chilling frosty nights, which are also generally very calm, condense into mists; differing from clouds only in remaining on the surface of the ground.

up

Now by the cool declining year condensed,
Descend the copious exhalations, check'd
As the middle sky unseen they stole,
And roll the doubling fogs around the hill.
Thence expanding far,
The huge dusk gradual swallows Sup
the plain
Vanish the woods; the dimseen river seems
Sullen and slow to roll the misty wave.
Even in the height of noon oppressed, the sun
Sheds weak and blunt his wide refracted ray;
Whence glaring oft, with many a broadened orb,
He frights the nations. Indistinct on earth,
Seen through the turbid air, beyond the life
Objects appear, and wildered o'er the waste,
The shepherd stalks gigantic.

"EXTRAORDINARY NEWS!"

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book. Sir,-The character and manners of a people may be often correctly ascertained by an attentive examination of their familiar customs and sayings. The investigation of these peculiarities, as they tend to enlarge the knowledge of human nature, and illustrate national history, as well as to mark the fluctuation of language, and to explain the usages of antiquity, is, therefore, deserving of high commendation; and, though occasionally, in the course of those inquiries, some whimsical stories are related, and some very homely phrases and authorities cited, they are the occurrences of every day, and no way seem to disqualify the position in which several amusing and popular customs are brought forward to general view. Under this impression, it will not be derogatory to the Every-Day Book, to observe that by such communications, it will become an assemblage of anecdotes, fragments, remarks, and vestiges, collected and recollected :-Various,-that the mind

:

Of desultory man, studious of change, And pleas'd with novelty, may be indulged. Cowper. Should the following extract, from a volume of Miscellaneous Poems, edited by Elijah Fenton, and printed by Bernard Lintot, without date, but anterior to 1720, in octavo, be deemed by you, from the foregoing observations, deserving of notice, it is at your service.

Old Bennet was an eccentric person, at the early part of the last century, who appears to have excited much noise in London.

On the Death of OLD BENNET, the News Cryer.

"One evening, when the sun was just gone down,

As I was walking thro' the noisy town, A sudden silence through each street was spread,

As if the soul of London had been fled.
Much I inquired the cause, but could not
hear,

Till fame, so frightened, that she did not dare
To raise her voice, thus whisper'd in my ear:
Bennet, the prince of hawkers, is no more,
Bennet, by whom, I own myself outdone,
Bennet, my Herald on the British shore;
Tho' I a hundred mouths, he had but one.
He, when the list'ning town he would amuse,
Made echo tremble with his bloody news.
No more snall Ecno, now his voice return,
Ecno. for ever must in silence mourn.-
Lamen, ve neroes, woo frequent the wars,
The great proclaimer of vour dreadful scars.
Thus wept the conqueror, who the world o'er-
Homer was wanting to enlarge his fame
came,
Homer, the first of hawkers that is known,
Great news from Troy, cried up and down the

town.

"Bloody News!" "Great Victory!” or more frequently "Extraordinary Gazette!" were, till recently, the usual loud bellowings of fellows, with stentorian lungs, accompanied by a loud blast of a long tin-horn, which announced to the delighted populace of London, the martial achievements of the modern Marlborough. These itinerants, for the most part, were the link-men at the entrances to the theatres; and costermongers, or porters, assisting in various menial offices during the day. A copy of the "Gazette," or newspaper they were crying, was generally affixed under the hatband, in front, and their demand for a newspaper generally one shilling.

Those newscriers are spoken off in the past sense, as the further use of the horn is prohibited by the magistracy, subject to a penalty of ten shillings for a first offence, and twenty shillings on the conviction of repeating so heinous a crime. "Oh, dear!" as Crockery says, I think in these times of "modern improvement," every thing is changing, and in many instances, much for the worse.

I suspect that you, Mr. Editor, possess a fellow-feeling on the subject, and shall

And then have brought us home strange sights and sounds

From distant lands, of dark and awful deeds; And fair and dreadful spirits; and gay rounds Of mirth and music; and then mourning weeds;

And tale of hapless love that sweetly wounds The gentle heart, and its deep fondness feeds;

Lapping it up in dreams of sad delight From its own weary thoughts, a visions wild and bright :

Oh! never yet to me the power or will

To match these mighty sorcerers of the soul Was given; but on the bosom, lone and still, Through wood and wild, o'er forest, rock, and Of nature cast, I early wont to stroll

hill,

Companionless; without a wish or goal, Of living thing that there did fearlessly reSave to discover every shape and voice joice.

And every day that boyish fancy grew;

And every day those lonely scenes became Dearer and dearer, and with objects new,

All sweet and peaceful, fed the young
spirit's flame

Then rose each silent woodland to the view,
Each sound a burst of music on the air,
A glorious theatre of joy! then came
That sank into the soul to live for ever there!

