December 9.

The Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary.St. Romaric, Abbot,A. D.653.

The winter season of the year 1818, was extraordinarily mild. On the 8th of December, the gardens in the neighbourhood of Plymouth showed the following flowers in full bloom, viz.:—Jonquils, narcissus, hyacinths, anemonies, pinks, stocks, African and French marigolds, the passion flowers, and monthly roses, in great perfection, ripe strawberries and raspberries. In the fields and hedges were the sweet-scented violets, heart’s-ease, purple vetch, red robin, wild strawberry blossom, and many others. The oak and the elm retained much of their foliage, and the birds were sometimes heard as in spring.

Arbor vitæ.Thuja occidentalis.Dedicated tothe Conception of the B. V. Mary.

St. Leocadia,A. D.304.The Seven Martyrs at Samosata,A. D.297.St. Wulfhilde,A. D.990.

A remarkable instance of premature interment, is related in the case of the rev. Mr. Richards, parson of the Hay, in Herefordshire, who, in December, 1751, was supposed to have died suddenly. His friends seeing his body and limbs did not stiffen, after twenty-four hours, sent for a surgeon, who, upon bleeding him, and not being able to stop the blood, told them that he was not dead, but in a sort of trance, and ordered them not to bury him. They paid no attention to the injunction, but committed the body to the grave the next day. A person walking along the churchyard, hearing a noise in the grave, ran and prevailed with the clerk to have the grave opened, where they found a great bleeding at the nose, and the body in a profuse sweat; whence it was conjectured that he was buried alive. They were now, however, obliged to let him remain, as all appearance of further recovery had been precluded by his interment.[409]

A writer in the “Gentleman’s Magazine” some years before, observes, “I have undoubted authority for saying, a man was lately (and I believe is still) living at Hustley, near Winchester, December, 1747, who, after lying for dead two days and two nights, was committed to the grave, and rescued from it by some boys luckily playing in the churchyard!”

Corsican Spruce.Pinus Laricio.Dedicated toSt. Leocadia.

[409]Gentleman’s Magazine, 1751.

St. Melchiades, Pope,A. D.314.St. Eulalia.

On the 10th of December, 1741, died Mr. Henry Wanyford, late steward to the earl of Essex. He was of so large a size, that the top of the hearse was obliged to be taken off before the coffin could be admitted, and it was so heavy, that the attendants were forced to move it along the churchyard upon rollers.[410]

Portugal Cyprus.Cupressus Lusitanica.Dedicated toSt. Eulalia.

[410]Gentleman’s Magazine.

St. Damasus, Pope,A. D.384.Sts. Fuscian,Victoricus, andGentian,A. D.287.St. Daniel, the Stylite,A. D.494.

A gentleman obligingly contributes the subjoined account of a northern usage on the 5th of December, the vigil of St. Nicholas. He communicates his name to the editor, and vouches for the authenticity of his relation, “havinghimselfbeen anactorin the scene he describes.”

(For the Every-Day Book.)

In the fine old city of Leewvarden, the capital of West Friezland, there are some curious customs preserved, connected with the celebration of the anniversary of this saint. From time immemorial, in this province, St. Nicholas has been hailed as the tutelary patron of children and confections; no very inappropriate association, perhaps. On the eve, orAvond, as it is there termed, of this festival, the good saint condescends, (as currently asserted, and religiously believed, by theyounger fry,) to visit these sublunar spheres, and to irradiate by his majestic presence, the winter fireside of his infant votaries.

During a residence in the above town, some twenty years agone, in the brief days of happy boyhood, (that green spot in our existence,) it was my fortune to be present at one of these annual visitations. Imagine a group of happy youngsters sporting around the domestic hearth, in all the buoyancy of riotous health and spirits, brim-full of joyful expectation, but yet in an occasional pause, casting frequent glances towards the door, with a comical expression of impatience, mixed up with something like dread of the impending event. At last a loud knock is heard, in an instant the games are suspended, and the door slowly unfolding, reveals to sight the venerated saint himself, arrayed in his pontificals, with pastoralstaff and jewelled mitre. Methinks I see him now! yet he did “his spiriting gently,” and his tone of reproof, “was more in sorrow than in anger!”

