dertake, I am not incompetent to, the task of perusal." But, with many, the Curiosity excited by the classical,' &c. style,' is considerably heightened, by the plainly-hinted, ever to-be-lamented defects of the anomalous publication;' and the exparte view, and anathematizing decision, of critics, almost invariably add to it. | who has been reading half the day will not be much benefited by sitting down to cards; or engaging in any other sedentary amusement. Several of the mechanical arts would occupy very agreeably the vacant hours of the studious. Such amusements would be parThe relaxations of the studious ought to ticularly serviceable when the state of the combine bodily exercise, with such a portion weather renders diversions in the open air of interest as is sufficient to engage and oc- impracticable. I believe that a man might cupy the mind. This is particularly necessary acquire great skill in the useful arts by emwhen circumstances oblige them to be solitary.ploying himself at such times in this manner : Another requisite is, that they should not be and besides the pleasant and cheap amuseexpensive, for, from whatever cause, studious ments which would result from such occupersons are seldom rich. pations, the skill thus acquired might be of frequent use to him in his studies. Dr. Franklin observes, that being acquainted with some of the mechanical arts was of great service to him; 'as it enabled me,' says he, 'to make little things for myself, when I have had no mechanic at hand, and to construct small machines for my experiments, while the idea I have conceived has been fresh and strongly impressed upon my imagination.' It is my intention in the present Essay to point out amusements proper for the studious: it should however be remembered, that in the choice of them a good deal will depend upon the difference of tastes, the habit of the body, the age and the circumstances of individuals. But these are things in which every one must judge for himself. It may perhaps assist in the enquiry, to notice here such amusements as have delighted the Music has a very happy effect in relieving learned. I owe most of my information on the mind when fatigued with study. It would this subject to that valuable work, the Curi- be well if every studious person were so far acosities of Literature. quainted with that science as to amuse himself Tycho Brahè diverted himself with polish-after severe thoughts, by playing such airs as glasses for spectacles, and making mathe- have a tendency to inspire cheerfulness and good matical instruments. It now remains for us to say something relative to the criticism we should approve. If the tendency be to deteriorate the feelings of the heart, no style,' no arrangement-however classical,' elegant,' or 'fascinating,' can compensate for the injury; or obliterate the disgrace attaching to the author and pulishers of such a work. And it would be most judicious in Reviewers to pass it over with silent disregard :-but, should a critique be looked for and demanded, the task must, of course, be undertaken; and then, it is only requisite that the heart and judgement be ade-ing quate to, and co-operate in, the performance. In light entertaining compositions generally, D'Andilly, the translator of Josephus, one the critic's real province appears to be-1st, of the most learned men of his age, after seven To ascertain and state the plot, argument, or or eight hours of study every day, amused himdesign, and arrangement. 2ndly, To elucidate self in cultivating trees; Barclay, in his leisure and exemplify the principal characters, or in-hours, was a florist; Balzac amused himself cidents, by appropriate selections.-and 3rdly, To object, approve, suggest, censure, or eulogize, in accordance with the sentiment and style of the extracts. For, by these only, should we decide; aud by these, with candid, apposite, and well-supported remarks alone, should we permit our own judgement to concur in his general character of the work. Z. ON THE AMUSEMENTS PROPER FOR THE STUDIOUS. I, can you pardon the presumption? I, No wit, no genius, yet for once will try. FRANKLIN. It is observed by medical writers, that few things are more injurious to health than continued and intense study. Hard study always implies a sedentary life; and when intense thinking is joined to the want of exercise, the consequences must be bad. A few months of close application to study, have been frequently known to ruin an excellent constitution, by inducing a train of nervous complaints which could never be removed. Man is evidently not formed for continual thought more than for perpetual action, and would be as soon worn out by the one as by the other. It would be a tedious and unnecessary task, to enumerate all the diseases which are the consequences of close application to study.