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offices do nothing, but drink soda-water and spruce-beer, and read the newspaper. Now the old clothes-man drops his solitary cry more deeply into the areas on the hot and forsaken side of the street; and bakers look vicious; and cooks are aggravated: and the steam of a tavern kitchen catches hold of one like the breath of Tartarus. Now delicate skins are beset with gnats; and boys make their sleeping companion start up, with playing a burning-glass on his hand ; and blacksmiths are super-carbonated; and coblers in their stalls almost feel a wish to be transplanted; and butter is too easy
to spread ; and the dragoons wonder whether the Romans liked their helmets ; and old ladies, with their lappets unpinned, walk along in a state of dilapidation ; and the servant-maids are afraid they look vulgarly hot; and the author, who has a plate of strawberries brought him, finds that he has come to the end of his writing.— Indicator.
In the "Miscellanies," published by the Spalding Society of Antiquaries there is] a poem of high feeling and strong expression against " man's cruelty to man :"—
Why should man's high aspiring mind
Burn in him, with so proud a breath;
In this world, yields to death;
The rich, the poor, and great, and small,
To strew, his quiet hall.
Power, may make many earthly gods,
Where gold, and bribery's guilt, prevails;
Kicks oer, the unequal scales.
Of Power,—and, their own weakness hide,
To end the Farce of pride. —
An arrow, hurtel'd ere so high
From e'en a giant's sinewy strength,
Goes, but a pigmy length—
With all its pomp, of hurried flight, ,
Outmeosurcd, in its height.
Just so'mans boasted strength, and power,
Shall fade, before deaths lightest stroke;
Whose pride, oertopt the oak.
Dispeopled worlds, with wars alarms,
By poor, despised worms.
Tyrants in vain, their powers secure,
And awe slaves' murmurs, with a frown;
To sap the Babels down —
Will quickly meet, the ground agen:
Shall drop at last, to men;
And power, and pomp, their all resign—
Blood purchased Thrones, and banquet 'Halls.
Fate, waitsato sack ambitions shrine
Where, the poor suffering wretch bows down, To laws, a lawless power hath past;—
And pride, and power, and King, and Clown, Shall be death's slaves at last.
Time, the prime minister of death,
There's nought, can bribe his honest will; He, stops the richest Tyrants breath,
And lays, his mischief still i
With grandeurs false, and mock display. As Eve's shades, from high mountain tops,
Fade with the rest, away.
Death levels all things, in his march,
Nought, can resist his mighty strength; The Pallace proud,—triumphal arch,
shall mete, their shadows length: The rich, the poor, one common bed,
Shall find, in the unhonoured grave. Where weeds Shall crown alike, the head,
Of Tyrant, and of Slave.
From this apostle the Romish church assumes to derive her authority, and appoints this his anniversary, which she splendidly celebrates. The illuminations at Rome on this day would astonish the apostle were he alive. From the account of a recent traveller, they appear to be more brilliant than an Englishman can well imagine; he witnessed them, and describes them in these words :—
"At Ave Maria we drove to the piazza of St. Peter's. The lighting of the lanternoni, or large paper lanterns, each of which looks like a globe of ethereal fire, had been going on for an hour, and, by the time we arrived there, was nearly completed. As we passed the Ponte San Angelo, the appearance of this magnificent church, glowing in its own brightness— the millions of lights reflected in the calm waters of the Tiber, and mingling with the last golden glow of evening, so as to make the whole building seem covered with burnished gold, had a most striking and magical effect.
"Our progress was slow, being much impeded by the long line of carriages before us; but at length we arrived at the Piazza of St. Peter's, and took out station on the right of its farther extremity, so
as to lose the deformity of the dark, dingy, Vatican palace. The gathering shades of night rendered the illumination every moment more brilliant. The whole of this immense church—its columns, capitals, cornices, and pediments—the beautiful swell of the lofty dome, towering into heaven, the ribs converging into one point at top, surmounted hyt the lantern of the church, and crowned by the cross,—all were designed in lines of fire; and the vast sweep of the circling colonnades, in every rib, line, mould, cornice, and column, were resplendent in the same beautiful light.
