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as long as he lived. St. Amand continued at Bordeaux as a private person; but surviving St. Surin, he was a his death restored to the station from which he had descended with so much gentleness and resignation. It is among the traditions of the church of St. Surin at Bordeaux, that the cemetery belonging to it was "consecrated by Jesus Christ himself, accompanied by seven bishops, who were afterwards canonized, and were the

founders of the principal churches in Aquitaine."*

On an oval marble in Egham church, Surrey, are the following lines written by David Garrick, to the memory of the Reverend Mr. Thomas Beighton who was vicar of that church forty-five years, and died on the 23d of October, 1771, aged 73.

EPITAPH.

Near half an age, with every good man's praise,
Among his flock the shepherd passed his days;
The friend, the comfort, of the sick and poor,
Want never knock'd unheeded at his door.
Oft when his duty call'd, disease and pain
Strove to confine him, but they strove in vain.
All mourn his death: his virtues long they try'd:
They knew not how they lov'd him till he died.
Peculiar blessings did his life attend:
He had no foe, and Camden was his friend.

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AN OCTOBER SUNDAY MORNING
IN COCKNEYSHIRE.
For the Every-Day Book.
"Vat's the time, Villiam ?"
"Kevarter arter seven.'

The "Mirror of the Months" seems to reflect every object to the reader's eye; but not having read more of that work than by extract, in the Every-Day Book, I think an addendum, par hazard, may not be without truth and interest.

Rise early,—be abroad,—and after you have inspired sufficient fog to keep you coughing all day, you will see Jewboys and girls with their fathers and mothers veering forth from the purlieus of Houndsditch with sweetmeats, "ten a penny!" which information is sung, or said, ten thousand times before sunset. Now Irishmen, (except there be a fight in Copenhagen fields,) and women, are hurrying to and from mass, and the poorest creatures sit near the chapels, with all their own infants, and those of others, to excite pity, and call down the morning smile of charity. Now newsboys come along the Strand with damp sheets of intelligence folded under their arms in a greasy, dirty piece of thick (once) brown paper, or a

suitable envelope of leather. Now watercress women, or rather girls, with chubby babies hanging on one arm, and a flat basket suspended from the shoulder by a strap, stand at their station-post, near the pump, at a corner of the street. Now mechanics in aprons, with unshorn, unwashed faces, take their birds, dogs, and pipes, towards the fields, which, with difficulty, they find. Now the foot and horseguards are preparing for parade in the parks-coaches are being loaded by passengers, dressed for “a few miles out of town"-the doors of liquor-shops are in motion-prayers at St. Paul's and Westminster are responded by choristers, crowds of the lower orders create discord by the interference of the officious streetkeeper-and the "Angel" and "Elephant and Castle" are surrounded by jaunty company, arriving and departing with horses reeking before the short and longstage coaches.-Now the pious missionary drops religious tracts in the local stands of hackney coachmen, and paths leading to the metropolis.-Now nuts and walnuts slip-shelled are heaped in a basket with some dozens of the finest cracked, placed at the top, as specimens of the whole :— bullace, bilberries, sliced cocoa-nuts, apples, pears, damsons, blackberries, and oranges are glossed and piled for sale so

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imposingly, that no eye can escape them. -Now fruiterers' and druggists' windows, like six days' mourning, are half shuttered. Now the basket and bell pass your house with muffins and crumpets.* Placards are hung from newsvenders', at whose taking appearances, gossips stand to learn the fate of empires, during the lapse of hebdomadal warfare.--Now beggars carry the broom, and the great thoroughfares are in motion, and geese and game are sent to the rich, and the poor cheapen at the daring butcher's shop, for a scrag of mutton to keep company in the pot with the carrots and turnips.-Now the Israelites' little sheds are clothed with

