She counts no bravery in the world like decency. The garden and bee-hive are all her physic and surgery, and she lives the longer for it. She dares go alone, and unfold sheep in the night, and fears no manner of ill, because she means none; yet, to say truth, she is never alone, but is still accompanied with old songs, honest thoughts, and prayers, but short ones; yet they have their efficacy in that they are not palled with ensuing idle cogitations. Lastly, her dreams are so chaste, that she dare tell them; only a Friday's dream is all her superstition; that she conceals for fear of anger. Thus lives she, and all her care is, she may die in the spring-time, to have store of flowers stuck upon her winding-sheet.* If men did but know what felicity dwells in the cottage of a virtuous poor man,—how sound he sleeps, how quiet his breast, how composed his mind, how free from care, how easy his provision, how healthy his morning, how sober his night, how moist his mouth, how joyful his heart, they would never admire the noises, the diseases, the throng of passions, and the violence of unnatural appetites, that fill the houses of the luxurious, and the hearts of the ambitious. - Jeremy Taylor. SUN RISE. A FAIR AND HAPPY MILKMAID Is a country wench, that is so far from making herself beautiful by art, that one look of hers is able to put all face-physic out of countenance. She knows a fair look is but a dumb orator to commend virtue, therefore minds it not. All her excellencies stand in her so silently, as if they had stolen upon her without her knowledge. The lining of her apparel, which is herself, is far better than outsides of tissue; for, though she be not arrayed in the spoil of the silkworm, she is decked in innocence, a far better wearing. doth not, with lying long in bed, spoil both her complexion and conditions; nature hath taught her, too immoderate sleep is rust to the soul; she rises, therefore, with chanticlere, her dame's cock, and at night makes the lamb her curfew. In milking a cow, and straining the teats through her fingers, it seems that so sweet a milk-press makes the milk whiter or sweeter; for never came almond-glove or aromatic ointment on her palm to taint it. The golden ears of corn fall and kiss her feet when she reaps them, as if they wished to be bound and led prisoners by the same hand that felled them. Her breath is her own, which scents all the year long of June, like a new-made hay-cock. She makes her hand hard with labor, and her heart soft with pity; and, when winter evenings fall early, sitting at her merry April 30. Day breaks wheel, she sings defiance to the wheel of fortune. She doth all things with so sweet a grace, it seems ignorance will not suffer her to do ill, being her mind to do well. She bestows her year's wages at the next fair, and, in choosing her garments When the sun approaches towards the gates of the morning, he first opens a little eye of heaven, and sends away the spirits of darkness, and gives light to a cock, and calls up the lark to mattins, and bye-andbye gilds the fringes of a cloud, and peeps over the eastern hills, thrusting out his golden horns like those which decked the brows of Moses, when he was forced to wear a veil, because himself had seen the face of God; and still, while a man tells the story, the sun gets up higher, till he shows a full fair light, and a face, and then he shines one whole day, under a cloud often, and sometimes weeping great and little showers, and sets quickly; so is a man's reason and his life.-Jeremy Taylor. Sun rises sets Twilight ends Tooshwort flowers. h. m. 2.10 4 39 7 21 650 The following delightful verses are rendered very closely into our language by Mr. Thomas Roscoe, from the old German of earl Conrad of Kirchberg, a minnesinger of the twelfth century SONG. May, sweet May, again is come, On the laughing hedgerow's side Hill and dale are May's own treasures; Up then, children! we will go We the bursting flowers will see: Sing ye join the chorus gay ! In May every field with hedgerows and bushes is a birdmeadow. During the middle and latter part of the vernal season the business of nest-making takes place, and the first broods are hatched, fledged, and fly before the close of the period, during which time the male birds are in full song. Each bird has a note or a modulation of notes peculiar to himself, yet many decidedly imitate the notes of others. The blackcap, the thrush, and many other birds mock the nightingale; and hence, in the north and west of England, where nightingales do not abound, the note of these mocking songsters is less musical and less varied. To note the average days on which birds arrive, by listening to their notes as well as by seeing them, is a very pleasant amusement during the bright fine weather of a vernal morning. The cooing of the ringdove, the wild pigeon, and the turtle, is characteristic of the spring; but the great mark of the vernal season is the well known song of the cuckoo. His voice is heard