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Anne and Joachim ; both ring and story Think of that! I have experienced what are ingenious fabrications. There are of Leigh Hunt desires every christian to tourse plenty of her relics and miracles experience that there is a green and from the same sources. They are further gay world, as well as a brick and mortar noticed in the work on the “ Mysteries" one. Months previous was the spot fixed referred to before.

upon which was to receive my choice, happy spirit. Dulwich was the place

It was an easy distance from town; moreSUMMER HOLIDAYS.

over, it was a “ rustic" spot; moreover, A young, and not unknown correspon- it had a picture-gallery; in a word, it gent of the Every-Day Book, has had a was just the sort of place for me. The holiday---bis first holiday since he cane happy morning dawned. I could say to London, and settled down into an with Horace, with the like feelings of every-day occupation of every hour of his enraptured delighttime. He seems until now not to have

“ Insanire juvat. Sparge rosas." known that the environs of London abound in natural as well as artificial Such was the disposition of my mind. beauties. What he has seen will be pro- We met (for I was accompanied) at ductive of this advantage; it will induce that general rendezvous for carts, stages, residents in London, who never saw Dul- waggons, and sociables, the Elephant and wich, to pay it a visit, and see all that he Castle. There were the honest, valiant, saw. Messrs. Colnaghi and Son, of Pall laughter-loving J—; the pensive, kindlymall East, Mr. Clay of Ludgate-hill, or hearted G-; and the sanguine, romantic, any other respectable printseller, will speculative M- A conveyance was soon supply an applicant with a ticket of ad- sought. It was a square, covered vehicle, mission for a party, to see the noble gal. set on two wheels, drawn by one horse, lery of pictures there. These tickets are which was a noble creature, creditable to gratuitous, and a summer holiday may be its humane master, who has my best delightfully spent by viewing the paint. wishes, as I presume he will never have ings, and walking in the pleasant places cause to answer under Mr. Martin's Act. adjacent: the pictures will be agreeable Thus equipaged and curtained in,we mertopics for conversation during the stroll. rily trotted by the Montpelier Gardens,

and soon overtook the “ Fox-under-theMY HOLIDAY!

Hill." To this “ Fox" I was an entire To the Editor of the Every-Day Book. stranger, having never hunted in that My dear Sir,

part of the country before. The beautiful The kind and benevolent feelings which hill which brought us to the heights of you are so wont to discover, and the

Camberwell being gained, we sharply sparkling good-humour and sympathy

turned to the left, which gave us the view which characterize your Every-Day Book,

of Dulwich and its adjoining domains in encourage me to describe to you “ My

the distance. Oh, ecstacy of thought ! holiday !" I approach you with fami. Gentle hills, dark valleys, far-spreading liarity, being well known as your constant

groves, luxuriant corn-fields, magnificent reader. You also know me to be a pro- prospects, then sparkled before me. The vincial cockney-a transplant. Oh! why

rich carpet of nature decked with Flora's then do you so often paint nature in her choicest flowers, and waiting perfumes of enchanting loveliness'? What cruelty ! odoriferous herbs floating on the breezes. You know my destiny is foreign to my expande

expanded and made my heart replete desires : I cannot now seek the shade of with joy: What

f with joy. What kind-heartedness then a retired grove, carelessly throw myself beamed in our countenances ! We talked, on the bank of a “babbling brook," there

and joked, and prattled; and so fast did muse and angle, as I was wont to do,

our transports impulse, that to expect an and, as my old friend Izaak Walton bade

answer to one of my eager inquiries as

to “ who lives here or there?" was out of “ watch the sun to rise and set,

the question. Our hearts were redolent There meditate my time away,

of joy. It was our holiday! And beg to have a quiet passage to a By the side of the neat, grassy, pictuwelcome grave."

resque burying-ground we alighted, in But, I have had a holiday! The desk front of Dulwich-college. Now for the was forsaken for eight-and-forty hours! picture-gallery. Some demui took place



as to the safety of the “ ticket.” After a from Dulwich-college by the retired footfew moments' intense anxiety, it appeared. path that strikes off to the right by the How important was that square bit of “ cage” and “ stocks” opposite the burycard !-it was the key to our hopes— ing-ground. On ascending the verdant “ Admit Mr. R- and friends to view the hill which leads to Camberwell Grove, the Bourgeois Gallery." We entered by the rising objects that gradually open to the gate which conducts into the clean, neat, view are most beautifully picturesque and and well-paved courtyard contiguous to enchanting. We reached the summit of the gallery. In the lodge, which is situ- the Five Fields :ate at the end of this paved footpath, you « Hear'ns ! what a goodly prospect spread see a comely, urbane personage. With

around a polite bend of the head, and a gentle Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, smile of good-nature on his countenance

and spires, on the production of the “ ticket,” he And glittering towns, and gilded streams.' bids you welcome. The small folding This is a fairy region. The ravished doors on your right hand are then opened,

eye glances from villa to grove, turret, and this magnificent gallery is before you.

pleasure-ground, hill, dale; and “figured This collection is extremely rich in the

streams in waves of silver" roll. Here works of the old masters, particularly

are seen Norwood, Shooter's-hill, Seven Poussin, Teniers, Vandyke, Claude, Ru.

