THE BOOK OF DAYS. however, still kept possession of the trade, by bribing their competitors, and by their influence over the book-market. In 1828, The British Almanac of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge was published, and in the course of a few years the astrological portions disappeared from the other almanacs. Several new ones, contain- | ing valuable information, have since been presented to the public. But the measure which led to the improvement and great increase of almanacs, was the entire repeal of the stampduties thereon, by 3 and 4 Will. IV. c. 37, 13th August 1834. Hitherto, the stamp-duty upon each Moore's Almanac was 15d. In a letter from Robert Heath, of Upnor Castle, date about 1753, the sheet almanac of the Stationers' Company is stated to sell 175,000, and they give three guineas for the Moore's copy; sells 75,000, and they give five guineas for the copy; the Lady sells above 30,000, and they give ten guineas, the most copy-money of any other. The Gentleman's copy is three guineas, sells 7000. Here are a fine company to write for.' In 1751, he describes White, who computes an ephemeris for the Stationers' Company, as living at Grantham, in Lincolnshire. The same writer remembers when a countryman had walked to the nearest large town, thirty miles distant, for the express purpose of seeing an almanac, the first that had been heard of in those parts. His inquiring neighbours crowded round the man on his return. Well, well,' said he, 'I know not; it maffles and talks. But all I could make out is, that Collop Monday falls on a Tuesday next year.' THE RIDDLE OF THE YEAR. There is a father with twice six sons; these sons have thirty daughters a piece, party-coloured, having one cheek white and the other black, who never see each other's face, nor live above twentyfour hours. IMPROVEMENT OF SMALL PORTIONS OF TIME. and a vigilant improvement of those hours which, in the midst of the most restless activity, will remain unengaged, to write more than another in the same condition could have hoped to read. Compelled by want to attendance and solicitation, and so much versed in common life that he has transmitted to us the most perfect delineation of the manners of his age, he joined to his knowledge of the world such application to books, that he will stand for ever in the first rank of literary heroes. Now, this proficiency he sufficiently discovers by informing us that the Praise of Folly, one of his most celebrated performances, was composed by him on the road to Italy, lest the hours which he was obliged to spend on horseback should be tattled away, without regard to literature.-Johnson. Among those who have contributed to the advancement of learning, many have risen to eminence in opposition to all the obstacles which external circumstances could place in their way, amidst the tumults of business, the distresses of The Stationers' Company present annually to poverty, or the dissipation of a wandering and the Archbishop of Canterbury copies of their unsettled state. A great part of the life of almanacs, which custom originated as follows: Erasmus was one continued peregrination: ill When Tenison was archbishop, a near relation supplied with the gifts of fortune, and led from of his, who was master of the Stationers' Com- city to city, and from kingdom to kingdom, by pany, thought it a compliment to call at Lambeth the hopes of patrons and preferment-hopes Palace in the Company's stately barge, on the which always flattered and always deceived him morning of Lord Mayor's Day, when the arch--he yet found means, by unshaken constancy bishop sent out a pint of wine for each liveryman, with bread and cheese and hot-spiced ale for the watermen and attendants; and this grew into a settled custom; the Stationers' Company acknowledging the hospitality by presenting to the archbishop a copy of the several almanacs which they publish. The wine was served in small twohandled wooden bowls, or small cups, which were provided yearly by the Company. But since the abolition of the procession by water on Lord Mayor's Day, this custom has been discontinued. Southey, in the Doctor, relates the following legal anecdote, to exemplify how necessary it is upon any important occasion to scrutinise the accuracy of a statement before it is taken on trust. A fellow was tried at the Old Bailey for highway robbery, and the prosecutor swore positively to him, saying he had seen his face distinctly, for it was a bright moonlight night. The counsel for the prisoner cross-questioned the man so as to make him repeat that assertion, and insist upon it. He then affirmed that this was a most important circumstance, and a most fortunate one for the prisoner at the bar: because the night on which the alleged robbery was said to have been committed was one in which there had been no moon: it was then during the dark quarter! In proof of this he handed an almanac to the bench, and the prisoner was acquitted accordingly. The prosecutor, however, had stated everything truly; and it was known afterwards that the almanac with which the counsel came provided, had been prepared and printed for the occasion. The Chancellor D'Aguesseau, finding that his wife always kept him waiting a quarter of an hour after the dinner-bell had rung, resolved to devote the time to writing a book on jurisprudence, and, putting the project in execution, in course of time produced a work in four quarto volumes. Many persons thoughtlessly waste their own time simultaneously with that of others. Lord Sandwich, when he presided at the Board of Admiralty, paid no attention to any memorial that extended beyond a single page. If any man,' he said, will draw up his case, and will put his name to the bottom of the first page, I will give him an immediate reply; where he compels me to turn over the page, he must wait my pleasure.' (DESCRIPTIVE.) ANUARY