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In yonder glass behold a drowning fly!
Its little feet how vainly does it ply!
Its cries we hear not, yet it loudly cries,
And gentle hearts can feel its agonies!
Poor helpless victim-and will no one save?

Will no one snatch thee from the threat'ning wave?
Is there no friendly hand-no helper nigh,
And must thou, little struggler-must thou die?
Thou shalt not, whilst this hand can set thee free,
Thou shalt not die-this hand shall rescue thee!
My finger's tip shall prove a friendly shore,
There, trembler, all thy dangers now are o'er.
Wipe thy wet wings, and banish all thy fear;
Go, join thy num'rous kindred in the air.
Away it flies; resumes its harmless play;
And lightly gambols in the golden ray.

Smile not, spectators, at this humble deed;
For you, perhaps, a nobler task's decreed.
A young and sinking family to save:
To raise the infant from destruction's wave!
To you, for help, the victims lift their eyes-
Oh! hear, for pity's sake, their plaintive cries;
Ere long, unless some guardian interpose,
O'er their devoted heads the flood may close!

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature... 63 · 07.

July 9.

WOLVERHAMPTON FAIR.

Every year on the ninth of July, the eve of the great fair of 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 deanry manor, the peace officers, and many of the principal inhabitants. Tradition says, 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, but the charter says only eight,) 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.*

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature... 63 87.

July 10.

CHRONOLOGY.

On the tenth of July, 1740, died sir Charles Crispe, bart. of Oxfordshire. He was great-grandson of sir Nicholas Crispe, bart. who spent 100,000l. in the service of king Charles I. and II. He took out a commission of array for the city of London, for which the parliament offered 1000%. reward to bring him alive or dead. The city of London sent him commissioner to Breda, to invite over king Charles II. who took him in his arms, and kissed him, and said, "Surely the city has a mind highly to oblige me, by sending over my father's old friend to invite me." He was the first who settled a trade to the coast of Africa.*

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature... 62.85.

July 11.

CHRONOLOGY

On the eleventh of July, 1804, general Hamilton of New-York was killed in a duel by colonel Burr, the vice-president of the United States.

MEMORANDUM.

To Men of Honour.

WHEREAS Certain persons who contemn the obligations of religion, are nevertheless mindful of the law of the land: And whereas it is supposed by some of such persons, that parties contemplating to fight a duel and bound over before a magistrate to keep the peace, may, notwithstanding, fight such duel in foreign parts: BE IT KNOWN, that the law which extends protection to all its subjects, can also punish them for breach of duty, and that, therefore, offences by duelling beyond sea, are indictable and punishable in manner and form, the same as if such duels were fought within the United kingdom.

After this warning against a prevailing offence, we may become acquainted with the character of an unoffending individual, through the pen of a respected friend to this work.

CHEAP TOMMY.

For the Every-Day Book.

:

If I forget thee, worthy old Tam Hogg,
May I forget that ever knives were cheap :-
If I forget thy barrow huge and steep,
Slow as a snail, and croaking like a frog:-
Peripatetic, stoic, " cynic dog,"

If from my memory perish thee, or thine,
May I be doomed to gnaw asunder twine,
Or shave with razor that has chipped a log!
For in thy uncouth tabernacle dwelt

Honest philosophy; and oh! far more
Religion thy unstooping heart could melt,
Nor scorned the muse to sojourn at thy door;
What pain, toil, poverty didst thou endure,
Reckless of earth so heaven might find thee pure!

In my native village of Heanor, in Derbyshire, some sixteen or seventeen years ago, there appeared a singular character, whose arrival excited a sensation,

Shaw's Staffordshire.
+ Gentleman's Magazine.

and became an epoch in its history. Some boys who had been strolling to a distance brought an account that a little man, with a barrow as large as a house, was coming along the lane, at "a snail's gallop." Forth sallied a troop of gazers,

who found a small, thick-set, round-faced man, in an old, red, soldier's jacket, and cocked hat, sitting on the handle of his barrow, which was built and roofed after the manner of a caravan; and was a storehouse of some kind of merchandise, what they yet knew not. He sat very quietly as they came round him, and returned their greetings in a way short and dry, and which became markedly testy and impatient, as they crowded more closely, and began to ask questions. "Not too fast, my masters; not too fast! my first answer can't overtake your twentieth question." At length he rose, and, by the aid of a strong strap passed over his shoulders, heaved up the handles of his barrow, and placing his head against it, like a tortoise under a stone, proceeded at a toilsome rate of some few hundred yards per hour. This specimen of patient endurance amazed the villagers. A brawny labourer would have thought it a severe toil to wheel it a mile; yet this singular being, outdoing the phlegmatic perseverance of an ass, casting Job himself in the background for patience, from league to league, from county to county, and from year to year, urged on his ponderous vehicle with almost imperceptible progression.