In fine, the familypeccadillosbeing tenderly passed over, and the more favourable reports made the subject of due encomiums, good father Nicholas gave his parting benediction, together with the promise, (never known to fail,) of more substantial benefits, to be realized on the next auspicious morning. So ends the first act of the farce, which it will be readily anticipated is got up with the special connivance ofpapaandmamma, by the assistance of some family friend, who is quiteau faitto the domestic politics of the establishment. The concluding scene, however, is one of unalloyed pleasure to the delighted children, and is thus arranged.

Before retiring to rest, each member of the family deposits ashoeon a table in a particular room, which iscarefullylocked, and the next morning is opened in the presence of the assembled household; when lo! by the mysterious agency (doubtless) of the munificent saint, the board is found covered withbons bons, toys, and trinkets.

It may not be deemed irrelevant to add, that on the anniversary, the confectioners’ shops display their daintiest inventions, and are gaily lighted up and ornamented for public exhibition, much in the same way as at Paris on the first day of the new year.

These reminiscences may not prove unacceptable to many, who contemplate with satisfaction the relics of ancient observances, belonging to a more primitive state of manners, the memory of which is rapidly passing into oblivion; and who, perhaps, think with the writer, in one sense at least, that modern refinements, if they tend to render us wiser, hardly make us happier!

H. H.

Aleppo Pine.Pinus Halipensis.Dedicated toSt. Damasus.

Sts. EpimachusandAlexander, &c.A. D.250.St. Finian, orFinan, Bp. in Ireland,A. D.552.St. Columba, son ofCrimthain,A. D.548.St. Cormac.St. Colman, Abbot,A. D.659.St. Eadburge,A. D.751.St. Valery, Abbot,A. D.622.St. Corentin, 1st. Bp. of Quimper, 5th Cent. AnotherSt. Corentin, orCury,A. D.401.

InLloyd’s Evening Postof December 12-14, 1781, there is the following advertisement:—

A YOUNG MAN having yesterday left his master’s service in Smithfield, on a presumption of his pocket being picked of one hundred pounds, his master’s property, when he was in liquor; this is to inform him, that he left it in the shop of his master, who has found it; and if he will return to his master’s service he will be kindly received.

Such was the state of society, in the year 1781, that a drunken servant would be “kindly received” by his employer. We are so far better, in the year 1825, that if such a servant were kindly received, he would not be permitted to enter on his duties till he was admonished not to repeat the vice. Drunkenness is now so properly reprobated, that no one but a thorough reprobate dares to practise it, and the character of sot or drunkard invariably attaches to him.

In the subjoined extract taken from an old author, without recollection of his name, there is something apt to the occasion.

Of all the trades in the world, a brewer is the loadstone which draws the customes of all functions unto it. It is the mark or upshot of every man’s ayme, and the bottomlesse whirlepoole that swallowes up the profits of rich and poore. The brewer’s art (like a wilde kestrell or lemand hawke,) flies at all games; or like a butler’s boxe at Christmasse, it is sure to winne, whosoever loses. In a word, it rules and raignes, (in some sort,) as Augustus Cæsar did, for it taxeth the whole earth. Your innes and alehouses are brookes and rivers, and their clients are small rills and springs, who all, (very dutifully) doe pay their tributes to the boundless ocean of the brewhouse. For, all the world knowes, that if men and women did drinke no more than sufficed nature, or if it were but a little extraordinary now and then upon occasion, or by chance as you may terme it; if drinking were used in any reason, or any reason used in drinking, I pray ye whatwould become of the brewer then? Surely we doe live in an age,[411]wherein the seven deadly sins are every man’s trade and living.