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apparel, near which "a Jew's eye" is watching to catch the wants of the necessitous that purchase at second-hand.Now eels are sold in sand at the bridges, and steam-boats loiter about wharfs and stairs to take up stray people for Richmond and the Eel-pie house.-The destrian advocate now unbags his sticks and spreads them in array against a quiet, but public wall.-Chesnuts are just coming in, and biscuits and cordials are handed amongst the coldstreams relieving guard at Old Palace Yard, where the bands play favourite pieces enclosed by ranks and files of military men, and crowds of all classes and orders.-Now

the bells are chiming for church,-dissenters and methodists are hastening to worship-baker's counters are being covered with laden dishes and platters quakers are silently seated in their meetings, and a few sailors are surveying the stupendous dome of St. Paul's, under which the cathedral service is performing on the inside of closed iron gates.-Now the beadle searches public-houses with the blinds let down.-Now winter patterns, great coats, tippets, muffs, cloaks and pelisses are worn, and many a thinlyclad carmelite shivers along the streets. With many variations, the "Sunday Morning" passes away; and then artizans are returning from their rustication, and servants are waiting with cloths on their arms for the treasures of the oven-people are

In Bath, before Sally Lunns were so fashionable, (their origin I shall shortly acquaint you with) muffins were cried with a song, beginning

"Don't you know the muthin man?
Don't you know his name?
And don't you know the muffin-man
That lives in Bridewell-lane? &c."

I reply, yes, I did know him, and a facetious little short fellow he was, with a face as pocked as his crumpets; but his civility gained him friends and competence, virtue's just reward.

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SHOES AND BUCKLES.

The business of a shoemaker is of great antiquity. The instrument for cleaning hides, the shoemaker's bristle added to the twelfth century. He was accustomed the yarn, and his knife, were as early as to hawk his goods, and it is conjectured that there was a separate trade for annexing the soles. The Romans in classical times, wore cork soles in their shoes in winter; and as high heels were no to secure the feet from water, especially then introduced, the Roman ladies who been formed by nature, put plenty of cork wished to appear taller than they had under them. The streets of Rome in the time of Domitian were blocked up by to be removed. cobblers' stalls, which he therefore caused In the middle ages shoes and oil, soap, and grease, were the substiwere cleaned by washing with a sponge; tutes for blacking. Buckles were worn in shoes in the fourteenth century. In an Irish abbey a human skeleton was found with marks of buckles on the shoes. In England they became fashionable many years before the reign of queen Mary; the labouring people wore them of copper; other persons had them of silver, or copper-gilt not long after shoe-roses came in. Buckles revived before the revolution of 1689, remained fashionable

. See vol. i. col. 1395.

+ Fosbroke's Ency. of Antiquities. ↑ Beckmann.

Fosbroke.

till after the French revolution in 1789; and finally.became extinct before the close of the eighteenth century.

In Robert Hegg's "Legend of St. Cuthbert," reprinted at the end of Mr. Dixon's "Historical and Descriptive View of the city of Durham and its Environs," we are told of St. Goodrick, that" in his younger age he was a pedlar, and carried his moveable shop from fair to fair upon his back," and used to visit Lindisfarne, "much delighting to heare the monkes tell wonders of St. Cuthbert; which soe enflamed his devotion, that he undertooke a pilgrimage to the holy sepulchre; and by the advice of St. Cuthbert in a dreame, repayred againe to the holy land, and washing his feete in Jordan, there left his shoes, with a vow to goe barefoot all his life after."

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature . . 47.87.

October 26.

ROYAL DEBTS.

On this subject a curious notice is extracted from "the Postman, October 2628, 1708"-viz.

Adertisement.

Thames, and K. William, having found out and discovered sufficient Funds for securing a perpetual Interest for 4 Millions, without burdening the people, clogging the Trade or impairing the Revenue; and all their debts not amounting to near that Sum; the more to strengthen their interest, and to find the greater favour with the Parliament, have agreed that the Army and Transports Debentures and other Parliament Debts may if they please, joyn with them, and it is not expected that any great Debts shall pay any Charge for carrying on this Act, until it be happily accomplished, and no more will be expected afterwards than what shall be readily agreed to before hand, neither shall any be hindered from taking any other measures, if there should be but a suspicion of miscarriage, which is impossible if they Unite their Interest. They continue to meet by the Parliament Stairs in Old Palace-yard, there is a Note on the Door, where daily attendance is given

He Creditors of King Charles, K.

from 10 in the Morning till 7 at Night; if any are not apprehensive of the certainty of the Success, they may come and have full satisfaction, that they may have their Money if they will.

