serve to indicate the habits of the whole family, and induce lovers of Natural History to watch the proceedings of the butcher-birds in their neighbourhoods. Here we must conclude our remarks on the first great order of birds-the Raptores. We have now before us the history of less warlike tribes, and our attention will be directed to the manners of those varied multitudes which fill our woods with rich harmonies, or excite our admiration by their singular habits and curious instincts. PRESENCE OF MIND. PRESENCE of mind may be described as the power of determining what is fittest to be done upon any sudden occasion, and under adverse circumstances, and of carrying the design into immediate execution with such success as to lead one to suppose it an action of calm deliberation. It is, in short, the union of rapid thought and self-command. This power is possessed by individuals in very different degrees. Minds are so diversely constituted, that we often see the same circumstances producing quite opposite effects. Thus an emergency, that totally unnerves one man, is just sufficient to call the powers of another into full activity. Whilst the former cannot act at all, but seems reduced to a state of mental paralysis, the latter applies himself with calm energy to the difficulties of the case, and escapes the perils that appeared inevitable, by an intuitive selection of the only path that could lead him out in safety. Presence of mind is more generally diffused amongst men than women, but, perhaps, the most striking isolated examples are told of females. Most people have heard of the mother, who, seeing her infant so near the edge of a precipice that the slightest advance would hurl the little creature to destruction, had the presence of mind to suppress the scream of alarm that was on the point of breaking out. Simply whispering the little creature's name, and at the same time baring her breast, she drew it from its dangerous position into the safe haven of her arms. When presence of mind is combined with fortitude, the compound is very admirable; and there are few things that show, in a greater degree, the power of the mind over the body. The following circumstances, which took place a few years ago in an English county, are a pointed illustration of this unusual combination of qualities: "A young couple, named Aubrey, inhabited a tolerably large house in the village of, in Norfolk. The house-an old one-was built in a garden of considerable size, and had no other occupants than the gentleman and lady just mentioned, their infant, rather more than a year old, and a single female domestic, who had not been very long in their service. Every evening at nine o'clock a silence the most complete reigned throughout the village; at ten the lights in the different houses began to be extinguished, and in a short time no ray disturbed the blank darkness. It must have been a very extraordinary circumstance if any steps were after wards heard in the street. Judge, then, of the utter solitude of a house screened by elms and sycamores, and standing three or four hundred yards from the public way. One evening, in the month of November, Mrs. Aubrey was in the house, awaiting the return of her husband, whom some affair of business had called away in the morning, to a town about six miles distant. He expected to receive a considerable sum of money in the course of the day, and his wife had prevailed upon him to take a pair of pistols, as he anticipated being detained until after nightfall. About six o'clock in the evening Mrs. Aubrey went up-stairs, accompanied by the servant, for the purpose of putting the child to bed. The room was on the first-floor, a large apartment looking into the garden. The wainscot darkened by time, the heavy furniture, some family portraits with sedate countenances and in ancient costumes. gave the room a somewhat gloomy appearance. Opposite to the chimney there was a deep recess, in which stood the bed; and near this was placed the child's cradle. The curtains were drawn, but one corner had caught by accident on some piece 1 of furniture, and a post of the bed was exposed; a fine massive piece of carving, on which some cabinetmaker of yore had expended no slight amount of skill and patience. "The night was dark and melancholy, quite in character with the time of year. Gusts of wiri rattled on the windows, dashing the rain violently against the glass. The trees in the garden, bending under the sudden currents of air, occasionally struck the house-side—a gloomy and monotonous concert this-and no human voice mingled in it to promise assistance in case of need. Mrs. Aubrey seated herself on a low chair at a corner of the hearth. The light of the fire, and that of a lamp placed on the chimney-piece, striking some objects in full, and leaving others in darkness, made all kinds of strange effects by their opposition or com bination. The child, which fully