Pride is the maintainer of thousands, which would else perish; as mercers, taylors, embroydrers, silkmen, cutters, drawers, sempsters, laundresses, of which functions there are millions which would starve but for Madam Pride, with her changeable fashions. Letchery, what a continual crop of profits it yeelds, appears by the gallant thriving and gawdy outsides of many he and she, private and publicke sinners, both in citie and suburbs. Covetousnesse is embroydered with extortion, and warmly lined and furred with oppression; and though it be a divell, yet is it most idolatrously adored, honoured, and worshipped by those simple sheep-headed fooles, whom it hath undone and beggared. I could speake of other vices, how profitable they are to a commonwealth; but my invention is thirsty, and must have one carouse more at the brewhouse, who (as I take it) hath a greater share than any, in the gaines which spring from the world’s abuses.

If any man hang, drowne, stabbe, or by any violent meanes make away his life, the goods and lands of any such person are forfeit to the use of the king; and I see no reason but those which kill themselves with drinking, should be in the same estate, and be buried in the highways, with a stake drove thorow them; and if I had but a grant of this suite, I would not doubt but that in seven yeeres (if my charity would but agree with my wealth,) I might erect almes-houses, free-schooles, mend highways, and make bridges; for I dare sweare, that a number (almost numberlesse) have confessed upon their death-beds, that at such and such a time, in such and such a place, they dranke so much, which made them surfeite, of which surfeite they languished and dyed. The maine benefit of these superfluous and manslaughtering expenses, comes to the brewer, so that if a brewer be in any office, I hold him to be a very ingrateful man, if he punish a drunkard; for every stiffe, potvaliant drunkard is a post, beam, or pillar, which holds up the brewhouse; for as the barke is to the tree, so is a good drinker to the brewer.

Crowded Heath.Erica conferta.Dedicated toSt. Eadburge.

[411]Some make a profit of quarreling; some pick their livings out of contentions and debate; some thrive and grow fat by gluttony; many are bravely maintained by bribery, theft, cheating, roguery, and villainy; but put all these together, and joine to them all sorts of people else, and they all in general are drinkers, and consequently the brewer’s clients and customers.

St. Lucy,A. D.304.St. Jodoc, orJosse,A. D.669.St. Kenelm, King,A. D.820.St. Aubert, Bp. of Cambray and Arras,A. D.669.B. John Marinoni,A. D.1562.St. Othilla,A. D.772.

This saint is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs. She was a young lady of Syracuse, who preferring a religious single life to marriage, gave away all her fortune to the poor. Having been accused to Peschasius, a heathen judge, for professing christianity, she was soon after barbarously murdered by his officers.[412]

The following effusions are from America. The first, by Mr. R. H. Wilde, a distinguished advocate of Georgia; the second, by a lady of Baltimore, who moots in the court of the muses, with as much ingenuity as the barrister in his own court.

STANZAS.My life is like the summer roseThat opens to the morning sky,But, ere the shades of evening close,Is scattered on the ground to die.Yet on that rose’s humble bedThe sweetest dews of night are shed,As if she wept such waste to see;But none shallweep a tearfor me.My life is like theautumnleafThat trembles in the moon’s pale ray,Its hold is frail, its date is brief,Restless, and soon to pass away.Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade,The parent tree shall mourn its shade,The winds bewail the leafless tree,But none shallbreath a sighfor me.My life is like the prints which feetHave left on Tempe’s desert strand,Soon as the rising tide shall beatAll trace will vanish from the sand.Yet, as if grieving to effaceAll vestige of the human race,On that lone shore loud moans the sea;But none, alas! shallmournfor me.

STANZAS.

My life is like the summer roseThat opens to the morning sky,But, ere the shades of evening close,Is scattered on the ground to die.Yet on that rose’s humble bedThe sweetest dews of night are shed,As if she wept such waste to see;But none shallweep a tearfor me.My life is like theautumnleafThat trembles in the moon’s pale ray,Its hold is frail, its date is brief,Restless, and soon to pass away.Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade,The parent tree shall mourn its shade,The winds bewail the leafless tree,But none shallbreath a sighfor me.My life is like the prints which feetHave left on Tempe’s desert strand,Soon as the rising tide shall beatAll trace will vanish from the sand.Yet, as if grieving to effaceAll vestige of the human race,On that lone shore loud moans the sea;But none, alas! shallmournfor me.

