Daily Evening Star

DULL.—Everything seems to imbibe the nature of the day, which is dull in the extreme. Even the great sea of umbrellas at the market place, seem to bob up and down with a sad, melancholy motion, and the very dogs hang down their heads, and with blue, shivering looks, seek shelter under the various carts and wagons that line the sidewalks. Old, wrinkled, weather-beaten cronies, with laps full of "early garden seeds," juvenile onions, "roots and yarbs," and a variety of other truck, sit for hours together in the cold drizzling rain with no extra covering but a worn and tattered garment, that "in other days," perhaps may have rejoiced in the dignified soubriquet of "shawl" or "cloak," patiently awaiting a customer. Their necessity must be very great indeed.