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Drury-.ane stage in astonishment, and like his may use a latitude: he has origi

concluding he must be "at next door," nality enough to warrant his at least not

when he returns home from his journey, avoiding the device which has been used

and finds all his servants in mourning! by any actor, purely because it has been

And the cloak that he wore too! And used by somebody else before him. Some

the appendage that he called his " storm- passages that he gave were quite as gooa

cap!" He looked like a large ape's skin as Munden. In the scene where he ran

stuffed with hay, ready to hang up in an cies himself taken ill, the pit was in two

apothecary's shop! You ran over all minds to get up and cheer. He made

the old fools that you knew, one after the face like a bear troubled suddenly with

other, to recollect somebody like him,but symptoms of internal commotion! one

could not succeed! Farren plays Fore- who had eaten a bee-hive for the sake of

tight as well as Munden; and he plays the honey, and began to have inward

Cockletop very successfully; but it is misgivings that there must have been bees

hardly possible for one eminent actor to mixed up along with it. And Farren

follow another in trifling characters, possesses the gift too—a most valuable

where the first has made a hit rather by one in playing to an English audience—

his own inventions than by any thing of exhibiting the suffering without excit

which the author has set down for him. ing the smallest sympathy! Whenever

Munden's dancing in the ^host-scene with there is any thing the matter with him,

the servants, and his conclusion—striking you hope he'll get worse with all your

an attitude, with the fingers of one hand soul; and, if he were drowning—with

open like a bunch of radish, as the fiddler, that face!—he must die:—you could not,

used to keep the audience in convulsions «f you were to die yourself, take one stem

for two minutes. Farren avoided this for laughing, to save him.*

trick, probably lest he should be charged ,

with imitation; but acknowledged talent « The Timet, July 3. iw.

July.
The sun comes on apace, and thro' the signs

Travels unwearied; as he hotter grows,
Above, the herbage, and beneath, the mines,

Own his warm influence, while his axle glow-;
The flaming lion meets him on the way,
Proud to receive the flaming god of day.

In fullest bloom the damask rose is seen,

Carnations boast their variegated die,
The fields of corn display a vivid green,

And cherries with the crimson orient vie,
The hop in blossom climbs the lofty pole,
Nor dreads the lightning, tlio* the thunders roll.

The wealth of Flora like the rainbow shows,
Blending her various hues of light and shade,

How many tints would emulate the rose,
Or imitate the lily's bright parade 1

The flowers of topaz and of sapphire vie

With all the richest tinctures of the sky.

The vegetable world is all alive,

Green grows the gooseberry on its bush of thorn,

The infant bees now swarm around the hive.
And the sweet bean perfumes the lap of morn,

Millions of embryos take the wing to fly,

The young inherit, and the old ones die.

Tis summer all—convey me to the bower,

The bower of myrtle form'd by Myra's skill,
'Hiere let me waste away the noontide hour,

Fann'd by the breezes from yon cooling rill.
By Myra's side reclin'd, the burning ray
Shall be as grateful as the cool of day.

Naturalists' Calendar. Magazine" for 1741, as also is the f'ol

Mean Temperature ... 61 . 07. lowing :—

On the same day, in the same year, the

earl of Halifax married Miss Dunck,

"5uIP 2. w'tn a fortune of one hundred thousand

"pounds. It appears that, " according to

Will Wimble, the will of Mr. Dunck, this lady was to

On the second of July, 1741, died at nm"7 TMTM but an honest tradesman,

Dublin, Mr. Thomas Morecroft, "a who was to take the name of Dunck; for

baronet's younger son, the person men- which reason his lordship took the free

tionedbythe 'Spectator' in the character dc-m of the sadlers company, exercised

of Will IVimbU e tra"e» an" added the name to his

This notice is from the " Gentleman's own

{For the Every-Day Book.) A SHORTE AND SWEETE SONNETT ON THE SUBTILTIE OF LOVE By Corhehus May. From " the Seven Starret of Witter

You cannot barre love oute ,

Father, mother and you alle,
For marke mee he's a crafty boy,

And his limbes are very smalle;
He's lighter than the thistle downe,

He's fleeter than the dove,
• His voice is like the nightingale;

And oh 1 beware of love 1

For love can masquerade

When the wisest doe not see;
He has gone to many a blessed sainte

Like a virgin devotee;
He has stolen thro' the convent grate,

A painted butterfly,
And I've seene in many a mantle's fold

His twinkling roguish eye.