My life is like theautumnleafThat trembles in the moon’s pale ray,Its hold is frail, its date is brief,Restless, and soon to pass away.Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade,The parent tree shall mourn its shade,The winds bewail the leafless tree,But none shallbreath a sighfor me.

My life is like the prints which feetHave left on Tempe’s desert strand,Soon as the rising tide shall beatAll trace will vanish from the sand.Yet, as if grieving to effaceAll vestige of the human race,On that lone shore loud moans the sea;But none, alas! shallmournfor me.

ANSWER.The dews of night may fall from heaven,Upon the wither’drose’sbed,And tears of fond regret be given,To mourn the virtues of the dead.Yet morning’s sun the dews will dry,And tears will fade from sorrow’s eye,Affection’s pangs be lull’d to sleep,And even love forget toweep.Thetreemay mourn its fallenleaf,And autumn winds bewail its bloom,And friends may heave the sigh of grief,O’er those who sleep within the tomb.Yet soon will spring renew the flowers,And time will bring more smiling hours;In friendship’s heart all grief will die.And even love forget tosigh.Theseamay on the desertshore,Lament eachtraceit bears away;The lonely heart its grief may pourO’er cherish’d friendship’s fast decay:Yet when all trace is lost and gone,The waves dance bright and daily on;Thus soon affection’s bonds are torn,And even love forgets tomourn.

ANSWER.

The dews of night may fall from heaven,Upon the wither’drose’sbed,And tears of fond regret be given,To mourn the virtues of the dead.Yet morning’s sun the dews will dry,And tears will fade from sorrow’s eye,Affection’s pangs be lull’d to sleep,And even love forget toweep.Thetreemay mourn its fallenleaf,And autumn winds bewail its bloom,And friends may heave the sigh of grief,O’er those who sleep within the tomb.Yet soon will spring renew the flowers,And time will bring more smiling hours;In friendship’s heart all grief will die.And even love forget tosigh.Theseamay on the desertshore,Lament eachtraceit bears away;The lonely heart its grief may pourO’er cherish’d friendship’s fast decay:Yet when all trace is lost and gone,The waves dance bright and daily on;Thus soon affection’s bonds are torn,And even love forgets tomourn.

Thetreemay mourn its fallenleaf,And autumn winds bewail its bloom,And friends may heave the sigh of grief,O’er those who sleep within the tomb.Yet soon will spring renew the flowers,And time will bring more smiling hours;In friendship’s heart all grief will die.And even love forget tosigh.

Theseamay on the desertshore,Lament eachtraceit bears away;The lonely heart its grief may pourO’er cherish’d friendship’s fast decay:Yet when all trace is lost and gone,The waves dance bright and daily on;Thus soon affection’s bonds are torn,And even love forgets tomourn.

Cypress arbor vitæ.Thuja cupressioides.Dedicated toSt. Lucy.

[412]Audley’s Companion to the Almanac.

St. Spiridion, Abp.A. D.348.Sts. Nicasius, 9th Abp. of Rheims,and his Companions, 5th Cent.

This is an ancient fast, wherein monks were enjoined to great abstinence preparatory to the festival of Christmas.

Swamp Pine.Pinus palustris.Dedicated toSt. Spiridion.

St. Eusebius, Bp. of Vercelli,A. D.371.St. Florence, orFlann, Abbot.

There is a class of those who are said to “dearly love the lasses, oh?” by whom the verses below may be read without danger of their becoming worse.

A Winter Piece.It was a winter’s evening, and fast came down the snow,And keenly o’er the wide heath the bitter blast did blow;When a damsel all forlorn, quite bewilder’d in her way,Press’d her baby to her bosom, and sadly thus did say:“Oh! cruel was my father, that shut his door on me,And cruel was my mother, that such a sight could see;And cruel is the wintry wind, that chills my heart with cold;But crueller than all, the lad that left my love for gold!“Hush, hush, my lovely baby, and warm thee in my breast;Ah, little thinks thy father how sadly we’re distrest!For, cruel as he is, did he know but how we fare,He’d shield us in his arms from this bitter piercing air.“Cold, cold, my dearest jewel! thy little life is gone.Oh! let my tears revive thee, so warm that trickle down;My tears that gush so warm, oh! they freeze before they fall:Ah! wretched, wretched mother! thou ’rt now bereft of all.”Then down she sunk despairing upon the drifted snow,And, wrung with killing anguish, lamented loud her woe:She kiss’d her babe’s pale lips, and laid it by her side;Then cast her eyes to heaven, then bow’d her head, and died.

