Anne and Joachim; both ring and story are ingenious fabrications. There are of course plenty of her relics and miracles from the same sources. They are further noticed in the work on the "Mysteries" referred to before. SUMMER HOLIDAYS. A young, and not unknown correspondent of the Every-Day Book, has had a holiday-his first holiday since he came to London, and settled down into an every-day occupation of every hour of his time. He seems until now not to have known that the environs of London abound in natural as well as artificial beauties. What he has seen will be productive of this advantage; it will induce residents in London, who never saw Dulwich, to pay it a visit, and see all that he saw.. Messrs. Colnaghi and Son, of Pallmall East, Mr. Clay of Ludgate-hill, or any other respectable printseller, will supply an applicant with a ticket of admission for a party, to see the noble gallery of pictures there. These tickets are gratuitous, and a summer holiday may be delightfully spent by viewing the paintings, and walking in the pleasant places adjacent: the pictures will be agreeable topics for conversation during the stroll. MY HOLIDAY! To the Editor of the Every-Day Book. My dear Sir, 66 The kind and benevolent feelings which you are so wont to discover, and the sparkling good-humour and sympathy which characterize your Every-Day Book, encourage me to describe to you My holiday!" I approach you with familiarity, being well known as your constant reader. You also know me to be a provincial cockney-a transplant. Oh! why then do you so often paint nature in her enchanting loveliness? What cruelty! You know my destiny is foreign to my desires: I cannot now seek the shade of a retired grove, carelessly throw myself on the bank of a "babbling brook," there muse and angle, as I was wont to do, and, as my old friend Izaak Walton bade Think of that! I have experienced what Leigh Hunt desires every christian to experience that there is a green and gay world, as well as a brick and mortar one. Months previous was the spot fixed upon which was to receive my choice, happy spirit. Dulwich was the place. It was an easy distance from town; moreover, it was a "rustic" spot; moreover, it had a picture-gallery; in a word, it was just the sort of place for me. happy morning dawned. I could say with Horace, with the like feelings of enraptured delight— "Insanire juvat. Sparge rosas." Such was the disposition of my mind. The We met (for I was accompanied) at that general rendezvous for carts, stages, waggons, and sociables, the Elephant and Castle. There were the honest, valiant, laughter-loving J-; the pensive, kindlyhearted G-; and the sanguine, romantic, speculative M-. A conveyance was soon sought. It was a square, covered vehicle, set on two wheels, drawn by one horse, which was a noble creature, creditable to its humane master, who has my best wishes, as I presume he will never have cause to answer under Mr. Martin's Act. Thus equipaged and curtained in,we merrily trotted by the Montpelier Gardens, and soon overtook the "Fox-under-theHill." To this "Fox" I was an entire stranger, having never hunted in that part of the country before. The beautiful hill which brought us to the heights of Camberwell being gained, we sharply of Dulwich and its adjoining domains in turned to the left, which gave us the view the distance. Oh, ecstacy of thought! Gentle hills, dark valleys, far-spreading groves, luxuriant corn-fields, magnificent rich carpet of nature decked with Flora's prospects, then sparkled before me. The choicest flowers, and wafting perfumes of odoriferous herbs floating on the breezes, expanded and made my heart replete with joy. What kind-heartedness then beamed in our countenances! We talked, and joked, and prattled; and so fast did our transports impulse, that to expect an answer to one of my eager inquiries as to "who lives here or there?" was out of the question. Our hearts were redolent of joy. It was our holiday! By the side of the neat, grassy, picturesque burying-ground we alighted, in front of Dulwich-college. Now for the picture-gallery. Some demur took place 1013 as to the safety of the "ticket." After a few moments' intense anxiety, it appeared. How important was that square bit of card!