The Every-day Book and Table Book. v. 2 (of 3) / or Everlasting Calendar of Popular Amusements, Sports, Pastimes, Ceremonies, Manners, Customs and Events, Incident to Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days, in past and Present Times; Forming a Complete History of the Year, Month, and Seasons, and a Perpetual Key to the Almanac

by William Hone

April 15.

Seasonable.

To the Reader.

On Saturday, the 15th of April, 1826, No. 68, and Part XVII., of the Every-Day Book, forming No. 16, and Part IV. of the second volume, were published by Messrs. Hunt and Clarke, of Tavistock-street, Covent-garden. As the removal of the office from Ludgate-hill may be an event of as much interest to the friends of the work as any other belonging to the day it is recorded here with the following explanation which was printed on the wrapper of the part:—

“This step relieves me from cares and anxieties which so embarrassed my progress, in conducting and writing the work, as to become overwhelming; and Messrs. Hunt and Clarke will publish it much earlier than hitherto.

“To subscribers the present arrangement will be every way beneficial.

“They will have the Every-Day Book punctually at a proper hour; and, as I shall be enabled to give it the time and attention essential to a thorough fulfilment of its plan, my exertions will, henceforth, be incessantly directed to that end. I, therefore, respectfully and earnestly solicit the friends of the work to aid me by their contributions. At the present moment they will be most acceptable.

“Correspondents will, from this day, be pleased to address letters and parcels to me, at Messrs. Hunt and Clarke’s, Tavistock-street, Covent-garden.

W. Hone.”

☞ Six Indexes, with a Preface, Title-page, and Frontispiece to the first volume, will be ready for delivery before the appearance of the next sheet; and I hope the labour by which I have endeavoured to facilitate reference to every general and particular subject, may be received as somewhat of atonement, for the delay in these essentials. To guard against a similar accident, I have already commenced the [index] to the second volume.

W. Hone.

April 15, 1826.

⁂ Volume I. contains 868 octavo pages, or 1736 columns, illustrated by One Hundred and Seventy engravings: Price 14s. in boards.

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Progress of the Season.

Song Birds.

If we happen to be wandering forth on a warm still evening during the last week in this month, and passing near a roadside orchard, or skirting a little copse in returning from our twilight ramble, or sitting listlessly on a lawn near some thick plantation, waiting for bed time, we may chance to be startled from our meditations (of whatever kind they may be) by a sound issuing from among the distant leaves, that scares away the silence in a moment, and seems to put to flight even the darkness itself;—stirring the spirit, and quickening the blood, as no other mere sound can, unless it be that of a trumpet calling to battle. That is the nightingale’s voice. The cold spells of winter, that had kept him so long tongue-tied, and frozen the deep fountains of his heart, yield before the mild breath of spring, and he is voluble once more. It is as if the flood of song had been swelling within his breast ever since it last ceased to flow; and was now gushing forth uncontroullably, and as if he had no will to controul it: for when it does stop for a space, it is suddenly, as if for want of breath. In our climate the nightingale seldom sings above six weeks; beginning usually the last week in April. I mention this because many, who would be delighted to hear him, do not think of going to listen for his song till after it has ceased. I believe it is never to be heard after the young are hatched.—Now, too, the pretty, pert-looking blackcap first appears, and pours forth his tender and touching love-song, scarcely inferior, in a certain plaintive inwardness, to the autumn song of the robin. The mysterious little grasshopper lark also runs whispering within the hedgerows; the redstart pipes prettily upon the apple trees; the golden-crowned wren chirps in the kitchen-garden, as she watches for the new sown seeds; and lastly, the thrush, who has hitherto given out but a desultory note at intervals, to let us know that he was not away, now haunts the same tree, and frequently the same branch of it, day after day, and sings an “English Melody” that even Mr. Moore himself could not write appropriate words to.

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