--It is sufficient to observe, that there is no complaint which can proceed either from a bad state of the humours, a defect of the usual secretions, or a debility of the nervous system which may not be induced by intense thinking. Studious persons, in order to relieve their minds, must not only discontinue to read and write, but engage in some amusement that will so far occupy the thoughts as to make them forget the business of the closet. Their amusements should not be sedentary. A man with making crayons; Peiresc found his amusement amongst his medals, and antiquarian curiosities; the Abbé de Marolles with his engravings; and Politian in singing airs to his lute. Rohault wandered from shop to shop to observe the mechanics labour. The great Arnauld read in his hours of relaxation, any amusing romance that fell into his hands. This also did the critical Warburton. Galileo read Ariosto. The celebrated Descartes passed his afternoons in the conversation of a few friends, and in the cultivation of his little garden.--Sir Isaac Newton ground optical glasses for telescopes; Dr. Johnson, in his hours of leisure, was a chemist; and the poet Cowper a gardener. Riding and walking in the country are most excellent recreations, For one who long in populous city pent, humour. This amusement is however so fascinating, that there is, perhaps, a danger of its becoming a passion. Gardening, in situations where it is practicable, is a relaxation highly to be recommended. It not only gives exercise to every part of the body, but the very smell of the earth and fresh herbs revives and cheers the spirits, whilst the perpetual prospect of something coming to maturity, delights and entertains the mind. A garden,' observes Addison, was the habitation of our first parents before the fall. It is naturally apt to fill the mind with calmness and tranquillity, and to lay all its turbulent passions at rest. It gives us a great insight into the contrivance and wisdom of providence, and suggests innumerable subthe very complacency and satisfaction which a I cannot but think jects for meditation. man takes in these works of nature, to be a laudable, if not a virtuous habit of mind.' It is to be lamented that an amusement so admirably adapted for studious persons, is so seldom in their power. A great proportion of the studious reside in situations in which gardening is impracticable, and this amusement is, besides, rather expensive. There is, however, an amusement, which possesses all the advantages of gardening without its being costly, and which is besides practicable in almost all situations. I allude to the study of Botany. Dr. Aikin observes, So many advantages with respect to health, tranquillity of mind, useful knowledge, and inexhaustible amusement, are united in this study, that I cannot recommend it too warmly. The study of English Botany caused several summers to glide away with me in more pure and active delight, than almost any other single object ever afforded me. It rendered every ride and walk interesting, and converted the plodding rounds of business into excursions of pleasure. Nothing is more favourable to enjoyment than the combination of bodily exertion and ardour of mind. This, the study in question affords in the highest degree, and such is the immense variety of its objects, that the labours of the longest life cannot exhaust them.' The amusements of the studious may be Indeed I do not know a more pleasing relax-nize with the story sufficiently; he is a most ation than this; for what can be more agree- forbidding specimen of the remorseless, vilable to a cultivated mind, than to hear the most lanous, and misanthropic recluse. just and noble sentiments, clothed in the most elegant language, and delivered with all the graces of pronunciation and action. I have now enumerated those amusements which appear to me most proper for the studious. Many doubtless remain unnoticed; but the student who wishes for variety, will easily discover or invent new ones for himself. In doing this, however, he should endeavour as much as possible to combine bodily exertion with ardour of mind. N. O. THE PIRATE. THE extraordinary popularity which the novels of Sir W. Scott have gained, and the firin hold, which they have retained, of popular opinion, (in spite of adverse criticism) almost renders a review of any of his new