It was soon found that he was not more singular in appearance, than eccentric in mind. A villager, thinking to do him a kindness, offered to wheel his barrow, but what was the surprise of the gazers to see him present the man payment when he had moved it a considerable way, and on its being refused, to behold him quietly raise the barrow, turn it round, and wheel it back to the identical spot whence the villager set out.

On reaching the hamlet, he took up his quarters in a stable, and opened his one-wheeled caravan, displaying a good assortment of cutlery ware. It was there I first saw him, and was struck with his grave and uncomplying air, more like that of a beadle stationed to keep off intruders, than of a solicitous vender of wares. He was standing with a pair of pliers, twisting wire into scissor-chains; keeping, at the same time, a shrewd eye upon the goods. The prices were so wonderfully low that it was whispered the articles could not be good, or they were stolen: yet I did not perceive that either idea was sufficient to dissuade the people from buying, or from attempting to get them still lower. Then it was

that his character and temper showed themselves. He laid aside the goods attempted to be chaffered for, saying,"You shall not have them at all, I tell no lies about them nor shall you." In fact his goods were goods. So much so, that many of them are in use in the vil lage to this day: he desired only such a profit as would supply the necessities of one who never slept in a bed, never approached a fire for the sake of its warmth, nor ever indulged in any luxury. His greatest trial appeared to be to bear with the sordid spirit. of the world. When this did not cross him he became smiling, communicative, and, strange as it may seem, exceedingly intelligent. I well recollect my boyish astonishment when he quoted to me maxims of Plato and Seneca, and when I heard him pouring out abundance of anecdote from the best sources. He had a real spirit of kindliness in him, though the most immediately striking features of his mind were shrewdness and rigid notions of truth; which, as he practised it himself, he seemed to expect from the whole world. He had a tame hedgehog which partook his fare, slept in a better nest than himself, and was evidently a source of affectionate enjoyment. He was fond of children; but he had a stern spirit of independence which made him refuse gifts and favours, unless permitted to make some return. My mother frequently sent him warm messes in the wintry weather, and he brought her a scissor-chain and a candlestick of brass-wire. He was a writer of anagrams, acrostics, and so forth; and one epitaph written for one of his bystanders was,

"Too bad for heaven, too good for hell, So where he's gone I cannot tell.” He always slept with his barrow chained to his leg; and on Sundays kept himself totally shut up, except during service time, standing the day through, reading his bible.

When his character was known, he grew to be a general favourite. His stable became a sort of school, where he taught, to a constant audience, more useful knowledge than has emanated from many a philosopher, modern or antique. The good-will he excited evidently pleased the old man; he came again, and again, till at length years rolled away without his reappearance, and he was considered as dead. But not so. For ten or eleven

years he was still going on his pilgrimage, a wanderer and an outcast; probably doing voluntary penance for some sin or unhappiness of youth; for he carefully kept aloof of his native country, Scotland, and though he spoke of one living sister with tearful eyes, he had not seen her for In 1820 he had many, many years. found his way to Midsomer Norton, near Bristol, where he was hooted into the town by a troop of boys, a poor, worn-down object, of the most apparent misery. This I accidentally learnt, a short time ago, from a little book, the memorial of his last days, written by the worthy clergyman of that place, and published by Simpkin and Marshall, London.

What a tale would the history of those years have displayed. What scenes of solitary travel, exhaustion, suffering, insults, and occasional sympathy and kindness, breaking, like cheering sunbeams, through the ordinary gloom. His barrow was gone! Poverty had wrung from him, or weakness had compelled him to abandon, that rld companion of his travels. I have often thought what must have been his feelings

at that parting. Poor old man, it was his house, his friend, his dog, his everything. What energies had he not expended in propelling it from place to place. without a melancholy pang,-without seeming to begin a more isolated and cheerless existence. But I cannot dwell upon the subject. It is sufficient to say that he found in the rev. William Read, who wrote the little book just mentioned, an excellent friend in the time of final need. That he retained the same eccentric, yet consistent character to the last; displaying, in a concluding scene of such bodily wretchedness and sufferings as has seldom been paralleled, the same astonishing endurance, nay ebullient thankfulness of heart; and that his piety seems to have worn off much of his asperity of manner.

It could not have been left

A didactic poem called "The Flower "The Guide Post," was Knot," or, found after his death, a composition of no ordinary merit, from which we will quote two passages, and bid a final adieu to our old friend under every name of Thomas Hogg, Tam Hogg, or Cheap Tommy.

