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KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 319 

the hens do fierce battle together. They are 
jealous; and therefore will not, I know, get any 
pity from you. [Certainly not. Let them fight 
it out !] The robins, too, are collecting in large 
numbers. These are still more jealous. [Yes; 
but they are “ constant,” and ‘ affectionate.” This 
““covers a multitude of their little sins.”| We 
have a hawk fluttering about here occasionally. 
He is an enemy, I think, we might “ conscienti- 
ously” get rid of. [Most assuredly. Let the gun 
be got ready; and let his account be settled at 
once.| Our pets are getting tamer than ever. As 
for “ Lark-y”’ and “'Took-ey’’—when you see 
them again, you will find they are (if possible) 
more endearing than ever.—Hnarrsnasn, Hants. 
[The swallows lingered late this year in many 
places. Their last brood of young were hatched 
early in October. We saw, if you remember, a 
nest of young swallows, recently hatched, under 
the eaves of Baddesley Church. This was quite 
at the end of September. We have seen (this 
present season) several pairs of swallows passing 
over Acton, Ealing, Hammersmith, and Kew,— 
as late as the first week in November. Not one 
of these will tarry in England. Their instinct 
will carry them safely, and quickly, to the shores 
of Africa. We are glad those charming pets of 
yours,—“ Lark-y ” and “ Took-ey,” are thriving 
so nicely. We really do feel more than a common 
interest to behold them again. Rest assured they 
are “ curiosities.” It only shows what kindness 
will do. | 

Hurrah, Boys and Girls! “ The Misseltoe for 
Keer |” — 
Sweet emblem of returning peace, 
The heart’s full gush, and love’s release! 
Spirits do with fondness flow,— 
Come! greet the pearly MWisseltoe ! 
Many a maiden’s cheek is red 
By lips and laughter thither led; 
And flutt’ring bosoms come and go 
Under the Druid MWisseléoe. 
Dear is the memory of “ a theft” 
When love and youth and joy are left ;— 
The passion’s blush, the roses’ glow, 
Accept the Cupid Wisseltoe. 
Oh! happy, tricksome time of mirth, 
Giv’n to the stars o’ sky and earth ! 
May all the best of feeling know, 
The custom of the Wisseltoe ! 
Spread out the laurel and the bay, 
For chimney-piece and window gay; 
Scour the brass gear—a shining row, 
And Holly place with JMisseltoe. 
Married and single, proud and free, 
Yield to the season, trim with glee. 
Time will not stay—he cheats us so—- 
A kiss ?—’tis gone!—the Misseltoe!! 
A Rome. 
[‘‘ Meet me by moonlight,—alone! ”] 

. Pp with the Dust;” and “ Down with the 
Dust.” —The contract for the privilege of collect- 
ing the ashes from the parish of Marylebone, has 
recently been signed, and the first portion of the 
money paid in advance. It was let in three parts, 
and for one year only, to the undermentioned con- 
tractors: — Benjamin Abbot, for St. Mary’s 
Rectory and All Souls, £3,640 ; H. Tame, Christ- 
church, £1,500; G. Tilley, Trinity, £511 ; total, 
£5,651.—A Looxer-On. 

“ Tittle Things.’—The noble article you gave 
us recently, thus headed, has travelled far and 
near. As ‘“ Christmas is coming,” I send you as a 
pendant to your remarks, the following, which 
appeared without any signature in the Worcester 
Herald, of November 5th. They have a voice. 
‘“ He that hath ears to hear, let him hear!” 
’Tis little things that make the sum 
Of the hopes and fears of men; 
Tis little moments speeding on, 
Make threescore-years and ten. 
In a little lump of sugar 
How much of sweetness lies ! 
And most of mischief oft hes hid 
Within the smallest eyes. 
An acorn-cup is very small, 
Yet from it springs the oak ; 
The wind-harp breathes the sweetest tones 
That ever zephyr woke. 
And most of meaning oft is found 
Tn little words,—you know ; 
How happy ‘“ Yes” will make some folk, _ 
How miserable “No!” 
A single thought will sometimes turn 
The current of our lives ; 
For thoughts the springs of action are,— 
Who thinketh “ right” is wise. 
A glad smile is a little thing, 
Yet how it cheers the heart! 
A tear-drop’s small, yet speaketh much 
When friends and lov'd ones part ! 
The mock-bird and the nightingale 
Are small, with tiny wing ; 
Yet sweeter, clearer music make 
Than all the birds that sing. 
The smallest flow’r has brightest lines, 
And most of fragrance brings,— 
Our earth is made of particles, 
And oceans come from springs! 
Are not these sentiments beautiful, my dear 
Sir? If, as you say, people would but ‘ think,” 
in what a much better state of society we should 
all live !—ANeELINA. 
[Your remark, Mademoiselle, is very just. All 
our labor is, to try and get people to reflect. We 
thank you very much for your esteemed and 
valuable favor.] 
Good News for Cats —It is, I believe, univer- 
sally agreed upon, that England is overrun with 
cats,—most of them at least half starved. These 
poor animals would meet with a better fate, if 
sent out to Australia. Geelong, for instance, is 
infested with mice; and cats are “doing” there 
at 50s. each,—active purchasers. A Mr. Hitch- 
cock buys them, in any quantity, at 20s. each. 
Let speculators look to this.—W. G. 