A Winter Piece.

It was a winter’s evening, and fast came down the snow,And keenly o’er the wide heath the bitter blast did blow;When a damsel all forlorn, quite bewilder’d in her way,Press’d her baby to her bosom, and sadly thus did say:“Oh! cruel was my father, that shut his door on me,And cruel was my mother, that such a sight could see;And cruel is the wintry wind, that chills my heart with cold;But crueller than all, the lad that left my love for gold!“Hush, hush, my lovely baby, and warm thee in my breast;Ah, little thinks thy father how sadly we’re distrest!For, cruel as he is, did he know but how we fare,He’d shield us in his arms from this bitter piercing air.“Cold, cold, my dearest jewel! thy little life is gone.Oh! let my tears revive thee, so warm that trickle down;My tears that gush so warm, oh! they freeze before they fall:Ah! wretched, wretched mother! thou ’rt now bereft of all.”Then down she sunk despairing upon the drifted snow,And, wrung with killing anguish, lamented loud her woe:She kiss’d her babe’s pale lips, and laid it by her side;Then cast her eyes to heaven, then bow’d her head, and died.

“Oh! cruel was my father, that shut his door on me,And cruel was my mother, that such a sight could see;And cruel is the wintry wind, that chills my heart with cold;But crueller than all, the lad that left my love for gold!

“Hush, hush, my lovely baby, and warm thee in my breast;Ah, little thinks thy father how sadly we’re distrest!For, cruel as he is, did he know but how we fare,He’d shield us in his arms from this bitter piercing air.

“Cold, cold, my dearest jewel! thy little life is gone.Oh! let my tears revive thee, so warm that trickle down;My tears that gush so warm, oh! they freeze before they fall:Ah! wretched, wretched mother! thou ’rt now bereft of all.”

Then down she sunk despairing upon the drifted snow,And, wrung with killing anguish, lamented loud her woe:She kiss’d her babe’s pale lips, and laid it by her side;Then cast her eyes to heaven, then bow’d her head, and died.

Pitch Pine.Pinus resinosa.Dedicated toSt. Florence.

St. Ado, Abp. of Vienne,A. D.875.St. Alice, orAdelaide, Empress,A. D.999.St. Beanus, Bp. in Leinster.

[Cambridge Term ends.]

This day is so marked in the church of England calendar and the almanacs. Many have been puzzled by this distinction, and some have imagined that “O SAPIENTIA” was a saint and martyr, one of the celebrated eleven thousand virgins of St. Ursula. Mr. Audley, however, has rightly observed that, “This day is so called from the beginning of an anthem in the service of the Latin church, which used to be sung for the honour of Christ’s advent, from this day till Christmas eve.”—The anthem commenced with these words, “O SAPIENTIAquæ ex ore altissimi prodidisti,” &c.

Chinese arbor vitæ.Thuja orientalis.Dedicated toSt. Alice.

St. Olympias,A. D.410.St. Begga, Abbess,A. D.698.

[Oxford Term ends.]

By this time all good housewives, with an eye to Christmas, have laid in their stores for the coming festivities. Their mincemeat has been made long ago, and they begin to inquire, with some anxiety, concerning the state of the poultry market, and especially the price of prime roasting beef.

“O the roast beef of old England,And O the old English roast beef!”

A correspondent, who was somewhat ruffled in the dog-days by suggestions for preventing hydrophobia, let his wrath go down before the dog-star; and in calm good nature he communicates a pleasant anecdote or two, which, at this time, may be deemed acceptable.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Dear Sir,

As an owner of that useful class of animals, dogs, I could not but a little startle at the severity you cast on their owners in your “Sirius,” or dog-star ofJuly 3d. In enumerating their different qualities and prescribing substitutes, you forgot one of the most laborious employments formerly assigned to a species of dogs with long backs and short legs, called “Turnspits.”

