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and company resort from a great distance round. It is a great mart for smugglers and contraband traders, and is the harvest of the year both to Beaucaire and Tarascon; for, as the former is not large enough to accommodate the influx of people, Tarascon, in Provence, which is separated from it by the Rhone, is generally equally full.

Tarascon, according to a popular tradition, has its name from a terrible beast, a sort of dragon, known by the name of the tarasque, which, in ancient days, infested the neighbourhood, ravaging the country, and killing every thing that came in its way, both man and beast, and eluding every endeavour made to take and destroy it, till St. Martha arrived in the town, and taking compassion on the general distress, went out against the monster, and brought him into the town in chains, when the people fell upon him

and slew him.

St. Martha, according to the chronicles of Provence, had fled from her own country in company with her sister Mary Magdalen, her brother Lazarus, and several other saints both male and female. They landed at Marseilles, and immediately spread themselves about the country to preach to the people. It fell to the lot of St. Martha to bend her steps to wards Tarascon, where she arrived at the fortunate moment above mentioned. She continued to her dying day particularly to patronise the place, and was at her own request interred there. Her tomb is shown in a subterranean chapel belonging to the principal church. It bears her figure in white marble, as large as life, in a recumbent posture, and is a good piece of sculpture, uninjured by the revolution. In the church a series of paintings represent the escape of St. Martha and her companions from their persecutors, their landing in Provence, and some of their subsequent adventures. She is the patron saint of Tarascon.

It is presumed that the story of a beast ravaging the neighbouring country had its origin in fact; but that instead of a dreadful dragon it was a hyena. Bouche, however, in his Essai sur l'Histoire de Provence, while he mentions the popular tradition of the dragon, makes no mention of the supposed hyena, which he probably

would have done had there been any good ground for believing in its existence.

Be this as it may, the fabulous story of the dragon was the occasion of establishing an annual festival at Tarascon, the reputed origin of which seems no less fabulous than the story itself. According to the tradition, the queen, consort to the reigning sovereign of the country, unaccountably fell into a deep and settled melancholy, from which she could not be roused. She kept herself shut up in her chamber, and would not see or be seen by any one; medicines and amusements were in vain, till the ladies of Tarascon thought of celebrating a festival, which they hoped, from its novelty might impress the mind of their afflicted sovereign.

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A figure was made to represent the tarasque," with a terrible head, a terrible mouth, with two terrible rows of teeth, wings on its back, and a terrible long tail. At the festival of St. Martha, by whom the "tarasque" was chained, this figure was led about for eight days successively, by eight of the principal ladies in the town, elegantly dressed, and accompanied by a band of music. The procession was followed by an immense concourse of people, in their holyday clothes; and during the progress, alms were collected for bited; balls, concerts, and shows of every the poor. All sorts of gaieties were exhikind-nothing, in short, was omitted to accomplish the purpose for which the festival was instituted.

And her majesty condescended to be amused: that hour her melancholy ceased, and never after returned. Whether the honour of this happy change was wholly due to the procession, or whether the saint might not assist the efforts of the patriotic ladies of Tarascon, by working

a miracle in favour of the restoration of

the queen's health, is not on record; but her malady never returned; and the people of Tarascon were so much delighted by the processsion of the "tarasque," that it was determined to make the festival an annual one.

This festival was observed till the revolution; but in "the reign of terror," the people of Arles, between whom and those of Tarascon a great jealousy and rivalship had for many years subsisted, came in a body to the latter place, and, seizing the "tarasque," burnt it in the market place.

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and company resort from a great distance round. It is a great mart for smugglers and contraband traders, and is the harvest of the year both to Beaucaire and Tarascon; for, as the former is not large enough to accommodate the influx of people, Tarascon, in Provence, which is separated from it by the Rhone, is generally equally full.

Tarascon, according to a popular tradition, has its name from a terrible beast, a sort of dragon, known by the name of the tarasque, which, in ancient days, infested the neighbourhood, ravaging the country, and killing every thing that came in its way, both man and beast, and eluding every endeavour made to take and destroy it, till St. Martha arrived in the town, and taking compassion on the general distress, went out against the monster, and brought him into the town in chains, when the people fell upon him and slew him.

St. Martha, according to the chronicles of Provence, had fled from her own country in company with her sister Mary Magdalen, her brother Lazarus, and several other saints both male and female. They landed at Marseilles, and immediately spread themselves about the country to preach to the people. It fell to the lot of St. Martha to bend her steps towards Tarascon, where she arrived at the fortunate moment above mentioned. She continued to her dying day particularly to patronise the place, and was at her own request interred there. Her tomb is shown in a subterranean chapel belonging to the principal church. It bears her figure in white marble, as large as life, in a recumbent posture, and is a good piece of sculpture, uninjured by the revolution. In the church a series of paintings represent the escape of St. Martha and her companions from their persecutors, their landing in Provence, and some of their subsequent adventures. She is the patron saint of Tarascon.

