KIDD'S LONDON JOURNAL. 



101 



on the twigs and sprays, and all Nature was 

 " lively." What most attracted our attention 

 — if, indeed, we are justified in making any 

 exception where all was so beautifully-en- 

 chanting to the eye — was the extraordinary 

 activity of our friends, the birds. 



We found thrushes in abundance, "piping" 

 away right merrily ; blackbirds, too, melodi- 

 ously discoursing (but very soft music). The 

 robins were in excellent voice ; we never 

 heard more variety or fulness of expression. 

 The skylark, too, was carolling aloft. They 

 seemed all to have " mates." This, perhaps, 

 may account for their excellence. Like our- 

 selves, these birds of the air hate solitude. 

 There must he " one " to divide the heart ; 

 and then, it can " sing" right joyously. We 

 mean to be in ' full song ' all the rest of the 

 year ; and if our readers will only listen to 

 us, they shall judge of the 'quality' of our 

 voice. It would take much to ' put our 

 pipe out ' when once we are in tune. If 

 we feel " happy " now, what shall we be — 



" When Spring comes in with all her fairy train ? " 



Our brain reels. We will not think of it, — 

 if we can help it. 



But we must hasten to conclude this little 

 episode between Winter and Spring. In ad- 

 dition to the birds already spoken of, Dickey 

 Dunnock and Jenny Wren greeted us 

 right merrily in our advances. From tree 

 to tree, from hedge to hedge, leafless though 

 they were, we were escorted by them and 

 others throughout our entire walk. 



We whistled to them ; evidently pleased, 

 they sang to us ; and so we rejoiced in 

 each others' company. Nor was this cheer- 

 ful morning's walk without its moral in- 

 fluence on the mind. 



Seated on one of the railway viaducts in 

 the close proximity of Acton, we turned 

 our eye on the many passing objects before 

 us, beneath us, and around us. There wa3 

 the wide world, as good as God ever made 

 it ; there were his creatures, enjoying the 

 bounties of his provision, and basking in the 

 literal sunshine of his favor. How is it, 

 thought we, that with all these grand gifts, 

 these means adapted, if properly applied, to 

 make us all happy, we are yet miserable and 

 unsociable — suspicious of each other, and 

 filled with dark forebodings and anticipations 

 of evil ? We came to the conclusion that 

 selfishness and pride are the great drawbacks 

 to human happiness ; and we entered it in 

 our " Private Note Book, " that till these 

 are annihilated — at the grand Day of 

 Judgment — happiness below will never be 

 found! "Tis true! 'tis pity; pity 'tis, 

 'tis true ! " 



Our soliloquy over, and the extent of our 

 walk completed, a sudden " change came 

 o'er the spirit of the scene." The extensive 

 sea of cerulean blue became covered with 



dark clouds, engendered with mischief. The 

 winds began to howl ; the heat of the sun 

 was overpowered by an intensely-cold atmos- 

 phere, and once more all Nature succumbed 

 to the "order" of the season. The dear 

 little birds dropped away, one by one, from 

 our side ; the thrushes flew into cover ; and 

 the chaffinch ceased pink-ing; the robins 

 discontinued their merry peal ; and all 

 became "hushed." 



All this change, thought we — as we re- 

 turned, musing, homeward — and in the short 

 space of three hours ! 



" Such is Life !" 



TO THE SKY-LASX. 



I love, sweet bird, to hear thee sing, 



As, soaring high on buoyant wing, 

 Thou fill'st the air in tuneful glee, 



With song of grateful melody. 

 Would that /, too, like thee, could rise 



Far upwards — near the glorious skies ; 

 Away, away from cares which vex, 



From doubts which harass and perplex ; 

 From thrall of earth, escaping free, 



I'd sing more blithely e'en than thee ! 

 And as with untir'd wing I'd soar, 



Those realms of ether to explore, 

 My soul would drink deep draughts of joy — 



So pure, unmix'd, without alloy, 

 That when its pinions, forc'd to bend 



In downward flight, did slow descend 

 (If thought of good were there before), 



Less dross, methinks, would dull the ore; 

 Some fouler spot would be eifac'd, 



And better, higher feelings trac'd. 

 Eenew'd, refresh'd from earthly broil, 



From life's ne'er-ending, ceaseless toil, 

 From time to time, 'twould soar above, 



To gain fresh gladness, hope, and love. 

 It may not be. — Farewell, sweet bird ; thy lay 



Will haunt me through the live-long day ; 

 While many an idle wish will spring 



Within my heart, for thy wild wing ! 



THE "SISKIN," OR "ABERDEVINE," IN 

 SCOTLAND. 



In an article on the Siskin ( Fringilla Spinus), 

 which appeared in a popular London periodical 

 some years ago, there occurs the following pas- 

 sage: — "There is no authenticated instance of 

 the nest being found in any part of the British 

 Islands, and the ornithologists of the Continent, 

 where the bird certainly does breed in considerable 

 numbers, do not seem to be altogether agreed 

 about the peculiar locality of the nest." The 

 article is evidently a compilation, written by one 

 who personally knew nothing about the Siskin ; 

 and though the names of Mudie, Bechstein, and 

 Professor Eennie, are introduced into the article, 

 I have no hesitation in saying that the above 

 statement is altogether erroneous. The high 

 authorities referred to, may have led many 

 to believe that Siskins do not breed in this 

 country ; but, if such a statement were made here, 

 in the north of Scotland, a school-boy could tell 



