Mrs. Dunstervile,

her daughter-in-law, her maiden-daughter. Mr. Dwine's daughter. Mrs. Grace, her daughter.

This account was given by Mr. C. Hewelson and Mr. R. Foster, two of the beforenamed spectators: and when it was related, a servant of Mr. C. H., being present, did confirm the truth of it; affirming, that he and others of the servants being then together at Poins-town, in another place, saw the very same sights, and did very much wonder at them. Finis.

as

66

This wonderful wonder is worthy of preservation, for the very reason that renders it scarcely worthy of remark. It was a practice, before the period when the preceding tract was printed, for partisans to fabricate and publish strange narratives in behalf of the side they pretended to aid, with the further view of blackening or injuring those whom they opposed. Such stories were winked at pious frauds," and found ready sale among the vulgar. As parties declined, the business of the writers and venders of such productions declined, and some among them of desperate fortune resorted to similar manufactures on any subject likely to astonish the uninformed. present "True Account" may be regarded as a curious specimen of this kind of forgery. The pamphlet was printed in London; the scene being laid in Ireland, it probably never reached Poins-town, and if it even travelled thither, the chance is that there were only a few who could read it, and certainly none of those

The

few were interested in its contradiction. At the present time it is common in Somersetshire to hear a street-hawker crying, "A wonderful account of an apparition that appeared in Hertfordshire," and selling his papers to an admiring crowd; the same fellow travelling into Hertfordshire, there cries the very same "Apparition that appeared in Somersetshire;" and his printed account equally well authenticates it to a similarly constituted audience.

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR. Mean Temperature . . . 42. 80.

St. Winwaloe's father, named Fragan, or Fracan, was nearly related to Cathoun, one of the kings or princes of Wales. In consequence of Saxon invasions, Fragan emigrated from Wales to Armorica, where the spot he inhabited is "called from him to this day Plou-fragan." Whether Winwaloe was born there or in Wales is uncertain; but he was put under St. Budoc, a British abbot of a monastery in whence with other monks he travelled, till Isleverte, near the isle of Brebat, from they built themselves a monastery at Landevenech, three leagues from Brest. He died in 529, at an advanced age.

worked many miracles; Father Cressy says, that St. Winwaloe the most stupendous was his raising a among which young man to life." He further tells, that "St. Patrick presented himself to him in and having a golden diadem on his head," a vision, with an angelicall brightnes, and told him he paid him a visit, to prevent Winwaloe, who desired to see him, so tedious a journey by sea and land." St. Patrick in this interview foretold St

Winwaloe so much, that the father of his monastery released him with the other monks before-mentioned, that they might become hermits; for which purpose they travelled, till, wanting a ship, St. Winwaloe struck the sea with his staff, which opened a passage for them, and they walked through singing, and dryshod, "himself marching in the front, the waFather Cressy says, that Št. Winwaloe ters on both sides standing like walls." never sat in the church; that "every day

he repeated the hundred and fifty psalms;" that to his bed he had neither feathers nor clothes, "but instead of feathers he strewed blankets, sand mingled with pebbles, and under him nutshells, and instead of two great stones under his head;" that he wore the same clothes night and day; that his bread was made with half of barley and half of ashes; that his other diet was a mixture of meal and cabbage without fat; and that "he took this refection once, only in two, and sometimes three dayes."

* Butler.

Besides other particulars, Cressy adds, that "a town in Shropshire, called even in the Saxons' time Wenlock, (which seems a contraction from Winwaloc,) from him took its denomination."

He vanquisheth the Devil, &c.

So father Porter entitles one of his particulars concerning St. Winwaloe, which he relates in his "Flowers of the Saincts" in these words: "The devill envying soe great sanctitie, endeavoured with his hellish plotts to trouble and molest his pious labours, appeared unto him as he prayed in his oratorie, in the most uglie and horrid shapes that the master of wickednes could invent, vomitting out of his infernall throate manie reprochfull wordes against him; when he nothing dismayed thereat, courageously proceeded in his devotions, and brandishing the chief armes of life, the holy crosse, against that black messenger of death, he compelled him to vanish away in confusion."

