, their presses have; for the information and amusement of some readers, a sketch is subjoined of one from a wood-cut in Batman's book.

Ancient Printing-office.

Ancient Printing-office.

In this old print we see the compositor seated at his work, the reader engaged with his copy or proof, and the pressmen at their labours. It exhibits the form of the early press better, perhaps, than any other engraving that has been produced for that purpose; and it is to be noted, as a "custom of the chapel," that papers are stuck on it, as we still see practised by modern pressmen. Note, too, the ample flagon, a vessel doubtless in use ad libitum, by that beer-drinking people with whom printing originated, and therefore not forgotten in their printing-houses; it is wisely restricted here, by the interest of employers, and the growing sense of propriety in press-men, who are becoming as respectable and intelligent a class of "operatives" as they were, within recollection, degraded and sottish.

The Chapel.

"Every printing-house," says Randle Holme, "is termed a chappel." Mr. John M'Creery in one of the notes to "The Press," an elegant poem, of which he is the author, and which he beautifully printed, with elaborate engravings on wood, as a specimen of his typography, says, that "The title of chapel to the internal regulations of a printing-house originated in Caxton's exercising the profession in one of the chapels in Westminster Abbey; and may be considered as an additional proof, from the antiquity of the custom, of his being the first English printer. In extensive houses, where many workmen are employed, the calling a chapel is a business of great importance, and generally takes place when a member of the office has a complaint to allege against any of his fellow workmen; the first intimation of which he makes to the father of the chapel, usually the oldest printer in the house: who, should he conceive that the charge can be substantiated, and the injury, supposed to have been received, is of such magnitude as to call for the interference of the law, summonses the members of the chapel before him at the imposing stone, and there receives the allegation and the defence, in solemn assembly, and dispenses justice with typographical rigour and impartiality. These trials, though they are sources of neglect of business and other irregularities, often afford scenes of genuine humour. The punishment generally consists in the criminal providing a libation, by which the offending workmen may wash away the stain that his misconduct has laid upon the body at large. Should the plaintiff not be able to substantiate his charge, the fine then falls upon himself for having maliciously arraigned his companion; a mode of practice which is marked with the features of sound policy, as it never loses sight of the good of the chapel."

Returning to Randle Holme once more, we find the "good of the chappel" consists of "forfeitures and other chappel dues, collected for the good of the chappel, viz. to be spent as the chappel approves." This indefatigable and accurate collector and describer of every thing he could lay his hands on and press into heraldry, has happily preserved the ancient rules of government instituted by the worshipful fraternity of printers. This book is very rare, and this perhaps may have been the reason that the following document essentially connected with the history of printing, has never appeared in one of the many works so entitled.

Customs of the Chappel.

Every printing-house is called a chappel, in which there are these laws and customs, for the well and good government of the chappel, and for the orderly deportment of all its members while in the chappel.

Every workman belonging to it are members of the chappel, and the eldest freeman is father of the chappel; and the penalty for the breach of any law or custom is in printers' language called a solace.

1. Swearing in the chappel, a solace.

2. Fighting in the chappel, a solace.

3. Abusive language, or giving the lie in the chappel, a solace.

4. To be drunk in the chappel, a solace.

5. For any of the workmen to leave his candle burning at night, a solace.

6. If a compositor fall his composing stick and another take it up, a solace.

7. For three letters and a space to lie under the compositor's case, a solace.

8. If a pressman let fall his ball or balls, and another take them up, a solace.

9. If a pressman leave his blankets in the timpan at noon or night, a solace.

10. For any workman to mention joyning their penny or more a piece to send for drink, a solace.

11. To mention spending chappel money till Saturday night, or any other before agreed time, a solace.

12. To play at quadrats, or excite others in the chappel to play for money or drink, a solace.

13. A stranger to come to the king's printing-house, and ask for a ballad, a solace.

14. For a stranger to come to a compositor and inquire if he had news of such a galley at sea, a solace.

15. For any to bring a wisp of hay directed to a pressman, is a solace.

16. To call mettle lead in a founding-house, is a forfeiture.

17. A workman to let fall his mould, a forfeiture.

18. A workman to leave his ladle in the mettle at noon, or at night, a forfeiture.

And the judges of these solaces, or forfeitures, and other controversies in the chappel, or any of its members, was by plurality of votes in the chappel; it being asserted as a maxime, that the chappel cannot err. Now these solaces, or fines, were to be bought off for the good of the chappel, which never exceeded 1s., 6d., 4d., 2d., 1d., ob., according to the nature and quality thereof.