-it was the key to our hopes"Admit Mr. Rand friends to view the Bourgeois Gallery." We entered by the gate which conducts into the clean, neat, and well-paved courtyard contiguous to the gallery. In the lodge, which is situate at the end of this paved footpath, you see a comely, urbane personage. With a polite bend of the head, and a gentle smile of good-nature on his countenance ticket," he on the production of the “ bids you welcome. The small folding doors on your right hand are then opened, and this magnificent gallery is before you. This collection is extremely rich in the works of the old masters, particularly Poussin, Teniers, Vandyke, Claude, Rubens, Cuype, Murillo, Velasquez, Annibal Caracci, Vandervelt, Vanderwerf, and Vanhuysem. Here I luxuriated. With my catalogue in hand, and the eye steadily fixed upon the subject, I gazed, and although neither connoisseur nor student, felt that calmness, devotion, and serenity of soul, which the admiration of either the works of a poet, or the "sweet harmony" of sound, or form, alone work upon my heart. I love nature, and here she was imitated in her simplest and truest colourings. The gallery, or rather the five elegant rooms, are well designed, and the pictures admirably arranged. We entered by a door about midway in the gallery, on the left, and were particularly pleased with the mausoleum. The design is clever and ingenious, and highly creditable to the talents of Mr. Soane. Here lie sir Francis Bourgeois, and Mr. and Mrs. Desenfans, surrounded by these exquisite pictures. The masterly painting of the Death of Cardinal Beaufort is observed nearly over this entrance-door. But, time hastens and after noticing yonder picture which hangs at the farther extremity of the gallery, I will retire. It is the Martyrdom of St. Sebastian, by Annibal Caracci. Upon this sublime painting I could medi tate away an age. It is full of power, of real feeling and poetry. Mark that countenance-the uplifted eye" with holy fervour bright !"-the resignation, calmness, and holy serenity, which speak of truth and magnanimity, contrasted with the physical sufferings and agonies of a horrid death. I was lost-my mind was slumbering on this ocean of sublimity! The lover of rural sights will return from Dulwich-college by the retired footpath that strikes off to the right by the cage" and "stocks" opposite the burying-ground. On ascending the verdant hill which leads to Camberwell Grove, the rising objects that gradually open to the view are most beautifully picturesque and enchanting. We reached the summit of the Five Fields : "Heav'ns! what a goodly prospect spread around Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires, And glittering towns, and gilded streams," This is a fairy region. The ravished eye glances from villa to grove, turret, pleasure-ground, hill, dale; and "figured streams in waves of silver" roll. Here are seen Norwood, Shooter's-hill, Seven Droog Castle, Peckham, Walworth, Greenwich, Deptford, and bounding the horizon, the vast gloom of Epping Forest. What a holiday! What a feast for the mind, the eye, and the heart! A few paces from us we suddenly discerned a humble, aged, wintry object, sitting as if in mockery of the golden sunbeam which played across his furrowed cheek. The philanthropy of the good and gentle Elia inspired our hearts on viewing this "dim speck," this monument of days gone by. Love is charity, and it was charitable thus to love. The good old patriarch asked not, but received alms with humility and gratitude. His poverty was honourable: his character was noble and elevated in low liness. He gracelessly doffed his manycoloured cap in thanks (for hat he had none), and the snowy locks floating on the breeze rendered him an object as interesting as he was venerable. Could we have made all sad hearts gay, we should but have realized the essayings of our souls. Our imaginings were of gladness and of joy. It was our holiday! Now, my holiday is past! Hope, like a glimmering star, appears to me through the dark waves of time, and is ominous of future days like these. We are now "at home," homely in use as occupation. I am hugging the desk, and calculating. I can now only request others who have leisure and opportunity to take a "holiday," and make it a "holiday" similar to this. Health will be improved, the heart delighted, and the mind strengthened. The grovelling sensualist, who sees pleasure only in confusion, never can know pleasures comparable with these. There is THE WEATHER PROGNOSTICATOR Through all the Lunations of each Year for ever. O. F.S This table and the accompanying remarks are the result of many years' actual observation; the whole being constructed on a due consideration of the attraction of the sun and moon in their several positions respecting the earth; and will, by simple inspection, show the observer what kind of weather will most probably follow the en trance of the moon into any of her quarters, and that so near the truth as to be seldom or never found to fail. 1. The nearer the time of the moon's change, first quarter, full, and last quarter is to midnight, the fairer will the weather be during the seven days following. 2. The space for this calculation occupies from ten at night till two next morning. 3. The nearer to mid-day or noon these phases of the moon happen, the more foul or wet the weather may be expected during the next seven days. 4. The space for this calculation occupies from ten in the forenoon to two in the afternoon. These observations refer principally to summer, though they affect spring and autumn nearly in the same ratio. 