occupied her attention, sat on her knee, whilst the servant executed some commands of her mistress at the other end of the room. Being about to complete the child's readiness for its couch, the mother turned towards the cradle to see that it was prepared, and just at the moment, a bright flame shooting out, threw a strong light upon the recess. Conceive. if you can, her astonishment, and the start st gave, when, under the bed, and at the place where the curtain had been lifted up, she perceived, 25 plain as ever she saw anything in her life, a pair et thick clouted boots, in such a position that it was evident they contained feet. In an instant, a wor.. of thoughts rushed through her brain, and the utter helplessness of her situation flashed upon her. I did not admit of a doubt that a man was there wit some evil intention, either to rob or murder. Her husband would probably not reach home befor eight, and it was then scarcely half-past six. Mr. Aubrey, however, possessed sufficient command over herself not to do what a thousand other men would have done, namely, fall to shrieking To all appearance, the man had reckoned upe: staying where he was for a considerable time; per haps he had intended to remain until midnight, ari then carry off the money that Mr. Aubrey was to receive; but, if obliged to come out of his lurkingplace now, he might revenge himself upon the tw defenceless women, and stop all information of theirs by putting them to death. Then, who cou tell? perhaps the servant herself might be in league with the fellow. Indeed, there had been of late certain grounds of suspicion, as regards the gr which Mrs. Aubrey had disregarded, but they now forced themselves on her mind. All these reflections occurred to her in much less time than I have taken to put them down. "She came to a determination at once. She first thought of some pretext to get the servant out of the room: Mary,' she said, with as steady a voice as she could assume, you know what your master will like for supper; I wish you would go and make it ready. He will be pleased, I am sure, that we have thought of it.'-'Will you not need me here, as usual, ma'am?' inquired the girl. No; I can do all myself, thank you; go and cook as nice a supper as you can; for I am sure my husband ought to have something nice after a long ride, and in such weather.' After some delay, which doubled her mistress's anxiety, although she endeavoured to repress it, the servant quitted the room. The sounds of her footsteps died away on the stairs, and then Mrs. Aubrey truly felt herself alone,-yet the two feet remained there, in their shadowy concealment, without stirring. She kept near the fire, holding the infant on her lap, now and then speaking to it, but only mechanically, for she could not remove her eyes from that horrible sight. The poor child cried to be at rest, but the cradle was near the bed, and under the bed were those frightful feet,-it was impossible to go near them. She made a violent effort, however Come, then, darling!' she murmured; and, lifting the child in her arms, and supporting herself on her trembling limbs, she went towards the cradle. She is now beside the feet!-she places the baby in its little nest; concealing, as well as she can, the tremors of her voice, she rocks the cradle in time to the song she usually sings. All the time she sang, she kept fancying a dagger was lifted up to strike her, and there was no one to succour her. Well, baby fell asleep, and Mrs. Aubrey returned to her seat near the fire. She durst not quit the room, for that might excite the suspicion of the man, and the servant, who was probably his accomplice; besides, she wished to remain near her infant. It was now no more than seven-an hour -still a full hour before her husband would reach home! Her eyes are chained, by a species of fascination, to the two feet;-she cannot direct them to any other object. A profound silence reigns in the room; baby sleeps peacefully; its mother sits motionless a statue; her hands crossed on her lap, her lips half open, her eyes fixed, and her breast has a fearful tightness across it. "Now and then there was a noise without in the garden, and Mrs. Aubrey's heart leaped within her, for she imagined it announced her husband's arrival and her own deliverance. But no, not yet; she was deceived; it was merely the sound of the wind, or the rain, on the trees. She might be the only being in the world, so deep and mournful was the silence. Every minute seemed an age. Look! look! the feet stir. Is the man coming out of his concealment? No, it was nothing but a slight movement, perhaps involuntarily made to ease an unpleasant position. Again the two feet are quiet. “The clock is audible once more, but it is only to chime the half-hour. Half-past seven; no more than half-past seven! Oh, how full of anguish was every minute! Repeatedly she addressed prayers on High for a period to this hideous suspense. Upon the chimney-piece there was a book of religious meditation; she reached it, and tried to read. In vain!