Droog Castle, Peckham, Walworth,Greenbens, Cuype, Murillo, Velasquez, Annibal vi

wich, Deptford, and bounding the horizon, Caracci, Vandervelt, Vanderwerf, and

the vast gloom of Epping Forest. What Vanhuysem. Here I luxuriated. With my

a holiday! What a feast for the mind,

holi catalogue in hand, and the eye steadily

the eye, and the heart! A few paces fixed upon the subject, I gazed, and al

from us we suddenly discerned a humble, though neither connoisseur nor student,

aged, wintry object, sitting as if in mockfelt that calmness, devotion, and serenity

ery of the golden sunbeam which played of soul, which the admiration of either

across his furrowed cheek. The philanthe works of a poet, or the “ sweet har

thropy of the good and gentle Elia inspired .nony' of sound, or form, alone work upon

our hearts on viewing this “dim speck," my heart. I love nature, and here she was

this monument of days gone by. Love is imitated in her simplest and truest colour

charity, and it was charitable thus to love. ings. The gallery, or rather the five

The good old patriarch asked not, but elegant rooms, are well designed, and the

received alms with humility and gratipictures admirably arranged. We entered

tude. His poverty was honourable : his by a door about midway in the gallery, on

character was noble and elevated in lowthe left, and were particularly pleased

liness. He gracelessly doffed his manywith the mausoleum. The design is clever

coloured cap in thanks (for hat he had and ingenious, and highly creditable to

none), and the snowy locks floating on the talents of Mr. Soane. Here lie sir

the breeze rendered him an object as inteFrancis Bourgeois, and Mr. and Mrs

resting as he was venerable. Could we Desenfans, surrounded by these exquisite

have made all sad hearts gay, we should pictures. The masterly painting of the

but have realized the essayings of our Death of Cardinal Beanfort is observed

souls. Our imaginings were of gladness nearly over this entrance-door. But, time

and of joy. It was our holiday! hastens—and after noticing yonder pic. ture which hangs at the farther extremity Now, my holiday is past! Hope, like of the gallery, I will retire. It is the Martyr- a glimmering star, appears to me through dom of St. Sebastian, by Annibal Caracci. the dark waves of time, and is ominous Upon this sublime painting I could medi- of future days like these. We are now tate away an age. It is full of power, of “at home,” homely in use as occupation. real feeling and poetry. Mark that coun- I am hugging the desk, and calculating. tenance-the uplifted eye“ with holy fer- I can now only request others who have vour bright !"-the resignation, calmness, leisure and opportunity to take a “ holiand holy serenity, which speak of truth day," and make it a “ holiday" similar to and magnanimity, contrasted with the this. Health will be improved, the heart physical sufferings and agonies of a horrid delighted, and the mind strengthened. death. I was lost-my mind was slum- The grovelling sensualist, who sees pleabering on this ocean of sublimity! sure only in confusion, never can know

The lover of rural sights will return pleasures comparable with these. There is

a moral to every circumstance of life purposes out-door recreation, would not Dne may be trared in the events of “ My seize the probability of fixing on a fino holiday !” I am, dear Sir,

day for the purpose; or what agricul.

turist would decline information that . Yours very truly,

S. R.

venture to affirm may be relied on? It is copied from the Rev.Dr. Adam Clarke.

(See the “Wesleyan Methodist Magazine," WEATHER.

New Series, vol. ii., p. 457, 458.) Be To the Editor of the Every Day Book. lieving that it will be gratifying and Sir,

useful to your readers, The subjoined table for foretelling

I am, &c., weather, appears strictly within the plan

0. F. S of the Every-Day Book, for who that Doctors Commons.


Through all the Lunations of each Year for ever. This table and the accoinpanying remarks are the result of many years' actual observation; the whole being constructed on a due consideration of the attraction c the sun and moon in their several positions respecting the earth; and will, by simple inspection, show the observer what kind of weather will most probably follow the entrance of the moon into any of her quarters, and that so near the truth as to be seldom or never found to fail.

If the new moon—the first quarter—the full

moon-or the last quarter happens

Moon. Time of Change.

In Summer.

In Winter,
Between midnight and Fair ............

Hard frost, unless the wind two in the morning ..

be S. or W.
r cold with frequent
2 and 4 morn.,

Snow and stormy.

showers ......s
4 and 6....

Rain............. Rain.
6 and 8.... Wind and rain .... Stormy.
8 and 10........ Changeable ......