The mode of teaching them their business was more summary than humane: the dog was put in a wheel, and a burning coal with him; he could not stop without burning his legs, and so was kept upon the full gallop. These dogs were by no means fond of their profession; it was indeed hard work to run in a wheel for two or three hours, turning a piece of meat which was twice their own weight. As the season for roasting meat is fast approaching, perhaps you can find a corner in yourEvery-Day Bookfor the insertion of a most extraordinary circumstance, relative to these curs, which took place many years ago at Bath.

It is recorded, that a party of young wags hired the chairmen on Saturday night to steal all the turnspits in the town, and lock them up till the following evening. Accordingly on Sunday, when every body desires roast meat for dinner, all the cooks were to be seen in the streets,—“Pray have you seen our Chloe?” says one. “Why,” replies the other, “I was coming to ask you if you had seen our Pompey;” up came a third while they were talking, to inquire for her Toby,—and there was no roast meat in Bath that day. It is recorded, also, of these dogs in this city, that one Sunday, when they had as usual followed their mistresses to church, the lesson for the day happened to be that chapter in Ezekiel, wherein the self-moving chariots are described. When first the word “wheel” was pronounced, all the curs pricked up their ears in alarm; at the second wheel they set up a doleful howl; and when the dreaded word was uttered a third time, every one of them scampered out of church, as fast as he could, with his tail between his legs.

Nov.25, 1825.

John Foster.

(From the Examiner.)

A.(Advancing) “How d’ye do, Brooks?”

B.“Very well, thank’ee; how doyoudo?”

A.“Very well, thank’ee; is Mrs. Brooks well?”

B.“Very well, I’m much obliged t’ye. Mrs. Adams and the children are well, I hope?”

A.“Quite well, thank’ee.”

(A pause.)

B.“Rather pleasant weather to-day.”

A.“Yes, but it was cold in the morning.”

B.“Yes, but we must expect that at this time o’year.”

(Another pause,—neckcloth twisted and switch twirled.)

A.“Seen Smith lately?”

B.“No,—I can’t say I have—but I have seen Thompson.”

A.“Indeed—how is he?”

B.“Very well, thank’ee.”

A.“I’m glad of it.—Well,—good morning.”

B.“Good morning.”

Here it is always observed that the speakers, having taken leave, walk faster than usual for some hundred yards.

Wild Fowl Shooting in France.

Or where the Northern ocean, in vast whirlsBoils round the naked melancholy islesOf farthest Thulé, and th’ Atlantic surgePours in among the stormy Hebrides;Who can recount what transmigrations thereAre annual made? what nations come and go?And how the living clouds on clouds arise?Infinite wings till all the plume-dark airAnd rude, resounding shore, are one wild cry.Thomson.

Thomson.

To a sporting friend, the editor is indebted for the seasonable information in the accompanying letter, and the drawings of the present engravings.

Abbeville,Nov.14, 1825.

Dear Sir,

It is of all things in the world the most unpleasant to write about nothing, when one knows a letter with something is expected. It is true I promised to look out for piouschansons, miraculous stories, and other whims and wonders of the French vulgar; and though I do not send you a budget of these gallimaufry odds and ends, whereon I know you have set your heart, yet I hope you will believe that I thoroughly determined to keep my word. To be frank, I had no sooner landed, than desire came over me to reach my domicile at this place as fast as possible, and get at my old field-sports. I therefore posted hither without delay, and, having my gun once more in my hand, have been up every morning with the lark, lark shooting, and letting fly at all that flies—my conscience flying and flapping in my face at every recollectionof my engagement to you. I well remember your telling me I should forget you, and my answering, that it was “impossible!” Birds were never more plentiful, and till a frost sets them off to a milder atmosphere, I cannot be off for England. I am spell-bound to the fields and waters. Do not, however, be disheartened; I hope yet to do something handsome for your “hobby,” but I have one of my own, and I must ride him while I can.

