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Come forth, come forth, my maidens, the air is calm and cool,
And the violet blue far down ye'll view, reflected in the pool;
The violets and the roses, and the jasmines all together,
We'll bind in garlands on the brow of the strong and lovely wether.

Come forth, come forth, &c.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, we'll gather myrtle boughs,
And we all shall learn, from the dews of the fern, if our lads will keep their vows :
If the wether be still, as we dance on the hill, and the dew hangs sweet on the flowers,
Then we'll kiss off the dew, for our lovers are true, and the Baptist's blessing is ours.
Come forth, come forth, &c.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, 'tis the day of good St. John,

It is the Baptist's morning that breaks the hills upon;
And let us all go forth together, while the blessed day is new,

To dress with flowers the snow-white wether, ere the sun has dried the dew.

There are too many obvious traces of the fact to doubt its truth, that the making of bonfires, and the leaping through them, are vestiges of the ancient worship of the heathen god Bal; and therefore, it is, with propriety, that the editor of "Times's Telescope," adduces a recent occurrence from Hitchin's "History of Cornwall," as a probable remnant of pagan superstition in that county. He presumes that the vulgar notion which gave rise to it, was derived from the druidical sacrifices of beasts. "An ignorant old farmer in Cornwall, having met with some severe losses in his cattle, about the year 1800, was much afflicted with his misfortunes. To stop the growing evil, he applied to the farriers in his neigh bourhood, but unfortunately he applied in vain. The malady still continuing, and all remedies failing, he thought it necessary to have recourse to some extra ordinary measure. Accordingly, on consulting with some of his neighbours, equally ignorant with himself, and evidently not less barbarous, they recalled to their recollections a tale, which tradition had handed down from remote antiquity, that the calamity would not cease until he had actually burned alive the finest calf which he had upon his farm; but that, when this sacrifice was made, the murrian would afflict his cattle no more The old farmer, influenced by this counsel, resolved immediately on reducing it to practice; that, by making the detestable experiment, he might secure an advantage, which the whisperers of tradition, and the advice of his neighbours, had conspired to assure him would

Come forth, come forth, &c. follow. He accordingly called several of his friends together, on an appointed day, and having lighted a large fire, brought forth his best calf; and, without ceremony or remorse, pushed it into the flames. The innocent victim, on feeling the intolerable heat, endeavoured to escape; but this was in vain. The barbarians that surrounded the fire were armed with pitchforks, or pikes, as in Cornwall they are generally called; and, as the burning victim endeavoured to escape from death, with these instruments of cruelty the wretches pushed back the tortured animal into the flames. In this state, amidst the wounds of pitchforks, the shouts of unfeeling ignorance and cruelty, and the corrosion of flames, the dying victim poured out its expiring groan, and was consumed to ashes. It is scarcely possible to reflect on this instance of superstitious barbarity, without tracing a kind of resemblance between it, and the ancient sacrifices of the Druids. This calf was sacrificed to fortune, or good luck, to avert impending calamity, and to ensure future prosperity, and was selected by the farmer as the finest among his herd." Every intelligent native of Cornwall will perceive, that this extract from the history of his county, is here made for the purpose of shaming the brutally ignorant, if it be possible, into humanity.

To conclude the present notices rather pleasantly, a little poem is subjoined, which shows that the superstition respecting the St. John's wort is not confined to England; it is a version of some lines transcribed from a German almanac :--

The St. John's Wort.

The young maid stole through the cottage door,
And blushed as she sought the plant of pow'r;-

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It would be easy, and perhaps more agreeable to the editor than to his readers, to accumulate many other notices con cerning the usages on this day; let it suffice, however, that we know enough to be assured, that knowledge is engendering good sense, and that the superstitions of our ancestors will in no long time have

passed away for ever. Be it the business of their posterity to hasten their decay.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

St. John's Wort. Hypericum Pulchrum. Nativity of St. John.

June 25.

St. Prosper, A. D. 463. St. Maximus, Bp. A. D. 465. St. William of MonteVergine, A. D. 1142. St. Adelbert, A. D. 740. St. Moloc, Bp. 7th Cent. Sts. Agoard and Aglibert, A. D. 400. CHRONOLOGY.

1314. The battle of Bannockburn which secured the independence of Scotland, and fixed Robert Bruce on the throne of that kingdom, was fought on this day between the Scots under that chieftain, and the English under Edward II.

Franking of Newspapers.

By a recent regulation it is not necessary to put the name of a member of either house of parliament on the cover; the address of the party to whom it is sent, with the ends of the paper left open as usual, will be sufficient to ensure its delivery. This is a praiseworthy accommodation to common sense. The old fiction was almost universally known to be one, and yet it is only a few years ago, that a member of parliament received a humble letter of apology, coupled with a request from one of his constituents, that he might be allowed to use the name of his representative in directing a newspaper. To the ingenuous, pretences seem realities.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Sweet Williams.

