blue sky, glittering with congregated stars, or irradiated by the moon,-there was a sense of vigour, of elasticity, and of freshness, which made it welcome; but now,-most commonly, by day and night, the sky is hidden in impenetrable vapour-the earth is sodden and splashy with wet;-and even the very fireside does not escape the comfortless sense of humidity. Every thing presents to the eye, accustomed so long to the brightness of clear frosts and the pure whiteness of snow, a dingy and soiled aspect. All things are dripping with wet: it hangs upon the walls like a heavy dew; it penetrates into the drawers and wardrobes of our warmest chambers; and we are surprised at the unusual dampness of our clothes, linen, books, paper, -and, in short, almost every thing which we have occasion to examine. Brick and stone floors are now dangerous things for delicate and thinly-shod people to stand upon. To this source, and, in fact, to the damps of this month, operating in various ways, may be attributed not a few of the colds, coughs, and consumptions so prevalent in England. Pavements are frequently so much elevated by the expansion of the moisture beneath, as to obstruct the opening and shutting of doors and gates, and our gravel-walks resemble saturated sponges. Abroad, the streets are flooded with muddy water, and slippery with patches of ice and half-melted snow, which strikes through our shoes in a moment. The houses, and all objects whatever, have a dirty and disconsolate aspect; and clouds of dun and smoky haze hover over the whole dispiriting scene. In the country, the prospect is not much better. The roads are full of mire. Instead of the enchantments of hoar-frost, so beautifully described by the poets',-we have naked hedges,

'Artist unseen! that dipt in frozen dew

Hast on the glittering glass thy pencil laid,
Ere from yon sun the transient visions fade,
Swift let me trace the forms thy fancy drew

with sallow and decaying weeds beneath them; pastures brown and wet; and sheets of ice, but recently affording such fine exercise to skaters and sliders, are half submersed in water,-full of great cracks, and scattered with straws, and dirty patches, and stones half liberated by the thaw. Let us felicitate ourselves, however, that such a joyless time is seldom of long continuance. The winds of March will speedily come piping their jovial strains; clearing the face of the blessed Heavens from their sullen veil of clouds, and sweeping away the superabundant moisture from earth and air.

The banks are partly green; hedges and trees

Are black and shrouded, and the keen wind roars, Like dismal music wand'ring over seas,

And wailing to the agitated shores.

The fields are dotted with manure-the sheep

In unshorn wool, streaked with the shepherd's red, Their undivided peace and friendship keep,

Shaking their bells, like children to their bed.

The roads are white and miry-waters run

With violence through their tracks-and sheds, that flowers In summer graced, are open to the sun,

Which shines in noonday's horizontal hours.

Frost claims the night; and Morning, like a bride,

Forth from her chamber glides; Mist spreads her vest ; The sunbeams ride the clouds till eventide,

And the wind rolls them to ethereal rest.

Sleet, shine, cold, fog, in portions fill the time;

Like hope, the prospect cheers; like breath it fades:

Life grows in seasons to returning prime,
And beauty rises from departing shades.

Table Book.

Thy towers and palaces of diamond hue,
Rivers and lakes of lucid crystal made,
And hung in air hoar trees of branching shade,
That liquid pearl distil:-thy scenes renew,
Whate'er old bards or later fictions feign,

Of secret grottos underneath the wave,
Where Nereids roof with spar the amber cave;
Or bowers of bliss, where sport the fairy train,
Who, frequent by the moonlight wanderer seen,
Circle with radiant gems the dewy green.

SOTHEBY.