through all May; he becomes hoarse, and sings seldomer in the solstitial season; before the commencement of the aestival he ceases his note, and emigrates. The cuckoo in general builds no nest, but deposits her solitary egg in the nest of another bird, generally the hedge sparrow's, though she occasionally resorts to that of the water wagtail, titlark, &c., by whom the egg is hatched. Early in the season, the cuckoo begins with the interval of a minor third; the bird then proceeds to a major third, next to a fourth, then a fifth, after which his voice breaks out without attaining a minor sixth. An old Norfolk proverb says, In April the cuckoo shows his bill, In May he sing, night and day, In July away he fly, In August away he must. The insects of the vernal season are numerous, and there are certain fine days in which thousands of species make their first appearance together. The early sulphur butterfly, which is the first in the last season, is now seen every fine day, and is soon followed by the tortoiseshell, the peacock, and lastly by the white cabbage butterflies. During the vernal season the march of vegetation, the development of leaves on the trees and the flowering of plants, is rapid. From the very commencement to the end of the period, some new flower is added every day. Early in May the creeping crowfoot in the uplands, and the buttercups in the low meadows, clothe the grass with a brilliant golden yellow, while in other places on shady slopes, and on ground over which the trees may have been newly felled, the field hyacinth covers the whole surface with its rich blue flowers; the meadow lychnis succeeds, until all are cut down in the great mowing of meadow hay. During this period the banks are still covered with primroses and violets, and here and there with pilewort; in the hedges the black thorn first, and afterwards the white thorn, blossom. In the orchard a succession of blossoms on the plum, the cherry, the pear, and the apple trees impart unspeakable beauty to the scene. The husbandman looks with a prospective pleasure at these promises of plenty in the orchard, and daily tends and watches the "setting" of the fruit. The gardens teem and glow with varieties of the richest flowers. The bright ultramarine blue of the Cynoglossum Omphalodes, and of the Veronica Chamaedrys, which covers every bank in May, and the blue harebell, is as common as the yellow crowsfoot. Early in the month the standard tulips are in full blow and exhibiting every stripe, tint, and variety of color. Towards the middle of the month the rich crimson of the piony and the bright light red of the monkey poppy come into blow at nearly the same time, yet there are individual plants of the monkey poppy which always blow a month later than the rest, beginning early in June, and continuing far into the solstitial season. The young plants propagated from these do the same, and may be called a permanent variety, belonging to the solstitial instead of the vernal Flora, and vies with the common garden poppy, a fine ornament of the summer solstice. The yellow poppy now flowers fully, and continues to blow sparingly all the summer. E'en roads, where danger hourly comes, Are not without its purple blooms, Whose leaves, with threat'ning thistles round Thick set, that have no strength to wound, Shrink into childhood's eager hold Like hair; aud, with its eye of gold And scarlet-starry points of flowers, Pimpernel, dreading nights and showers, Oft called the Shepherd's Weather-glass," That sleeps till suns have dried the grass, Then wakes, and spreads its creeping bloom Till clouds with threatening shadows comeThen close it shuts to sleep again: Which weeders see, and talk of rain; And boys, that mark them shut so soon, Call "John that goes to bed at noon: And fumitory too-a name That superstition holds to fameWhose red and purple mottled flowers Are cropped by maids in weeding hours, To boil in water, milk, and whey, For washes on a holiday, To make their beauty fair and sleek, Clare. Towards the close of the vernal season the weather gets warmer, and is generally fine and dry, or else refreshed by showers; it is, however, seldom hotter than what may be called temperate, and the nights, when the wind is northerly, are still cold. The blossoms of the fruit trees gradually go off, the grass in the meadows gets high, and partially obscures the yellow ranunculi which decorated them in spring, and by the first week in June the setting in of the solstitial season is manifest by the blowing of a new set of plants and the absence of dark night.