Pallas will be eclipsed by Mr. Barry, whose new Palace will approach within eighteen or nineteen years of completion. Visible to the inhabitants of Westminster from dawn to dusk, and to the population generally, through any dull medium—say the Estimates.
Other Astronomical Information.
To convert Astronomical Mean Time into Mean Civil Time.—Beating being the shortest way to make mean people civil—beat time.
To find the distance of Terrestrial Objects.—Take a yard measure, and measure it. Another way, useful if the object be a window, a friend, or a public character, is to throw a stone at it, and if you hit it, you may be sure it is within a stone's throw.
To set a Sun Dial.—Dig a hole in the earth, and set it. Sun dials are, however, seldom known to thrive much. The Seven Dials in London grew up in a soil composed of old clothes, Irish, onions, Jews, and Gin; and the population is still literally celebrated for knowing what's o'clock, with occasional rectification by the police.
Directions to know the Stars.—Notice whose names are printed largest in the play-bills, and precede the largest sums in the schedule of a manager when he goes up to the Insolvent Court. Another way is to notice who play or sing most carelessly when the house is bad, or look sulky when applause doesn't come.
To calculate Longitude from the Meridian of Greenwich.—Ascertain how often a person has eaten whitebait that season.
THE NIGHTINGALE.
A charming songster of this species warbled its nightly music from a high tree in the corner of my garden. It generally began its jug-jug just after sundown, when it distinctly whistled the bass solo, "Now nurse and child are fast asleep," from Guy Mannering. The formation of the larynx prevented the lower notes from coming out with full effect, but the performance, in other respects, was perfect. Truth, however, compels me to add, that the bird did not, as has been asserted, whistle the words. The same nightingale, when he saw over the garden wall a gentleman staggering along, after a convivial party, used to whistle "We wont go home till morning," with great glee. I only observed it make a change once, when the air selected was, "Jolly companions every one."—William Kiddy, in the Gardeners' Journal.