Oranges and Bells.

at noon. Again, at eight o'clock on SunA literary hand at Newark is so oblig- day morning, all the bells are tolled round

ing as to send the communication annexed, for which, in behalf of the reader, the editor offers his sincere thanks.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Newark, Dec. 10, 1825.
Sir,

On the 30th of January, the anniversary of king Charles's martyrdom, and on

for a quarter of an hour.

I have mentioned the above, that, if they come within the notice of the EveryDay Book, you would give them insertion, and, if possible, account for their origin.

Whilst on the subject of "bells," perhaps you can mention how "hand bells came into the church, and for what purWe have a set in this church.

Shrove Tuesday, we have a custom here, pose."

which I believe to be singular, having never heard of it elsewhere. On those days, there are several stalls placed in the market-place, (as if for a regular market,) having nothing but oranges: you may purchase them, but it is rarely the case; but you " raffle" for them, at least that is their expression. You give the owner a halfpenny, which entitles you to one share; if a penny, to two, and so on; and when there is a sufficient sum, you begin the raffle. A ball nearly round, (about the size of a hen's egg,) yet having twenty-six square sides, each having a number, being one to twenty-six, is given you : (some balls may not have so many, others more, but I never saw them.) You throw the ball down, what I may term, the chimney, (which is so made as to keep turning the ball as it descends,) and it falls on a flat board with a ledge, to keep it from falling off, and when it stops you look at the number. Suppose it was twelve, the owner of the stall uses this expression, "Twelve is the highest, and one gone." Then another throws; if his is a lesser number, they say, "Twelve is the highest, and two gone;" if a higher number, they call accordingly. The highest number takes oranges to the amount of all the money on the board. When they first begin, a halfpenny is put down, then they call "One, and who makes two?" when another is put down, it is "Two, and who makes three?" and so on.

At

night the practice is kept up at their own houses till late hours; and others go to the inns and public-houses to see what they can do there.

Also every day, at six in the morning, and night, at eight o'clock, we have a bell rung for about a quarter of an hour: it is termed six o'clock and eight o'clock bell. On saint days, Saturdays, and Sundays, the time is altered to seven o'clock in the morning, and to seven o'clock at night, with an additional ringing at one o'clock VOL. II.-58.

I am, &c.

Η. Η. Ν. Ν.

The editor will be glad to receive elucidations of either of these usages.

Accounts of local customs are particularly solicited from readers of the EveryDay Book in every part of the country.

To the notice of this day in the Perennial Calendar, the following stanzas are subjoined by Dr. Forster, They are evident" developments" of phrenologica: thought.

VERSES ON A SKULL

In a church-yard.

O empty vault of former glory!
Whate'er thou wert in time of old,
Thy surface tells thy living story,

Tho' now so hollow, dead, and cold;
For in thy form is yet descried
The traces left of young desire;
The Painter's art, the Statesman's pride,

The Muse's song, the Poet's fire;
But these, forsooth, now seem to be
Mere lumps on thy periphery.

Dear Nature, constant in her laws,
Hath mark'd each mental operation,
She ev'ry feeling's limit draws
On all the heads throughout the nation,
That there might no deception be;

And he who kens her tokens well,
Hears tongues which every where agree
In language that no lies can tell-
Courage-Deceit-Destruction-Theft-
Have traces on the skullcap left.

But through all Nature s constancy
An awful change of form is seen,
Two forms are not which quite agree,
None is replaced that once hath been;

Endless variety in all,

From Fly to Man, Creation's pride,
Each shows his proper form-to fall
Eftsoons in time's o'erwhelming tide,
And mutability goes on
With ceaseless combination.

"Tis thine to teach with magic power
Those who still bend life's fragile stem,
To suck the sweets of every flower,
Before the sun shall set to them;
Calm the contending passions dire,
Which on thy surface I descry,
Like water struggling with the fire
In combat, which of them shall die;

Thus is the soul in Fury's car,
A type of Hell's intestine war.

Old wall of man's most noble par,

While now I trace with trembling hand
Thy sentiments, how oft I start,
Dismay'd at such a jarring band!
Man, with discordant frenzy fraught,
Seems either madman, fool, or knave;
To try to live is all he's taught-

To 'scape her foot who nought doth save
In life's proud race;-(unknown our goal)
To strive against a kindred soul.

These various organs show the place

Here doth Appropriation try,
By help of Secrecy, to gain
A store of wealth, against we die,
For heirs to dissipate again.
Cause and Comparison here show,
The use of every thing we know.

But here that fiend of fiends doth dwell,
While Ideality unshaken
By facts or theory, whose spell
Maddens the soul and fires our beacon.
Whom memory tortures, love deludes,
Whom circumspection fills with dread,
On every organ he obtrudes,

Until Destruction o'er his head
Impends; then mad with luckless strife,
He volunteers the loss of life.