productions a work of supererogation. The critic has now merely to point out where the author has failed in comparison with his former works, or where an original character, scene of exquisite pa thos, or a charming scrap of poetry, stands pre-eminently conspicuous. All this has been already done, and soon done, for the Pirate, by the shoal of monthly, weekly, and diurnal Reviewers; and consequently it would appear, that, according to my own admission, these remarks are as unnecessary as they will probably be unwelcome. I (for not having yet obtained the eminence of a regular critic, the use of the plural number might be deemed a presumptuous affectation,) have only to say in excuse, that no review which I have yet seen has exactly coincided in my opinion of this work; and, therefore, my remarks will, at least, lay claim to the merit of novelty, in some degree, and if I add to this, the universally admired requisite (in critics and lawyers) of brevity, I may perhaps not be an entirely unwelcome intruder upon your readers. His son, Mordaunt, (over whose birth however, an unpleasant mystery is permitted to remain,) is, in the commencement of the story, sketched with considerable vigour, and his numerous embarrassments excite much sympathy; but in the denouement he dwindles into obscurity, not altogether to the satisfaction of the reader. Cleveland, the pirate, son and heir to old of Cleveland's character is inconsistent with Udaller Magnus, is chiefly interesting from Nothing in him that doth fade, NEMO. REMARKABLE TRAITS OF VANITY, IN CELEBRATED Voiture was the son of a vintner, and like our Prior, was so mortified, whenever reminded of his original occupation, that it was said of him, that wine, which cheered the heart of all men, sickened that of Voiture. John Baptist Rousseau, the poet, was the son of a cobbler; and when his honest parent waited at the door of the theatre, to embrace his repulsed his venerable father with insult and contempt. son on the success of his first piece, the inhuman poet Akenside ever considered his lameness as an insupportable misfortune, since it continually reminded him of his origin, having been occasioned by the fall Norna of the fitful head, is a weak copy of the inimitable Meg Merrilies, with this difference, that early misery had operated on a warm of a cleaver from one of his father's blocks, a resimagination so strongly, as to shake reason pectable butcher. Milton delighted in contemplatfrom her throne, to which in the conclusioning his own person; and the engraver not having of the story she is again restored: while on the reached our sublime bard's ideal grace,' he has other hand, Meg is inflexible, and never to be complaints of Pope, is that of the pictur'd shape.' pointed his indignation in four iambics. Among the changed. Mr. Triptolemus Yellowley and his avaricious sister, Miss Baby, bear some resemblance to characters in the preceding novels of this great master, but are neither so amusing nor so natural as their predecessors. Mr. Trip. himself is frequently tiresome, and his disquisitions reader, as they are represented to be to his on agriculture, are often as unpleasant to the auditors. Taking it for granted that your readers have already read the Pirate, I shall not attempt to Jack Bunce, one of the pirates, with his sketch an outline of the story, but confine satellite, Dick Fletcher, are very amusing, myself to a few remarks upon the leading cha- especially the former; and it is (in my opinion racters and actions of the piece, premising at least) a matter of regret that we have so that I object to the story, and the scene where little of his company. Jack was originally the it is laid, because that genius, which has al-Rover of the stage, where his abilities were so ready furnished us with such historical pictures as are contained in the Scotch Novels,' Ivanhoe,' and 'Kenilworth,' could have been better employed than in illustrating the escapes and adventures of a pirate; or in delineating the rugged manners and scenery of such an obscure place as the Zetland Isles, while the whole field of English, and even of European history, lay open before it. Minna Troil, the heroine of the piece, is an indifferent copy of Flora Mc. Ivor, and her romantic enthusiasm, depending on her ignorance of the world and a deficient education, excites much less sympathy, than the more polished feelings of her prototype. Brenda, her sister, is more natural, and (to my regret) less prominent. Their father, the honest, warm-hearted, old Udaller, is a very interest little encouraged that he became a Sea