“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:
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“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 of 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 no further trespass on your time, or on the reader’s patience, than by expressing a wish that many alterations were actuated by manly and humane intentions, and that less of over-legislation and selfishness were evinced in these pretended endeavours to promote the good of society.
I am, &c.
J. H. B.
The present month can scarcely be better closed than with some exquisite stanzas from the delightful introduction to the “Forest Minstrel and other Poems, by William and Mary Howitt.” Mr. Howitt speaks of his “lightly caroll’d lays,” as—
——— never, surely, otherwise esteem’d
Than a bird’s song, that, fill’d with sweet amaze
At the bright opening of the young, green spring,
Pours out its simple joy in instant warbling.