And canst thou teach to future man

The way his evils to repair-
Say, O momento, of the span
Of mortal life? For if the care
Of truth to science be not given,
(From whom no treachery it can sever,)
There's no dependance under heaven
That error may not reign for ever.
May future heads more learning cull
From thee, when my own head's a skull.

There is a parish game in Scotland, at this season of the year, when the waters are

Where Friendship, lov'd, where Passion frozen and can bear practitioners in the di

glow'd,

Where Veneration grew in grace,
Where justice swayed, where man was
proud-

Whence Wit its slippery sallies threw
On Vanity, thereby defeated;
Where Hope's imaginary view

Of things to come (fond fool) is seated;
Where Circumspection made us fear,
Mid gleams of joy some danger near.

Here fair Benevolence doth grow
In forehead high-here Imitation
Adorns the stage, where on the Brow
Are Sound, and Color's legislation.

version. It prevails, likewise, in Northumberland, and other northern parts of south Britain; yet, nowhere, perhaps, is it so federalized as among the descendants of those who "ha' wi' Wallace bled." This sport, called curling, is described by the georgical poet, and will be better apprehended by being related in his numbers: it being premised that the time agreed on, or the appointment for playing it, is called the tryst; the match is called the bonspiel; the boundary marks for the play are called the tees; and the stones used are called coits, or quoits, or coiting, or quoiting-stones.

Now rival parishes, and shrievedoms, keep,
On upland lochs, the long-expected tryst
To play their yearly bonspiel. Aged men,
Smit with the eagerness of youth, are there,
While love of conquest lights their beamless eyes,
New-nerves their arms, and makes them young once more.

The sides when ranged, the distance meted out,
And duly traced the tees, some younger hand
Begins, with throbbing heart, and far o'ershoots,
Or sideward leaves, the mark: in vain he bends
His waist, and winds his hand, as if it still
Retained the power to guide the devious stone,

Which, onward hurling, makes the circling groupe
Quick start aside, to shun its reckless force.
But more and still more skilful arms succeed,
And near and nearer still around the tee,
This side, now that, approaches; till at last,
Two, seeming equidistant, straws, or twigs,
Decide as umpires 'tween contending coits.

Keen, keener still, as life itself were staked,
Kindles the friendly strife: one points the line
To him who, poising, aims and aims again;
Another runs and sweeps where nothing lies.
Success alternately, from side to side,
Changes; and quick the hours un-noted fly,
Till light begins to fail, and deep below,
The player, as he stoops to lift his coit,
Sees, half incredulous, the rising moon.
But now the final, the decisive spell
Begins; near and more near the sounding stones,
Some winding in, some bearing straight along,
Crowd justling all around the mark, while one,
Just slightly touching, victory depends
Upon the final aim: long swings the stone,
Then with full force, careering furious on,
Rattling it strikes aside both friend and foe,
Maintains its course, and takes the victor's place.
The social meal succeeds, and social glass;
In words the fight renewed is fought again,
While festive mirth forgets the winged hours.-
Some quit betimes the scene, and find that home
Is still the place where genuine pleasure dwells.

King George IV. proclaimed.-Holiday
at the Exchequer.
Wakes.

A newspaper of this day,* ,* in the year 1821, relates the following anecdote :

All through Ireland the ceremonial of wakes and funerals is most punctually attended to, and it requires some sçavoir faire to carry through the arrangement in a masterly manner. A great adept at the business, who had been the prime manager at all the wakes in the neighbourhood for many years, was at last called away from the death-beds of his friends to his own. Shortly before he died he gave minute directions to his people as to

Grahame.

the mode of waking him in proper style. "Recollect," says he, "to put three candles at the head of the bed, after you lay me out, and two at the foot, and one at each side. Mind now, and put a plate with the salt on it just a top of my breast. And, do you hear? have plenty of tobacco and pipes enough; and remember to make the punch strong. And-but what the devil is the use of talking to you? sure I know you'll be sure to botch it, as I won't be there myself."

MR. JOHN BULL, an artist, with poetical powers exemplified in the first volume* by a citation from his poem entitled "The Museum," which deserves to be better known, favours the Every-Day Book with the following original lines. The conflict between the cross and the crescent, renders the communication peculiarly interesting to those who indulge a hope that the struggle will terminate in the liberation of Greece from "worse than Egyptian bondage."

When, in the zodiac, the Fish wheel round,
They loose the floods, and irrigate the ground.
Then, husbandmen resume their wonted toil,
Yoke their strong steers, and plough the yielding soil :
Then prudent gard'ners seize the happy time,
To dig and trench, and prune for shoots to climb,
Inspect their borders, mark the silent birth
Of plants, successive, from the teeming earth,
Watch the young nurslings with paternal care,
And hope for "growing weather" all the year.
Yet February's suns uncertain shine,
For rain and frost alternately combine
To stop the plough, with sudden wintry storms
And, often, fearful violence the month deforms