He'll come doe what you will;

The Pope cannot keepe him oute;
And of late he's learnt such evill waies

You must hold his oathe in doute:
From the lawyers he has learned

Like Judas to betraye;
From the monkes to live like martyred s&intes

Yet cast their soules awaye.

He has beene at courte soe long

That he weares the courtier's smiie;
For every maid he has a lure,

For every man a wile;
Philosophers and alchymistes

Your idle toile give o'er,
Young love is wiser than ye alle

And teaches ten times more.

Strong barres and boltes are vaine

To keepe the urchin in,
For while the goaler turned the keye
He would trapp him In his gin.
Vu.If.-81.

You neede not hope by maile of proofe

To shun his cruell darte, For he'll change himselfe to a shirt of maile

And lye nexte to your hearte.

More scathfull than an evill eye,

Than ghost or grammerie,
Not seventy times seven holy prieste*

Could laye him in the sea.
Then father mother cease to chide

I'll doe the best 1 maye,
And when I see young love coming

I'll up and run awaye.

On the second day of July, 1744, is recorded the birth of a son to Mr. Arthur Bulkeley.

The child's baptism is remarkable trom these circumstances. The infant's godfathers, by proxy, were Edward Downes, of Worth, in Cheshire, Esq. his greatgreat-great-great uncle; Dr Ashton, master of Jesus-college, Cambridge, and his brother, Mr. Joseph Ashton, of Surreystreet, in the Strand, his great-great-great uncles. His godmothers by their proxies were, Mrs. Elizabeth Wood, of Barnsley, Yorkshire, his great-great-great-great aunt; Mrs. Jane Wainwright, of Middlewoodhall, Yorkshire, his great-great grandmother; and Mrs. Dorothy Green, of the same place,' his great grandmother. It was observed of Mrs. Wainwright, who was then eighty-nine years of age, that she could properly say, " Rise, daughter, go to thy daughter; for thy daughter's daughter has a son."

Mrs. Wainwright was sister to Dr. Ashton and his brother mentioned above, whose father and mother were twice married, "first before a justice of peace by Cromwell's law, and afterwaids, as it was common, by a parson; they lived sixtyfour years together, and during the first fifty years in one house, at Bradway, in Derbyshire, where, though they had twelve children and six servants in family, they never buried one."*

NATURALISTS CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature ... 62 .12

Dog days begin.

"AllFor A Penny!" On the third of July, 1751, William

Dellicot was convicted at the quartersessions for Salisbury, of petty larceny, for stealing one penny; whereby his tffecls, consisting of bank-notes to the amount of 180/., and twenty guineas in money, were forfeited to the bishop, as lord of the manor; but his lordship humanely ordered 100/. of the money to be put to interest for the benefit of the wretch's daughter; 20/. to be given to his aged father, and the remainder to be returned to the delinquent himself.*

The Regent's Park.

A correspondent's muse records an accommodation, which may be extended to other resorts, with the certainty of producing much satisfaction in wearied pedestrians.

CONGRATULATORY VERSES TO THE KEW SEATS IN THE Regent's-fark, 1826.

versus Chairs.

I covet not the funeral chair

Tta' Orlean maid was burnt in, when

Enthusiasts' voices rent the air
To clasp their Joan of Arc again.

I, learned Busby's chair, chuse not,t

Nor of a boat in stormy seas, Nor on a bridge—the stony lot

Of travellers not afraid to freeze.

I covet not the chair of state.
Nor that St. Peter's papal race

Eualted for Pope Joan the great,
But seek and find an easier place.