Oh! blithe and animating is the breath of March! It is like a cool, but spirit-stirring draught of some ancient vintage; elating, but not enervating the heart, deadening the memory of past evil, and expanding the mind with the delicious hope of future delights. Such a precious boon, however, is not exclusively permitted to March. February is often allowed to be a liberal partaker ere its close; and we have known the winds lift up their voices, in this month, with all their triumphant and sonorous energy. Nothing, perhaps, can illustrate so vividly our idea of spirit as a mighty wind,-present in its amazing power and sublimity, yet seen only in its effects. We are whirled along by its careering torrent with irresistible power; we are driven before it, as Miss Mitford says, as by a steam engine. How it comes rushing and roaring over the house, like the devouring billows of an ocean broke loose! Then for the banging of doors-the swinging and creaking of signs-the clatter of falling shutters in the street! Then for the crash of chimnies-the toppling down of crazy gables-the showering of tiles upon the pavements, as if the bomb-shells of a besieging army were demolishing the roofs, and rendering it death even to walk the streets. Then for a scene of awful grandeur upon the shores of the glorious ocean. That which but an hour before was calm and sun-bright, a variety of vessels lying at anchor, or sailing to and fro in serene beauty,-then is become a scene of sublime and chaotic uproar; the waves rolling, and foaming, and dashing their spray over rocks, pier-heads, houses, and even over the loftiest towers and churches tooas we have seen it,-to an amazing extent,-till the water ran down the walls like rain, and the windows, at a great distance from the beach, were covered with a salt incrustation-the vessels meanwhile labouring amidst the riotous billows as for life, and tugging at their cables as if mad for their escape. Many a beautiful, many a wild, many an animated spectacle is to be witnessed on the shores of our happy isle in

such moments!-What a solemn and sublime war, also, is there in the woods—a sound as of vast and tempestuous seas! What poetical spirit can hear it without being influenced by incommunicable sensations, and ideas of power, majesty, and the stupendous energies of the elements!

Oh! storm and darkness, ye are wondrous strong.

What picturesque ruin is there scattered around us! Trees overwhelmed-immense branches torn off-small boughs broken-and dry leaves whirled along, or quivering in the air like birds.

To the WIND at MIDNIGHT.

[By the late H. K. White.]

Not unfamiliar to mine ear,
Blasts of the night! ye howl, as now
My shuddering casement loud
With fitful force ye beat.

Mine ear has dwelt in silent awe,-
The howling sweep, the sudden rush;
And when the pausing gale
Poured deep the hollow dirge.

Once more I listen; sadly communing
Within me, once more mark, storm-clothed,
The moon as the dark cloud

Glides rapidly away.

I, deeming that the voice of spirits dwells
In these mysterious moans, in solemn thought
Muse on the choral dance,

The dead man's jubilee.

Hark! how the spirit knocks,-how loud
Even at my window knocks,—again ;—
I cannot-dare not sleep,-

It is a boisterous night.

I would not, at this moment, be
In the drear forest groves, to hear
This uproar and rude song
Ring o'er the arched aisles.

The ear doth shudder at such sounds
As the unbodied winds, in their disport,
Wake in the hollow woods,

When man is gone to sleep.

There have been heard unchristian shrieks,
And rude distempered merriment,

As though the autumnal woods
Were all in morrice dance.

There's mystery in these sounds, and I
Love not to have the grave disturbed;
And dismal trains arise

From the unpeopled tombs.

Spirits, I pray ye, let them sleep
Peaceful in their cold graves, nor waft
The sear and whispering leaf
From the inhumed breast.

Literary Souvenir.

The Brown-headed Gull.-Near the centre of the county of Norfolk, at the distance of about twenty-five miles from the sea, and two from Hingham, is a large piece of water called Scoulton Mere. In the middle of this mere there is a boggy island of seventy acres extent, covered with reeds, and on which there are some birch and willow trees. There is no river communicating between the mere and the sea. This mere has, from time immemorial, been a favourite breeding-spot of the brown-headed gull. The birds begin to make their appearance at Scoulton about the middle of February; and by the end of the first week in March, the great body of them have always arrived. They spread themselves over the neighbouring country to the distance of several miles in search of food, following the plough as regularly as rooks ; and from the great quantity of worms and grubs which they devour, they render essential service to the farmer. If the spring is mild, the gulls begin to lay about the middle of April; but the month of May is the time at which the eggs are found in the greatest abundance. At this season, a man and three boys find constant employment in collecting them, and they have sometimes gathered upwards of a thousand in a day. The eggs are sold, on the spot, at the rate of fourpence a score, and are regularly sent, in considerable quantities, to the markets at Norwich and Lynn. They are eaten cold, like lapwings' eggs, and also used for culinary purposes; but they are rather of an inferior quality, and somewhat like ducks' eggs in flavour. The person who sells the eggs gives fifteen pounds a-year for the privilege of collecting them.

This species of gull never lays more than three eggs the first time; but if these are taken, it will lay again. Many of the old birds may be seen sitting in the middle of June; most of these have only one egg in the nest, but a few of them have two. Their nests are made of the tops of reeds and sedge, and are very flat at the top. The eggs vary so much in size, shape, and colour, that a person not well acquainted with them would suppose some