Mr. Brady observes, in his “Clavis Calendaria,” “That the weather in
July and August is generally more sultry than at any other period of the
year, and that some particular diseases are consequently at that time
more to be dreaded, both to man and beast, is past dispute. The
exaggerated effects of the rising of Sirius are now, however, known to
be groundless; and the superior heat usually felt during the Dog-days
has been more philosophically accounted for. The sun, at this period of
the year, not only darts his rays almost perpendicularly upon us, and of
course with greater power; but has also continued to exert his influence
through the spring and summer seasons, whereby the atmosphere and earth
have received a warmth, proportioned to the continuity of its action;
and moisture, in itself naturally cold, has been dissipated. Even in the
course of a _day_, which has been aptly typified as a _short year_, the
greatest effect of the sun is generally felt at about two o’clock,
although it has then passed the meridian, because by having so much
longer exerted its powers, its consequent effects are more than
commensurate for the diminution of heat in its rays. The cold of winter
in like manner augments about the time the days begin to _increase_, and
_continues_ to do so, for a considerable time after, because, at that
season, the earth has become wet and chilled, from the effects of the
preceding gradual _decrease of power in the sun_, although, _at that
time_, when the cold is usually most severe, that orb is ascensive, and
returning from the winter solstice: and our Saxon ancestors were
_experimentally_ so well aware of this latter circumstance, that in the
delineation on their calendars, to illustrate the characters of the
months they represented February, as a man in the act of striking his
arms across his body to warm himself: while there is also yet in common
use a very old saying, grounded upon the like conviction, that ‘when the
days lengthen, the frost is sure to strengthen.’
“The early Egyptians, whose _hieroglyphical characters_, aptly adapted
by _them_ to the peculiarity of their climate and circumstances, were
the principal or perhaps sole origin of all the heathenish superstitions
of other nations, were taught by long observation and experience, that
as soon as a particular star became visible, the _Nile_ would overflow
its banks; and they accordingly upon its very first appearance retreated
to their terraces, where they remained until the inundation had
subsided. This star, therefore, was called by them _Sihor_, i. e. the
Nile; as Σείριος is in Greek, and _Sirius_ in Latin; and from the
_warning_ it afforded them, they typified it as a _dog_, or in most
cases as a man with a dog’s head; that faithful animal having been, even
in those times, distinguished for his peculiar qualities of watching
over the affairs of man, and affording _warning_ of approaching danger.
The names assigned to this star by the Egyptians was _Thaaut_, or
_Tayout_, the _dog_; and in later times _Sothis_, _Thotes_, or _Thot_,
each bearing the like signification; but it was left for the subsequent
ignorance of those other nations who adopted that character for _Sihor_,
now _Sirius_, without considering the true origin of its appellation,
falsely to assign to it, the increasing heat of the season, and its
consequent effects upon animated nature. The idea, however, of any such
effects, either as to heat, or to disorders, from the influence of the
canicular star, is now wholly exploded, from the reasons already
assigned, and because ‘that star not only varies in its rising every
year, as the latitude varies, but that it rises later and later every
year in all latitudes;’ so that when it rises in winter, which, by the
way, cannot be for five or six thousand years, it might, with equal
propriety, be charged with increasing the frost: and besides, it is to
be observed, that although Sirius is the nearest to the earth of any of
the _fixed stars_, it is computed to be at the enormous distance of
2,200,000,000,000 miles from our globe; a space too prodigious to admit
of its rays affording _any sensible heat_: and which could not be
passed by a cannon-ball, flying with its calculated velocity of 480
miles in one hour, in less than 523,211 years! Upon the whole,
therefore, it evidently appears, that the origin of the name of this
star was not only wholly disregarded, but that common and undigested
opinion made its _conjunction_ with the _sun_, the _cause_ of heat, &c.
instead of having regarded it as a _sign_ of the period when such
effects might naturally be expected.”
~Mad Dogs.~
_There is no cure for the bite of a mad dog_; and as at this time dogs
go mad, it is proper to observe, that immediate burning out of the
bitten part by caustic, or the cutting of it out by the surgeon’s knife,
is the only remedy. If either burning or cutting be omitted, the bitten
person, unless opiumed to death, or smothered between featherbeds, will
in a few days or weeks die in unspeakable agony. The latter means are
said to have been sometimes resorted to as a merciful method of
extinguishing life. It is an appalling fact, that _there is no cure for
hydrophobia_.