To halls and abbeys knights repaired,
And barons to their chairs retired;

The goblet, glove, and shield, were reared,
As war and love their cause inspired.

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* Gentleman's Magazine.

"

Saint Edward's chair the minster keeps,
An antique chair the dutchess bears;*

The invalid—he hardly sleeps,

Though poled through Bath in easy chairs.'f

The chairs St. James's-park contains,
The chairs at Kew and Kensington,

Have rested weary hearts and brains

That charmed the town, now still and gone.

J covet not the chair of guilt

Macbeth upbraided for its ghost;

Nor Gay's, on which much ink was spilt.
When he wrote fables for his host.

What of Dan Lambert's 1—Oberon's chair?

Bunyan's at Bedford 1—Johnson's seat? Chaucer's at Woodstock ?—Hloonifield's bare 7

Waxed, lasting, ended, and complete.}

Though without back, and sides, and arms,
Thou, Rkoent's Seat! art doubly dear!

Nature appears in youthful charms
For all that muse and travel here.

Canal, church, spire, and Primrose hill,
With fowl and beast and chary sound,

Invite the thought to peace, for still
Thou, like a friend, art faithful found.

A seat, then, patience seems to teach,
Untired the weary limbs it bears;

To all that can its comforts reach,

It succours through the round of years.

Whatever hand, or name, is writ

In pencil on thy painted face; Let not one word of ribald wit

Produce a blush, or man disgrace.

NATURALISTS CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature ... 60 • 30.

"Busby's Chair."

Talking of this—a word or two on "Sedet Butbeiana"

The humorous representation of " Dr. Busby's chair," (on p. 34 of this volume,) personifying the several parts of grammar, as well as some of a schoolmaster's more serious occupation, said to have been from an original by sir Peter Lely, is ascertained by the editor to have been a mere bagatelle performance of a young man some five-and-twenty years ago. It was engraved and published for Messrs. 1. nine and Whittle, in Fleet-street, took greatly with the public, and had "a considerable run."

* Sedan chain were first introduced into England in 1634. The flrst w:.« used by the duke of Buckingham, to the indignation of the people, who exclaimed, I hat he vat employing hu fellow creaturct 10 do the lertiee of beattt. t Oarry,—A pun on Charing-cross. /Vrnrrr's devil, I Bloomneld, poor fellow, declared to the writer, that one of hit shop plraiurea was that of the ahoemaker's country custom of teasing hit customers to b.« teat of St. Crispin, preparatory to the serving out the pennyworth ol the oil cf >tn.p.

Snip 4.

Translation Of St. Martin.

This day is thus noticed as a festival in the church of England calendar and the almanacs, wherein he is honoured with another festival on the eleventh of November.

The word "translation" signifies, in reference to saints, as most readers already/ know, that their remains were removed from the graves wherein their bodies were deposited, to shrines or other places for devotional purposes.

For The Honour Of Hackneymen.

"Give a dog an ill name and bang him"—give hackney-coachmen good characters and you'll be laughed at: and yet there are civil coachmen in London, and honest ones too. Prejudice against this most useful class of persons is strong, and it is only fair to record an instance of integrity which, after all, is as general, perhaps, among _hackneymen, as among those who ride in their coaches.

Honesty Rewarded.—A circumstance took place on Tuesday, (July 4, 1826,) which cannot be made too generally known among hackney-coachmen, and persons who use those vehicles.

A gentleman took a coach in St. Paul's churchyard, about twenty minutes before twelve, and was set down in Westminster exactly at noon. Having transacted his business there, he was proceeding homeward a little before one, when he suddenly missed a bank note for three hundred pounds, which he had in his pocket on entering the coach. He had not observed either the number or date of the note, or the number of the coach. He therefore returned to the bankers in the city, and ascertained the number and date of the note, then proceeded to the bank of England, found that it had not been paid, and took measures to stop its payment, if presented. After some further inquiry, he applied about half-past three, at the hackney-coach office, in lissex-street, in the Strand, and there to his agreeable surprise, he found that the coachman had already brought the note to the commissioners, at whose suggestion the gentleman paid the coachman a reward of fifty pcunds. The »v>i»* erf the honest coachman should be kromTi. j« is John Newell, the owner and •J'.w of the coach No. 314, and residing » Maniebone-Une.