Rover, Even the strong minded Johnson would not be painted blinking Sam.' Mr. Boswell tells us, that Goldsmith attempted to shew his agility to be superior to the dancing of an ape, whose praise had occasioned him a fit of jealousy, but he failed in imitating his rival. BUCCANEER PARSON. " Dr. Blackburn was in the early part of his life an active Buccaneer in the West Indies, for eyen Buccaneers could not be without their parson. In one of their cruises, the first lieutenant having a dispute with him, told him, that if it were not for his gown, he should treat him in a different manner.' "Oh," says Blackburn, " that need be no hindrance, as it is easily thrown off and now I am your man.' On this it was agreed that they should fight on a small island near where the ship lay, and that the one who fell should be rolled into the sea by the survivor, that it might seem as if walking on the cliff, he had slipped his foot and tumbled in. The lieutenant fell, to all appearance shot dead. Blackburn began rolling him down one or two declivities, but just as they came to the last, the lieutenant recovered sufliciently to call out," For sake, hold your hand." "Ah." said Blackburn, you spoke just in time, for you had but one more cast to the bot tom. An inspiration nature can't bestow, MASON'S LAST SONNET. How nature to her MAKER's mandate true, Calls Spring's rich-mantled Heralds to the view The Snow-drop bright, the Crocus spik'd with gold; And still, thank HEAVEN! if I not falsely deem, My lyre, yet vocal freely can afford Strains not discordant to each mortal theme Best of poetic psalms! my faith supreme SONG. The morning hours the sun beguiles, O Mary I did meet thy smile, The original diamond ring of Mary Queen of Scots, upon which are engraved the Arms of England, Scotland, and Ireland, quartered, and which was produced in evidence at the trial of the unfortunate Mary, as a proof of her pretensions to the Crown of England, was in the possession of the late Mr. Blachford, one of the Lords of the Admiralty, at the time of his death. The history of this fatal ring is curious. It descended from Mary to her grandson Charles I. who gave it on the scaffold to Archbishop Juxon, for his son Charles II. who, in his troubles, pawned it in Holland for £300, where it was bought by Governor Yale, and sold at his sale for £320, supposed for the Pretender. Afterwards it came into the possession of the Earl of Ila, Duke of Argyle, and probably from him to the family of Mr. Blachford. At the late sale of his effects, it was said to have been purchased for his present Majesty. tor's eyes. ANECDOTE of Sir ABRAHAM REYNARDSON.When the conduct of a man is regulated, in perilous times, by a conscientious regard to principle, his memory ought not to be buried in oblivion. Such was Sir Abraham Reynardson, lord-mayor of London, in 1648. When a petition for bringing the king to trial was brought forward in the common-council, he opposed it, in spite of tumults within and without; and, at last, after a debate of twelve hours, he took up the city sword, and withdrew, at the hazard of his life, having entered the proceedings on the records of After the king's death, being called upon the court. to proclaim the abolition of kingly power, he peremptorily refused; for which he was fined 20091. imprisoned in the tower, and deprived both of his office of lord-mayor and alderman. This virtuous citizen died at his house at Tottenham, on the 4th of October 1661. SIR JOHN DUCKWORTH was always a careful and prudent man, and could not escape a sailor's joke, as well known in the service, testifies :- "When Capthe following humorous anecdote told of him, and station, a report reached the quarter-deck, while the tain of one of his Majesty's ships on the Jamaica ship was under a press of sail, that a pig was overboard; at the same moment the Captain's Steward informed him that the pig was his property. The necessary orders were immediately given to the Officer: "Man the fore and mainclue-garnets, weather main square the main-yards, or poor piggy will be drowned." The Steward again reached the ear of his Captain, and communicated the pleasing information that the pig was the property of the dead-room mess, and not his. The orders now were "Stand fast the fore and main-tacks, keep fast the boat, for poor piggy could not be saved!" ENTERTAINING PHILOSOPHICAL EXPERIMENT.