If “cold, and yet cheerful,” he has attained to the “practical philosophy” of bearing ills with patience. He is a frozen creature that “whistles,” and therefore called “light-hearted wretch.” The poet refrains to “look with a gentle eye upon this _wretch_,” but, having obtained the newspaper, determines to enjoy himself, and cries Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And, while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful ev’ning in. This done, and the bard surrounded with means of enjoyment, he directs his sole attention to the newspaper, nor spares a thought in behalf of the wayworn messenger, nor bids him “God speed!” on his further forlorn journey through the wintry blast. In London scarcely any one knows the newsman but a newsman. His customers know him least of all. Some of them seem almost ignorant that he has like “senses, affections, passions,” with themselves, or is “subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer.” They are indifferent to him in exact ratio to their attachment to what he “serves” them with. Their regard is for the newspaper, and not the newsman. Should he succeed in his occupation, they do not hear of it: if he fail, they do not care for it. If he dies, the servant receives the paper from his successor, and says, when she carries it up stairs, “If you please, the newsman’s dead:” they scarcely ask where he lived, or his fall occasions a pun--“We always said he _was_, and now we have proof that he _is_, the _late_ newsman.” They are almost as unconcerned as if he had been the postman. Once a year, a printed “copy of verses” reminds every newspaper reader that the hand that bore it is open to a small boon. “The Newsman’s Address to his Customers, 1826,” deploringly adverts to the general distress, patriotically predicts better times, and seasonably intimates, that in the height of annual festivities he, too, has a heart capable of joy. ------------------“although the muse complains And sings of woes in melancholy strains, Yet Hope, at last, strikes up her trembling wires, And bids Despair forsake your glowing fires. While, as in olden time, Heaven’s gifts you share, And Englishmen enjoy their Christmas fare; While at the social board friend joins with friend, And smiles and jokes and salutations blend; Your Newsman wishes to be social too, And would enjoy the opening year with you: Grant him your annual gift, he will not fail To drink your health once more with Christmas ale: Long may you live to share your Christmas cheer, And he still wish you many a happy year!”