Oh, days of glory! when the young soul drank
Delicious wonderment through every sense!
And every tone and tint of beauty sank

Into a heart that ask'd not how, or whence Came the dear influence; from the dreary blank

Of nothingness sprang forth to an existence Thrilling and wond'rous; to enjoy-enjoy The new and glorious blessing-was its sole employ.

To roam auroad amidst the mists, and dews, And brightness of the early morning sky, When rose and hawthorn leaves wore tenderest

hues:

Seated upon her nest; or wondering muse

To watch the mother linnet's stedfast eye,

On her eggs's spots, and bright and delicate dye;

To peep into the magpie's thorny hall, Or wren's green cone in some hoar mossy wall;

To hear of pealing bells the distant charm,

As slow I wended down some lonely dale, Past many a bleating flock, and many a farm And solitary hall; and in the vale To meet of eager hinds a hurrying swarm,

With staves and terriers hastening to assail Polecat, or badger, in their secret dens, Or otter lurking in the deep and reedy fens :

To pass through villages, and catch the hum

Forth bursting from some antiquated school, Endow'd long since by some old knight, whose tomb

Stood in the church just by; to mark the dool

Of light-hair'd lads that inly rued their doom, Prison'd in that old place, that with the tool,

Stick-knife or nail, of many a sly offender, Was carved and figured over, wall, and desk, and window;

To meet in green lanes happy infant bands, Full of health's luxury, sauntering and singing,

A childish, wordless melody; with hands Cowslips, and wind-flowers, and green brook-lime bringing;

Or weaving caps of rushes; or with wands Guiding their mimic teams; or gaily swinging

On some low sweeping bough, and clinging all One to the other fast, till, laughing, down 'hey fail ;

To sit down by some solitary man,

Hoary with years, and with a sage's look, In some wild dell where purest waters ran, And see him draw forth his black-letter book,

Wond'ring, and wond'ring more, as he began,
On it, and then on many an herb to look,
That he had wander'd wearily and wide,
To pluck from jutting rocks, and woods, and
mountain side;

And then, as he would wash his healing roots
In the clear stream, that ever went singing

on,

Through banks o'erhung with herbs and flowery shoots,

Leaning as if they loved its gentle tune, To hear him tell of many a plant that suits Fresh wound, or fever'd frame; and of the

moon

Shedding o'er weed and wort her healing power. For gifted wights to cull in her ascendant hour; To lie abroad on nature's lonely breast,

Amidst the music of a summer's sky, Where tall, dark pines the northern bank invest Of a still lake; and see the long pikes lie Basking upon the shallows; with dark crest, And threat'ning pomp, the swan go sailing by; And many a wild fowl on its breast that shone, Flickering like liquid silver, in the joyous sun: The duck, deep poring with his downward head,

Like a buoy floating on the ocean wave; The Spanish goose, like drops of crystal, shed The water o'er him, his rich plumes to lave; The beautiful widgeon, springing upward, spread

His clapping wings; the heron, stalking grave,

Into the stream; the coot and water-hen Vanish into the flood, then, far off, rise again;

And when warm summer's holiday was o'er,

And the bright acorns patter'd from the trees When fires were made, and closed was every door,

And winds were loud, or else a chilling breeze Came comfortless, driving cold fogs before:

On dismal, shivering evenings, such as these, To pass by cottage windows, and to see, Round a bright hearth, sweet faces shining happily;

These were the days of boyhood! Oh! such days Shall never, never more return again— When the fresh heart, all witless of the ways, The sickening, sordid, selfish ways of men, Danced in creation's pure and placid blaze,

Making an Eden of the loneliest glen! Darkness has follow'd fast, and few have been The rays of sunlight cast upon life's dreary

scene.

For years of lonely thought, in morning-tide
Of life, will make a spirit all unfit
To brook of men the waywardness and pride;
Too proud itself to woo, or to submit;
Seorning, as vile, what all adore beside,

And deeming only glorious the soul lit With the pure flame of knowledge, and the eye Filled with the gentle love of the bright earth and sky.

Fancy's spoil'd child will ever surely be

A thing of nothing in the worldly throng: Wrapp'd up in dreams that they can never see; Listening to fairy harp, or spirit's song, Where all to them is stillest vacancy:

For ever seeking, as he glides along, Some kindred heart, that feels as he has felt, And can read each thought that with him long has dwelt.

But place him midst creation!-let him stand Where wave and mountain revel in his sight, Then shall his soul triumphantly expand,

With gathering power, and majesty, and The world beneath him is the temple plann'd light!

For him to worship in; and, pure and bright, Heaven's vault above, the proud eternal dome Of his Almighty Sire, and his own future home! With such inspiring fancies, mortal pride

Shrinks into nothing; and all mortal things He casts, as weeds cast by the ocean tide, From its embraces; the world's scorn he flings

Back on itself, disdaining to divide,

With its low cares, that sensitive spirit that brings

Home to his breast all nature's light and glee, Holding with sunshine, clouds, and gales, unearthly revelry.

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR. Mean Temperature . . . 54 · 1”.