-brace, clear away the quarter-boat for lowering down, Partial flashes of lightning, Aurora Borealis, &c. are to be beautifully exhibited, by taking in a spoon about a drachm of the powder or seeds of Lycopodium, and throwing it against a candle, all other lights being excluded. Powdered rosin is equally fit for the purpose, but from its adhesive quality sticks to the hand or any thing on which it falls. A very entertaining sort of corruscation of light is obtained by the use of phosphorised lime. When a small quantity (20 or 30 grains) is thrown into a glass of water, bubbles of gas are successively extracted from it, which rising to the surface of the water, are inflamed on coming in contact with the air of the atmosphere, producing a flash of bright light. And as a succession of such bubbles is produced, during a considerable time, a repetition of such flashes will be seen. A FRAGMENT.-The following, selected from a paper published at Boston, America, is said to be founded on fact:-" The wearied animal can proceed no further," said the Doctor, as he stopped the horse at the turnpike inn. He entered the bar-room, inwardly cursing the bad roads, which prevented his reaching home before midnight, and seated himself by the blazing fire. Gloomy were his meditations, which became more so at the entrance of two men, whose faces presented to his disturbed imagination pictures of fierce ambition. "Six hundred dollars," thought he;" why did I bring them with me? and proceed alone? but perhaps they may not be robbers -perhaps they may not overtake me; at any rate will proceed.' After an inspiring draught the jour uey recommenced, and tremblingly alive is the Doctor to each little noise. I see a robber!-and with the deadly weapon at that head which has so often directed the councils of the commonwealth. And shall a life so precious to the nation be sacrificed for a little pIf? Shall one vile blow deprive the country of a hero and a statesman.-No! Take my money, and spare my life exclaimed the son of Galen, and casts his pocket-book at the ruffian's feet. He waits for no reply, but applies his lash to his jaded steed. The welcome glare of light soon flashes on the Doc-. The amiable founder of the present noble family of Fitzwilliam was Alderman of Bread-street Ward in the year 1506. Before his death he forgave all his debtors, and wrote upon the erased account. of each Amore Dei remitto!' Cardinal Wolsey was the chief means of this worthy citizen acquiring his large fortune. After the disgrace of the Cardinal, Mr. Fitzwilliam very hospitably entertained him at Milton, in Northamptonshire, one of the finest estates of the present Earl. Henry the Eighth was so enraged at this that be sent for Mr. Fitzwilliam to Court, and said "Ha! ha! how comes it, ha! that you dare entertain a traitor?" Fitzwilliam modestly replied, "Please your Highness, I did it not from disloyalty, but gratitude." The angry monarch here interrupted him by "Ha! ha!" (the usual interjection of his rage.): Mr. Fitzwilliam, with the tear of gratitude in bis eye, and the burst of loyalty in his bosom continued, "From gratitude, as he was my old master, and the means of my greatest fortunes."-Impetuous Harry was so pleased with the answer, that he took him heartily by the hand, and said-"Such gratitude, ha! shall never want a master. Come into my service, worthy man, and teach my other servants gratitude, for few of them have any." He then knighted him on the spot, and Mr. F. was immediately sworn in a Privy Counsellor. A REMARKABLE SPEECH OF MR. CUFFE, Secretary to the Earl of Essex, who was executed in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, for the same offence which brought his master to the block." I am here adjudged to die for acting an act never plotted, for plotting a plot never acted. Justice will have her course: accusers must be heard; greatness. will have the victory: scholars and martialists (though learning and valour should have the pre-eminence) in England must die like dogs, and be hanged. To mislike this, were but folly to dispute it, but time lost: to alter it, impossible but to endure it, is manly; and to scorn it, magnanimity. The queen is displeased, the lawyers injurious, and death terrible: but I crave pardon of the queen; forgive the lawyers, and the world; desire to be forgiven, and welcome death." SIR,-The first Tuesday in October, is appointed, by the High Master of the Manchester Free Grammar School, as a public speech day, and, upon that occasion, extracts, selected from the best and most approved anthors, are delivered by the senior scholars. To be amongst the number of the speakers, is an honor, to which every member of this most excellent institution, looks forward with delight, and to the attainment of which, every nerve is strained. I