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KIDD'S LONDON JOURNAL. 



the importance of making the stomach suffi- 

 ciently strong to support its double labor 

 cannot by possibility be overrated. To the 

 inexperienced, it may often seem that the 

 prudent and abstemious man and child are 

 more delicate than the careless and indis- 

 criminate liver, because an infraction of their 

 ordinary rules is sure to make them at once 

 and visibly ill. The reason of this is — that 

 the carefully-guarded stomach throws its 

 ill usage oft* in an acute form on the out- 

 works of the system, in some such shape 

 as sick headache, while the habitually ill- 

 treated digestive organs distribute their 

 grievances throughout the citadel itself in 

 sluggish chronic complaints. 



Song. 



As flowers, that seem the light to shun, 



At evening's dusk and morning's haze, 

 Expand beneath the noon-tide sun, 



And bloom to beauty in his rays, — 

 So maidens, in a lover's eyes, 



A thousand times more lovely grow, 

 Yield added sweetness to his sighs. 



And with unwonted graces glow. 



As gems from light their brilliance gain, 



And brightest shine when shone upon, 

 Nor half their orient rays retain, 



When light wanes dim and day is gone: — 

 So beauty beams, for one dear one ! 



Acquires fresh splendor in his sight, 

 Her life — -her light — her day — her sun — 



Her harbinger of all that's bright! 



A Battue of Pigeons in America. 



M. Audubon makes the following curious 

 estimate of the number of pigeons contained in 

 one only of these mighty flocks. Taking a 

 column of one mile in breadth, which he thinks 

 is far below the average size, and supposing it 

 to pass over without interruption for three hours, 

 at the rate of one mile in a minute, it will give 

 us a parallelogram of 180 miles by one, covering 

 180 square miles. Allowing two pigeons to the 

 square yard, we have 1,115,136,000 pigeons in 

 one flock. .As each pigeon daily consumes fully 

 half a pint of food, the quantity necessary for 

 supplying this vast multitude must be 8,712,000 

 bushels a day. Nor is the account of their roost- 

 ing places less curious. One of them, on the 

 banks of the Green River, Kentucky, was re- 

 peatedly visited by M. Audubon. It was in a 

 portion of the forest where the trees are of great 

 magnitude, and where there was little underwood, 

 and the average breadth was about three miles. 

 On arriving there about two hours before sunset, 

 few pigeons were to be seen. A great number of 

 persons, however, with horses and wagons, guns 

 and ammunition, had already established them- 

 selves on the borders. Two farmers had driven 

 upwards of 300 hogs from their residence, more 

 than 100 miles distant, to be fattened on the 

 pigeons that were to be slaughtered. The sun 

 had set, yet not a pigeon had arrived. Every- 



thing, however, was ready, and all eyes were 

 gazing on the clear sky, which appeared in 

 glimpses above the tall trees. Suddenly there burst 

 forth a general cry of " Here they come !" 

 The noise which they made, though yet distant, 

 is described as like a hard gale at sea passing 

 through the rigging of a close-reefed vessel. As 

 the birds arrived, they were knocked down by 

 thousands by the pole-men. As they continued 

 to pour in, the fires were lighted, and a magnifi- 

 cent, as well as wonderful sight presented itself. 

 The pigeons, arriving by myriads, alighted every- 

 where, one above another, until solid masses, as 

 large as hogsheads, were formed on the branches 

 all round. Here and there the perches gave 

 way under the weight, with a crash, and falling 

 to the ground, destroyed hundreds of the birds 

 beneath, forcing down the dense groups with 

 which every stick was loaded. The pigeons kept 

 consequently coming, and it was past midnight 

 before a decrease in the numbers of those that 

 arrived could be perceived. 



The noise made was so great, that it was dis- 

 tinctly heard at three miles from the spot. To- 

 wards the approach of day, the noise in some 

 measure subsided, and long before objects were 

 distinguishable, the pigeons began to move off in 

 a direction quite different to that in which they 

 had arrived the evening before, and at sunrise 

 all that were able to fly had disappeared. — 

 Jesse's Gleanings of Natural History. 



Winter, 



The trees are leafless, and the hollow blast 



Sings a shrill anthem to the bitter gloom. 

 The lately smiling pastures are a waste, 



While beauty generates in Nature's womb ; 

 The frowning clouds are charged with fleecy 

 snow, 



And storm and tempest bear a rival sway; 

 Soft gurgling rivulets have ceased to flow, 



And beauty's garlands wither in decay: 

 Yet look but heavenward ! beautiful and young 



In life and lustre, see the stars of night 

 Untouch'd by time through ages roll along, 



And clear as when at first they burst to light — 

 And then look from the stars, where heaven ap- 

 pears 

 Clad in the fertile Spring of everlasting years! 



The Butterfly. — In the Magazine of Natu- 

 ral History, we read : — "I have lately observed a 

 curious fact, that it is the tail of the caterpillar 

 which becomes the head of the butterfly. The 

 caterpillar weaves its web from its mouth, finishes 

 with the head downwards, and the head, with 

 the six front legs, are thrown off from the chry- 

 salis, and may be found dried up, but quite dis- 

 tinguishable,' at the bottom of the web. The 

 butterfly comes out at the top." — C. 



London:— Published by George Berger, 19, Holywell 

 Street, Strand (to whom all Letters and Communica- 

 tions for the Editor, and Books for Review, are to be 

 forwarded), and Procurable, by order, of every Book- 

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London : Myers & Co., Printers, 22, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden. 