St Winwaloe and the cruel Goose.

Bishop Patrick, in his "Reflexions upon the Devotions of the Roman Church," cites from the latin "Acts of the Saints," a miracle which is quite as miraculous as either of the preceding. "A sister of St. Winwaloc had her eye plucked out by a goose, as she was playing. St.Winwaloc was taught by an angel a sign whereby to know that goose from the rest, and having cut it open, found the eye in its entrails, preserved by the power of God unhurt, and shining like a gem; which he took and put it again in its proper place, and recovered his sister; and was so kind also to the goose as to send it away alive, after it had been cut up, to the rest of the

flock."

WINNOLD FAIR, NORFolk.

A correspondent, whose signature has before appeared, transmits the annexed communication concerning the hamlet of

Winnold, and the fair held there annually on this day.

For the Every-Day Book.

A priory, dedicated to St. Winwaloe, was founded by the family of the earls of Clare, before the seventh year of king John, (1206,) in a hamlet, (thence called, by corruption, the hamlet of Whinwall, Winnold, or Wynhold,) belonging to the parish of Wereham, in Norfolk, as a cell to the

abbey of Mounstroll, of the order of St. Bennet, in the diocese of Amiens, in France. In 1321, the abbot and convent sold it to Hugh Scarlet, of London, who conveyed it to the lady Elizabeth de Burso, the sister and coheir of Gilbert, earl of Clare, and she afterwards gave it to West Dereham abbey, situate a few miles from Wereham. At the general dissolution it was valued, with West Dereham, at 2527. 12s. 11d. (Speed,) and 2281. (Dugdale.) Little of the priory is now remaining, except a part which is thought to have been the chapel.

A fair for horses and cattle on this day, which was originally kept in this hamlet of Winnold, has existed probably from the foundation of the priory, as it is mentioned in the tenth of Edward III. (1337,) when the priory and the fair were given to West Dereham abbey. Though the abbey and priory, as establishments, are annihilated, the fair (probably from its utility) has continued with reputation to the present day. Soon after the dissolution, it was removed to the adjoining parish there till within the last thirty years, when of Wimbotsham, and continued to be held it was again removed a few miles further, to the market town of Downham, as a more convenient spot, and is now kept in a field there, called, for reasons unknown, large horse and cattle fair; but, though it "the Howdell," and is at this time a very tains its ancient, original appellation of has undergone these removals, it still re"Winnold Fair." This fair, which is

perhaps of greater antiquity than any now kept in the kingdom, will probably preserve the memory of St. Winnold, in the west of Norfolk and the adjoining counties, for centuries to come, above the whole host of his canonized brethren. He is also commemorated, by the following traditional West Norfolk proverbial distich:

"First comes David, next comes Chad,

And then comes Winnold as though he was

mad

noticing the two previous days in March, (the first and second,) and in allusion to the prevalence of windy weather at this period. Whether St. Winnold, in the zenith of his fame, was remarkable for an irascibility of temper, I am not enabled to say; yet it rarely happens when the first few days in March are not at tended with such boisterous and tenpestuous weather, generally from the

Blomfield's Norfolk. Taylor's Iudex Monasticus.

The fair author of the "Flora Domestica" inquires, "Who can see, or hear the name of the daisy, the common field daisy, without a thousand pleasurable associations? It is connected with the sports of childhood and with the pleasures of youth. We walk abroad to seek it; yet it is the very emblem of home. It is a favourite with man, woman, and child it is the robin of flowers. Turn it all ways, and on every side you will find new beauty. You are attracted by the snowy white leaves, contrasted by the golden tuft in the centre, as it rears its head above the green grass: pluck it, and you will find it backed by a delicate star of green, and tipped with a blush-colour, or a bright crimson.