shut is the open gate of the year, until the short est day passed, but now open to let in the lengthening daylight, which will soon fall upon dim patches of pale green, that shew where spring is still sleeping. Sometimes between the hoary pillars-when the winter is mild-a few wan snowdrops will peep out and catch the faint sunlight which SPENSER. streams in coldly through the opening gateway, like timid messengers sent to see if spring has yet stirred from her long sleep. But it is yet too early for the hardy crocus to throw its banded gold along the pathway; and as for the rathe primrose,' it sits huddled up in its little cloak of green, or is seen peeping through its half-closed yellow eye, as if watching the snowflakes as they fall. Only the red-breasted robin his heart filled with hope-sings his cheerful song on the naked hawthorn spray, through which the tiny buds are striving to break forth, like a THE BOOK OF DAYS. herald proclaiming glad tidings, and making known, far and wide, that erelong the winter will be over and gone,' and the moonlight-coloured May-blossoms once again appear. All around, as yet, the landscape is barren and dreary. In the early morning, the withered sedge by the water-courses is silvered over with hoary rime; and if you handle the frosted flag-rushes, they seem to cut like swords. Huddled up like balls of feathers, the fieldfares sit in the leafless hedges, as if they had no heart to breakfast off the few hard, black, withered berries which still dangle in the wintry wind. Amid the cold frozen turnips, the hungry sheep look up and bleat pitifully; and if the cry of an early lamb falls on your ear, it makes the heart sorrowful only to listen to it. You pass the village churchyard, and almost shiver to think that the very dead who lie there must be pierced by the cold, for there is not even a crimson hip or haw to give a look of warmth to the stark hedges, through which the bleak wind whistles. Around the frozen pond the cattle assemble, lowing every now and then, as if impatient, and looking backward for the coming of the herdsman to break the ice. Even the nose of cherry-cheeked Patty looks blue, as she issues from the snow-covered cowshed with the smoking milk-pail on her head. There is no sound of the voices of village children in the winding lanes-nothing but the creaking of the old carrier's cart along the frost-bound road, and you pity the old wife who sits peeping out between the opening of the tilt, on her way to the neighbouring market-town. The very dog walks under the cart in silence, as if to avail himself of the little shelter it affords, instead of frisking and barking beside his master, as he does when the leaves are green and long. There is a dull, leaden look about the sky, and you have no wish to climb the hill-top on which those gray clouds hang gloomily. You feel sorry for the poor donkey that stands hanging his head under the guidepost, and wish there were flies about to make him whisk his ears, and not leave him altogether motionless. The Jolly Farmer' swings on his creaking sign before the road-side alehouse, like the bones of a murderer in his gibbet-irons; and instead of entering the house, you hurry past the closed door, resolved to warm yourself by walking quicker, for you think a glass of ale must be but cold drink on such a morning. The old ostler seems bent double through cold, as he stands with his hands in his pockets, and his pitchfork thrust into the smoking manure-heap that litters the stable-yard. A walk in the country on a fine frosty morning in January gives the blood a healthy circulation, and sets a man wondering why so many sit croodleing' over the fire at such a season. The trees, covered with hoar-frost, are beautiful to look upon, and the grass bending beneath its weight seems laden with crystal; while in the distance the hedges seem sheeted with May blossoms, so thickly, that you might fancy there was not room enough for a green leaf to peep out between the bloom. Sometimes a freezing shower comes down, and that is not quite so pleasant to be out in, for in a few moments every thing around is covered with ice-the boughs seem as if cased in glass, the plumage of birds is stiffened by it, and they have to give their wings a brisk shaking before they are able to fly; as for a bunch of red holly-berries, could they but retain their icy covering, they would make the prettiest ornaments that could be placed on a mantel-piece. This is the time of year to see the beautiful ramification of the trees, for the branches are no longer hidden by leaves, and all the interlacings and crossings of exquisite network are visible-those pencilling of the sprays which too few of our artists study. Looking nearer at the hedges, we already see the tiny buds forming, mere specks on the stem, that do but little more than raise the bark; yet by the aid of a glass we can uncoil the future leaves which summer weaves in her loom into broad green curtains. The snails are asleep; they have glued up the doorways of their moveable habitations; and you may see a dozen of their houses fastened together if you probe among the dead leaves under the hedges with your walking-stick; while the worms have delved deep down into the earth, beyond the reach of the frost, and thither the mole has followed them, for he has not much choice of food in severe frosty weather. The woodman looks cold, though he wears his thick hedging gloves, for at this season he clears the thick underwood, and weaves into hurdles the smooth hazel-wands, or any long limber twigs that form the low thicket beneath the trees. He knows where the primroses are peeping out, and can tell of little bowery and sheltered hollows, where the wood-violets will erelong appear. The ditcher looks as thoughtful as a man digging his own grave, and takes no heed of the pretty robin that is piping its winter