July 8.
Chronology.
July 8, 1533, Ariosto, the celebrated Italian poet, died at Ferrara: he was born in 1474, at the castle of Reggio in Lombardy.
The Season.
In high summer, persons accustomed to live “well” should diminish the usual quantity of their viands and fluids: wine should be taken very sparingly, and spirituous liquors seldom. Habits of indulgence at this period of the year fill many graves.
It may not be amiss to cite
A Curious Advertisement,
From the Bahama Gazette, June 30, 1795.
WHEREAS the subscriber, through the pernicious habit of drinking, has greatly hurt himself in purse and person, and rendered himself odious to all his acquaintance, and finding there is no possibility of breaking off from the said practice, but through the impossibility to find the liquor; he therefore begs and prays that no persons will sell him, for money or on trust, any sort of spirituous liquors, as he will not in future pay it, but will prosecute any one for an action of damage against the temporal and eternal interests of the public’s humble, serious, and sober servant,
James Chalmers.
Witness William Andrews.
Nassau, June 28, 1795.
Arrivals Extraordinary.
At the commencement of July, 1826, hedgehogs were seen wandering along the most public streets of Oldham, in Lancashire, during the open day. It is presumed that, as the brooks from which these animals were wont to be supplied with drink had been dried up from the long-continued drought, they were obliged to throw themselves upon the mercy and protection of their “good neighbours in the town.”[250]
In this month we have a host of whizzing insects to prevent our lassitude becoming downright laziness. From the kind of resentment they excite, we may pretty well imagine the temper and disposition of the persons they provoke.
The Drowning Fly.
In yonder glass behold a drowning fly!
Its little feet how vainly does it ply!
Its cries we hear not, yet it loudly cries,
And gentle hearts can feel its agonies!
Poor helpless victim—and will no one save?
Will no one snatch thee from the threat’ning wave?
Is there no friendly hand—no helper nigh,
And must thou, little struggler—must thou die?
Thou shalt not, whilst this hand can set thee free,
Thou shalt not die—this hand shall rescue thee!
My finger’s tip shall prove a friendly shore,
There, trembler, all thy dangers now are o’er.
Wipe thy wet wings, and banish all thy fear;
Go, join thy num’rous kindred in the air.
Away it flies; resumes its harmless play;
And lightly gambols in the golden ray.
Smile not, spectators, at this humble deed;
For you, perhaps, a nobler task’s decreed.
A young and sinking family to save:
To raise the infant from destruction’s wave!
To you, for help, the victims lift their eyes—
Oh! hear, for pity’s sake, their plaintive cries;
Ere long, unless some guardian interpose,
O’er their devoted heads the flood may close!