It strikes me, however, that I can communicate something inmyway, that will interestsomereaders of theEvery-Day Book, if you think proper to lay it before them.

Every labouring man in France has a right to sport, and keeps a gun. The consequence of this is, that from the middle of October, or the beginning of this month, vast quantities of wild-fowl are annually shot in and about the fens of Picardy, whither they resort principally in the night, to feed along the different ditches and small ponds, many of which are artificially contrived with one, two, and sometimes three little huts, according to the dimensions of the pond. These huts are so ingeniously manufactured, and so well adapted to the purpose that I send youtwodrawingsto convey an idea of their construction.

All wild-fowl are timorous, and easily deceived. The sportsman’s huts, to the number of eight or ten, are placed in such a situation, that not until too late do the birds discover the deception, and the destruction which, under cover, the fowlers deal among them. To allure them from their heights, two or three tame ducks, properly secured to stones near the huts, keep up an incessant quacking during the greater part of the night. The huts are sufficiently large to admit two men and a dog; one man keeps watch while his companion sleeps half the night, when, for the remainder, it becomes his turn to watch and relieve the other. They have blankets, a mattress, and suitable conveniences, for passing night after night obscured in their artificial caverns, and exposed to unwholesome damps and fogs. The huts are formed in the following manner:—A piece of ground is raised sufficiently high to protect the fowler from the wet ground, upon which is placed the frame of the temporary edifice. This is mostly made of ozier, firmly interwoven, as in thissketch.

This frame is covered with dry reeds, and well plastered with mud or clay, to the thickness of about four inches, upon which is placed, very neatly, layers of turf, so that the whole, at a little distance, looks like a mound of verdant earth. Three holes, about four inches in diameter, for the men inside to see and fire through, are neatly cut; one is in the front, and one on each side. Very frequently there is a fourth at the top. This is for the purpose of firing from at the wild-fowl as they pass over. The fowlers, lying upon their backs, discharge guess shots at the birds, who are only heard by the noise of their wings in their flight. Fowlers, with quick ears, attain considerable expertness in this guess-firing.

The numbers that are shot in this way are incredible. They are usually therefore sold at a cheap rate. At forty sous a couple, (1s.8d.English) they are dear, but the price varies according to their condition.

In thelarger drawing, I have given the appearance of the country and of the atmosphere at this season, and a duck-shooter with his gun near his hut, on the look out for coming flocks; but I fear wood engraving, excellent as it is for most purposes, will fall very short of the capability of engraving on copper to convey a correct idea of the romantic effect of the commingling cloud, mist, and sunshine, I have endeavoured to represent in this delightful part of France. Such as it is, it is at your service to do with as you please.

For myself, though for the sake of variety, I have now and then crept into a fowler’s hut, and shot in ambuscade, Iprefer open warfare, and I assure you I have had capital sport. That you may be acquainted with some of these wild-fowl, I will just mention the birds I have shot here within the last three weeks, beginning with the godwit; their names in French are from my recollection of Buffon.

If you were here you should have a “gentleman’s recreation,” of the most delightful kind. Your propensity to look for “old masters,” would turn into looking out for prime birds. The spotted red-shanks, or barkers, as they are sometimes called, would be fine fellows foryou, who are fond of achieving difficulties. They come in small flocks, skimming about the different ponds into which they run to the height of the body, picking up insects from the bottom, and looking as if they had no legs. They are excessively wary, and above all, the most difficult to get near. Confound all “black letter” say I, if it keeps a man from such delightful scenes as I have enjoyed every hour since I came here; as to picture-loving—come and seethesepictures which never tire by looking at. I like a good picture though myself, and shall pick up some prints at Paris to put with my others. You may be certain therefore of my collecting something for you, after the birds have left, especially wood cuts. I shall accomplish what I can in the scrap and story-book way, which is not quite in my line, yet I think I know what you mean. In my next you shall have something about lark-shooting, which, in England, is nothing compared with what the north of France affords.

I am, &c.

J. J. H.

White Cedar.Cupressus thyoides.Dedicated toSt. Olympias.

