and lined them with coarse hay, which is an abomination to the martin, which lines its nest with the softest feathers. Having witnessed this, we waited for about ten days, by which time we supposed the sparrows would have laid their full number of eggs; and a ladder was set up, in order to inflict just retribution on them, by taking the whole. But to our surprise there were none. The hay was therefore carefully removed, that the martins, if they pleased, might retake possession; but the very next day, the nests were again filled with hay, and long bents of it hung dangling from the entrance-hole. The sparrows had, with wonderful assiduity, and as it were, with a feeling of vindictive spite, relined the nests with as much hay as they ordinarily carry to their own nests in several days. Now it was supposed they would really lay in these nests, but no such thing, they never did, Their only object had been to dislodge the martins, for it was found that these very sparrows had nests of their own in the waterspouts of the house, with young ones in them, at the very time, and their purpose of ousting the martins from their own nests being accomplished, the hay remained in the nests quietly all summer. But this was not all. The poor martins, driven from the stable, came now to the house; and, as if for special protection, began to build their nests under the roof, nearly over the front door. No sooner was this intention discovered by the sparrows, than they were all in arms again. They were seen watching for hours on the tiles just above, chirping, strutting to and fro, flying down upon the martins when they came to their nests with materials, and loudly calling upon their fellow sparrows to help them to be as offensive as possible. The martins, however, rendered now more determined, persisted in their building, and so far succeeded as to prevent the sparrows getting more than a few bents of hay into their nests when complete. The martins laid their eggs; but for several times successively, the sparrows entered in their absence, and hoisted out all the eggs, which of course fell to the ground and were dashed to pieces. Provoked at this mischievous propensity of the sparrows, we had them now shot at, which had the desired effect. One or two of them were killed, and the rest took the hint, and permitted the martins to hatch and rear their young in peace. CHILDHOOD. Oн, when I was a little child, My life was full of pleasure; I had four-and-twenty living things, And many another treasure. But chiefest was my sister dear,Oh, how I loved my sister! I never played at all with joy, If from my side I missed her. I can remember many a time, Up in the morning early,Up in the morn by break of day, When summer dews hung pearly; Out in the fields what joy it was, While the cowslip yet was bending, To see the large round moon grow dim, And the early lark ascending! I can remember too, we rose When the winter stars shone brightly; All frosty-bright and unclouded, Looked black, in the darkness shrouded! Then the deep, deep snows were beautiful, That fell through the long night stilly, In their blackness towered more stately; And the crystal plants grew under! All silent and without motion, Where the diamond trees were growing, And within each branch the emerald green And the ruby red were glowing. I remember many a day we spent In the bright hay-harvest meadow; The glimmering heat of the noonday ground, And the hazy depth of shadow. I can remember, as to-day, The corn-field and the reaping, The rustling of the harvest-sheaves, And the harvest-wain's upheaping: I can feel this hour as if I lay Adown 'neath the hazel bushes, And as if we wove, for pastime wild, Our grenadier-caps of rushes. And every flower within that field To my memory's eye comes flitting, The chiccory-flower, like a blue cockade, For a fairy-knight befitting. The willow-herb by the water side, With its fruit-like scent so mellow; The gentian blue on the marly hill, And the snap-dragon white and yellow. I know where the hawthorn groweth red; Where pink grows the way-side yarrow; I remember the wastes of woad and broom, And the shrubs of the red rest-harrow. I know where the blue geranium grows, And the stork's-bill small and musky; Where the rich osmunda groweth brown, And the wormwood white and dusky. A forest so old and hoary,- And remember its bygone story! We sate in the shade of its mighty trees, We quenched our thirst at the forest-well; And the time we spent in the good green-wood, We had no crosses then, no cares; We were children like yourselves then ; And we danced and sang, and made us mirth, Like the dancing moonlight elves then! Soon as is the dawning, Wakes the mavis and the merle; Wakes the cuckoo on the bough; Wakes the jay with ruddy breast; Wakes the mother ring-dove Brooding on her nest! Oh, the sunny summer time! When the year is in its prime ! Some love day and some love night:But whate'er a bird is, Whate'er loves- it has delight, In the joyous song it sings; In the liquid air it cleaves; Birds are singing loud! Sing and soar up from the hill! Out for us sweet fancies new! BIRDS. Он, the sunny summer time! Oh, the leafy summer time! Merry is the bird's life, When the year is in its prime! Birds are by the water-falls Dashing in the rain-bow spray; Everywhere, everywhere Light and lovely there are they! Birds are in the forest old, Building in each hoary tree; On the moor, and in the fen, There the joyous bird is seen; All among the mountain thyme; By the little brook-sides, Where the sparkling waters chime; In the crag; and on the peak, Splintered, savage, wild, and bare, There the bird with wild wing Wheeleth through the air. Wheeleth through the breezy air, Singing, screaming in his flight, Calling to his bird-mate, In a troubleless delight! In the green and leafy wood, Where the branching ferns up-curl, THE WOODPECKER. THE Woodpecker green he has not his abiding Where the owls and the bats from the daylight are hiding; Where the bright mountain-streams glide on rock beds away, The dark water-ousel may warble and play; Let us go to the haunt of the woodpecker green, And the moth-mullein grows with its pale yellow flowers; 149 There the hum of the bees through the noonday is heard, And the chirp, and the cry, and the song of the bird; me! Hark! heard ye that laughter so loud and so long?