Last night the thermometer fell as
low as 13 degrees, nor probably is it above 20 degrees to-day. No such
frost has been known in England these forty years! and Mr. Wilding tells
me that he never saw so much snow before.
January 6th.--I saw, yesterday, stopping at a cabinet-maker's shop in
Church Street, a coach with four beautiful white horses, and a postilion
on each near-horse; behind, in the dicky, a footman; and on the box a
coachman, all dressed in livery. The coach-panel bore a coat-of-arms
with a coronet, and I presume it must have been the equipage of the Earl
of Derby. A crowd of people stood round, gazing at the coach and horses;
and when any of them spoke, it was in a lower tone than usual. I doubt
not they all had a kind of enjoyment of the spectacle, for these English
are strangely proud of having a class above them.
Every Englishman runs to "The Times" with his little grievance, as a
child runs to his mother.
I was sent for to the police court the other morning, in the case of an
American sailor accused of robbing a shipmate at sea. A large room, with
a great coal-fire burning on one side, and above it the portrait of Mr.
Rushton, deceased, a magistrate of many years' continuance. A long
table, with chairs, and a witness-box. One of the borough magistrates, a
merchant of the city, sat at the head of the table, with paper and pen
and ink before him; but the real judge was the clerk of the court, whose
professional knowledge and experience governed all the proceedings.
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