Cold rain, if wind W.; snow

if E.
- 10 and 12........ Frequent showers .. Cold and high wind.
At twelve o'clock at noon

Very rainy ...... Snow or rain.
and to two P. M.....
Between 2 and 4 Aftern. Changeable ........ Fair and mild.
4 and 6....... Fair .............. Fair.
Fair if wind NW.

Fair and frosty if wind N.

or NE. 6 and 8......

Rainy, if S. or SW. Rain or snow if S. or SW. 8 and 10........ Ditto ........ Ditto 10 and midnight .. Fair .............. Fair and frosty.

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OBSERVATIONS. 1. The nearer the time of the moon's change, first quarter, full, and last quarter, is to midnight, the fairer will the weather be during the seven days following.

2. The space for this calculation occupies from ten at night till two next morning.

3. The nearer to mid-day or noon these phases of the moon happen, the more foul or wet the weather may be expected during the next seven days.

4. The space for this calculation occupies from ten in the forenoon to two in the afternoon. 'These observations reter principally to summer, though they affect spring and autumn nearly in the same ratio.

5. The moon's change-first quarter-full-and last quarter, happening during six of the afternoon hours, i. e. from four to ten, may be followed by fair weather : but this is mostly dependent on the wind, as it is noted in the table.

6. Though the weather, from a variety of irregular causes, is more uncertain in the latter part of autumn, the whole of winter, and the beginning of spring; yet, in the main, the above observations will apply to those periods also.

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The Editor's Visits to Claude Ambroise Searat,


Thou com'st in such a questionable shape,
That I will speak to thee.


I have visited CLAUDE AMBROISE neither unhappy nor miserable. « God SEURAT. Some would call him an un- tempers the wind to the shorn limik." happy or a miserable creature; he is

How little do they see what is, who frame

Their hasty judgment upon that which seems. Southey. If Seurat had not seen men of former small pieces, as the passage to the stomake, he would not know that the in- mach would not admit of any great refirmity peculiar to himself is unnatural. pletion, and in drinking the same preWere he dressed like other persons, there caution is required, otherwise suffocation is nothing in his countenance or speech would ensue. His digestion is extremely to denote him different from themselves; good, and the consequent functions of and yet the difference is so great, that it nature are regularly performed. is wonderful that he should live, and It is a singular fact, that such is the move, and have his being."

extreme sensitiveness of this almost nondescript, or sport of nature, that when

touched on the left side with the finger, The “ Interesting Account and Ana- the surface of the body, to a certain extomical Description" of this extraordinary tent, is observed to manifest its sympathy, individual, sold at the Chinese Saloon, by an involuntary chill, which contracts where he is exhibited, is to the following the pores, and produces that roughness effect :

of surface vulgarly known by the denoClaude Ambroise Seurat was born at mination of goose's skin. In raising Troyes, in the department of Champaigne, either of his feet from the floor, the limb on the 10th of April, 1797, and is now appears to be distended uselessly from therefore twenty-eight years of age. His the knee, and we cannot better illustrate parents were respectable, but poor, and the idea than by that sensation we comneither of them presented any deformity, monly experience upon allowing a limb or uncommor. appearance; on the con- to remain too long in one position, theretrary, they are stated to have enjoyed by causing a temporary strangulation of robust health. The child on coming into the vessels, known by the common term the world, presented the customary baby of the foot being asleep.. form, but in proportion as the infant P revious to the arrival of Seurat in grew, the frame gradually wasted away, England, the French physicians who had and so continued to decrease until the inspected him, gave it as their opinion, attainment of its full stature, which oc- that his lungs were placed in a different curred at the usual term of life, at which position to that usually occupied in the period Claude had attained his present human frame. height, while his frame had dwindled to Since his arrival, sir Astley Cooper, the skeleton form which it now so deci- by whom he has been visited, finds that dedly presents.

his heart is placed so much out of the comIn France, where he ate very little of mon region allotted to it, that it is preany animal food, a penny French roll cisely its own length lower than if prowas enough for a day's sustenance; but perly placed. as he now partakes of a small quantity of Many attempts were made to have animal diet, his bread is reduced accord. Claude Ambroise Seurat presented to the ingly.

French king; but the father conceiving As regards his feeding, those dishes that he might be consigned to some which afford most nourishment satisfy wretched asylum, there to subsist upon a him the quickest ; and two or three miserable pension, uniformly objected to ounces a day are quite sufficient.

it. From the statements made by the In France he was accustomed to drink father, it appears that the French gentlethe wine of his country; but in England men of the faculty, who visited his son, he partakes of wines greatly diluted with handling him roughly, and pinching him in water, finding the liquors here so much every direction, the son refused to see stronger, as the Champaigne he usually them at all afterwards, and thus imbibed drank was what is denominated vin de such a distaste for his professional countrypays, or small wine, of which there is men, that he determined not to show himnone in this country. In eating, he mas- self to them any more. In consequence, ticates his victuals very much, taking the Parisian Ecole de Medicine has nerer

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