And eaten raw, and cold, and fresh!
The tenth of August is the festival of St. Lawrence. He suffered martyrdom at Rome, being roasted to death on a red-hot grate of iron. The church of St. Lawrence in London is dedicated to him, and has a gridiron on the steeple for a vane.
The fifteenth of this month is what is called Assumpsion day by the Catholics. It is a great festival with them, and is designed to commemorate the assumption, or taking up of the Virgin Mary into heaven. It is one of the most famous of the Romish festivals, and is celebrated in France, Italy, and other Catholic countries, with processions, songs, ceremonies, and every variety of religious pageantry.
If we may be permitted to say a word to the farmers, we would advise them to declare a war of extermination on the thistles in and about their premises. It is said by some correct cultivators, that if the Canada thistle is cut in August, before its seed is ripe, it will die in an accommodating manner; because the stalk, which is hollow, will fill with water and destroy the root.
It is also said, if you cut bushes in the old of the moon in August, you will destroy them root and branch. We doubt if the moon will interfere in the matter; but August is the best time for cutting bushes, because vegetation having come to a close for the season, the bushes will not so readily sprout again from the roots.
Bill and the Boys.
DIRK HELDRIVER.
I recollect, one winter evening, when Bill and myself, with three or four young companions, were assembled around the fire of the “Cock and Bull,” it chanced to be Bill’s turn to tell a story. It was a wild night, for the wind blew, and the sleet rattled against the windows, as the heavy gusts swept round the corner of the old tavern. When Bill was about to begin his story, I could see that his cheek was a little pale, and his eye glistened as if there were something extraordinary in his mind. At length, he began, and related the following story, as nearly as I can recollect it.
About sixty miles north of the city of New York, a range of lofty highlands crosses the Hudson, nearly from west to east, which passes under the name of the Fishkill mountains. The river has cut away this mighty barrier for the space of two or three miles, but it rises on either side and lifts its blue summits almost to the clouds. At the foot of the eastern portion of this range is now the pretty village of Fishkill, and scattered along the banks of the river are the luxurious country-seats of the De Wints, Verplancks, and other old Dutch families.
But our story goes back for nearly a century, to a period when there were only a few scattered settlements along the banks of this noble river, and while yet the savage, the bear, and the panther were found in the forest. At this time, a man, who bore the semblance of a gentleman, purchased a large tract of land along the bank of the river, and at the distance of two or three miles from the eastern branch of the mountains we have described. Here he caused a large mansion to be constructed in the Dutch fashion, and having laid out his grounds with considerable care, he removed hither with his wife, and a large retinue of servants. He bore the name of Hielder, and supported the style and figure of a man of fortune.