— With his richly-dyed greens-his pale yellow and red! bird For by him the lowest of whispers was heard; The squirrel above him might chatter and chide; And the purple-winged jay scream on every side; The great winds might blow, and the thunder might roll, Yet the fearless woodpecker still cling to the bole; 'Neath the fork of the branch, in the tree's hollow bole, Has the timid woodpecker crept into his hole; THE HAREBELL. IT springeth on the heath, Like to some elfin dweller of the wild; We vision moors far-spread, Where blooms the heather red, And hunters with their dogs lie down at noon; Old slopes of pasture-ground; We see the sere turf brown, Scarce raising from the stem its thick-set flowers; And the strong ivy-growth o'er crumbling towers. Light Harebell, there thou art, Of the old splendour of the days gone by, Pant through the chestnut trees, Oh, when I look on thee, In thy fair symmetry, And look on other flowers as fair beside, That God has been thus good, To scatter flowers, like common blessings, wide. THE SCREECH OWL. PRAY thee, Owl, what art thou doing, With that dolefulest tu-whoo-ing? Dark the night is, dark and dreary, Never a little star shines cheery; Wild north winds come up the hollow, And the pelting rain doth follow; And the trees the tempest braving, To and fro are wildly waving! Every living thing is creeping Nought I see, so black the night is, Hoot away, then, an' it cheer thee, Only I and darkness hear thee. Trusting Heaven, we 'll fear no ruin, Spite thy ominous tu-whoo-ing! FLOWER-PAINTINGS. I LOVE those pictures that we see There are they grouped, in form and hue, I love such pictures, and mine eye Or, 'mid a visioned glory faint, The meek brow of some martyred saint; And with their painters I can find A kindred sympathy of mind. Flowers are around me bright of hue, L'ENVOI. Go, little book, and to the young and kind, Speak thou of pleasant hours and lovely things; Of fields and woods; of sunshine; dew and wind; Of mountains; valleys, and of river-springs; Speak thou of every little bird that sings; Of every bright, sweet-scented flower that blows; But chiefest speak of Him whose mercy flings Beauty and love abroad, and who bestows Light to the sun alike, with odour to the rose. My little book that hast been unto me, air; On beast and bird, and on our mortal race. So, do thy gracious work; and onward fare, Leaving, like angel-guest, a blessing everywhere! Sketches of Natural History. ΤΟ ANNA MARY AND ALFRED WILLIAM HOWITT, THESE SKETCHES, ORIGINALLY WRITTEN FOR THEIR AMUSEMENT, ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. THESE simple and unpretending Sketches require no introduction; and yet, when title-page, contents, and dedication have been made out, an introduction so naturally follows, that it might be supposed a book could not be put together without one,-though the writer, as in my case, has little to say either of herself or her volume. All, therefore, that I shall now remark is, that these Sketches were written for my own Children; and many of them at their suggestion; and that in seeing the pleasure they have derived from them, I have hoped their young contemporaries may find them equally agreeable. A few of them have already appeared in some of the Juvenile Annuals, and may therefore be familiar to many of my young readers; but I trust they will pardon a reprint of what is already known, in the prospect of finding more that is new. Nottingham, May 1834. SKETCHES OF NATURAL HISTORY. THE COOT. OH Coot! oh bold, adventurous Coot, The perils of that stormy time I saw thee on the river fair, Within thy sedgy screen; The kingfisher came back again The stately swan sailed statelier by, As if thy home to grace. But soon the mountain-flood came down, And bowed the bulrush strong; And far above those tall green reeds, The waters poured along. "And where is she, the Water-Coot," I cried, "that creature good?" But then I saw thee in thine ark, Regardless of the flood. Amid the foaming waves thou sat'st, And on it went, and safely on That wild and stormy tide; That bore thee to the sea! Hadst thou no fear, as night came down Of enemies, and dangers dire That round about thee lay? Didst thou not see the falcon grim Swoop down as thou passed by? And 'mong the waving water flags The lurking otter lie? The eagle's scream came wildly near, Nor man, who seeing thee, weak thing, And down the foaming waterfall, As thou wast borne along, Yes, thou hadst fear. But He who sees He saw thee, bird, and gave thee strength To brave thy perils all. He kept thy little ark afloat; He watched o'er thine and thee; And safely through the foaming flood Hath brought thee to the sea." THE CAMEL. CAMEL, thou art good and mild, Where no rock its shadow throws; |