-her eyes wandered off the page continually to see if the clouted boots were still under the bed. Then a new source of anxiety shot through her head-What, if her husband does not come after all! The weather was bad, and his parents, who lived in the town whither he had gone, might prevail upon him to remain with them over night. She would not be astonished if he complied, especially as he had a good deal of money about his person. Heavens!-What, if he come not at all! "Eight o'clock has struck, and there is no arrival. The possibility her active brain suggested becomes every moment more and more probable. For two hours did this agonized female bear up against her thoughts, but at length it became hopeless to hope. Hark! Is that a noise? She has been deceived so often before, she is afraid to believe her senses, and yet, this time, there is no deception. The entrance-door opens, is closed; steps come along the lobby, and mount the stairs the room door turns on its hinges. Yes, 'tis he! it is her husband! But if it had been a stranger, he would have seemed a messenger from heaven. Well, in he walked, a fine athletic figure. Down go the pistols upon the table; off comes the cloak, thoroughly soaked, I can tell you;—a happy man was he to see all he loved dearest in the world. He stretched his hands to his wife, who grasped them convulsively; but, exercising her wonderful self-command once more, she stifled her emotion, and, without uttering a word, she placed a finger on her lips, and pointed with the other hand to the two feet. If Mr. Aubrey had doubted for a moment what to do, he had not deserved to be the husband of such a woman. By a sign, he made her comprehend his meaning, and then said, 'Just wait one moment, my dear wife; I have left my portfolio down-stairs, I will step for it.' He was not two minutes absent; he came back with a pistol, the charge of which he had examined. He advanced towards the bed, and then seized one of the feet with his left hand, whilst with his right he held the pistol, ready to fire in case of need. "If you resist,' cried he, with a voice of thunder, you are a dead man!' 6 The person to whom the feet belonged did not seem inclined to put this contingency to the test. He was dragged into the middle of the floor, crouching under the pistol that was pointed at his head. He was then searched, and a poniard, carefully concealed, was found upon him. He was a thorough scoundrel in his appearance, and he confessed to have been in league with the female servant, who had told him he might expect a rich booty that night. All this time the infant was never quite awakened. "Both the criminals were handed over to justice; both were convicted upon trial, and punished. Notwithstanding Mrs. Aubrey's temporary courage, she was attacked the same evening with a violent nervous disorder, and some time elapsed before it quite left her." TO-MORROW is still the fatal time when all is to be rectified. To-morrow comes-it goes-and still I please myself with the shadow, while I lose the reality; unmindful that the present time alone is ours, the future is yet unborn, and the past is dead, and can only live (as parents in their children) in the actions it has produced.-Budgell. number of years, but by the use that has been made of THE time we live ought not to be computed by the it; thus, it is not the extent of ground, but the yearly rent, which gives the value to the estate.-Ibid. THE fear of the consequences of sin, exhibits itself in various gradations in those who are gradually and consciously approaching the common end; and shows, however it may be disguised, that the remembrance even of deviations from the course of right, corrodes the heart, and diminishes the sum of happiness.-Ogle's Biographical Preface to the Spectator. POPULAR YEAR BOOK. July 9.-Every year on this day, the eve of the great fair at Wolverhampton, there was formerly a procession of men in antique armour, preceded by musicians playing the fair tune, and followed by the steward of the deanery manor, the peace-officers, and many of the principal inhabitants. Tradition affirms that the ceremony originated when Wolverhampton was a great emporium of wool, and resorted to by merchants of the staple from all parts of England. The necessity of an armed force to keep peace and order during the fair, (which is said to have lasted fourteen days,) is not improbable. This custom of walking the fair, as it was called, with the armed procession, &c., was first omitted about the year 1789. July 10.