song on the withered gorse bushes with which he has just stopped up a gap in the hedge. Poor fellow, it is hard work for him, for the ground rings like iron when he strikes it with his spade, yet you would rather be the ditcher than the old man you passed a while ago, sitting on a pad of straw and breaking stones by the wayside, looking as if his legs were frozen. That was the golden-crested wren which darted across the road, and though the very smallest of our British birds, it never leaves us, no matter how severe the winter may be, but may be seen among the fir-trees, or pecking about where the holly and ivy are still green. If there is a springhead or water-course unfrozen, there you are pretty sure to meet with the wag-tail-the smallest of all our walking birds, for he marches along like a soldier, instead of jumping, as if tied up in a sack, as most of our birds do when on the ground. Now the blue titmouse may be seen hanging by his claws, with his back downward, hunting for insects in some decaying bough, or peeping about the thatched eaves of the cottages and outhouses, where it will pull out the straw to stir up the insects that lie snug within the thatch. In the hollows of trees, caverns, old buildings, and dark out-of-the-way places, the bats hibernate, holding on by their claws, while asleep, head downwards, one over another, dozens together, there to await the coming of spring, along with the insects which will then come out of their hiding-places. But unsightly as the bat appears to some eyes, there is no cleaner animal living, in spite of all our poets have written against it; for it makes H JANUARY-DESCRIPTIVE. a brush of its droll-looking little head, which it is shaped like a nest-while the sporules inside look like eggs such as a bird no larger than a gnat might build to breed in. This moss is commonly found on decayed wood. Sometimes, while hunting for curious mosses, at the stems of aged trees, we have aroused the little dormouse from his wintry sleep, as he lay coiled up, like a proball, in his snug burrow, where his store of vision was hoarded; for, unlike the fabled ant, he does lay in a stock for this dark season, which the ant does not. Snow in the streets is very different from snow in the country, for there it no sooner falls than it begins to make more dirt, and is at once trampled into mud by a thousand passing feet on the pavement, while in the roadway the horses and vehicles work it into 'slush,' which only a brisk shower of rain can clear away. In the country snow is really white; there is none of that gray dirty look about it, which is seen in localities that neighbour upon town, but it lies on the fields, as like Milton says, 'A wintry veil of maiden white.' The embankments look like stately terraces formed of the purest marble, and the hills in the distance are scarcely distinguishable from the fleecy clouds that crown their summits; while the wild open moors and hedgeless commons look like a sea of foam, whose waves were suddenly frozen into ridgy rest, the buried bushes only shewing like loftier crests. Vehicles pass along the scarcely distinguishable road with a strange, dull, muffled sound, like objects moving before the eye in a dream, so much do we miss the gritty and grinding noise which the wheels make in the dust of summer. There is no better time than during a walk in January to get a good view of the mosses that grow on and around the trees, for at this season What a different aspect the landscape they stand boldly out in all their beautiful colourings, falling on the eye in masses of rich red, presents when viewed from some neighbouring eminence! But for a few prominent landmarks, silver-gray, umbered brown, and gaudy orange; we should hardly know it was the same scene while the yellow moss is almost as dazzling as sunshine, and the green the most beautiful that that we looked upon in summer; where the gladdens the earth. In some places, we see it hedges then stretched like green walls across the fitted together like exquisite mosaic work, in country, we see but whitened barriers; for the others it hangs down like graceful fringe, while only dark object that now catches the eye is the river that goes rolling between its powdered the green looks like fairy trees, springing from a cushion of yielding satin. The screw moss is banks. The appearance of the village, too, is altered; the picturesque thatched roofs of the very curiously formed; it grows plentifully on old walls, and looks like dark-green flossy velvet. cottages have vanished, and but for the smoke Now, if closely examined, a number of slender that curls above the scene, you might fancy that stems will be found springing from this soft bed, all the inhabitants had fled, for neither flocks nor herds are seen or heard bleating and lowing crowned with what botanists call the fruit. On this is a cap, just like that found on the unblown from the fields, and all out-of-door employment and well-known eschscholtzia; when this extin- has ceased. You hear the ringing of the blackguisher-shaped cap is thrown off (it may be smith's hammer, and as you return when the day lifted off) a beautiful tuft of twisted hairs will darkens, will see the light of his forge fall with a be found beneath, compressed at the neck, and crimson glare across the snow-covered road. forming just such a brush as one can imagine the Even the striking of the church clock falls upon fairies use to sweep out the pollen from the the ear with a deadened sound, and the report of flowers. Place this beautiful moss in water, and the sportsman's gun dies away as soon as heard, this brush will uncoil itself, if left above the sur- leaving no prolonged echo behind. face, and release the seed within. Another of the scale mosses is equally curious, and if brought into a warm room, with a drop of water applied to the seed-vessel, it will burst