MERRY’S MUSEUM.
Vol. VIII. JULY, 1844. No. 1.
“Now comes July, and with his fervid noon
Unsinews labor. The swinkt mower sleeps;
The weary maid walks feebly; the warm swain
Pitches his load reluctant; the faint steer,
Lashing his sides, draws sulkily along
The slow, encumbered wain in midday heat.”
Such is the picture of this month, drawn by an old English poet. With us the heat is still greater than in England; yet the farmers keep busily at work in the fields; and, to say truth, it is about as comfortable to be at work, as to be idle.
Leigh Hunt, speaking of this month in England, says, “The heat in this month is greatest on account of its duration. There is a sense of heat and quiet all over nature. The birds are silent. The little brooks are dried up. The earth is parched. The shadows of the trees are particularly grateful, heavy and still. The oaks, which are freshest, because latest in leaf, form noble, clumpy canopies, looking, as you lie under them, of a strong emulous green, against the blue sky. The traveller delights to cut across the country, through the fields and the leafy lanes, where nevertheless the flints sparkle with heat. The cattle get into the shade, or stand in the water. The active and air-cutting swallows, now beginning to assemble for migration, seek their prey among the shady places, where the insects, though of differently compounded natures, ‘fleshless and bloodless,’ seem to get for coolness, as they do at other times for warmth. The sound of insects is likewise the only audible sound now, increasing rather than lessening the sense of quiet by its gentle contrast. The bee now and then sweeps across the ear with his gravest tone. The gnats
‘Their murmuring mall trumpets sounden wide,’
and here and there, the little musician of the grass touches forth his tricksy note.
‘The poetry of earth is never dead;
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new mown mead;
That is the grasshopper’s.’
“Besides some of the flowers of the last month, there are candy-tufts, catch-fly, columbines, egg plant, French marigold, lavateras, marvel of Peru, verducas, tube roses, which seem born of the white rose and lily; and scarlet beans, which, though we are apt to think little of them, because they furnish us with a good vegetable, are quick and beautiful growing, and in a few weeks will hang a walk or trellis, with an exuberant tapestry of scarlet and green.
“The fruits begin to abound, and are more noticed in proportion to the necessity for them, occasioned by the summer heat. The strawberries are in their greatest quantity and perfection; and currants, gooseberries and raspberries, have a world of juice for us, prepared as it were, in so many crowds of little bottles, in which the sunshine has turned the dew of April into wine. The strawberry lurks about under a beautiful leaf. Currants are also extremely beautiful. A handsome bunch looks like pearls, or rubies, and an imitation of it would make a most graceful earring.
“It is now the season for bathing; a refreshment too little taken in this country, either in summer or winter. We say in winter, because with very little care in placing it in a cistern, and having a leathern pipe for it, a bath may be easily filled once or twice a week with warm water; and it is a vulgar error that the warm bath relaxes.”
Military Chivalry.—“I heard once,” said Father Phil, “a pretty little bit of an anecdote about the way the French behaved to one of our Irish regiments on a retreat in Spain. They were going through a river—they were—and the French, taking advantage of their helpless condition, were peppering away at them hard and fast, until some women ran down, poor creatures, to the shore, and the stream was so deep in the middle that they could scarcely ford it; so some dragoons, who were galloping as fast as they could out of the fire, pulled up on seeing the condition of the womankind, and each horseman took up a woman behind him, though it diminished his own power of flying from the danger. The moment the French saw this act of manly courage, they ceased firing, and gave a cheer for the dragoons; and as long as the women were within gun-shot, not a trigger was pulled in the French line, but volleys of cheers instead of ball cartridges, were sent after the brigade till all the women were over.”
