Small as thou art to vulgar sight,
In beauty thou art born:—
Thou waitest on my ears at night,
Sounding thine insect horn.
The sun returns—his glory spreads
In heaven’s pure flood of light;
Thou makest thine escape from beds,
And risest with a bite.
Where’er thy lancet draws a vein,
’Tis always sure to swell;
A very molehill raised with pain
As many a maid can tell.
Yet, for thy brief epitome
Of love, life, tone and thrall;
I’d rather have a bump from thee,
Than Spurz-heim, or from Gall.
J. R. P.
Fish.
It is noted by Dr. Forster, that towards the end of July the fishery of pilchards begins in the west of England. Through August it continues with that of mullets, red surmallets, red gurnards, and several other fish which abound on our south-west coasts. In Cornwall, fish is so cheap and so commonly used as an article of food, that we remember so lately as August, 1804, the then rector of Boconnoc used to have turbot for supper, which he considered as a good foundation for a large bowl of posca, a sort of weak punch drank in that country. Having witnessed on this day in 1822, the grand Alpine view of the lake of Geneva, and the Swiss and Savoyard mountains behind it, from Mount Jura, we are reminded to present the reader with the following excellent lines which we have met with in “Fables, by Thomas Brown, the Younger,” London, 1823.
View of the Alps and the Lake of
Geneva from the Jura.
’Twas late, the sun had almost shone
His last and best, when I ran on,
Anxious to reach that splendid view
Before the daybeams quite withdrew;
And feeling as all feel, on first
Approaching scenes, where they are told
Such glories on their eyes shall burst
As youthful bards in dreams behold.