Dianthus barbatus. Dedicated to St. William.

June 26.

St. John and Paul, Martyrs about A. D. 362. St. Maxentius, Abbot, A. D. 515. St. Vigilius, Bp. A. D. 400, or 405. St. Babolen. St. Anthelm, Bp. of Bellay, A. D. 1178. Raingarda, Widow, A. D. 1135

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 26th of June, 1541, Francis Pizarro, the conqueror of Peru, was assassinated. He was born at Truxillo, in Spain; his birth was illegitimate, and in his youth he was a keeper of hogs. Becoming a soldier, he went to America, and settled at Punama, where he projected the prosecution of discoveries to the eastward of that settlement. By means of an expedition, which he solicited, and was intrusted to command from the court of Spain, he entered Peru when the empire was divided by a civil war between Huascar the legitimate monarch, and Atahualpa his half brother. Pretending succour to Atahualpa, he was permitted to penetrate twelve days' journey into the country, and received as an ally by Atahualpa, whose confidence he rewarded

by suddenly attacking him, and making him prisoner. The exaction of an immense ransom for this king's release; the shameful breach of faith, by which he was held in captivity after his ransom was paid; his brutal murder under the infamous mockery of a trial; the horrible frauds by which he was inveigled to die in the profession of the christian faith, without being able to comprehend its tenets; and the superaddition of other acts of perfidy and cruelty, will render the name of Pizarro infamous so long as it exists.

His assassination was effected by the friends of Almagro, his original associate, with whom he had quarelled, and whom he caused to be executed when he got him into his power.

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There is a cobler's stall in London that I pass its vicinity, because it was the seat of I go out of my way to look at whenever an honest old man who patched my shoes No. 28.

and my mind, when I was a boy. I involuntarily reverence the spot; and if I find myself in Red Lion-square, I, with a like affection, look between the iron railings of its enclosure, because, at the same age, from my mother's window, I watched the taking down of the obelisk, stone by stone, that stood in the centre, and impatiently awaited the discovery of the body of Oliver Cromwell, which, according to local legend, was certainly buried there in secrecy by night. It is true that Oliver's bones were not found; but then "every body" believed that "the workmen did not dig deep enough." Among these believers was my friend, the cobbler, who, though no metaphysician, was given to ruminate on " causation." He imputed the nonpersistence of the diggers to "private reasons of state," which his awfully mysterious look imported he had fathomed, but dared not reveal. From ignorance of wisdom, I venerated the wisdom of ignorance; and though I now know better, I respect the old man's memory. He allowed me, though a child, to sit on the frame of his little pushed-back window; and I obtained so much of his good-will and confidence, that he lent me a folio of fragments from Caxton's "Polychronicon," and Pynson's "Shepherd's Kalendar," which he kept in the drawer of his seat, with "St. Hugh's bones," the instruments of his "gentle craft." This black-letter lore, with its wood-cuts, created in me a desire to be acquainted with our old authors, and a love for engravings, which I have indulged without satiety. It is impossible that I should be without fond recollections of the spots wherein I received these early impressions.

From still earlier impressions, I have like recollection of the meadows on the Highgate side of Copenhagen-house. I often rambled in them in summer-time, when I was a boy, to frolic in the newmown hay, or explore the wonders of the hedges, and listen to the songs of the birds. Certain indistinct apprehensions of danger arose in me from the rude noises of the visitors at Copenhagen house itself, and I scarcely ventured near enough to observe more than that it had drinking-benches outside, and boisterous company within. I first entered the place in the present month of June, 1825, and the few particulars I could collect cerning it, as an old place of public

inment, may be acceptable to many ollect its former notoriety. Spe

culators are building up to it, and if they continue with their present speed, it will in a few years be hidden by their operations.

Copenhagen-house stands alone in the fields north of the metropolis, between Maiden-lane, the old road to Highgate on the west, and the very ancient north road, or bridle-way, called Hagbush-lane, on the east; on this latter side it is nearly in a line with Cornwall-place, Holloway. Its name is said to have been derived from a Danish prince, or a Danish ambassador, having resided in it during a great plague in London; another representation is, that in the beginning of the seventeenth century, it was opened under its present name by a Dane, as a place of resort for his countrymen. "CoopenHagen" is the name given to it in the map in Camden's "Britannia," published in 1695.* It is situated in the parish of Islington, in the manor of St. John of Jerusalem, in the rental of which manor, dated the 25th of February, 1624, its name does not occur; † it is therefore probable from thence, and from the appearance of the oldest part of the present edifice, that it was not then built.

