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METEOROLOGICAL JOURNAL, December 1791.
D. H. Baro. T.out T. in Hyg, C. Wind.
W 2 : cloudy WSW 2
. more wind : formy W 2 • more cloudy WSW 2 fine night
WO ENE I
• snow and rain at eve. stormy
. less wind at night
little snow, fine
little snow. fine : wind and snow NWI WNW) WNWI wind SW: little snow SI
wind and rain. less wind. fine
18 29,59 39,5 48
2 2.9,62 45,5 51,5 12,5 28 29,28 47 52,5 13 2 29,3648
53 12,5 4 3 8 29,57 38
12,5 229,5341,5 go 12,5 4.8 28,9639 13 5
229,24 39,5 48 13 58 29,7813395 41 12,5
29,74 36,5 45,5 12,5 68 29,68 34
11,5 2 29,69 +7,5/48,5 12 5 8 29,5939 47 12,55
29,44 44 48,5 12,5 3 88 29,34 38,5 48,5 12,5
3 10 8 29,34 33,5142
2:29,39 33,5 44,5 | 12 3 1829,63 127 40,5 12 3
229,69 30,5142 11,54 128 29,89122
II 4 2 29,5934
11,55 1318 29,14 40 43 12,5
2 29,13 42 45,5 13 4 1418 29,33137 44
2 2 -9,32 38,5/46 1518 29,71 35,545 13 3
2 29,83139,5 40 13 5 16 8 30,1431 43
2 30,22 37 145,512,5 178 30,42 30 42 12 230,41 34
42,5 12,5 1818 30,28 | 31,5141,5|12,517
2 30,17 36,5145 1918 130,04 36,5 46 4 230,04 40
12,55 2013 | 30,08 34:544,512 5
2 30,08 37 45 12,514 211 8 30,18 34,5 43,5 12,514
2 30,11 36,5 43,5 12 2218 29,98 32,543 II 2 29,89 32
42,5 1 13 231 8 29,23|44,5 45
2 29,07 47,5 49 2418 29,34 35 4+ 12 15
2 29,47 37 44,5 11,5 25 S 29,4741,5 45
12 Ni 29,39 44;5:47
12,55 2018 29,39 36,5 45
2 29,57 40,5 46,5 12 378 29,68 37
6 2 29,34 43 49,5 12,55 2818 29,34 43
12,513 2 129,62 44 29 30,04 37,5 47 12 2 30,16 41,5 49 10,23 135
46 2:30,1343 46,5 12,5 3:18:29,7147 48 13,5
2 i 29,56148 150,5113,5
Ni fuggy, thick fog at night
N2 little Neet and rain. fine night
feet at eve. rain and wind
3 little rain. fine night: little snow
little rain and less wind
rain at times
little wet at times WNW 3
S 2 little wet : rain. fine SSW 21: showers
Greatest, Leaft, and Mean State of the BAROMETER, THERMOMETER,
and HYGROMETER, in the Year 1791.
Thermom, without., Thermom. within.
Great. | Leaft | Mean Great. Least | Mean Great., Leaft Mean Great.? Least Mean
May 30,37 29,50 30,038 39,5 53,562 150 156,5 14,5 7,5 11,5
June 30,2529,45 29,95 80 142
7 July 30,29 29,58 29,9377 52
61,5168,5157,553 14,5 11 Aug. 30,55 19,82 29,9277 52 164
147 155,5113,5110 Nov. 30,28128,72 29,7053 27,5145 56 145
The BEARD: an ANECDOTE.
tomed to behold their lovers than a coquette. with beards, the fight of a shaved a divorce. She then married the chin excited sentiments of horror and count of Anjou, who shortly after averfion; as much indeed as, in this afcended the English throne. She effeminate age, would a gallant whose gave him, for her marriage dower, : hairy excrement should
the rich provinces of Poitou and Stream like a meteor to the trou
Guienne ; and this was the origin of
those wars which for three hundred bled air.
years ravaged France, and which cost To obey the injunctions of his bi- the French nation three millions of shops, Louis the Seventh of France All which, probably, had necropped his hair, and shaved his ver taken place, if Louis the Seventh beard, Eleanor of Acquitaine, his had not been fo rafh as to crop his consort, found him, with this uncom- hair and shave his beard, by which mon appearance, very ridiculous, and he became so disgustful in the eyes of very contemptible.' She revenged the fair Eleanor.
