This piece of petty spite sadly chagrined 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."

"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 ine 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 Leandernot 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."

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 cherries, to commemorate victory, obtained in the following manner:-In 1432, the Hussites threatened the city of Hamburg with an immediate destruction, when one

Mise Platz 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 ciad in mourning, and sent as suppli. cants 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.

"Twas all the unconsciousness of power
And life, beyond this mortal hour;
Those mountings of the soul within
At thoughts of heaven, as birds begin
By instinct in the cage to rise,
When near their time for change of skies;
That proud assurance of our claim
To rank among the sons of light,

Mingled with shame! oh, bitter shame!
At having risked that splendid right,
For aught that earth, through all its range
Of glories, offers in exchange!

'Twas all this, at the instant brought, Like breaking sunshine o'er my thought;

Twas all this, kiudled to a glow
Of sacred zeal, which, could it shine
Thus purely ever, man might grow,
Even upon earth, a thing divine,
And be once more the creature made
To walk unstained the Elysian shade.

No, never shall I lose the trace
Of what I've felt in this bright place:
And should my spirit's hope grow weak,
Should 1, oh God! e'er doubt thy power,

This mighty scene again I'll seek,
At the same calm and glowing hour;
And here, at the sublimest shrine

That nature ever reared to thee,
Rekindle all that hope divine,
And feel my immortality.

Friday last. On his entering into the county at Croft-bridge, which separates it from the county of York, he was met by the officers of the see, the mayor and corporation of Stockton, and several of the principal nobility and others of the county. Here a sort of ceremony was performed, which had its origin in the feudal times," &c.

The origin of the ceremony above alluded to is this. About the commencement of the fourteenth century, sir Johr. Conyers slew with his falchion in the fields of Sockburne, a monstrous creature, a dragon, a worm, or flying serpent, that devoured men, women, and children. The then owner of Sockburne, as a reward for his bravery, gave him the manor with its appurtenances to hold for ever, on condition that he met the lord bishop of Durham, with this falchion, on his first entrance into his diocese, after his election to that see. And in confirmation of this tradition, there is painted in a window of Sockburne church, the falchion just now spoken of; and it is also cut in marble, upon the tomb of the great ancestor of the Conyers', together with a dog and the monstrous worm or serpent, lying at his feet. When the bishop first comes into his diocese, he crossses the river Tees, either at the Ford of Nesham, or Croft-bridge, at one of which places the lord of the manor of Sockburne, or his representative, rides into the middle of the river, if the bishop comes by Nesham, with the ancient falchion drawn in his hand, or upon the middle of Croft-bridge; and then presents it to the bishop, addressing him in the ancient form of words. Upon which the bishop takes the falchion into his hands, looks at it, and returns it back again, wishing the lord of the manor his health and the enjoyment of his

Sir,-The following is a brief notice o: the annual mock election of the "mayor of Bartlemass," at Newbury, in Berkshire.

The day on which it takes place, is the first Monday after St. Anne's; therefore, this year if not discontinued, and I believe it is not, it will be held on the thirty-first day of July. The election is held at the Bull and Dog public-house, where a dinner is provided; the principal dishes being bacon and beans, have obtained for it the name of the "bacon and bean feast." In the course of the day a procession takes place. A cabbage is stuck on a pole and carried instead of a mace, accompanied by similar substitutes for the other emblems of civic dignity, and there is, of course, plenty of "rough music." "justice" is chosen at the same time, some other offices are filled up, and the day ends by all concerned getting completely "how came ye so."

A

In the same town, a mock mayor and ustice are likewise chosen for Norcutt

By the "Mirror of the Months," the appearar.ce of natural scenery at this season is brought before us. "The cornfields are all redundant with waving gold -gold of all hues-from the light yellow of the oats, (those which still remain uncut,) to the deep sunburnt glow of the red wheat. But the wide rich sweeps of these fields are now broken in upon, here and there, by patches of the parched and withered looking bean crops; by occasional bits of newly ploughed land, where the rye lately stood; by the now darkening turnips-dark, except where they are being fed off by sheep flocks; and lastly by the still bright-green meadows, now studded every where with grazing cattle, the second crops of grass being already gathered in.

"The woods, as well as the single timber trees that occasionally start up with such fine effect from out of the hedge-rows, or in the midst of meadows and cornfields, we shall now find sprinkled with wnat at first looks like gleams ot scattered sunshine lying among the leaves, but what, on examination, we shail tind to be the new toinage that has been put forth since midsummer, and which yet retains all the brilliant green of the spring. The effect of this new green, lying in sweeps and patches upon the old, though little observed in general, is one of the most beautiful and characteristic appearances of this season. In many cases, when the sight of it is caught near at hand, on the sides of thick plantations, the effect of it is perfectly deceptive, and you wonder for a moment how it is, that while the sun is shining so brightly every where, it should shine so much more brightly o those particular spots

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR. Mean Temperature....53.50.