NELSON

The notice of the battle wherein this il

illustrious admiral received his deathwound, (on the 21st,) might have been properly accompanied by the following quotation from a work which should be put into the chest of every boy on his going to sea. It is so delightfully written, as to rivet the attention of every reader whether mariner or landsman.

"The death of Nelson was felt in England as something more than a public calamity: men started at the intelligence, and turned pale, as if they had heard of the loss of a dear friend. An object of our admiration and affection, of our pride and of our hopes, was suddenly taken from us; and it seemed as if we had never, till then, known how deeply we loved and reverenced him. What the country had lost in its great naval herothe greatest of our own, and of all former times was scarcely taken into the account of grief. So perfectly, indeed, had he performed his part, that the maritime war, after the battle of Trafalgar, was considered at an end: the fleets of the enemy were not merely defeated, but destroyed: new navies must be built, and a new race of seamen reared for them, before the possibility of their invading our shores could again be contemplated. It was not, therefore, from any selfish reflection upon the magnitude of our loss that we mourned for him: the general sorrow was of a higher character. of England grieved that funeral ceremonies, public monuments, and posthumous rewards, were all which they could now bestow upon him, whom the king, the legislature, and the nation, would alike have delighted to honour; whom every tongue would have blessed; whose presence in every village through which he might have passed would have awakened the church bells, have given schoolboys a holiday, have drawn children from their sports to gaze upon him, and old men from the chimney corner' to look upon Nelson, ere they died. The victory of Trafalgar was celebrated, indeed, with the usual forms of rejoicing, but they were without joy; for such already was the

The people

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glory of the British navy, through Nelson's surpassing genius, that it scarcely seemed to receive any addition from the most signal victory that ever was achieved upon the seas and the destruction of this mighty fleet, by which all the maritime schemes of France were totally frustrated, hardly appeared to add to our security or strength; for while Nelson was living, to watch the combined squadrons of the enemy, we felt ourselves as secure as now, when they were no longer in existence.—There was reason to suppose, from the appearances upon opening the body, that, in the course of nature, he might have attained, like his father, to a good old age. Yet he cannot be said to have fallen prematurely whose work was done; nor ought he to be lamented, who died so

full of honours, and at the height of human fame. The most triumphant death is that of the martyr; the most awful, that of the martyred patriot; the most splendid, that of the hero in the hour of victory and if the chariot and the horses of fire had been vouchsafed for Nelson's translation, he could scarcely have departed in a brighter blaze of glory."

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Baked Wardens-all hot! Who knows what I have got?"

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR. Mean Temperature... 46. 30.

October 29.

CTOBER IN LONDON.

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On looking into the "Mirror of the Months," we find "a lively portraiture" of the season.-" October is to London what April is to the country; it is the spring of the London summer, when the hopes of the shopkeeper begin to bud forth, and he lays aside the insupportable labour of having nothing to do, for the delightful leisure of preparing to be in a perpetual bustle. During the last month or two he has been strenuously endeavouring to persuade himself that the Steyne at Brighton is as healthy as Bondstreet; the pavé of Pall Mall no more picturesque than the Pantiles of Tunbridge Wells; and winning a prize at one-cardloo at Margate, as piquant a process as serving a customer to the same amount of profit. But now that the time is returned when business' must again be attended to, he discards with contempt all such mischievous heresies, and reembraces the only orthodox faith of a London shopkeeper that London and his shop are the true beauteous and sublime' of human life. In fact, now is the winter of his discontent' (that is to say, what other people call summer) 'made glorious summer by the near approach of winter; and all the wit he is master of is put in requisition, to devise the means of proving that every thing he has offered to his friends the public,' up to this particular period, has become worse than obsolete. cordingly, now are those poets of the shopkeepers, the inventors of patterns, 'perplexed in the extreme; since, unless they can produce a something which shall necessarily supersede all their previous productions, their occupation's gone.-It is the same with all other caterers for the public taste; even the literary ones. Mr. Elliston, [or his fortunate successor, if one there be,] ever anxious to contribute to the amusement of his liberal patrons, the public,' is already busied in sowing the seeds of a new tragedy, two operatic romances, three grand romantic melo-dramas, and half a dozen farces, in the fertile soil of those poets whom he employs in each of these departments respectively;

