shall pay but Fifty shillings: and when Escuage is assessed throgheowtt the land; or to Ayde for to make th' eldest sonne of the Lord, Knyght; or for to marry the eldest daughter of the Lord, the said Sir Philip shall pay bott the moitye of it that other shall paye. Nevertheless, the said Sir Philip shall fynde, meyntienge, and susteingne one Bacon flyke, hanging in his Hall at Whichenovre, redy arrayede all times of the yere, bott (except) in Lent; to be given to everyche mane, or woman married, after the day and the yere of their marriage be passed: and to be gyven to everyche mane of Religion, Archbishop, Bishop, Prior, or other Religious; and to everyche Preest, after the year and day of their profession finished, or of their dignity reseyved, in forme followyng. Whensoever that ony suche byforenamed, wylle come for to enquire for the Baconne, in there own persone; or by any other for them, they shall come to the Baillyfe, or to the Porter of the Lordship of Whichenovre, and shall say to them, in the manere as ensewethe;

66

Bayliffe, or Porter, I doo you to knowe; that I am come for my self (or, if he be come for any other, shewing for whome) to demaunde one Bacon flyke, hanging in the Halle, of the Lord of Whichenovre, after the forme thereunto belongyng.

After which relacioun, the Baillyffe or Porter shall assign a day to him, upon promyse, by his feythe to retourne; and with him to bryng tweyne of his neighbours.

46

And, in the meyn tyme, the said Bailliffe shall take with him tweyne of the Freeholders of the Lordship of Whichenovre; and they three, shall go to the Manoir of Rudlowe, belongynge to Robert Knyghtleye, and there shall somon the forseid Knyghteley or his Bailly ffe; commanding him, to be redy at Whichenovre, the day appoynted, at pryme of the day, withe his Caryage ; that is to say, a Horse and a Sadylle, a Sakke, and a Pryke, for to convey and carye the said Baconne, and Corne, a journey owtt of the Countee of Stafford, at hys costages. And then the sayd Baillyffe, shall, with the sayd Freeholders, somone all the Tenaunts of the said Manoir, to be ready at the day appoynted, at Whichenovre, for to doo and

perform the services which they owe to the Baconne. And, at the day assign'd, all such as owe services to the Baconne, shall be ready at the Gatte of the Manoir off Whichenovre, frome the Sonnerysing to None, attendying and awatyn for the comyng for hym, that fetcheth the Baconne. And, when he is comyn, there shall be delivered to hym and hys felowys, Chapeletts; and to all those whiche shall be there; to do their services deue to the Baconue: And they. shall lede the seid Demandant wythe Trompes and Sabours, and other maner of Mynstralseye, to the Halle-dore, where he shall fynde the Lord of Whi chenovre, or his Steward, redy to deliver the Baconne, in this manere :

"He shall enquere of hym, whiche demandeth the Baconne, yf he have brought tweyn of hys Neghbors with hym. Whiche must answere; They be here ready. And then the Steward shall cause thies two Neighbours to swere, yf the seyd Demandaunt be a weddyt man; or have be a man weddyt: and. yf sythe his Marriage, one yere and day be passed: and, yf he be a freeman, or a villeyn. And yf hys seid neghall thies three poynts rehersed; then bours make Othe, that he hath for hym shall the Baconne be take downe, and broghte to the Hall-dore; and shall there be layd upon one halfe a Quarter of Wheatte; & upon one other of Rye.

And he that demandeth the Baconne shall kneel upon his knee; and shall hold his right hand upon a booke; which booke shall be layde above the Baconne, and the Corne; and shall make Othe, in this manere. "Here ye, Sir Philippe de Somervile,

Lord of Whichenovre, mayntener and gyver of this Baconne; That I A. sithe 1 Wedded B. my wife, and sythe I hadd hyr in my kepung, and at my wylle, by a yere and a day, after our Mariage; I wold not have chaunged for none other; farer, ne fowler; rycher ne pourer; ne for none other descended of greater lynage; slepyng, ne waking, at noo tyme. And yf the seyd B. were sole, and I sole, I would take her to be my Wyfe, before alle the wymen of the worlde; of what condiciones soever they be; good or evylle, as helpe me God ond hys Seyntys; and this fleshe, and all fleshes.

And hys neighbors shall make Othe,

Receipt to make Somersetshire Bacon. The best time is between September and Christmas. Procure a large wooden trough; lay the sides of the hog in the trough, and sprinkle them heavily with bay-salt; leave them twenty-four hours to drain away the blood, and other over-abounding juices. Then take them out, wipe them dry, and throw away the drainings. Take some fresh bay-salt, and heating it well in an iron frying-pan, (beware not to use copper or brass though ever so well tinned,) rub the meat till you are tired; do this four days successively, turning the meat every other day. If the hog is large, keep the sides in the brine (turning them ten times) for three weeks; then take them out, and dry them thoroughly in the usual manner.*

Finally, remembering that the customs before stated relate to marriage, it occurs that there is the following

Receipt for a Good Match.

To make a good match you have brimstone and wood,

Take a scold and a blockhead-the match must be good.

