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KIDD'S LONDON JOURNAL. 



We trust we shall see many such bright 

 clays, ere the present month of March de- 

 parts. The birds have been sadly outwitted 

 this year. They began nidification early, 

 but suffered total loss by the roughness of 

 the weather. Their song, too, commenced 

 early; this also was gradually silenced. 

 Nothing daunted, again are they busily oc- 

 cupied. Some are building, some laying, 

 some sitting, and some have their eggs nearly 

 hatching. 



The thrush is loud, merry, and joyful: the 

 blackbird mellow, the robin in fine voice, 

 the skylark daily rehearsing, the little wren 

 trembling with song, and Dicky Dunnock loud 

 and eloquent. These and others will now 

 be daily adding to our happiness, as well as 

 their own. We must all now bid adieu to 

 sorrow. 



Wordsworth, like ourselves, seems par- 

 tial to the month of March, — no doubt from 

 the fact of his having enjoyed many a bright 

 day in that month, long to be remembered. 

 The first mild day of March seems to have 

 made him eloquent. We will let our readers 

 as well as ourselves, share in the perusal of 

 his poetic effusion on that occasion : — 



It is the first mild clay of March; 



Each minute sweeter than before: 

 The redbreast sings from the tall larch 



That stands beside our door. 



There is a blessing in the air, 



Which seems a sense of joy to yield 



To the bare trees, and mountains bare, 

 And grass in the green field. 



My sister! ('tis a wish of mine) 



Now that our morning meal is done, 



Make haste, your morning task resign; 

 Come forth and feel the sun. 



Edward will come with you. and pray 

 Put on with speed your woodland dress: 



And bring no hook; for this one day 

 We '11 give to idleness. 



No joyless forms shall regulate 



Our living Calendar : 

 We from to-day, my friend, will date 



The opening of the year. 



Love, now an universal birth, 

 From heart to heart is stealing, 



From earth to man, from man to earth ; 

 — It is the hour of feeling. 



One moment now may give us more 



Than fifty years of reason : 

 Our minds will drink at every pore 



The spirit of the season. 



Some silent laws our hearts will make, 

 Which they shall long obey: 



We for the year to come may take 

 Our temper from to-day. 



And from the blessed power that rolls 



About, below, above, 

 We'll frame the measure of our souls: 



They shall be tuned to " love." 



Then come, my sister! come, I pray, 



With speed put on your woodland dress : 

 And bring no book ; for this one day 

 We'll give to idleness. 

 Who can read such delightful lines as 

 these, and enter into the spirit that animated 

 the writer, without loving the Country 

 and the retirement it induces ? 



We who live, or at least are from day 

 to day doomed to be pent up for many hours 

 in the abominable City of London, sigh for 

 the " means " of retirement ; but alas, they 

 come not ! Let us then speak and end our 

 wishes in verse. Would that they could be 

 granted ! 



-Far from the town, 



Buried in smoke, and sleep, and noisome damps, 

 Oft let us wander o'er the dewy fields 

 Where freshness breathes; and dash the trem- 

 bling drops 

 From the bent bush, — as through the verdant 



maze 

 Of sweet-briar hedges we pursue our walk, 

 Or taste the smell of dairy, or ascend 

 Some lofty eminence! 



Such ought to be the privileges of an Editor. 

 ON THE " PAIRING" OF BIRDS— CHAP. I. 



The poet Cow per, in one of the lively and 

 ingenious fables which he penned as the pastime 

 of some of his leisure hours, represents under 

 the title of " Pairing-time Anticipated," an assem- 

 bly of the birds on a warm and bright winter's 

 day, resolved to take advantage of the mildness 

 of the season and anticipate the coming spring. 

 The youthful birds, in their first full-pledged 

 season, are all wondrously taken with the 

 project, and reject with scorn the advice of an 

 experienced Bullfinch, 



" Who could boast 

 More years and wisdom than the most." 



The consequence we may anticipate. The 

 whole feathered tribe proceed as wiser human 

 beings too often do, setting all experience at de- 

 fiance, and refusing to be guided by any advice 

 which runs counter to their own inclinations and 

 wishes. The results were soon sufficiently ap- 

 parent — 



" All pair'd, and each pair built a nest. 

 But though the birds were thus in haste, 

 The leaves came on not quite so fast ; 

 And Destiny, that sometimes bears 

 An aspect stern on man's affairs, 

 Not altogether smiled on theirs. 

 The wind, of late, breath' d gently forth, 

 Now shifted east, and east by north: 

 Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, 

 Could shelter them from rain or snow, 

 Stepping into their nests, they paddled ; 

 Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled; 

 Soon every father bird and mother 

 Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other, 

 Parted without the least regret, 

 Except that they had ever met; 

 And learn'd in future to be wiser, 

 Than to neglect a good adviser." 



