O'er these wild shelves my watch I keep;
A ruddy gem of changeful light,
Bound on the dusky brow of night;
The seaman bids my lustre hail,
And scorns to strike his timorous sail.
WALTER SCOTT.
NEWSPAPER WONDERS.
Flights of wild ducks and geese, in numbers sufficiently multitudinous to darken the air, have already migrated to the moors—a circumstance scarcely existing in the memory of the oldest inhabitant at this period of the year.—Hereford Journal.