'Daisies with their pinky lashes'

are among the first darlings of spring. They are in flower almost all the year; closing in the evening, and in wet weather, and opening on the return of the

sun."

In the poem of a living poet are these elegant stanzas:

To the Daisy.

A nun demure, of lowly port;
Or sprightly maiden of Love's court,
In thy simplicity the sport

Of all temptations;

A queen in crown of rubies drest;
A starveling in a scanty vest;
Are all, as seem to suit thee best,
Thy appellations.

A little Cyclops, with one eye
Staring to threaten or defy,
That thought comes next, and instantly
The freak is over;

The freak will vanish, and behold!
A silver shield with boss of gold,
That spreads itself, some fairy bold
In fight to cover.

This evergreen of flowers is honoured by the same delightful bard in other poems; our young readers will not find fault if they are again invited to indulge; and the graver moralist will be equally gratified.

To the Daisy.

In youth from rock to rock I went,
From hill to hill, in discontent
Of pleasure high and turbulent,

Most pleased when most uneasy;
But now my own delights I make,-
My thirst at every rill can slake,
And gladly Nature's love partake
Of thee, sweet daisy!

When soothed awhile by milder airs,
Thee Winter in the garland wears
That thinly shades his few grey hairs;
Spring cannot shun thee;

Whole summer fields are thine by right,
And Autumn, melancholy wight,
Doth in thy crimson head delight

When rains are on thee.

In shoals and bands, a morrice train,
Thou greet'st the traveller in the lane ;
If welcomed once, thou count'st it gain;
Thou art not daunted,

Nor carest if thou be set at naught:
And oft alone in nooks remote
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
When such are wanted.

Be violets in their secret mews
The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose;
Proud be the rose, with rains and dews

Her head impearling;

Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim,
Yet hast not gone without thy fame
Thou art indeed by many a claim
The poet's darling.

Yes-Flowers again! It is the season of their approach; therefore make ready for their coming, and listen to the fair herald who is eloquent in praise of their eloquence. She tells us, in her "Flora Domestica,' ," and who dare deny? that "flowers do speak a language, a clear and intelligible language: ask Mr.Wordsworth, for to him they have spoken, until they excited thoughts that lie too deep for tears;' ask Chaucer, for he held companionship with them in the meadows; ask any of the poets, ancient or modern. Observe them, reader, love them, linger over them; and ask your own heart, if they do not speak affection, benevolence, and piety. None have better understood the language of flowers than the simpleminded peasant-poet, Clare, whose volumes are like a beautiful country, diversified with woods, meadows, heaths, and flower-gardens:

Bowing adorers of the gale,
Ye cowslips delicately pale,

Upraise your loaded stems;
Unfold your cups in splendour, speak!
Who decked you with that ruddy streak,
And gilt your golden gems?
Violets, sweet tenants of the shade,
In purple's richest pride arrayed,
Your errand here fulfil;
Go bid the artist's simple stain
Your lustre imitate, in vain,

And match your Maker's skill.
Daisies, ye flowers of lowly birth,
Embroiderers of the carpet earth,
That stud the velvet sod;
Open to spring's refreshing air,
In sweetest smiling bloom declare
Your Maker, and my God.

Clore.

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR. Mean Temperature. . . 42. 10.

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature ... 39 69.

on

print is carried on a pole by the man horseback, attended by those who are about to partake of the sport, and preceded by music. It seems to be a rustic amusement, and, perhaps, some light may be thrown on it by the following account from Miss Plumtre's "Residence in France." She says, that in connection with the church of St. John, at Aix, which formerly belonged to the knights of St. John of Jerusalem, there is a ceremony which used to be called Le Bravade de St. Jean d'Aix, instituted in the year 1272, on the return of the army which had followed Louis IX. or St. Louis, in his las expedition to Egypt and the Holy-land