NOVEMBER.
We candidly confess that we are again somewhat thrown back in our prophecies—November being generally a month in which it is difficult to see your way clearly.
We have not, however, entirely lost our way. On the 5th, all foreign refugees wearing beards and extraordinary hats will find that England does not offer that safe asylum from persecution they had been led to imagine. They had better keep out of the way, for fear of being arrested, or, as the familiar Saxon expresses it, "smugged," in order that political and religious intolerance may be displayed in the most awful Guys! The wearers of ponchos, tartans, wide-awakes, and railway rugs, will incur similar perils.
A calamitous fire will take place in the pocket of a young gentleman who has incautiously been entrusted with sixpence, which he has laid out in squibs. The young gentleman will be very much put out indeed.
There will be a heavy fog on the 9th. The guardian angel of London will kindly throw a veil over the metropolis, so as to conceal as much as possible a pageant calculated to give a very contemptible idea of city intelligence.
High Water at London Bridge in November may be ascertained by calculating the cubic space occupied by the thousands who are induced by the national complaint of the spleen to throw themselves into the river during this dispiriting month.—From a French Serious Almanack.