5. The moon's change-first quarter-full-and last quarter, happening during six of the afternoon hours, i. e. from four to ten, may be followed by fair weather: but this is mostly dependent on the wind, as it is noted in the table. 6. Though the weather, from a variety of irregular causes, is more uncertain in the latter part of autumn, the whole of winter, and the beginning of spring; yet, in the main, the above observations will apply to those periods also. The Editor's Visits to Claude Ambroise Seurat, EXHIBITED IN PALL MALL UNDER THE APPELLATION OF THE ANATOMIE VIVANTE; or, LIVING SKELETON ! Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, That I will speak to thee. Shakspeare. No. 33. I have visited CLAUDE AMBROISE SEURAT. Some would call him an unhappy or a miserable creature; he is "God neither unhappy nor miserable. tempers the wind to the shorn limb." How little do they see what is, who frame If Seurat had not seen men of firmer make, he would not know that the infirmity peculiar to himself is unnatural. Were he dressed like other persons, there is nothing in his countenance or speech to denote him different from themselves; and yet the difference is so great, that it is wonderful that he should "live, and move, and have his being.” The "Interesting Account and Anatomical Description" of this extraordinary individual, sold at the Chinese Saloon, where he is exhibited, is to the following effect: Claude Ambroise Seurat was born at Troyes, in the department of Champaigne, on the 10th of April, 1797, and is now therefore twenty-eight years of age. His parents were respectable, but poor, and neither of them presented any deformity, or uncommon appearance; on the contrary, they are stated to have enjoyed robust health. The child on coming into the world, presented the customary baby form, but in proportion as the infant grew, the frame gradually wasted away, and so continued to decrease until the attainment of its full stature, which occurred at the usual term of life, at which period Claude had attained his present height, while his frame had dwindled to the skeleton form which it now so decidedly presents. In France, where he ate very little of any animal food, a penny French roll was enough for a day's sustenance; but as he now partakes of a small quantity of animal diet, his bread is reduced accordingly. As regards his feeding, those dishes which afford most nourishment satisfy him the quickest; and two or three ounces a day are quite sufficient. In France he was accustomed to drink the wine of his country; but in England he partakes of wines greatly diluted with water, finding the liquors here so much stronger, as the Champaigne he usually drank was what is denominated vin de pays, or small wine, of which there is none in this country. In eating, he masticates his victuals very much, taking Southey. small pieces, as the passage to the stomach would not admit of any great repletion, and in drinking the same precaution is required, otherwise suffocation would ensue. His digestion is extremely good, and the consequent functions of nature are regularly performed. It is a singular fact, that such is the extreme sensitiveness of this almost nondescript, or sport of nature, that when touched on the left side with the finger, the surface of the body, to a certain extent, is observed to manifest its sympathy, by an involuntary chill, which contracts the pores, and produces that roughness of surface vulgarly known by the denomination of goose's skin. In raising either of his feet from the floor, the limb appears to be distended uselessly from the knee, and we cannot better illustrate the idea than by that sensation we commonly experience upon allowing a limb to remain too long in one position, thereby causing a temporary strangulation of the vessels, known by the common term of the foot being asleep. Previous to the arrival of Seurat in England, the French physicians who had inspected him, gave it as their opinion, that his lungs were placed in a different position to that usually occupied in the human frame. Since his arrival, sir Astley Cooper, by whom he has been visited, finds that his heart is placed so much out of the common region allotted to it, that it is precisely its own length lower than if properly placed. Many attempts were made to have Claude Ambroise Seurat presented to the French king; but the father conceiving that he might be consigned to some wretched asylum, there to subsist upon a miserable pension, uniformly objected to it. From the statements made by the father, it appears that the French gentlemen of the faculty, who visited his son, handling him roughly, and pinching him in every direction, the son refused to see them at all afterwards, and thus imbibed such a distaste for his professional countrymen, that he determined not to show himself to them any more. In consequence, the Parisian Ecole de Medicine has never |