- In the night of the 10th of July, 1212, within four years after the completion of Londonbridge, a dreadful conflagration took place upon it. Stow's account of this catastrophe is as follows: "The borough of Southwark upon the south side of the river Thames, as also the church of the Lady of the Canons there, (now called St. Saviour's,) being on fire, and an exceeding great multitude of people passing the bridge, either to extinguish and quench it, or else to gaze and behold it; suddenly the north part, by blowing of the south wind was also set on fire; and the people which were even now passing the bridge, perceiving the same, would have returned but were stopped by the fire and it came to pass, that as they stayed or protracted the time, the other end of the bridge also, namely the south end, was fired; so the people, thronging themselves between the two fires, did nothing else but expect present death. Then there came to aid them many ships and vessels, into which the multitude so unadvisedly rushed, that the ships being thereby drowned, they all perished. It was said, that through the fire and shipwrecks, there were destroyed above three thousand persons, whose bodies were found in part or half burned, besides those that were wholly burned to ashes, and could not be found." July 12.-Erasmus Desiderius, one of the most eminent scholars of the age in which he flourished, departed this life at Basil, on this day, 1536. He was born at Rotterdam in 1467, being the illegitimate son of one Gerrard, by the daughter of a physician. When he was only nine years of age his father died, and the orphan was left to the care of three guardians, who determined on bringing him up to the monastic life that they might enjoy his patrimony. With this design, they removed him from one convent to another, till at last, in 1486, he took the habit among the canons regular at Stein, near Tergou. The conventual life being disagreeable to him, he accepted an invitation from the Archbishop of Cambray, to reside with him. During his abode with this prelate he was ordained priest, but in 1496, he went to Paris, and supported himself by giving private lectures. In 1497, he visited England, and met with a kind reception from the most eminent scholars. On his return to the Continent he spent twelve years in France, Italy, and the Netherlands, and during that time he published several works of great merit. In 1506, he took his doctor's degree at Turin, and went to Bologna, where he continued some time. Thence he removed to Venice, and resided with the famous Aldus Manutius. From Venice he went to | Padua and Rome, where many offers were made him. to settle; but having received an invitation from Henry VIII., he came to England again in 1510; wrote his "Praise of Folly," while residing with Sir Thomas More, and was appointed Margaret Professor of Divinity or Greek Lecturer at Cambridge. In 1514, he once more returned to the Continent, and lived chiefly at Basil, where he prepared his edition of the New Te tament with a Latin translation; and his celebrated Colloquies," which gave such offence to the monks, that they used to say, "Erasmus laid the egg which i Luther hatched." With Luther, however, he was at open hostility. July 15.-St. Swithin's Day. St. Swithin, or Swithan, who is commemorated by the English and Latin Churches on this day, was born of noble Saxon parents. He received the holy order of priesthood from Helmstan, Bishop of Winchester, and was appointed by him President of the Old Monastery in that city. He early distinguished himself for lite rary acquirements. Egbert, King of the West Saxons not only appointed him his priest, but confided to him the education of the good Prince Ethelwolf, (the father of Alfred the Great,) on whose accession to the throne. A. D. 835, Swithin became Sub-deacon of Winchester and Lord Chancellor. On the decease of Helmstan he succeeded him in his Bishopric, which he ably filled until his death, A. D. 862. There is a popular adage, That if it rains on St. Swithin's Festival, there will be rain the next forty days afterwards, and vice versâ. It has been expressed in rhyme as follows:— St. Swithin's Day, if thou dost rain, In Poor Robin's Almanack for 1697, this opinion, to gether with one of St. Swithin's reputed miracles, is thus noticed : "In this month is St. Swithin's Day, And to make hay while sun doth shine, Which idle monks and friars devise.” We do not agree with the sweeping charge against the mediæval Ecclesiastical Chroniclers contained in Robin's concluding lines. The origin of the above proverb is rather obscure. It is supposed, however, ta have taken its rise from the following circumstances St. Swithin desired that he might be buried in the open churchyard, and not in the chancel of the minster, as was usual with other bishops, and his re quest was complied with; but the monks, upon h canonization, considering it disgraceful for the sain. to be in a public cemetery, resolved to remove his relics into the choir, which was to have been don with solemn procession on the 15th of July; it rained however, so violently for forty days together at this! season, that their design was abandoned; and, instead they