* ALIMENTARY CALENDAR. Turtle, the great West Indian luxury, generally arrives about the latter end of May, or the beginning of June, though from the uncertainties of a sea voyage no exact period for its first appearance can be fixed. In 1814 it was so unusually late that at the magnificent banquet given in Guildhall to the Emperor of Russia and to the King of Prussia, on the 18th of June, there was no turtle to be had. A supply was announced at Portsmouth on the very day, but as this civic dignitary, like other great personages, requires much time to dress, he could not possibly be Great was the present on the occasion. disappointment of the corporation. An alderman might have apostrophised with as much fervor as Macbeth did on the absence of Banquo at supper, and with more sincerity Here had we now our table's honor roof'd, Were the grac'd person of our turtle present. Consolation, however, was probably derived from the satisfactory assurance that the arrival of the long-expected guest, after he had braved the perils of the sea, would afford another festival, for the express purpose of welcoming, and beholding him in all his glory. The weight of a turtle varies from thirty to 500 or 600 pounds, and the price from 2s. 6d. to 5s. per lb. The cooking is generally performed by a professed"artist," whose fee is from one to two guineas. Epicures of note have been known to prefer it cut into steaks and broiled, to be eaten with melted butter, Cayenne pepper, and the juice of a Seville orange, and say that the flesh thus simply dressed retains more of its true flavor than when made into callipash and calS2 Dr. T. Forster, Ency. of Na'. Phenomena. lipee. Calf's head, which is susceptible of as many culinary operations as the head of an ingenious cook can devise, forms the basis of a soup called mock-turtle, and, in cases of emergency, may serve as an augmentative ingredient to real turtle soup. Buck venison is now introduced at polite tables, and continues in season until the end of September. The price of a prime haunch is from three to five guineas. The next best joint is the neck, which is proportionably lower in value. The shoulders, breast, and scrags, generally fetch from ten to fourteen pence a pound. Forest venison is the smallest and finest flavored. In the choice of this rich meat the principal criterion is the fat, which in a young buck will be thick, bright, and clear, the cleft smooth and close a wide tough cleft denotes age. Salmon, sturgeon, lobsters, turbot, haddock, eels, and whitings, as well as crabs, prawns, and shrimps, continue generally through the summer season. After the close of this month, the John dory and the gurnet are no longer admissible. In addition to eels, carp, tench, and perch, the prince of fresh-water fish, the trout, is produced, and forms a very favorite repast during the remainder of the sum mer. SEASONABLE, PERHAPS — An old Hebrew says, "Every man of understanding knoweth wisdom," and "they that were of understanding in sayings became also wise themselves, and poured forth exquisite parables." Among the sayings and counsels of this ancient writer, he advises to "refrain thyself from thine appetites" and he helps a man who is "given to appetite," with a reason or two-"If thou givest thy soul the desires that please her, she will make thee a laughing-stock to thine enemies that malign thee. Take not pleasure in much good cheer, neither be tied to the expense thereof.-Be not made a beggar by banqueting upon borrowing, when thou hast nothing in thy purse; for thou shalt lie in wait for thine own life, and be talked on." There is much, and better matter, to the purpose, in the Book with which the preceding writer's work is occasionally bound. beans, for a full crop, about the first week, and again towards the end of the month. Scarlet and white runners, either in drill or seed beds; in the second week. Peas and beans for succession crops, as the earlier sowings appear above ground. Carrots, for drawing young; once or twice. Brocoli, purple caps, for autumnal supply; in the third or fourth week. Portsmouth, white and purple, for the following spring; in the first week. Borecole, Brussel's sprouts, and any of the brassica tribe, for succession crops; during the month. Turnip, the Dutch, and Swedish; once or twice. Cucumbers, either for picklers or for late supply; about the second week. Onions, for drawing while young, or for bulbs, to plant in the spring; in the third week. Lettuce, the coss or capuchin, for sallads; at any time. Scorzonera, salsafy, skirret; in the first or second week. Plant Potatoes, the winter main crops; throughout the month. Transplant Cabbages from the seed beds; and cauliflowers. Celery into nursery rows, or some of the strongest plants into the final trenches, for early autumnal use; in the fourth week. Attend to regularity, order, and neat ness. Epitaph on a Gardener. Beneath this sod an honest gardener's laid, In a garden there is always something required to be done, which, in the doing, tendeth to compose the mind, if it be turmoiled; or affordeth pastime, if it be weary of calmness. Therefore it is that the business of a garden is a quiet and pleasant recreation to all who are over-fatigued with thought, or disturbed with the cares of the world; and hence the wisest actors in human affairs, and the best benefactors to mankind, have in the ending of life sought gardening as a solace. |