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BEGINNING OF "FIRES."

In October, fires have fairly gained possession of their places, and even greet us on coming down to breakfast in the morning. Of all the discomforts of that most comfortless period of the London year which is neither winter nor summer, the most unequivocal is that of its being too cold to be without a fire, and not cold enough to have one. A set of polished fire-irons, standing sentry beside a pile of dead coals imprisoned behind a row of glittering bars, instead of mending the matter, makes it worse; inasmuch as it is better to look into an empty coffin, than to see the dead face of a friend in it. At the season in question, especially in the evening, one feels in a perpetual perplexity, whether to go out or stay at home; sit down or walk about; read, write, cast accounts, or call for the candle and go to bed. But let the fire be lighted, and all uncertainty is at an end, and we (or even one) may do any or all of these with equal satisfaction. In short, light but the fire, and you bring the winter in at once; and what are twenty summers, with all their sunshine (when they are gone,) to one winter, with its indoor sunshine of a seacoal fire ?*

Mr Leigh Hunt, who on the affairs of "The Months" is our first authority, pleasantly inquires-" With our fire before us, and our books on each side, what shall we do? Shall we take out a life of somebody, or a Theocritus, or Dante, or Ariosto, or Montaigne, or Marcus Aurelius, or Horace, or Shakspeare who includes them all? Or shall we read an engraving from Poussin or Raphael? Or shall we sit with tilted chairs, planting our wrists upon our knees, and toasting the up-turned palms of our hands, while we discourse of manners and of man's heart and hopes, with at least a sincerity, a good intention, and good nature, that shall warrant what we say with the sincere, the good-intentioned, and the goodnatured?"-He then agreeably brings us

• Mirror of the Months.

to the mantlepiece.

"Ah-take care.

You see what that old looking saucer is, with a handle to it? It is a venerable piece of earthenware, which may have been worth, to an Athenian, about twopence; but to an author, is worth a great deal more than ever he could-deny for it. And yet he would deny it too. It will fetch his imagination more than ever it fetched potter or penny-maker. Its little shallow circle overflows for him with the milk and honey of a thousand pleasant associations. This is one of the uses of having mantlepieces. You may often

see on no very rich mantlepiece a repre-
sentative body of all the elements, phy-
sical and intellectual,— -a shell for the sea,
a curious piece of mineral for the earth, a
a stuffed bird or some feathers for the air,
glass of water with some flowers in it for
the visible process of creation,-a cast from
sculpture for the mind of man;—and un-
derneath all, is the bright and ever-spring-
ing fire, running up through them heaven-
wards, like hope through materiality.”

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature... 46. 02.

October 30.

YEOMEN OF THE GUARD.

On this day in the year 1485, when king Henry VII. was crowned at Westminster, he instituted the body of royal attendants, called yeomen of the guard, who in later times acquired the appellation of "beef-eaters."

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature... 47. 17.

October 31

HALLOW EVE.

The superstitious observances of this
night, described in the former volume,
are fast disappearing. In some places
where young people were acustomed to
meet for purposes of divination, and fre-
quently frighten each other into fits, as
of ancient custom, they have little regard
to the old usages.
The meetings cn
Hallow-eve are becoming pleasant merry-
makings; the dance prevails till supper-
time, when they take a cheerful glass
and drink to their next happy meeting.

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature... 47 62.

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