open and throw out a little puff of dust; and this dust, when examined by a powerful glass, will be found to consist of links of little chains, not unlike the spring of a watch. But the most beautiful of all is the siller' cup moss, the silvery cup of which While watching the snow fall, you can almost fancy that the flakes are white blossoms shaken from a land of flowers that lies somewhere above the sky; those that touch the river are gone in an instant, while some, as they fall slantways, unite together before they touch the earth. Science has seized upon and pictured the fantastic shapes the falling snow-flakes assume, and they are beautiful exceedingly.' Not less 17 THE BOOK OF DAYS. we cut a branch in January, put it in water, and placed it in a warm room, when in two or three days all its golden lamps have lighted up, and where it stood it seemed to make sunshine in the shady place.' Where gorse grows abundantly, and bees have ready access to the bloom, there the finest-coloured and sweetest honey is produced. In a very mild season, we have seen, under sheltered hedges that face the south, the celandine in flower in January. Even when not in bloom, its large bright green leaves give a spring look to the barren embankments; but when out, its clear yellow star-shaped flowers catch the eye sooner than the primrose, through their deep golden hue. Country children call it the hedge buttercup, and their little hearts leap with delight when they see it springing up from among the dead leaves of winter. The common red or dead nettle may also occasionally so is frost-work, which may be seen without The teams are also now busy taking the farm produce to market, for this is the season when corn, hay, and straw realise a good price; and a wagon piled high with clean white turnips, or laden with greens or carrots, has a pleasant look moving through the wintry landscape, as it conjures up before the hungry pedestrian visions of boiled beef and mutton, which a walk in frosty weather gives a hearty man a good appetite to enjoy. Manure can also be carted better to the fields during a frost than at any other time, for the ground is hard, and the wheels make but little impression on rough fallow lands. Let a thaw come, and few persons, unless they have lived in the country, can know the state the roads are in that lead to some of our out-of-theway villages in the clayey districts. A foot-passenger, to get on at all, must scramble through some gap in the hedge, and make his way by trespassing on the fields. In the lane, the horses are knee-deep in mire every step they take; and as for the wain, it is nearly buried up to the axles in places where the water has lodged. In vain does the wagoner keep whipping or patting his strong well-fed horses, or clapping his broad shoulder to the miry wheels: all is of no avail; he must either go home for more horses, or bring half-a-dozen men from the farm to dig out his wagon. It's of no use grumbling, for perhaps his master is one of the surveyors of the highways. The gorse, furze, whin, or 'fuzz'-country people sometimes calling it by the last nameis often in flower all the year round, though the great golden-bellied baskets it hangs out in summer are now nearly closed, and of a pale yellowish green. Although its spikes are as sharp as spears, and there is no cutting out a golden branch without wearing thick gloves, still it is one of the most beautiful of our wayside shrubs, and we hardly wonder at Linnæus falling on his knees in admiration the first time he saw it. Many a time have found in flower. Let those who would throw it aside as an unsightly weed, examine the bloom through a glass, and they will be amazed at its extreme loveliness; such ruby tints as it shews, imbedded in the softest bloom, never graced the rounded arm of beauty. The blue periwinkle is another beautiful flower that diadems the brow of January when the season is warm. It must be looked for in sheltered situations, for it is not at all a common wild-flower: once seen, it can never be mistaken, for the twisted bud before opening resembles the blue convolvulus. Nor must the common chickweed be overlooked, with its chaste white star-shaped flowers, which shew as early as the snowdrops. The large broad-leaved mouse-ear chickweed flowers later, and will be sought for in vain in January, though it sheds its seed and flowers frequently six times during the summer. Many other flowers we might name, though they are more likely to be found in bloom next month. Many rare birds visit us occasionally in winter, which never make their appearance on our island at any other season. Some are only seen once now and then in the course of several years, and how they find their way hither at all, so far from their natural haunts, is somewhat of a mystery. Many birds come late in the autumn, and take their departure early in spring. Others remain with us all the year round, as the thrush and blackbird, which often commence singing in January. Wrens, larks, and many other small birds never leave our country. Flocks of wildgeese and other water-fowl, also visit our reedy marshes and sheltered lakes in winter; far up the sky their wild cries may be heard in the silence of midnight, as they arrive. Rooks now return from the neighbouring woods, where they have mostly wintered, to their nest-trees; while the smaller birds, which drew near to our habitation during the depth of winter, begin to disappear. Those that require insect food, go and forage among the grass and bushes; others retreat to the sides of stagnant pools, where, during the brief intervals of sunshine, gnats are now found. Others hunt in old walls, or among decayed trees, where insects are hidden in a dormant state, or are snugly ensconced in their warm cocoons, awaiting the first warm touch of spring, when, in the words of Solomon, the flowers appear on the |