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR. Mean Temperature. . . . 60 47.

June 21.

THE LONGEST DAY. This day the sun enters the sign Cancer, and is then at his extreme distance north of the Equator, passing in the zenith over the heads of all the inhabitants situated on the tropical line; while to us, who reside in London, he appears at his greatest altitude, and hence arises the increased heat we experience from his rays.

To individuals within the Arctic circle the sun at this time does not set.

Cancer is the first of the summer signs, and when the sun enters it we have our longest day. According to Sir William Jones, "the Hindu Asbrono mer Varaha lived when the solstices were in the first degrees of Cancer and Capricorn." It is now above 2000 years since the solstices thus coincided, and, at present, the sign Cancer begins near

• Trans. Soc. Arts.

To the eye and palate of the imagination, this month and the next are richer than those which follow them; for now you can "have your fruit and eat it too;" which you cannot do then. In short, now the fruit blossoms are all gone, and the fruit is so fully set that nothing can hurt it; and what is better still, it is not yet stealable, either by boys, birds, or bees; so that you are as sure of it as one can be of any thing, the enjoyment of which is not actually past. Enjoy it now, then, while you may; in order that, when in the autumn it disappears, on the eve of the very day you had destined for the gathering of it (as every body's fruit does), you alone may feel that you can afford to lose it. Every heir who is worthy to enjoy the estate that is left to him in reversion, does enjoy it whether it ever comes to him or not.

On looking more closely at the Fruit, we shall find that the Strawberries, which lately (like bold and beautiful children) held out their blossoms into the open sunshine, that all the world might see them, now, that their fruit is about to reach maturity, hide it carefully beneath their low-lying leaves, as conscious virgins do their maturing beauties;-that the Gooseberries and Currants have attained their full growth, and the latter are turning ripe ;-that the Wall-fruit is just getting large enough to be seen among the leaves without looking for;-that the Cherries are peeping out in white or "cherry. cheeked" clusters all along their straight branches; and that the other standards, the Apples, Pears, and Plums, are more or less forward, according to their kinds.*

THE LONGEST DAY. For the Every-Day Book. Cradled in glory's ether-space, By Venus nursed till morn,The light unrolls thy golden life And thou art sweetly born.

O lovely Day of bloom and shine, Of heat, and air, and strain! Millions rejoice and millions die Within thy halcyon reign.

move;

'Twas yesterday the same:-
To-morrow! thou wilt join the dead,
And only live by name-

Jupiter guides thee through the skies
To Hope's eternal shore:

The sun departs-Thou, Longest Day-
Thou wilt be seen no more!
Methuselah of England's year!
Thou Parr of Time-Farewell!
St. Thomas, shortest of thy race,
Shall ring thine annual knell.

J. R. PRIOR.

YOUNG BIRDS. The following letter is to be considered as addressed to the reader, rather than the editor, who, as yet, is not even a tyro in the art wherein his respected correspondent has evidently attained proficiency. Indeed the communication ought to have been inserted in May. If its agreeable writer, and his good-natured readers, can excuse the omission, the birds and the editor will be equally obliged.

THE REARING AND TREATMENT OF YOUNG BIRDS.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book. Now, thro' the furrows where the skylarks build,

Or by the hedge-rows green, the fowler strays,

Seeking the infant bird.

Sir,-As the time has arrived for taking the young from the feathered tribe, it may not be amiss to say a few words by way of advice to the uninitiated, concerning the rearing, and training of these amusing creatures, who repay our cares with their rich melody.

We may now get Chaffinches, Goldfinches, Linnets, Larks, &c. in the streets, or at the different shops at a very small expense, either singly, or by the nest, according to their ages, but I

the end of a stick, about every two hours; water they will not require, the food being sufficiently moist for them. When you find them peck at the stick, and take their food eagerly from it, which they will do at about a fortnight old, place some food about the cage with clean dry gravel, scattering among it some dry seed bruised; they will pick it up, and so be weaned off the moist food, which is no longer proper for them also place water in the pot. This, as regards their feeding, is all you have to do, while they remain healthy-if sick, you must treat them according to the nature of their complaint. I think their sickness at this early stage of their existence is either caused by cold, or by the oily nature of their food, it being too strong for their stomachs; to remedy this, mix a little of the fine gravel with it, this will help their digestion. Sometimes the seed will scour them, in that case, boiled milk, or rust of iron put into their water is a remedy. So much as concerns the hard-billed tribe.

If your fancy runs on soft-billed birds, such as the skylark, woodlark, nightingale, or robin, you must feed them with egg, and bread moistened with water; or beef, raw or cooked; changing it as they grow and begin to feed themselves, to dry egg chopped small, and crumbled bread; throwing in with it German paste, until you find them contented with the latter. All these birds will live healthy, and sing stout, on this food, except the nightingale; he must have beef and egg. The remedy for sickness and scouring is as before; if the paste binds them, give them raw beef, or chopped fig; the latter is good for all birds, keeping them in beautiful feather, and cool in body. When a month old, cage them off in their proper cages.

Give your captives good food, and clear water; keep their dwellings free from vermin, which you may always do