It is presumed that the story of a beast ravaging the neighbouring country had its origin in fact; but that instead of a dreadful dragon it was a hyena. Bouche, however, in his Essai sur l'Histoire de Provence, while he mentions the popular tradition of the dragon, makes no mention of the supposed hyena, which he probably

would have done had there been any good ground for believing in its existence.

Be this as it may, the fabulous story of the dragon was the occasion of establishing an annual festival at Tarascon, the reputed origin of which seems no less fabulous than the story itself. According to the tradition, the queen, consort to the reigning sovereign of the country, unaccountably fell into a deep and settled melancholy, from which she could not be roused. She kept herself shut up in her chamber, and would not see or be seen by any one; medicines and amusements were in vain, till the ladies of Tarascon thought of celebrating a festival, which they hoped, from its novelty might impress the mind of their affucted sovereign. A figure was made to represent the tarasque," with a terrible head, a terrible mouth, with two terrible rows of teeth, wings on its back, and a terrible long tail. At the festival of St. Martha, by whom the "tarasque" was chained, this figure was led about for eight days successively, by eight of the principal ladies in the town, elegantly dressed, and accompanied by a band of music. The procession was followed by an immense concourse of people, in their holyday clothes; and during the progress, alms were collected for the poor. All sorts of gaieties were exhibited; balls, concerts, and shows of every kind-nothing, in short, was omitted to accomplish the purpose for which the festival was instituted.

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And her majesty condescended to be amused: that hour her melancholy ceased, and never after returned. Whether the honour of this happy change was wholly due to the procession, or whether the saint might not assist the efforts of the patriotic ladies of Tarascon, by working

a miracle in favour of the restoration of

the queen's health, is not on record; but her malady never returned; and the people of Tarascon were so much delighted by the processsion of the "tarasque,"

that it was determined to make the festival an annual one.

This festival was observed till the revolution; but in "the reign of terror," the people of Arles, between whom and those of Tarascon a great jealousy and rivalship had for many years subsisted, came in a body to the latter place, and, seizing the "tarasque," burnt it in the market place.

This piece of petty spite sadly chagrin ed the Tarasconians. Their "tarasque" was endeared to them by its antiquity, as well as by the amusement it afforded them. For four years the festival of the "tarasque" remained uncelebrated, when an attempt was made to reestablish it; a new "tarasque" was procured by subscription among the people; but this also was seized by the Arletins, and carried over the river to Beaucaire, where it remained ever since.

"However," said a hostess of Tarascon to Miss Plumptre, "since Buonaparte has happily restored order in France, we are looking forward to better times, and hope before the next festival of St. Martha, to be permitted to reclaim our 'tarasque,' and renew the procession."

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Ah, ladies," she added, “you have no idea how gay and how happy we all used to be at that time! The rich and the poor, the old and the young, the men and the women, all the same! all laughed, all danced, all sung; there was not a sad face in the town. The ladies were all so emulous of leading the tarasque!' They were all dressed alike; one was appointed to regulate the dress, and whatever she ordered the rest were obliged to follow. Sometimes the dresses were trimmed with gold or silver, sometimes with lace, so rich, so grand! God knows whether we shall ever see such times again. Ah! it as only because we were so happy that ne people of Arles envied us, and had uch a spite against us; but they have no reason to envy us now, we have had sorrow enough ninety-three persons were guillotined here, and you may think what trouble that has spread among a number of families. I myself, ladies, have had my share of sorrow. My husband was not indeed guillotined, but he was obliged to fly the town to avoid it: he never quitted France, but went about from place to place where he was not known, working and picking up a livelihood as well as he could; and it is only since Buonaparte has been first consul that he has ventured to return. Besides, every thing that I had of any value, my linen, my mattresses, my silver spoons and forks, were all taken away by the requisition, and I can only hope to have things comfortably about me again by degrees, if we are so lucky as to get tolerable custom to our inn." And then she entered upon a long string of apologies for the state of her house. "She

was afraid," she said, "that we should find things very uncomfortable, but it was not in her power to receive ladies and gentlemen as she had been used to do before her misfortunes. A few years hence, if Buonaparte should but live, she hoped, if we should happen to pass that way again, we should see things in a very different state."

THE SEASON.

"Now," we perceive in the "Mirror of the Months,” that, “now, on warm evenings after business hours, citizens of all ages grow romantic; the single, wearing away their souls in sighing to the breezes of Brixton-hill, and their soles in getting there; and the married, sipping syllabub in the arbours of White Conduithouse, or cooling themselves with hot rolls and butter at the New River Head.

