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ments, under king William and queen Anne, were rewarded by munificent public grants, and a public funeral in Westminster-abbey.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Moss Privince Rose. Rosa muscosa. Dedicated to St. Julitta.

CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book. Dear Sir,

A great deal has been lately attempted, by men of feeling minds, to prevent wanton cruelty towards animals; which (unhappily even in this enlightened age,) is but too prevalent.

The lower class of persons, to whom the care of the horse is intrusted, frequently possess less sense than those noble animals, which groan under their tyranny; we constantly find ignorant farriers, who think that a cure can only be effected, by most violent and painful remedies. It is to these brutal men, that the lameness of so many horses may be attributed; for, not understanding the beautiful and singular construction of the interior of a horse's foot, by cutting away the hoof they contract the foot, and gradually prevent the elasticity so necessary: thus by repeated shoeing, the foot is cramped, as much so, as a man's who would attempt to walk in a shoe considerably too tight for him. Lameness ensues, and these farriers pronounce the seat of lameness any where but where it actually exists; then comes firing and blistering, and every possible torture, and the poor animal lamed for life, long before his time, is consigned to the lowest drudgery, and subsequently to the dogs.

The inhuman rate at which horses are driven in stage coaches, conduces greatly to mortality; this consumption of animal life is, in some instances, one in three annually.

Soame Jenyns, whose works are well known, and who was himself a man of the finest feelings, in a paper On Cruelty to Animals, adverts to the disciples of Pythagoras, who held that the souls of men, and all other animals, existed in a state of perpetual transmigration., and that when by death they were dislodged from one corporeal habitation, they were immediately reinstated in another, happier r more miserable, according to their be

Scame Jenyns

haviour in the former. favours this doctrine of transmigration, "first, from its justice; secondly, from its utility; and lastly, from the difficulty we lie under to account for the sufferings of many innocent creatures without it." He says, "If we look around us, we cannot but observe a great and wretched variety of this kind; numberless animals subjected by their own natures to many miseries, and by our cruelties to many more, incapable of crimes, and consequently incapable of deserving them, called into being, as far as we can discover, only to be miserable for the service or diversion of others less meritorious than themselves, without any possibility of preventing, deserving, or receiving recompense for their unhappy lot, if their whole existence is comprehended in the narrow and wretched circle of their present life." He then proceeds to observe, that "the theory here inculcated, removes all these difficulties, and reconciles all these seemingly unjust dispensations, with the strictest justice. It informs us, that their sufferings may by no means be understood, but as the just punishments of their former behaviour, in a state, where by means of their vices, they may have escaped them. It teaches us, that the pursued and persecuted fox, was once probably some crafty and rapacious minister, who had purchased by his ill acquired wealth, that safety, which he cannot now procure by his flight; that the bull, baited with all the cruelties that human ingenuity, or human malevolence can invent, was once some relentless tyrant, who had inflicted all the tortures which he endures; that the poor bird, blinded, imprisoned, and at last starved to death in a cage, may have been some unforgiving creditor; and the widowed turtle, pining away life for the loss of her mate, some fashionable wife, rejoicing at the death of her husband, which her own ill-usage had occasioned. Never can the delicious repast of roasted lobsters excite my appetite, whilst the ideas of the tortures in which those innocent creatures have expired present themselves to my imagination. But when I consider that they must have once probably been Spaniards at Mexice, or Dutchmen at Amboyna, I fall too, with a good stomach and a good conscience. Never can I repose myself with satisfaction in a post chaise, whilst I look upon the starved, foundered, accelerated, and excoriated animals which draw it, as

mere horses, condemned to such unmerited torments for my convenience, but I reflect, they must have undoubtedly existed in the fathers of the holy inquisition. I very well know that these sentiments will be treated as ludicrous by many of my readers, but they are in themselves just and serious, and carry with them the strongest probability of their truth. So strong is it, that I cannot but hope it will have some good effect on the conduct of those polite people, who are too sagacious, learned, and courageous to be kept in awe by the threats of hell and damnation; and I exhort every fine lady to consider, how wretched will be her condition, if after twenty or thirty years spent at cards, in elegant rooms, kept warm by good fires and soft carpets, she should at last be obliged to change places with one of her coach horses; and every fine gentleman to reflect, how much more wretched would be his, if after wasting his estate, his health, and his life in extravagance, indolence, and luxury, be should again revive in the situation of one of his creditors."

Besides Jenyns's suppositions, allow me to notice the crimping of fish, the skinning of eels alive, the whipping of pigs to death, to make them tender, the boiling of live crabs, having first put them in cold water to make them lively; together with the preference given to hunted hares, on account of their delicacy of muscles, softened by worry and exertion. These are but too common instances of a barbarous

taste.

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A summer sun in brightness glows,
But, ah! the blighting east wind blows,
And weighs the spirit down'
All smiling is th' enlivening ray,
That tips with silvery tinge the spray,
O'er ocean's bosom thrown!

yet, all inviting though it seems,
And tempts one forth to court its beams
For I am one who hate and dread
I tremblingly retire:

That eastern blast, and oft have fled
Its pestilences dire!

But the young shoots that round me rise
And make me old,—(though still unwise)
Feel no such fear as I
Brimful of joy they venture forth
Wind blowing west, south, east, or north,
If cloudless be the sky!

To them yet free from grief or scath,
They tripping lightly o'er the path,

With brow unwrinkled yet by care,
With spirit buoyant as the air-

Press on-and onward still,

They breathe at freedom's will.
Where shipwreck'd seamen oft deplore
The loss of all their scanty store,
In quest of shells, or various weed,
That, from the bed of ocean freed,

They rove at ebb of tide

Their anxious search abide.

