The state of the weather, at all times an object of intense interest and
general conversation amongst Englishmen, has latterly engaged much of our
attention; and the observations which we have made on the extraordinary
changes which have taken place in the weathercock during the last week
warrant us in saying "there must be something in the wind." It has been
remarked that Mr. Macready's _Hamlet_ and Mr. Dubourg's chimneys have not
_drawn_ well of late. A smart breeze sprung up between Mr. and Mrs. Smith,
of Brixton, on last Monday afternoon, which increased during the night,
and ended in a perfect storm. Sir Peter Laurie on the same evening retired
to bed rather misty, and was exceedingly foggy all the following morning.
At the Lord Mayor's dinner the _glass_ was observed to rise and fall
several times in a most remarkable manner, and at last settled at "heavy
wet." A flock of gulls were seen hovering near Crockford's on Tuesday, and
on that morning the milkman who goes the Russell-square walk was observed
to blow the tips of his fingers at the areas of numerous houses.
Applications for food were made by some starving paupers to the Relieving
Officers of different workhouses, but the hearts of those worthy
individuals were found to be completely frozen. Notwithstanding the
severity of the weather, the nose of the beadle of St. Clement Danes has
been seen for nearly the last fortnight in full blossom. A heavy fall of
blankets took place on Wednesday, and the fleecy covering still lies on
several beds in and near the metropolis. Expecting frost to set in, Sir
Robert Peel has been busily employed on his _sliding scale_; in fact,
affairs are becoming very slippery in the Cabinet, and Sir James Graham is
already preparing to trim his sail to the next change of wind.
Watercresses, we understand, are likely to be scarce; there is a brisk
demand for "bosom friends" amongst unmarried ladies; and it is feared that
the intense cold which prevails at nights will drive some unprovided young
men into the _union_.
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