was, at an early age, placed in this seminary, under the care of the Rev. Mr. Elsdale, a gentleman as distinguished for integrity of character, and suavity of manners, as for his literary attainments. In process of time, I arrived at the head form, and fondly wished for that eventful month, in the which I, together with my class-fellows, should ascend the hustings, and in the presence of a gay assemblage of beauty and fashion, give a specimen of our oratorical powers. For some weeks previous to the time appointed, all is bustle and anxiety, all are equally desirous to outshine their neighbours in suiting the action to the word, and the word to the action. To prevent the destruction of books, desks, tables, &c. &c., it has been found necessary to close the doors immediately upon the breaking up of the school; but, in order that all due preparation may be made for this most important event, the youthful aspirants after fame are, at stated periods, entrusted with the key, for the purpose of a rehearsal. The day, the long expected day, at length arrives. At an early hour, I hastened to the school, and took my seat; but, so impressed was I with the great importance of the task assigned me, so fearful I should not perform it to my own satisfaction, to that of my friends, that I was perfectly unconscious of every thing that passed near me, and around me, until my good friend L y whispered in my ear, my lad you are next.' Had I been about to deliver my maiden speech in the parliament house, to address the assembled peers of the realm, or to present a petition to the sovereign, my agitation could not have been greater, than upon delivering a copy of my speech, to the Warden of the Collegiate Church, who invariably attends on this occasion. With a faultering step, and a countenance as pale as death, I mounted the rostrum, and awaited the nod of Dr. Smith, as a signal to commerce. In what manner I acquitted myself I know not, but believe me, Sir, I returned to my seat, with as much delight as a transport returns to his native land, after a tedi ous absence of fourteen years, and was soon able to take a survey of the light and airy forms that surrounded me. The remainder of the day, and often of the week, is holiday, and dedicated to social enjoyment; no thoughts of lessons, or of exercises, are suffered to disturb the peace and tranquillity that reigns; but alas! vain are all sudden sallies of delight; our pleasurable ideas quickly vanish; school with all its terrors too soon returns; tasks are once more resumed; the lexicon again is elevated to it's wonted station, and the noted Tuesday is well nigh forgotten; or, if remembered, remembered only with a sigh. SIR,-I have often observed, with no small degree of surprize, that on no occasion of public rejoicing and festivity, do the bells of St. Ann's Church join in the celebration, and swell the sounds of joy.' I have frequently made enquiries respecting the circumstance, but always, until lately, to no purpose. I am, however, assured that the bells alluded to have been condemned to perpetual silence on public occaIsions, because they once rang a welcome peal to cheer the delusive hopes of the Pretender. I am anxious to know what authority there is for such an explanation of the mystery; and I shall, therefore, feel much obliged to any of your readers who is able and willing to inform me, THE FOUNDLING. QUERIST. St. Vincent de Paule was successively a slave at Tunis, tutor to the cardinal de Retz, and joint director for the distribution of bevillage curate, almoner-general to the galleys, nefices. He instituted in France the religious societies of the Seminarists, the Lazarites, and the Sisters of Charity, who devote themselves to the service of the unfortunate, and seldom change their condition, although their vows are binding only for a year. He also founded charitable institutions for foundlings, orphans, galley-slaves, and old men. He exercised for some time a ministry of zeal and charity among the galley-slaves. In the number of these wretches, he observed one who had been condemned to three years captivity for defrauding the revenue, and who appeared inconsolable at having left his wife and children to suffer the extremities of wretchedness and want. Vincent de Paule, deeply affected by his situation, offered to restore him to his it will hardly be credited, the exchange acfamily by putting himself in his place, and, tually took place. This virtuous man was chained to the galley, and his feet remained swollen during the rest of his life from the weight of the honourable tetters