But if the delinquent proved obstinate and will not pay, the workmen takes him by force, and lays him on his belly, over the correcting stone, and holds him there whilest another with a paper board gives him 10l. in a purse, viz., eleven blows on his buttocks, which he lays on according to his own mercy.

Customs for Payments of Money.

Every new workman to pay for his entrance half a crown, which is called his benvenue, till then he is no member, nor enjoys any benefit of chappel money.

Every journeyman that formerly worked at the chappel, and goes away, and afterwards comes again to work, pays but halve a benvenue.

If journeymen smout* [Smout. Workmen when they are out of contstant work, sometimes accept of a day or two's work, or a week's work at another pringing house; this by-work they call smouting.—Holme.] one another, they pay half a benvenue.

All journeymen are paid by their master-printer for all church holidays that fall not on a Sunday, whether they work or no, what they can earn every working-day, be it 2, 3, or 4s.

If a journeyman marries, he pays half a crown to the chappel.

When his wife comes to the chappel, she pays 6d., and then all the journeymen joyn their 2d. a piece to make her drink, and to welcome her.

If a journeyman have a son born, he pays 1s., if a daughter 6d.

If a master-printer have a son born, he pays 2s. 6d., if a daughter 1s. 6d.

An apprentice, when he is bound, pays half a crown to the chappel, and when he is made free, another half crown: and if he continues to work journeywork in the same house he pays another, and then is a member of the chappel.

Probably there will many a conference be held at imposing-stones upon the present promulgation of these ancient rules and customs; yet, until a general assembly, there will be difficulty in determining how far they are conformed to, or departed from, by different chapels. Synods have been called on less frivolous occasions, and have issued decrees more "frivolous and vexatious," than the one contemplated.

In a work on the origin and present state of printing, entitled "Typographica, or the Printer's Instructor, by J. Johnson, Printer, 1824, 2 vols.," there is a list of "technical terms made use of by the profession," which Mr. Johnson prefaces by saying, "we have here introduced the whole of the technical terms, that posterity may know the phrases used by the early nursers and improvers of our art." However, they are not "the whole," nor will it detract from the general merit of Mr. Johnson's curious and useful work, nor will he conceive offence, if the Editor of the Every-Day Book adds a few from Holme's "Academy of Armory,["] a rare store-house of "Created Beings, with the terms and instruments used in all trades and arts," and printers are especially distinguished.

Additions to Mr. Johnson's List of Printers' Terms.

Bad Copy. Manuscript sent to be printed, badly or imperfectly written.

Bad Work. Faults by the compositor or pressman.

Broken Letter. The breaking of the orderly succession the letters stood in, either in a line, page, or form; also the mingling of the letters, technically called pie.

Case is Low. Compositors say this when the boxes, or holes of the case, have few letters in them.

Case is full. When no sorts are wanting.

Case stands still. When the compositor is not at his case.

Cassie Paper. Quires made up of torn, wrinkled, stained, or otherwise faulty sheets.

Cassie Quires. The two outside quires of the ream, also called cording quires.

Charge. To fill the sheet with large or heavy pages.

Companions. The two press-men working at one press: the one first named has his choice to pull or beat; the second takes the refuse office.

Comes off. When the letter in the form delivers a good impression, it is said to come off well; if an ill impression, it is said to come off bad.

Dance. When the form is locked up, if, upon its rising from the composing-stone, letters do not rise with it, or any drop out, the form is said to dance.

Distribute. Is to put the letters into their several places in the case after the form is printed off.

Devil. Mr. Johnson merely calls him the errand-boy of a printing-house; but though he has that office, Holme properly says, that he is the boy that takes the sheets from the tympan, as they are printed off. "These boys," adds Holme, "do in a printing-house commonly black and dawb themselves, whence the workmen do jocosely call them devils, and sometimes spirits, and sometimes flies."

Drive out. "When a compositor sets wide," says Mr. Johnson. Whereto Holme adds, if letter be cast thick in the shank it is said to drive out, &c.

Easy Work. Printed, or fairly written, copy, or full of breaks, or a great letter and small form "pleaseth a compositor," and is so called by him.

Empty Press. A press not in work: most commonly every printing-office has one for a proof-press: viz. to make proofs on.

Even Page. The second, fourth, sixth, &c. pages.

Odd Page. The first, third, fifth, &c. pages.

Folio. Is, in printer's language, the two pages of a leaf of any size.

Form rises. When the form is so well locked up in the chase, that in the raising of it up neither a letter nor a space drops out, it is said that the form rises.

Froze out. In winter, when the paper is frozen, and the letter frozen, so as the workmen cannot work, they say they are froze out. [Such accidents never occur in good printing-houses.]

Going up the form. A pressman's phrase when he beats over the first and third rows or columns of the form with his ink balls.