erected a chapel over his grave, at which many miracles are said to have been wrought. "Withert disputing," observes Brady, "the fact from which the popular fancy sprang, which is very probable to have been the case; there is, nevertheless, not any occasion to have recourse to a miracle to account for such a phenomenon. Experience has amply shown, that, whenever a wet season sets in about the middle of June to the middle of July, at which time the heat of the sun is usually the most intense, it generally continues till nearly the end of the summer, when the action of that orb has considerably abated; the rain affording matter for exhalation, always naturally the strongest at the hottest period of the year, and those exhalations yielding in return matter for rain." Rain on St. Swithin's Day is noticed in some places by this old saying, "St. Swithin is christening the apples." July 18-Petrarch, or Petrarca Francesco, the illus trious bard of Italy, put off mortality on this day, 1374. He was born at Arezzo in 1304. On account of the dissensions which raged in his native country, his father removed him to Avignon, and afterwards to Carpentras. At these places, and at Montpellier and Bologna, he received his education. He was designed for the law; but, on the decease of his parents, took Holy Orders, and followed literary pursuits. Having settled at Avignon, he became enamoured of the beautiful Laura de Noves; but, though he lauded her charms in odes and sonnets, he failed to obtain her affection. After having travelled in the vain hope of moderating his love, he settled at Vaucluse, a romantic spot, where he wrote some of his finest works. His literary reputation attracted the regards of princes; he was invited to Paris, to Naples, and to Rome, and received the laurel crown in the last city, wherein the titles and prerogatives of Poet Laureate were revived after a lapse of 1300 years. In 1348 his feelings were deeply wounded by the death of Laura. He survived her, however, nearly thirty years. Palm Leaves. MAHADI. MAHADI, the son of the Caliph Almansor, was quite as extravagant as his father had been covetous; he squandered with carelessness what had been amassed with painful economy. He lived only for his own pleasure, and sacrificed everything to his self-gratification; he cared little for the welfare of his state and its inhabitants, and left all to the control of his ministers, who, taking advantage o his careless indifference, sought only the advancement of their own insatiable selfishness. One day, as Mahadi was out hunting a gazelle, he outstripped his followers, and lost himself in a wilderness. Night drew on; he was hungry, thirsty, and tired after his long chase, and he had half made up his mind that he must pass the night on the bare ground under the blue vault of heaven. when suddenly he observed in the distance a solitary tent. Mahadi gathered all his strength to reach the tent before it became quite dark. Its inhabitant, an old Arab, came out directly he beheld him, helped him to dismount from his horse, treated him, as is usual among Arabs, with the greatest hospitality, and inquired, in amazement, how he came into that wilderness. The Caliph did not discover himself, but replied that he belonged to the followers of the Caliph, and had lost himself in the chase. "How do you manage to live in this desert?" asked he of the old Arab. "What you now see as a desert was not always so," answered he. "The whole of the surrounding country was inhabited by many Arab and Turkoman tribes, who made a good subsistence by traffic and agriculture, and willingly paid a large tribute to the Caliph." "And why is it no longer so?" said Mahadi, with curiosity. "It could not end otherwise," returned the Arab, with candour. "Almansor was a good prince; he reigned himself, and did not give the government of his faithful subjects into the hands of avaricious and deceitful governors, like our present Caliph, Mahadi. If the latter continue to interest himself thus little in the government, it will not be long ere there are more such deserts as this in his dominions." Mahadi now, for the first time, heard a truth with which he certainly would not have become acquainted had he discovered himself to the Arab. The free open-heartedness of the old man did not offend him, but it awakened in him a determination to keep a sharper eye upon his deputies, and in future to interest himself more actively in the government. The laws of Mahomet forbid the use of wine, and the Arab considered some time before he ventured to offer any to his guest. He did so at last, when he saw how sorely exhausted he was, and did not meet with a refusal. With warm hospitality he brought out a pitcher, and rejoiced that he had it in his power to refresh the stranger. Mahadi took a good draught, and thereupon assured his kind host that he should not have reason to regret his friendly reception of