"While we were gazing upon it, suddenly a bell chimed. On the cross of fire at the top waved a brilliant light, as if wielded by some celestial hand, and instantly ten thousand globes and stars of vivid fire seemed to Toll spontaneously along the building, as if by magic; and self-kindled, it blazed in a moment into one dazzling flood of glory. Fancy herself, in her most sportive mood, could scarcely have conceived so wonderful a spectacle as the instantaneous illumination of this magnificent fabric: the agents by whom it was effected were unseen, and it seemed the work of enchantment. In the first instance, the illuminations had appeared to be complete, and one could not dream that thousands and tens of thousands of lamps were still to be illumined. Their vivid blaze harmonized beautifully with the softer, milder light of the lantern ; while the brilliant glow of the whole illumination shed a rosy light upon the fountains, whose silver fall, and "ever-playing showers, accorded well with the magic of the scene.
"Viewed from the Trinitit de' Monti, its effect was unspeakably beautiful: it seemed to be an enchanted palace hung in air, and called up by the wand of some invisible spirit. We did not, however, drive to the Trinita. de' Monti till after the exhibition of the girandola, or great fire-works from the castle of St. Angelo ,which commenced by a tremendous explosion that represented the raging eruption of a volcano. Red sheets of fire, seemed to blaze upwards- into the glowing heavens, and then to pour down their liquid streams upon the earth. This was followed by an incessant and complicated display of every varied device that imagination could figure—one changing into another, and the beauty of the first effaced by that of the last. Hundreds of immense wheels turned round.with a velocity that almost seemed as if demons were whirling them, letting fall thousands of hissing dragons, and scorpions, and fiery snakes, whose long convolutions, darting forward as far as the eye could reach in every direction, at length vanished into air. Fountains' and jets of, fire . threw up. -their.' bjazing" cascades into the skies.. The whole vault of heaven
shone with the vivid fires, and seemed to receive into itself innumerable stars and suns, which, shooting up into it in brightness almost insufferable, vanished, like earth-born hopes. .The reflection in the depth of the calm clear waters of the Tiber, was scarcely less beautiful than the spectacle itself; and the whole ended in a tremendous burst of fire, that, while it lasted, almost seemed to threaten conflagration to the world.
"The expense of'the illumination of St. Peter's, and of the girandola, when repeated two successive evenings, as they invariably are at the festival of St. Peter, is one thousand crowns; when only exhibited one night :they cost seven hundred. Eighty>men>v#ere employed in the instantaneous illuminations of the lamps, which' to us seemed the work of enchantment: they were so posted as to be unseen."
The appearance, instantaneously disclosed, Was of a mighty city—boldly say - r A wilderness of building, sinking far t •' And self-withdrawn into-a wondrous depth Far sinking into splendour, without end! Fabric it seemed of diamond and of gold, -With alabaster domes and silver spires, And blazing terrace upon terrace, high Uplifted; here, serene pavilions bright In avenues disposed; thprej towers .begirt With.lfflttlcmcnts, that on their restless fronts 'Bore' stars—Illumination" of all gems! ■' Hy earthly nature had the effect been wrought Upon the dark materials of the storm •
Now pacified; on them, and on the covers, ■ ■ And mountain steeps and summits, whereunto The vapours had receded—taking them :.. •. Their station under a cerulean sky
, Paul, the Apostle. St. Martial, Bp. of
r Paul, tne apostle, was martyred, according to some accounts, on the 29th of June, in the year, 65 ; according to others its the month of May, 00.* A Romish writer fables that, before he was beheaded, he "loked vp into heuen, markynge his foreheed and his breste with the sygne of the crosse," although that sign was an after invention ; and that, " as soone as the heed was from the body," it said "Jesus Christus fyfty tymes."f Another pretends
* Butler, t Golden Legend.
from St. Chfysostomj that " from the head of St. Paul when it was cut off there came not one drop of blood, but there ran fountains of milk;" and that "we have -by tradition, that the blessed head gave three leaps, and at each of them there sprung up a fountain where the head fell: which fountains remain to this day, and are reverenced with singular devotion by all Christian Catholics."' The fictions of the Bo- mish church; and its devotions to devices, are innumerable.