Great bodies. Letter termed "English," and all above that size: small bodies are long primer, and all smaller letter.

Great numbers. Above two thousand printed of one sheet.

Hard work, with compositors, is copy badly written and difficult; [such as they too frequently receive from the Editor of the Every-Day Book, who alters, and interlines, and never makes a fair copy,] hard work, with pressmen, is small letter and a large form.

Hole. A place where private printing is used, viz, the printing of unlicensed books, or other men's copies.

[Observe, that this was in Holme's time; now, licensing is not insisted on, nor could it be enforced; but the printing "other men's copies" is no longer confined to a hole. Invasion of copyright is perpetrated openly, because legal remedies are circuitous, expensive, and easily evaded. So long as the law remains unaltered, and people will buy stolen property, criminals will rob. The pirate's "fence" is the public. The receiver is as bad as the thief: if there were no receivers, there would be no thieves. Let the public look to this.]

Imperfections of books. Odd sheets over the number of books made perfect. They are also, and more generally at this time, called the waste of the book.

M thick. An m quadrat thick.

N thick. An n quadrat thick.

Open matter, or open work. Pages with several breaks, or with white spaces between the paragraphs or sections.

Over-run. Is the getting in of words by putting out so much of the forepart of the line into the line above, or so much of the latter part of the line into the line below, as will make room for the word or words to be inserted: also the derangement and re-arrangement of the whole sheet, in order to get in over-matter. [Young and after-thought writers are apt to occasion much over-running, a process distressing to the compositor, and in the end to the author himself, who has to pay for the extra-labour he occasions.]

Pigeon holes. Whites between words as large, or greater than between line and line. The term is used to scandalize such composition; it is never suffered to remain in good work.

Printing-house. The house wherein printing is carried on; but it is more peculiarly used for the printing implements. Such an one, it is said, hath removed his printing-house; meaning the implements used in his former house.

Revise. A proof sheet taken off after the first or second proof has been corrected. The corrector examines the faults, marked in the last proof sheet, fault by fault, and carefully marks omissions on the revise.

Short page. Having but little printed in it; [or relatively, when shorter than another page of the work.]

Stick-full. The composing-stick filled with so many lines that it can contain no more.

Token. An hour's work for half a press, viz. a single pressman; this consists of five quires. An hour's work for a whole press is a token of ten quires.

Turn for it. Used jocosely in the chapel: when any of the workmen complain of want of money, or any thing else, he shall by another be answered "turn for it," viz. make shift for it.

[This is derived from the term turn for a letter, which is thus:—when a compositor has not letters at hand of the sort he wants while composing, and finds it inconvenient to distribute letter for it, he turns a letter of the same thickness, face downwards, which turned letter he takes out when he can accomodate himself with the right letter, which he places in its stead.]

Thus much has grown out of the notice, that printers formerly papered their windows about "Bartelmy-tide," and more remains behind. But before farther is stated, if chapels, or individuals belonging to them, will have the goodness to communicate any thing to the Editor of the Every-Day Book respecting any old or present laws, or usages, or other matters of interest connected with printing, he will make good use of it. Notices or anecdotes of this kind will be acceptable when authenticated by the name and address of the contributor. If there are any who doubt the importance of printing, they may be reminded that old Holme, a man seldom moved to praise any thing but for its use in heraldry, says, that "it is now disputed whether typography and architecture may not be accounted Liberal Sciences, being so famous Arts!" Seriously, however, communications respecting printing are earnestly desired.


Perennial Sunflower. Helianthus multiflorus.
Dedicated to St. Lewis.

August 26.

St. Zephyrinus, Pope, A. D. 219. St. Genesius, a Comedian, A. D. 303. St. Gelasinus, a Comedian at Heliopolis, A. D. 297. St. Genesius, of Arles, about the 4th Cent.


"Il cantar, che nel' animosi sente."

Nay, tell me not of lordly halls!
   My minstrels are the trees,
The moss and the rock are my tapestried walls,
   Earth's sounds my symphonies.

There's music sweeter to my soul
   In the weed by the wild wind fanned—
In the heave of the surge, than ever stole
   From mortal minstrel's hand.

There's mighty music in the roar
   Of the oaks on the mountain's side,
When the whirlwind bursts on their foreheads hoar,
   And the lightnings flash blue and wide.

There's mighty music in the swell
   Of winter's midnight wave—
When all above is the thunder peal,
   And all below is the grave.

There's music in the city's hum,
   Heard in the noontide glare,
When its thousand mingling voices come
   On the breast of the sultry air.

There's music in the mournful swing
   Of the lonely village bell—
And think of the spirit upon the wing,
   Releas'd by its solemn knell.