which he had borne. When this illustrious philanthropist came to Paris, it was customary for the children who had been found exposed, to be sold in the street St. Laudrey, for 20 sols each; and it is even said that they were given as charity to sick women, who made use of these innocent creatures to suck from their breasts a corrupted milk! The children thus abandoned by the government to the pity of the public, almost all perished, and the few who chanced to escape out of so many dangers, were those who were clandestinely introduced into opulent families, to deprive legitimate heirs of their successions: a practice that for more than a century was a perpetual source of law-suits, the details of which are seen in the compilations of the old French lawyers. V. de Paule at first supplied funds for the support of twelve of these children, and it was soon put in his power to relieve all those who were found at the doors of churches. But that fervour which is always attendant. on a novel establishment shortly began to cool.; the sup plies of money entirely failed, and the horrid outrages on nature were about to recommence. Vincent de Paul was not discouraged. He convoked an extraordinary meeting, caused a great number of these unfortunate infants to be placed in the church, and ascending immediately into the pulpit, pronounced, his eyes streaming with tears, the following discourse: You are not ignorant, Ladies, that compassion and charity first made you adopt these little creatures as your children. You have been their mothers according to grace since the time that their mothers according to nature abandoned them. Consider now if you will also abandon them. Cease for a moment to be their mothers, and become their judges. Their life and death are in your hands, Behold! I take the votes and suffrages. It is time! You must pronounce sentence, and declare if you will no longer shew them mercy. They will live if you continue your charitable care, but if you consent to abandon them, they all perish. The only answer to this pathetic appeal was the tears and sighs of the audience; and on the same day, in the same church, and at the very instant, the Foundling Hospital was estathousand livres. blished and endowed with a revenue of forty FIRE SHIELDS. Mr. Buckley, of New York, has invented and obtained a patent for a Fire Shield. It is intended to protect firemen whilst employed in extinguishing fires, but particularly designed to prevent fire from spreading. It is made of a metallic substance; thin, light, and impervious to heat; it is of a length and breadth sufficient to cover the whole person, and it may be used in several different positions. For example: when used in the street, it is firmly fixed on a small platform, with wheels, and a short elevation from the ground. The fireman takes his stand on this platform and behind the shield; he is drawn by ropes near the current of heat and flames, without being scorched or feeling any inconvenience; and with the hose pipe, or leader, in his hand, he directs the water to the part where it is most required. In this way a line of shields may be formed in close order, in front of a powerful heat, behind which the firemen may stand with safety, and play upon the house with their water-pipes. 1821 METEOROLOGICAL RESULTS Of the Atmospherical Pressure and Temperature, Rain, Wind, &c. deduced from Diurnal Observations, Made at MANCHESTER, in the Year 1821, by Mr. THOMAS HANSON, Surgeon. 6 1.324 1.045 1.703 0 .864 .260 10000 17 6 3 23 13 1 9 752 31 3 3.10 2.15 7 5.20 11 40.95 55° 239 32° 15 1.095 .528 3.145 2.947 3.876 3.984 2.739 3.523 이이 23 0 4 1 January 29.76 30.64 28.96 1.69 .66 The annual mean temperature of the past year, is fifty-one degrees; being about two degrees above the average: the mean of the first three months, 40° 9; second, 54° 1; third, 61° 9; fourth, 48°; of the six winter months, 449 4; six summer months, 57° 9. The maximum, or hottest state of the year, was 81°, which occurred on the memorable 19th of July, the Coronation of King George the Fourth; the minimum or coldest state, was 23°, which is only 9 below freezing, this happened on the 4th January, making an annual variation of 58°. From the above, the reporter is enabled to draw the following comparison, between the past and preceding year, viz. the average heat of the six summer months of 1821, was nearly one degree more than that of 1820, and the heat of the six winter months, three degrees above the corresponding ones of the preceding year, so that the temperature of 1821, has been more mild than usual, and not marked