him; he was, he said, one of the chief servants of the Caliph, and would not forget him. The Arab rejoiced that he had the honour to entertain so noble a guest; he sought to gain his favour, and redoubled his attentions. Mahadi drank once more of the wine, and found himself not only refreshed, but inspirited. After a third draught, "I must tell you," said he, quite confidentially, to his host, "that I am the favourite of the Caliph, and manage all his affairs; in return for your hospitality to me, he shall load you with beneficence." The Arab reverentially kissed the seam of his guest's robe, and entreated him to command everything his home afforded, and not to spare the wine, if he found it to his taste. By degrees Mahadi ceased to require pressing, and became quite merry and talkative. At last he took the old Arab's hand, and said, smiling: "My good friend, in wine is truth; your hospitality obliges me to confess it to you; I am the Caliph Mahadi himself, and as Caliph I confirm all the promises I have already made to you." The Arab stared with open eyes at his guest; but, instead of falling reverently upon the ground, he silently took up the wine-cup, and went towards the door. "What are you going to do?" asked Mahadi. "To prevent your drinking more wine," quietly answered the Arab. "At the first draught you were a servant of the Caliph, at the third his favourite, and at the fifth or sixth you become the Caliph himself. I know not what to believe; but whoever you may be, I expect that by the eighth or ninth draught you will declare yourself our great Prophet himself, which, of course, I could not believe. I will therefore take away the liquor which makes you so communicative." After The Arab went out, and did not return. waiting a long time in vain, Mahadi wrapped himself in the rug which his worthy host had prepared for him, and soon fell asleep. The next morning he mounted his horse, and took the Arab, who was yet in great doubt what to believe, with him as his guide. When they came to Bagdad, however, all doubt was removed from the mind of the honest old man; he perceived that he had actually entertained the Caliph, who, on his part, fulfilled all his promises, loaded the Arab with presents, and, above all, placed in his hands a large sum to reinstate his tribes in their former dwelling-place, and to restore them to their original prosperity. Poetry. [In Original Poetry, the Name, real or assumed, of the Author, is printed in Small Capitais under the title; in Selections, it is printed in Italics at the end.] THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.1 It was a summer evening, Old Kaspar's work was done; Was sitting in the sun, She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, In playing there had found; Old Kaspar took it from the boy And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh, "Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory. "I find them in the garden, for There's many here about, "With fire and sword the country round "They say it was a shocking sight But things like that, you know, must be "Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our good Prince Eugene." "Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!" Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, "It was a famous victory. "And every body praised the Duke, Why that I cannot tell," said he, "But 'twas a famous victory." Miscellaneous. "I have here made only a nosegay of culled flowers, and have brought nothing of my own, but the string that tex them."-Montaigne. THE Envoy, or Elchee, as the Persians called hir among other plans for doing good, one for the i duction of potatoes. Among those who listened to b and applauded his disinterested intentions to her Persia, was a fat, smooth-faced young merchant E obtained a promise of a considerable quantity of pe for seed, having, according to his own report, re a large piece of ground, that he might be an h instrument in the hands of the British representa for doing good. The latter, pleased with his honoured this excellent man with such particular 4 * tion, that, conceiving himself a prime favour ventured one day to suggest that, "as the season far advanced for the potato-garden that year, it not be unworthy of the Elchee's wonted liberalt i commute his intended present for a pair of pis a piece of British broadcloth.” This premature dist of the real object of this professed improver of the produced no little ridicule, in which his countr who were jealous of the favour he had enjoyed, jo most heartily. He was known to the day of his which happened three years ago, by the name of toes." It is satisfactory to add, that the plan for ducing this valuable root did not fail; they were! to flourish at Abusheher, where they are called Ma plum," after the Elchee, who looks to the accider: 11 gave his name to a useful vegetable, as one of h chances of enduring fame.-Sketches of Persia. |