At this season of enjoyment and leisure, when we derive pleasure from contemplating the beautiful forms and appearances of nature, and are grateful for annual abundance, let us reflect on the criminal heedlessness wherewith we allow our appetites and pleasures to be indulged, by needless sufferings in the animals we subdue to our wants and whims. While we endeavour to inculcate kindness in our children towards one another, let us teach them kindness to the meanest of created beings. I know that the Every-Day Book widely circulates in families; the humane sentiments that pervade it, must therefore have considerable influence, and for this reason I select as a channel for conveying a humane rug-Fit food for an immortal mind, Have sent my spirit forth to find gestion.

I am, dear Sir,

Yours sincerely,

J. B

Proud and elated with their prize,
(All eagerness with sparkling eyes,

The treasures home are brought
To me, who plunged in gloom the while,
At home have watch'd the sea bird's guile :--
Or, in a sea of thought,

Else of itself the prey!
And in th' abstraction of that mood.
Full oft I've realized the good,
We boast not every day.

VOL. I.

401

2 D

Sometimes tho', with a courage bold,
As ever faced the arctic's cold,

pace the Colonnade ;* And then am soon compelled to beat, And seek a cowardly retreat,

Within the parlour's shade!

Sometimes the place,+ warm shelter'd close, Where Sharwood's decorated house,

From roof to step all flowers,
Shines forth as Flora's temple, where
Dominion falls to sea and air ;-
Napoleonic powers!

There, snugly shelter'd from the blast,
My eyes right pensively I cast

Waere famed sir Williams's bark
Lies moor'd, awaiting the time when
That Noah of citizens again

Shall venture on such ark:

But, ah! still round the corner creeps,
That treach'rous wind! and still it sweeps
Too clean the path I tread :
Arm'd as with numerous needle points,
Its painful searchings pierce my joints,
And then capsize my head!

So home again full trot I speed,
As, after wound, the warrior's steed;
And sit me down, and sigh

O'er the hard-hearted fate of those
Who feel like me these east-wind woes
That brain and marrow try!

Again upon the sea I look,
Of nature that exhaustless book

With endless wonder fraught:
How oft upon that sea I've gazed,
Whose world of waters has amazed
Man-social or untaught.

And, spite of all that some may say,
It is the place from day to day,

Whereon the soul can dwell!

My soul enkindles at the sight
Of such accumulated might;

And loves such grandeur well!

almanacs on this day, but he stands in the Romish calendar, on the 22d of the month.

St. Alban was born at Verulam, in Hertfordshire, in the third century, and went to Rome, where he served seven years as a soldier under Dioclesian. He afterwards returned to England, became a Christian, and suffered martyrdom in 303, during the dreadful persecution raised by Dioclesian. Several miracles are said by Bede to have been wrought at his martyrdom.*

The fame of Alban, recorded as it was by Bede, made a deep impression on the minds of the superstitious. "The Ecclesiastical History" of that author, was published in 731; and in the year 795, Offa, king of the Mercians, built a monastery to the honour of Alban, on the place where he had suffered, then called by the Anglo-Saxons, Holmhurst, but since, in honour of the martyr, named St. Alban's. The town built near the abbey still retains the latter appellation; and the abbeychurch is even yet in existence, having, at the suppression of the monasteries by Henry the Eighth, been purchased by a rich clothier of the name of Stump, for 4007., and converted by him into a parochial church,for the use of the inhabitants. In the year 1257, some workmen repairing this ancient church, found the remains of some sheets of lead, containing relics, with a thick plate of lead over them, upon which was cut the following inscription :

"In hoc Mausoleo inventum est Venerabile corpus SANCTI ALBANI, Proto Martyris Anglorum."†

June 17.

J. S.

Sts. Nicandeo and Marcian, about A. D. 303. St. Botulph, Abbot, A. D. 655. St. Avitus, or Avy, A.D. 530. St. Molingus, or Dairchilla, Bp. A. D. 697. St. Prior, Hermit, 4th Cent.

St. Alban.

This saint, the proto-martyr of Britain, is in the church of England calendar and

Wellington-crescent. Albion-place.

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BATTLE OF WATERLOO

There was a sound of revelry by night,

And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men:
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when

Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell;

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell !

Did ye not hear it ?-No; 'twas but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet

To chase the glowing hours with flying fleet--

But, hark!--that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;

And nearer, nearer, deadlier than before.

Arm! arm! it is !---it is---the cannon's opening rcar/

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness;
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon nights so sweet such awful moru could rise?

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,

And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;

And the deep thunder peal on peal afar;

And near, the beat of the alarming drum

Roused by the soldier ere the morning star;

While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,

Or whispering, with white lips-"The foe! they come ! they come i'

And wild, and high, the "Cameron's gathering rose !"

The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn s hills

Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:

How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,

Savage and shrill! but with the breath which fills
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring which instils
The stirring memory of a thousand years,

And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass,

Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,

Over the unreturning brave,-alas!

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass

Which now beneath them, but above shall grow

In its next verdure, when this fiery mass

Of living valour, rolling on the foe

And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.

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These poor "Buy-a-Broom girls exactly dress now,
As Hollar etch'd such girls two cent'ries ago;
All formal and stiff, with legs, only, at ease-
Yet, pray, judge for yourself; and don't, if you please,
Like Matthews's "Chyle," in his Monolo-Play,

Cry" The Ev'ry-Day Book is quite right, I dare say;"
But ask for the print, at old print shops, (they'll show it,)
And look at it," with your own eyes," and you'll" know it."

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