by any very great extremes. The annual mean elevation of the barometer, is nearly twenty-nine inches and seven-tenths; highest 30.65, which was on the 23rd of January; lowest 28.16 which happened on the 28th of December: the difference of these extremes, makes 2.49 inches: mean of the six summer months, 29.75; of the six BRIDGE-STREET, 28th JANUARY, 1822. WEEKLY DIARY. FEBRUARY. winter months, 29.63. The meau daily movements of the barometrical surface; measure near forty-eight inches: total number of changes, one hundred and five. The barometer throughout the month of February, was remarkably high and desultory in its movements: on the contrary, in the month of December it oscillated most extraordinarily ; and towards the close of the year, very low: the utmost depression, was the minimum of the year. Much has been said about the wetness of the past year. My annual account scarcely amounts to 32 inches in depth, which is certainly under the average for Manchester. Mr. JOHN BLACKWALL, of Crumpsall, makes his annual fall three inches more, and Mr. JOHN DALTON, for Ardwick, nearly eight inches more than mine. On the contrary Mr. EDWARD STELFOX, of Lymm, near Warrington, has only registered a fall of twenty-eight inches. The differences in our annual statements of rain, from places so near together are singular, and certainly require an attentive inquiry: the only difference in our apparatus, is, that Mr. Dalton's rain funnel is larger; min, Mr. Blackwall's, and Mr. Stelfox's are made alike, the same size, and of one material, which is that of copper. Provided our calculations of the method of 54 0 0165 0 C 3 2 12 10 3 0 0 2 2 2 0 01 20 5 0 c 0 G 5 0 16 5 2 1 measuring the rain collected in these funnel-areas be correct, and which I have every reason to conclude is the case; and provided their surfaces are parallel with the horizon, and at sufficient distances from trees, buildings, or any object that might obstruct a free access; it must follow, that there can be no error in our results. I have noted down 180 days, on which rain fell more or less, which number is one less than last year. In the last five months of 1820, there were 85 wet days; the number in the corresponding ones of 1821 is 101. February was the dryest, and September and November the wettest. The south, south-west, and west winds, have been the most prevalent: those winds were noticed to blow on 224 days. On the 18th, 19th, and 20th of March, (about the vernal equinox) the wind blew hurricanes from the north-west, at ended with rain, snow, and sleet. On the night of the 30th of November, and following morning, the wind blew a most violent gale from the south-west, accompanied with hail and rain, the damage done in consequence, by the falling of chimneys, unroofing of houses, &c. was great, several lives were lost in Liverpool, and other places, and a large number of vessels suffered in the harbours and on the neighbouring coasts. a great number of lights; in remembrance, | each going individually, and kneeling at as it is supposed, of our blessed Saviour's being declared by Simeon to be a light to lighten the Gentiles; hence the name of Candlemas-day. It is also called Christ's Presentation," the Holiday of Saint Si SOME etymologists derive February from Februa, an epithet given to Juno, as the Goddess of Purification; while others attribute the origin of the name to Februa,n,' and, in the north of England, the 'Wives' Feast-day.' a feast held by the Romans in this month, in behalf of the manes of the deceased. REMARKABLE DAYS. SATURDAY, 2-Purification of the Bles sed Virgin Mary, This festival is of high antiquity, and the ancient christians observed it by using the throne to receive it. The ceremony commences with the cardinals; then follow the bishops, prelati, canons, priors, abbots, priests, &c., down to the sa ristans and meanest officers of the church. When the last of these has gotten his candle, the poor conservatori, the repreThe Benedictions of the Candles at sentatives of the Roman senate and peoRome, on this day, as witnessed by Lady ple, receive theirs. This ceremony over, Morgan in 1820, is thus described :- the candles are lighted, the pope is mountThe ceremony takes place in the beanti-ed in his chair and carried in procession, ful chapel of the Quirinal, where the pope with hymns chaunting, round the antichahimself officiates, and blesses, and distri pel; the throne is stripped of it's splenbutes with his own hands, a candle to did hangings, the pope and cardinals every person in the body of the church; take of their gold and crimson dresses, |