Sts. RufusandZozimus,A. D.116.St. Gatian, 1st. Bp. of Tours, 3d. Cent.St. Winebald,A. D.760.

Fault was found because a newspaper commenced a police-office report of one of the humane endeavours of the warm-hearted member for Galway, in behalf of the proverbially most patient of all quadrupeds, by saying, “Mr. Martin came to this office with another ass.” Ridicule, however, never injures a just man with the just-minded; Mr. Martin has been properly supported in every judicious effort by public opinion.

The notice of the all-enduring ass, in former pages, occasions a letter from a gentleman, (with his name) whose researches have been directed to the geographical and natural history of foreign countries. In this communication he refers to a work of considerable interest relative to Africa, which it may be important for inquirers regarding the interior of that region to be acquainted with.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,

November29, 1825.

The facetiousTim Tims, in yourEvery-Day Book, of the19th of September, (p. 1309.) cites the amusing and accurate Leo Africanus, as asserting “that asses may be taught to dance to music.” This is an error. Leo, in his description of Africa, (Elzevir edition, 1632. p. 749.) says, “I saw in Cairo acameldance to the sound of a drum, and as the master told me, this is the mode of teaching: a young camel is selected and placed for half an hour in a place prepared for him of about the size of a stove, the pavement of which is heated by fire. Some one then, outside the door, beats the drum, and the camel, not on account of the music, but of the fire by which his feet are hurt, lifts first one leg then another, after the manner of a dancer, and after having been thus trained for ten or twelve months, he is led into public, when, on hearing the drum, and remembering the burning of his feet, he immediately begins to jump, and thinking himself to be on the same floor, he raises himself on his hind legs, and appears to dance; and so, use becoming second nature, he continues to do.”

The only ass described by Leo, is the ass of the woods, found only in the desert or its borders. It yields to the Barb, or Arabian, (Leo says they are the same,) in swiftness, and is caught with the greatest difficulty. When feeding, or drinking, he is always moving.

A word more about the camel. He is of a most kind and mild nature, and partakes in a manner of the sense of man. If, at any time, between Ethiopia and Barbary (in the great desert) the day’s journey is longer than ordinary, he is not to be driven on by stripes (or beating,) but the driver sings certain short songs, by which the camel being allured, he goes on with such swiftness, that no one is able to keep up with him.

When I open this highly valued book, I never know when to close it; and, indeed, the less at this time, when we are all on tip-toe with respect to Africa.

Now it does appear strange to me, that not one word has been said, either by the travellers, or those who have traced them, about this little work. One reason may be, that it has never been wholly translated into English. It is called by Hartman, (who has been deemed the ablest editor of these oriental authors,) a golden book, which had he wanted, he should as frequently have wanted light. The author, who was a man of a noble family and great acquirements, had been at Tombuto twice at least. Once he accompanied his father on his embassy from the king of Fez to that city, and afterwards as a merchant. This must have been at the very beginning of the sixteenth century, for he finished this work at Rome, the 5th of March, 1526. He describes Tombuto, as well as Bornou, and Cano, and many other of the Negro kingdoms with great minuteness, and with respect to the Niger, (which, like the Nile, rises, falls, and fertilizes the country,) he says, that its course is from the kingdom of Tombuto towards the west as far as Ginea or Jinnea, and even Melli, which joins the ocean at the same place where the Niger empties itself into the sea. He also says, that at Cabra, which is situate on the Niger, about twelve miles from Tombuto, the merchants sailing to Ginea or Melli, go on board their vessels.

Moore, who resided as a writer and factor under the African company, at the mouth of the Gambia, about five years, and in 1738, published his travels, describing the several nations for the space of six hundred miles up that river, concludes that river and the Niger to be the same. In this work will be found an English translation from the Italian, of parts of Leo’s work.

Jackson is a coxcomb, who copies without acknowledgment. He fancies the Niger runs backwards, and joins the Nile, after which they most fraternally run into the Mediterranean.

I am, &c.

T. O.

New Holland Cyprus.Cupressus Australis.Dedicated toSt. Winebald.

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