_St. Fulgentius_, according to Butler, died on the 1st of January, 533, sometimes went barefoot, never undressed to take rest, nor ate flesh meat, but chiefly lived on pulse and herbs, though when old he admitted the use of a little oil. He preached, explained mysteries, controverted with heretics, and built monasteries. Butler concludes by relating, that after his death, a bishop named Pontian was assured in a vision of Fulgentius’s immortality; that his relics were translated to Bourges, where they are venerated; and that the saint’s head is in the church of the archbishop’s seminary. NEW YEAR’S DAY. The King of Light, father of aged Time, Hath brought about that day, which is the prime To the slow gliding months, when every eye Wears symptoms of a sober jollity; And every hand is ready to present Some service in a real compliment. Whilst some in golden letters write their love, Some speak affection by a ring or glove, Or pins and points (for ev’n the peasant may After his ruder fashion, be as gay As the brisk courtly sir,) and thinks that he Cannot, without a gross absurdity, Be this day frugal, and not spare his friend Some gift, to show his love finds not an end With the deceased year. POOLES’S ENG. PARNASSUS. In the volume of “ELIA,” an excellent paper begins with “Every man hath two birthdays: two days, at least, in every year, which set him upon revolving the lapse of time, as it affects his mortal duration. The one is that which in an especial manner he termeth _his_. In the gradual desuetude of old observances, this custom of solemnizing our proper birthday hath nearly passed away, or is left to children, who reflect nothing at all about the matter, nor understand any thing beyond the cake and orange. But the birth of a new year is of an interest too wide to be pretermitted by king or cobbler. No one ever regarded the First of January with indifference. It is that from which all date their time, and count upon what is left. It is the nativity of our common Adam. “Of all sound of all bells--(bells, the music nighest bordering upon heaven)--most solemn and touching is the peal which rings out the old year. I never hear it without a gathering-up of my mind to a concentration of all the images that have been diffused over the past twelvemonth; all I have done or suffered, performed, or neglected--in that regretted time. I begin to know its worth as when a person dies. It takes a personal colour; nor was it a poetical flight in a contemporary, when he exclaimed, ‘I saw the skirts of the departing year.’