THE MILL: A TALE.
The following Tale is selected from Tales of an Evening;' of which it is fuffi
cient Praise to say, that the original Work, · Les Vielles,' lately published at
to me; nor would I, but for the good
you do in the country, have deprived HAT can I relate to you, myself of my child, to take charge of
said Juliet, after such affect- yours; but it was incumbent on some ing scenes ??--- A felicity suited to your one among us to discharge the debt age,” said her mother;“cannot you re- of so many unfortunate people; and collect any ?"You furnish me with as you have chosen me, it was no pleasurable sensations every day, my doubt the will of God that I Mould dear mother. My life consists of no- be the person. Do not envy me my thing else, and I am accustomed to happiness. Weakly as you are, your them; but the pleasure I am going to tenderness would have been cruel to fpeak of I did not expect.
yourself and your child, if you
had • I was born at Verval, here, in endeavoured to suckle her. Do not this castle. My mother was desirous fear lest I should rob nature of her of suckling me; the considered it as a share of the sentiments of this little pleasure.'-' And as a duty too,' said creature. As soon as she thall acquire her mother, in a low tone of voice.-- a little knowledge, you may be sure • Her health, however, did not per- that she will distinguish you from all mit her ; but she was careful to choose other women, as well as from myself, the best nurse in the neighbourhood; and that all her fenfibility will be diand this excellent nurse was also an rected toward you.” excellent woman.
My mother has • My mother's bounties so improved told me, many a time, that next to the circumstances of Susan (for that the cares of maternal love, it is im- was my nurse's name) that her whole possible to imagine any more tender family was happy. As my father althan those I received in my infancy ways spent the summer months here, from that good woman. By the I had every year the pleasure of manner in which the fulfilled the du- seeing Susan run to take me in her ties of a second mother, it was easy to arms on my arrival. I went also to fee that she felt all their dignity: she her village to see her, and I always acquitted herself of them with a no- experienced heartfelt joy on finding ble and gentle modefty that looked peace, happiness, and plenty in her like piety, and that gave an air (of rustic abode. religion to the most humble offices. My father's journey to the Spa, to When my mother sometimes seemed drink the waters, at the time his state grieved at not being in her place, of health began to be precarious, pre
If your health, madam,” said she, vented our pasing the ummer of one “ had permitted you to suckle your year at Verval. The year after we child, you would not have given her went there as usual. This journey
was a festival in which we meant to desert you in your distress?"" I tell celebrate my father's convalescence. you again," laid she, “ that the fick Susan came to see me as usual, and, man wanted nothing.”though very sorrowful, she did not and your children, and their unfortuseem less sensible to the joy of our nate father?”. -“ No, my amiable happy return; but when I told her, Juliet, their father is not unfortunate. on her taking leave, that I hoped foon Your foster-brother Marcellin, affifted to come and see her, she begged me, him. They work together cheerfully in a forrowful and affecting manner in the vineyard of a rich neighbour. not to give myself the trouble. I My daughter, Louisa, begins also to was much struck by the novelty of be of use to us. The wool and cotthese words, and insisted on knowing ton she spins with the fine wheel her reason; she embraced me with a gave her, doubles its value in her smile in which I discovered a mixture hands, and all put together, at the of chagrine.—“Miss,” said she, "you end of the week, enables us to live. are no longer a child, and your kind- Do not then pity us, and be assured, ness for me "_“I am always the if labour had not supplied our wants, same,” said I, interrupting her, “ and madame de Verval, and you, her you will ever find me the child you worthy daughter, wouid have been suckled. I shall come and see you as the first I should have made acquainted soon as pofsible.”
with our distress." « There are elevated minds, even • At this moment, Louisa, who in humble stations, to which a virtu- was bringing back a basket of linen ous pride is natural. My nurse was on her head from the spring, entered unfortunate: a good old man who the hut, came to me with a contented lived with her, Firmin, the father of, look, made me a thousand kind comher husband, Baptist, was dead, and pliments, and did not seem any more his last fickness had ruined them : confused than usual.-“ Louisa, go instead of their neat little house, they and milk the goat,” said her mother, had nothing but a thatched hut, a “ Miss Juliet ihall taste her milk”. goat instead of the fine black cow ; “ The words go and milk the goat and instead of the meadow, the vine- grieved me to the heart, but they yard, and the garden, a little bare amicted nobody but me. Louisa hal. spot of ground was all that remained. tened to obey, and the pleasure of seeEighteen months had altered every ing me again seemed to inspire her with thing. Susan, on seeing me arrive, more than usual activity.” com" You came to meet me, and said to me, will find our bread excellent,” said with the noble air that was natural to Susan, “I make it myself.” her-You will be a little hurt at • I tasted the bread: it was good, not finding us so well off as we used no doubt, and so was the goat's milk, to be.
