On the 10th of January, 1812, it is observed, that London was this day involved, for several hours, in palpable darkness. The shops, offices, &c., were necessarily lighted up; but, the streets not being lighted as at night, it required no small care in the passenger to find his way, and avoid accidents. The sky where any light pervaded it, showed the aspect of bronze. Such is, occasionally, the effect of the accumulation of smoke between two opposite gentle currents, or by means of a misty calm. The fuliginous cloud was visible, in this instance, from a distance of forty miles. Were it not for the extreme mobility of our atmosphere, this volcano of a hundred thousand mouths would, in winter, be scarcely habitable![24] _Winter in the Country._ All out door work Now stands; the waggoner, with wisp-wound feet, And wheelspokes almost filled, his destined stage Scarcely can gain. O’er hill, and vale, and wood, Sweeps the snow-pinioned blast, and all things veils In white array, disguising to the view Objects well known, now faintly recognised. One colour clothes the mountain and the plain, Save where the feathery flakes melt as they fall Upon the deep blue stream, or scowling lake, Or where some beetling rock o’erjutting hangs Above the vaulty precipice’s cove. Formless, the pointed cairn now scarce o’ertops The level dreary waste; and coppice woods, Diminished of their height, like bushes seem. With stooping heads, turned from the storm, the flocks Onward still urged by man and dog, escape The smothering drift; while, skulking at a side, Is seen the fox, with close downfolded tail, Watching his time to seize a straggling prey; Or from some lofty crag he ominous howls, And makes approaching night more dismal fall. _Grahame._ [Illustration: ~Mr. Paul Pry in the Character of Mr. Liston.~ “Just popp’d in, you know!”] LETTER _from_ _=PAUL PRY=_. _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._ Sir,