Yellow Cistus. Cittiu Helianthemum.
Then came hot July, boiling like to fire,
That all Ms garments he had cast away. Upon a lyon raging yet with ire
He boldly rode, and made him to obey: I was the beast that whilom did forray
The Nemtean forest, till the Amphitrionide Him slew, nnd with his hide did him array :) -Behind his back a sithe, and by his side Under his belt he bore a sickle circling wide.
July is the seventh month of the year. According to ancient reckoning it was the fifth, and called Quintilis, until Mark Antony denominated it July, in compliment to Caius Caesar, the Roman dictator, whose surname was Julius, who improved the calendar, and was born in this month.
July was called by the Saxons henmonath, which probably expressed the meaning of the German word hain, signifying wood or trees; and hence henmonath might mean foliage month. They likewise called it keymonath, or hay
month; "because," 'says"T Verstegan, "therein they usually mowed and made their hay harvest;" and they also denom-' inated it Lida-aftera, meaning the second "Lida," or second month after the sun's descent.*
The beautiful representation preceding Spenser's personification of July, on the
Preceding page, was designed and engraved y Mr. Samuel Williams, of whom it should in justice be said, that his talents have enriched the Every-Day Book with * of its best illustrations.
Now comes July, and with his fervid noon
Mr. Leigh Hunt in his Months, after remarking that "July is so called after Julius Caesar, who contrived to divide his names between months and dynasties, and among his better deeds of ambition reformed the calendar," proceeds to notice, that—" The heat is greatest in this month on account of its previous duration. The reason why it is less so in August is, that the days are then much shorter, and the influence of the sun has been gradually diminishing. The farmer is still occupied in getting the productions of the earth into his gamers; but those who can avoid labour enjoy as much rest and shade as possible. There is a sense of heat and quiet all over nature. The birds are silent. The little brooks are dried up. The earth is chapped with parching. The shadows of the trees are particularly grateful, heavy, and still. The oaks, which are freshest because latest in leaf, form noble clumpy canopies, looking, as you lie under them, of a strong and emulous green against the blue sky. The traveller delights to cut across the country through the fields and the leafy lanes, where nevertheless the flints sparkle with heat. The cattle get into the shade, or stand in the water. The active and aircutting swallows, now beginning to assemble for migration, seek their prey about the shady places, where the insects, though of differently compounded natures, 'fieshless and bloodless,' seem to get for coolness, as they do at other times for warmth. The sound of insects is also the only audible thing now, increasing rather than lessening the sense of quiet by its gentle contrast. The bee now and
then sweeps across the gravest tone. The gnats
Their murmuring small trumpets sounded wide; Spenser.
and here and there the little musician" of the grass touches forth his tricksy note,
The poetry of earth is never dead; When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run' From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead:
That is the grasshopper's. Keats.
"Besides some of the flowers of last month, there are now candy-tufts, catchfly, columbines, egg-plant, French marygolds, lavateras, London-pride, marvel of Peru, veronicas, tuberoses, which seem born of the white rose and lily; and scar* let-beans, which though we are apt to think little of them because they furnish us with a good vegetable, are quick and beautiful growers, and in a few weeks will hang a walk or trellis with an exuberant tapestry of scarlet and green.
"The additional trees and shrubs in flower are bramble, button-wood, iteas, cistuses, climbers, and broom. Pimpernel, cockle, and fumitory, are now to be found in corn-fields, the blue-bell in wastes or by the road-sides; and the luxuriant hop is flowering.
"The fruits begin to abound and are more noticed, in proportion to the necessity for them occasioned by the summerheat. The strawberries are in their greatest quantity and perfection; and
« Dr. Frank Sjyrn.