But do not regret the use we but I found a bitterness in the repaft. have made of your presents, and of I conceale!, however, the sorrow I the bounty of your parents. They felt at the state of distress in which I have been well employed. Firmin, left them. “ What a situation,” said our good father, was taken as much I to myself, as I was going away, care of as if his children had been « to wait every day for the bread nericher, and, thank heaven, till his cessary to support life, till it be prolast moment was in want of nothing.” cured by one's labour ! and if any
of • When I looked round the hut, them should fall fick!-0, my dear which was clean enough, but bare of mother, you will not let my every thing, I began to weep. main in this situation." “Why,” said I to Suían, “did you ‘My mother, indeed, halened to let us remain ignorant of your fitua- assist them, but their future welfare tion? Could you think tat we would fat heavy on my heart, and pursued
me even in my dreams. One of cascade. I saw the stream all in a them, however, seemed so favourable foam, as white as milk, bubble up a prelage, that if I had believed in beneath the wheel, which seemed to dreams, it would have diminished my animate it, and inspire it with the concern.
desire of being useful. Your stream • In Verval park, you know, there seemed proud of turning a mill. And is a corner, that runs out irregularly who do you think was the miller's from the bottom of the hill, from wife?'-" Susan," said my mother. which flows the stream that waters « Yes,' said I, • Baptist was your our garden. This stream, which miller. Marcellin was planting a forms a cascade, and which meanders vineyard on the side of the hill, and through the corner of the meadow, his sister Louisa was cultivating the shaded with poplars, makes this ioli- prettiest garden in the world; while tary spot a delicious retreat for a per- two fine heifers, and a little flock of son inclined to filent meditation. No- sheep, were grazing in the inclosure thing is heard but the murmur of the round the mill. Ah! sir, how happy water, so friendly to the pensive mind. was this little family, and how happy My father was fond of this place; it was I myself! was his favourite walk, and he had • After a moment's reflection, my concealed the approach to it by long father smiled.-“ I am pleased," said winding paths. I often went thither, he, “ to find you have had such an attended by my governess, and the agreeable dream, and you have resad remembrance of the hut in which lated it charmingly.". I had left my nurse. I spoke of it to "I often recollected it in the valley her, and consulted her; but being of of the cascade, but I mentioned it no rather a severe disposition, while she more, and it seemed to be forgotten. praised my gratitude, he discouraged - Toward the end of autumn we me from employing the means I had returned to town. During the windevised to thew it. “ Your parents,” ter, which seemed very long, I hoardthe said, “ have done more for Susan ed up my pocket-money, and longed than any body had ever done for a to see my nurse again. woman in her situation. To alk them after our return to Verval, the 25th for more would be importunity. Some of April, was the finest spring day day or other, you will be able to con possible. Vernet would have chosen fer your own favours upon them.” it to paint the revival of nature in her This reasoning only added to my me- most brilliant colours. Every one at lancholy, of which I no longer dared Verval enjoyed the beauty of the to mention the cause.
country. I alone was melancholy. One evening, however, when Susan used to meet us at our arrival: dreams were the lubjcct of conversa- this year she did not. “ Perhaps," tion, I could not refiit the inclination thought I, “ my good nurse, or her of relating what I had dreamt the husband, or one of her children, may night before; and my father, who be ill; or perhaps, she may be in loved to hear me exercise the talent distress, and afraid of appearing, left nature has given to us all, of paint- she should be thought troublesome.” ing, in itrong colours, whatever itrikes • After breakfast my father prous forcibly, listened to atten- posed a walk to me. My mother, tively.
the vicar, and several friends, were • You kno:v, fir,' said I, “that my of the party. When we came to the favourite walk, as well as yours, is folitary part of the park, the valley the valley of the cascade. Last night of the cascade, how great was my that charming spot was present to my surprise and my enchantment! My imagination ; but it was altered. father had realized my dream. The There was a mill at the bottom of the mill, the vineyard, the little orchard 3