Preventive is better than cure, and in this case it is easy. Dogs,
however useful in some situations, are wholly useless in towns.
Exterminate them.
Against this a cry will go forth from all dog-owners: they will condemn
the measure as proceeding from a barbarian; but _they_ are the
barbarians who keep animals subject to a disease fatal to human life.
Such persons, so far from being entitled to a voice against its
execution, merit abhorrence and contempt for daring to propose that
every man, woman, and child among their friends and neighbours, should
run the risk of a cruel death for the gratification of selfishness.
Every honest man in every town who keeps a dog, should destroy it, and
use his influence with others to destroy theirs. No means of preventing
_hydrophobia_ exists but the destruction of dogs.
Oh! but dogs are useful; they guard our houses at night; they go in
carts and guard our goods by day; they catch our rats; and, then, they
are such faithful creatures! All this, though very true, does not urge
one reason against their destruction as a preventive from their
communicating a fatal and wholly incurable disease. Instead of
house-dogs at night, get additional watchmen, or secure watchmen more
vigilant than those you have, by paying a proper price for the important
services required of them, which in most places are not half requited.
Instead of cart-dogs, employ boys, of whom there are scores
half-starving, who would willingly take charge of carts at little more
than the expense of dog-keep. If rats must be caught, cats can catch
them, or they may be poisoned. Instead of cultivating the fidelity of
dogs, let dog-keepers cultivate a little fidelity in themselves towards
their neighbours, and do as they would be done unto, by destroying their
dogs.
Oh, but would you deprive the “poor” man of his dog? Yes. The poorer he
is, the less occasion he has for a dog, and the less ability he has to
maintain a dog. Few poor men in towns keep dogs but for the purpose of
sport of some kind; making matches to fight them, drawing badgers with
them, baiting bulls with them, or otherwise brutally misemploying them.
An act of parliament, inflicting heavy penalties for keeping dogs in
towns, and empowering constables, beadles, street-keepers, and others,
with rewards for carrying it into effect on every dog they meet, would
put an end to _hydrophobia_.
It is a common practice to kill dogs at this season in some parts of the
continent, and so did our ancestors. Ben Jonson, in his “Bartholomew
Fair,” speaks of “the _dog-killer_ in this month of August.” A
dog-destroyer in every parish would be an important public officer.
REMEMBER! _there is no cure for the bite of a mad dog_.
* * * * *
_To the Bellflower._
With drooping bells of clearest blue
Thou didst attract my childish view,
Almost resembling
The azure butterflies that flew
Where on the heath thy blossoms grew
So lightly trembling.
Where feathery fern and golden broom
Increase the sandrock cavern’s gloom
I’ve seen thee tangled,
’Mid tufts of purple heather bloom
By vain Arachne’s treacherous loom
With dewdrops spangled.
’Mid ruins tumbling to decay,
Thy flowers their heavenly hues display,
Still freshly springing,
Where pride and pomp have passed away
On mossy tomb and turret gray,
Like friendship clinging.
When glowworm lamps illume the scene
And silvery daisies dot the green,
Thy flowers revealing,
Perchance to soothe the fairy queen,
With faint sweet tones on night serene
Soft bells are pealing.
But most I love thine azure braid,
When softer flowers are all decayed,
And thou appearest
Stealing beneath the hedgerow shade,
Like joys that linger as they fade,
Whose last are dearest.
Thou art the flower of memory;
The pensive soul recalls in thee
The year’s past pleasures;
And, led by kindred thought, will flee,
Till, back to careless infancy,
The path she measures.
Beneath autumnal breezes bleak,
So faintly fair, so sadly meek,
I’ve seen thee bending,
Pale as the pale blue veins that streak
Consumption’s thin, transparent cheek,
With death hues blending.
Thou shalt be sorrow’s love and mine
The violet and the eglantine
With Spring are banished.
In Summer pinks and roses shine,
But I of thee my wreath will twine,
When these are vanished.
_May you like it._
* * * * *