"Now, too, moved by the same spirit of romance, young patricians, who have not yet been persuaded to banish themselves to the beauty of their paternal groves, fling themselves into funnies, and fatigue their ennui to death, by rowing up the river to Mrs. Grange's garden, to eat a handful of strawberries in a cup-full of

cream.

"Now, adventurous cockneys swim from the Sestos of the Strand stairs to the Abydos of the coal-barge on the opposite shore, and believe that they have been rivalling Lord Byron and Leander not without wondering, when they find themselves in safety, why the lady for whom the latter performed a similar feat is called the Hero of the story, instead of the Heroine.

"Finally, now pains-and-pleasuretaking citizens hire cozey cottages for six weeks certain in the Curtain-road, and ask their friends to come and see them in the country.'

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The Feast of Cherries.

There is a feast celebrated at Hamburg, called the "feast of cherries," in which troops of children parade the streets with green boughs, ornamented with cherrira, to commemorate victory, obtained in the following manner:-In 1432, the Hussites threatened the city of Hamburg with an immediate destruction, when one

← Miso Finn Travels in France

of the citizens, named Wolf, proposed that all the children in the city, from seven to fourteen years of age, should be clad in mourning, and sent as supplicants to the enemy. Procopius Nasus, chief of the Hussites, was so touched with this spectacle, that he received the young supplicants, regaled them with cherries and other fruits, and promised them to spare the city.

The children returned crowned with leaves, holding cherries, and crying "victory!"—and hence, the "feast of cherries" is an annual commemoration of humane feelings.

TO THE GNAT.

For the Every-Day Book.
Native of Ponds! I scarce could deem
Thee worthy of my praise,
Wert thou not joyous in the beam
Of summer's closing days.

But who can watch thy happy bands
Dance o er the golden wave,
And be not drawn to fancy's lands,-
And not their pleasures crave?
Small as thou art to vulgar sight,

In beauty thou art born :-
Thou waitest on my ears at night,
Sounding thine insect horn.

The sun returns-his glory spreads
In heaven's pure flood of light;
Thou makest thine escape from beds,
And risest with a bite.

Where'er thy lancet draws a vein,
'Tis always sure to swell;
A very molehill raised with pain
As many a maid can tell.

Yet, for thy brief epitome

Of love, life, tone and thrall;

I'd rather have a bump from thee,
Than Spurz-heim, or from Gall.

Fish.

J. R. P.

It is noted by Dr. Forster, that towards the end of July the fishery of pilchards begins in the west of England. Through August it continues with that of mullets, red surmallets, red gurnards, and several other fish which abound on our south-west coasts. In Cornwall, fish is so cheap and so commonly used as an

• Phillips's Account of Fruits.

article of food, that we remember so lately as August, 1804, the then rector of Boconnoc used to have turbot for supper, which he considered as a good foundation for a large bowl of posca, a sort of weak punch drank in that country. Having witnessed on this day in 1822, the grand Alpine view of the lake of Geneva, and the Swiss and Savoyard mountains behind it, from Mount Jura, we are reminded to present the reader with the following excellent lines which we have met with in "Fables, by Thomas Brown, the Younger," London, 1823.

VIEW OF THE ALPS AND THE LAKE OF
GENEVA FROM THE JURA.

'Twas late, the sun had almost shone
His last and best, when I ran on,
Anxious to reach that splendid view
Before the daybeams quite withdrew;
And feeling as all feel, on first
Approaching scenes, where they are told
Such glories on their eyes shall burst
As youthful bards in dreams behold.
'Twas distant yet, and as I ran,

Full often was my wistful gaze
Turned to the sun, who now began

To call in all his outpost rays,
And form a denser march of light,
Such as beseems a hero's flight.

Oh how I wished for Joshua's power
To stay the brightness of that hour

But no, the sun still less became,
Diminished to a speck, as splendid

And small as were those tongues of flame

That on the apostles' heads descended.

"Twas at this instant, while there glowed
This last intensest gleam of light,
Suddenly through the opening road
The valley burst upon my sight;
That glorious valley with its lake,
And Alps on Alps in clusters swelling,
Mighty and pure, and fit to make

The ramparts of a godhead's dwelling.
I stood entranced and mute as they
Of Israel think the assembled world
Will stand upon the awful day,

When the ark's light, aloft unfurled Among the opening clouds shall shine, Divinity's own radiant sign!

Mighty Mont Blanc, thou wert to me That minute, with thy brow in heaven, As sure a sign of Deity As e'er to mortal gaze was given

Nor ever, were I destined yet To live my life twice o'er again,

Can I the deepfelt awe forget, The ecstacy that thrilled me then.

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