Wit.

"Pope calls it feather-does he not say right?
"Tis like a custard weak, and bears no weight;
But had it not that wiping feather been
The poet's lines had never shone so clean.
Wisdom on foot ascends by slow degrees;
But wit has wings, and soars aloft with ease.
The sweetest wine makes vinegar most sour,
So wit debased is hell's consummate power."

Hope.

"Fountain of song, it prayer begins and ends;
Hope is the wing by which the soul ascends.
Some may allege I wander from the path,
And give to Hope the proper rights of Faith.
Like love and friendship, these, a comely pair,
What's done by one, the other has a share:
When heat is felt, we judge that fire is near,
Hope's twilight comes,-Faith's day will soon appear.
Thus when the christian's contest doth begin

Hope fights with doubts, till Faith's reserves come in.
Hope comes desiring and expects relief;

Faith follows, and peace springs from firm belief.

Hope balances occurrences of time;

Faith will not stop till it has reached the prime.

Just like copartners in joint stock of trade,
What one contracts is by the other paid.
Make use of Hope thy labouring soul to cheer,
Faith shall be giv'n, if thou wilt persevere.

We see all things alike with either eye,
So Faith and Hope the self-same object spy.
But what is Hope? or where, or how begun ?
It comes from God, as light comes from the sun."

In consequence of this interesting narrative concerning Thomas Hogg, the "little book-the memorial of his last days" by the rev. Mr. Read, was procured by the editor. It is entitled "The Scottish Wanderer," and as our kind correspondent "H." has only related his own observations, probably from apprehension that his narrative might be deemed of sufficient length, a few particulars are extracted from Mr. Read's tract respecting the latter days of this "singular character."

Mr. Read commences his "Memoir of Thomas Hogg," by saying-"On Sunday the ninth of January 1820, as I was proceeding in the services of the day, my attention was attracted by a wretched object seated in the nave of the church. There was an air of devout seriousness about him, under all the disadvantages of tattered garments and squalid appearance, which afforded a favourable presentiment to my mind. When the service was over the stranger disappeared."

Mr. Read conceived that he was some poor passing beggar, who had been allured by the fire in the stove, but to his surprise on the following Sunday the same object presented himself, and took his station, as before, near the stove. He seemed to be a man decrepit with age: his head resting upon his bosom, which was partly exposed, betokened considerable infirmity. Under a coarse and dirty sackcloth frock was to be seen a soldier's coat patched in various places, which was strangely contrasted with the cleanliness of his shirt. His whole appearance was that of the lowest degree of poverty. His devout attention induced Mr. Read when the service was concluded to inquire who this old man was. "Sir," replied his informant, "he is a person who works at the blacksmith's shop; he is a remarkable man, and carries about with him a bible, which he constantly reads."

In the course of the week Mr. Read paid him a visit. He found him standing by the side of the forge, putting some links of iron-wire together, to form a chain to suspend scissors. The impres

H.

sions of wretchedness excited by his first appearance were greatly heightened by the soot, which, from the nature of his occupation, had necessarily gathered round his person; and after a few general observations Mr. Read went to Mr. H. S., the master of the shop, who informed him that on Tuesday the fourth of January, in the severely cold weather which then prevailed, this destitute object came to his shop, almost exhausted with cold and fatigue. In his passage through the neighbouring village of P-, he had been inhumanly pelted with snow-balls by a party of boys, and might probably have perished, but for the humanity of some respectable inhabitants of the place, who rescued him from their hands. Having reaphed Mr. S.'s shop, he requested permission to erect, in a shed which adjoined the shop, his little apparatus, consisting of a slight table, with a box containing his tools. The benevolent master of the premises kindly stationed him near the forge, where he might pursue his work with advantage. In the evening, when the workmen were about to retire, Mr. S. asked him where he intended to lodge that night. The old man inquired if there were any ox-stall or stable near at hand, which he might be permitted to occupy. His benefactor offered his stable, and the poor creature, with his box and table upon his back, accompanied Mr. S. home, where as comfortable a bed as fresh straw, and shelter from the inclemency of the weather, could afford, was made up. One of Mr. S.'s children afterwards carried him some warm cider, which he accepted with reluctance, expressing his fears lest he should be depriving some part of the family of it.

The weather was very cold: the thermometer, during the past night, had been as low as six or seven degrees of Fahrenheit. In the morning he resumed his post by the side of the forge. Mr. S. allowed him to retain his station as long as he needed it; and contracted so great a regard for him, as to declare, that he never learned so complete a lesson of humility, contentment, and gratitude, as from the conduct of this man.

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