It should also be known, that persons living property in hackney-coaches, may <m centrally recover it by applying without delay at the office in Essex-street. Since the act of parliament requiring hack ney-coachmen to bring such articles •to the office came into effect, which is not four years and a half ago, no less than one thousand and fifty-eight articles have Wen so brought, being of the aggregate value of forty-five thousand pounds, and upwards.*

Descend we from the coach, and, leaving the town, lake a turn with a respected friend whither he would lead us. Field Paths. {For the Every.Day Book.) I love our real old English footpaths. I love those rustic and picturesque stiles, opening their pleasant escapes from frequented places, and dusty highways, into the solitudes of nature. It is delightful to catch a glimpse of one on the village green, under the old elder-tree by some ancient cottage, or half hidden by the overhanging boughs of a wood. I love to see the smooth dry track, winding away in easy curves, along some green slope, to the churchyard, to the embosomed cottage, or to the forest grange. It is to me an object of certain inspiration. It seems to invite one from noise and publicity, into the heart of solitude and of rural delights. It beckons the imagination on, through green and whispering corn fields, through the short but verdant pasture; the flowery mowing-grass; the odorous and sunny hayfield; the festivity of harvest; from lovely farm to farm; from village to village, by clear and mossy wells; by tinkling brooks, and deep wood-skirted streams; to crofts, where '.he daffodil is rejoicing in spring, or meadows, where the large, blue geraneum embellishes the summer wayside; to heaths, with their warm, elastic sward and crimson bells, the chilhering of grasshoppers, the foxglove, and the old gnarled oak; in short, to all the solitary haunts, after which the city-pent lover of nature pants, as "the hart panteth after the wateNbrooks." What is there so truly

• Daily fwpen.

English! What is "so linked with ocr rural tastes, our sweetest memories, and our sweetest poetry, as stiles and fieldpaths? Goldsmith, Thomson, and Mil. ton have adorned them with some of then richest wreaths. They have consecrated them to poetry and love. It is along the footpath in secluded fields,—upon the stile in the embowered lane,—where the wild-rose and the honey-suckle are lavishing their beauty and their fragrance, that we delight to picture to ourselves rural lovers, breathing in the dewy sweetness of a summer evening vows still sweeter. It is there, that the poet seated, sends back his soul into the freshness of his youth, amongst attachments since withered by neglect, rendered painful by absence, or broken by death; amongst dreams and aspirations which, even now that they

F renounce their own fallacy, are lovely. t is there that he gazes upon the gorgeous sunset,—the evening star following with silvery lamp the fading day, or the moon showering her pale lustre through the balmy night air, with a fancy that kindles and soars into the heavens before him, —there, that we have all felt the charm of woods and green fields, and solitary boughs waving in the golden sunshine, or darkening in the melancholy beauty of evening shadows. Who has not thought how beautiful was the sight of a village congregation pouring out from their old grey church on a summer day, and streaming off through the quiet meadows, in all directions, to their homes? Or who, that has visited Alpine scenery, has not beheld with a poetic feeling, the mountaineers come winding down out of their romantic seclusions on a sabbath morning, pacing the solitary heath-tracks, bounding with elastic step down the fern-clad dells, or along the course of a riotous stream, as cheerful, as picturesque, and yet as solemn as the scenes around them?

Again I say, I love field paths, and stiles of all species,—ay, even the most inaccessible piece of rustic erection ever set up in defiance of age, laziness, and obesity. How many scenes of frolic and merry confusion have I seen at a clumsy stile! What exclamations, and charming blushes, and fine eventual vaulting on the part of the lad ies, and what an opportunity does it afford to beaux of exhibiting a variety of gallant and delicate attentions. I consider a rude stile as any thing but an impediment in the course of a rural courtship.

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