It is certain that Copenhagen-house has been licensed for the sale of beer, and wine, and spirits, upwards of a century; and for such refreshments, and as a teahouse, with a garden and grounds for skittles and Dutch pins, it has been greatly resorted to by Londoners. No house of the kind commands so extensive and uninterrupted a view of the metropolis and the immense western suburb, with the heights of Hampstead and Highgate, and the rich intervening meadows. Those nearest to London are now rapidly destroying for their brick-earth, and being covered with houses; though from Copenhagen-street, which is built on the green lane from White Conduit-house, there is a way to the footpath leading to Copenhagen-house, from the row of handsome cottages called Barnesbury-park.

The latter buildings are in the manor of Berners, or Bernersbury, otherwise Barnesbury; the name being derived

Mr. Nelson's History of Islington. + To Mr. Simes, bailiff of the manor, I am indebted for a sight of this rental.

from the Berners' family, of whom the most distinguished individual was John Bourchier, the last lord Berners, and "the fifth writer in order of time among the nobility." He was author of "a comedy usually acted in the great church of Calais after vespers," of which town he held the command by appointment of king Henry VIII.; he also translated several works, and particularly "Froissart's Cronycles, oute of Frenche into our maternale Englysshe tongue."

West of Barnesbury-park, and close to the footpath from thence to Copenhagenhouse, are the supposed remains of a Roman encampment. It is a square of about one hundred and twenty feet, surrounded by a ditch, with a high embankment or breast work to the west. This is presumed to have been a position occupied by Suetonius, the Roman general, when he destroyed eighty thousand of the Britons under Boadicea, in a memorable engagement presumed to have been fought from this place in the fields of Pentonville, and terminating in the plain at Battlebridge, from whence that place is said to have been so named.

From Battle-bridge up Maiden-lane, and from Barnesbury-park, there are still footways to Copenhagen-house,which,from standing alone on an eminence, is visible from every open spot for many miles round. To the original edifice is attached a building at the west end, with a large parlour below for drinking and smoking, and beyond it is a billiard-room; above is a large tea-room. The engraving represents its present appearance, from a drawing made for that purpose.

About the year 1770, this house was kept by a person named Harrington; at his decease the business was continued by his widow, wherein she was assisted for several years by a young woman who came from Shropshire. This female assistant afterwards married a person named Tomes, and kept the Adam and Eve at Islington; she is now a widow; and from her information the editor of the Every-Day Book gathers, that at the time of the London riots in the year 1780, a body of the rioters passed Copenhagenhouse on their way to attack the seat of

lord Mansfield, at Caen-wood: happily, they did not sack Copenhagen; but Mrs. Harrington and her maid were so alarmed, that they despatched a man to justice Hyde, who sent a party of soldiers to garrison this important place, where they remained till the riots were quelled. From this spot the view of the nightly conflagrations in the metropolis must have been terrific. Mrs. Tomes says, she saw nine large fires at one time. On new-year's day previous to this, the house was broken into after the family had retired to rest. The burglars forced the kitchen window, and mistaking the saltbox in the chimney corner for a man's head, fired a ball through it. They then ran up stairs with a dark-lantern, tied the man and the woman servant, burst the lower pannel of Mrs. Harrington's roomdoor, while she secreted fifty pounds between her bed and the mattress, and three of them rushed to her bedside, armed with a cutlass, crowbar, and pistol, while a fourth remained on the watch outside. They demanded her money; and as she denied that she had any, they wrenched her drawers open with the crowbar, refusing to use the keys she offered to them. In these they found about ten pounds belonging to her daughter, a little child, whom they threatened to murder unless she ceased crying, while they packed up all the plate, linen, and clothes, which they carried off. They then went to the cellar, set all the ale-barrels running, broke the necks off the wine-bottles, spilt the other liquors, and slashed a round of beef with their cutlasses. From this wanton spoil they reserved sufficient to carouse with in the kitchen, where they ate, drank, and sung, till they resolved to

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I pinch the old woman, and make her find more money." On this, they all ran. up stairs again, where she still lay in bed, and by their threats and violence soon obtained from her a disclosure of the hidden fifty pounds. This rather appeared to enrage than pacify them, and they seriously proposed cutting her throat for the deception; but that crime was not perpetrated,and they departed with their plunder. Rewards were offered, by government and the parish of Islington, for the apprehension of the felons: in May following, one of them, named Clarkson, was discovered, and hopes of mercy tendered to him if he would discover his accom

Mr. Utterson's Preface to his edition of Lord plices. This man was a watch-maker in

Mr. Nelson's History of Islington. Berners' Froissart, 2 vo s. 4to.

Clerkenwell, the other three were trades

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