There's music in the forest-stream,
   As it plays thro' the deep ravine,
Where never summer's breath or beam
   Has pierced its woodland screen.

There's music in the thundering sweep
   Of the mountain waterfall,
As its torrents struggle, and foam and leap
   From the brow of its marble wall.

There's music in the dawning morn,
   Ere the lark his pinion dries—
'Tis the rush of the breeze thro' the dewy corn—
   Thro' the garden's perfumed dyes.

There[']s music on the twilight cloud
   As the clanging wild swans spring,
As homewards the screaming ravens crowd,
   Like squadrons upon the wing.

There's music in the depth of night,
   When the world is still and dim,
And the stars flame out in their pomp of light,
   Like thrones of the cherubim!


Banded Amaryllis. Amaryllis vittata.
Dedicated to St. Zephyrinus.

August 27.

St. Cæsarius, Abp. of Arles, A. D. 542. St. Pæmen, or Pastor, Abbot about A. D. 385. St. Hugh of Lincoln, A. D. 1255. St. Joseph Calasanctius, A. D. 1648. St. Malrubius, about A. D. 1040. St. Syagrius, Bp. of Autun, A. D. 600.

The Glowworm.

Dr. Forster in his "Perennial Calendar" quotes the mention of this and other luminous insects from "a late entomological work," in the following passage:—"This little planet of the rural scene may be observed in abundance in the month of August, when the earth is almost as thickly spangled with them as the cope of heaven is with stars. It is not only the glowworm that will not bear inspection when its lustre is lost by the light of day; but all those luminous insects that bear the same phosphoric fire about them, such as the lanthorn fly of the West Indies and of China, of which there are several sorts; some of which carry their light in a sort of snout, so that when they are seen in a collection, they are remarkably ugly. There is also an insect of this luminous sort common in Italy, called the lucciola. An intelligent traveller relates, that some Moorish ladies having been made prisoners by the Genoese, lived in a house near Genoa till they could be exchanged, and, on seeing some of the lucciola, or flying glowworms, darting about in the evening in the garden near them, they caused the windows to be shut in a great alarm, from a strange idea which seized them, that these shining flies were the souls of their deceased relations."


Hedge Hawkweed. Hieracium unbellatum.
Dedicated to St. Cæsarius.

August 28.

St. Augustine, Bp. and Doctor of the Church, A. D. 430. St. Hermes, about A. D. 132. St. Julian, Martyr.

St. Augustine.

His name is in the church of England calendar. He was born at Tagasta, in Numidia, in 354. Lardner awards to him the character of an illustrious man, and says, that "a sublime genius, an uninterrupted and zealous pursuit of truth, an indefatigable application, and invincible patience, a sincere piety, and a subtle and lively wit, conspired to establish his fame upon the most lasting foundation:" yet he adds, that "the accuracy and solidity of his judgment were not proportionable to his eminent talents; and that upon many occasions he was more guided by the violent impulse of a warm imagination than by the cool dictates of reason and prudence." He pronounced that all infants dying before baptism were deprived of the sight of God; wherein he is followed, says Daille, by Gregorius Arminiensis, a famous theological doctor, who from thence was called Tormentum Infantium.


Goldenrod. Solidago Virgaurea.
Dedicated to St. Augustine.

August 29.

The Decollation of St. John Baptist. St. Sabina. St. Sebbi, or Sebba, King, about A. D. 697. St. Merri, in Latin, Medericus, Abbot, about A. D. 700.


Yellow Hollyhock. Althea flava
Dedicated to St. Sabina.

August 30.

St. Rose of Lima, Virgin, A. D. 1617. Sts. Felix and Adauctus, about A. D. 303. St. Fiaker, Anchoret, called by the French, Fiacre, and anciently, Fefre, about A. D. 670. St. Pammachius, A. D. 410. St. Agilus, commonly called St. Aile, about A. D. 650.


Guernsey Lily. Amaryllis Sarniensis.
Dedicated to St. Rose.

August 31.

St. Raymund Nonnatus, A. D. 1240. St. Isabel, A. D. 1270. St. Cuthburge, 8th Cent. St. Aidan, or Ædan, A. D. 651.

St. Aidan.

He was born in Ireland, and was bishop of Lindisfarne, which from the number of reputed saints there buried, is called the Holy Island. Bede relates many miracles and prophecies of him. His cart and two oxen laden with wood as he drove them, falling down a high rock into the sea, he only made the sign of the cross as they fell, and received all safe and sound out of the waters, &c.


Autumnal Pheasant's Eye. Adonis autumnalis.
Dedicated to St. Raymund.