The inclemency of the season now compels the nu merous tribes of birds to quit their retreats in search of food. The redbreast (sylvia rubecula), begins to sing.

Of all the tuneful tribes, the Redbreast sole
Confides himself to man; others sometimes
Are driven within our lintel-posts by storms,
And, fearfully, the sprinkled crumbs partake:
He feels himself at home. When lours the year,
He perches on the village turfy copes,
And, with his sweet but interrupted trills,
Bespeaks the pity of his future host'.'

GRAHAME.

About the beginning of the month, larks (alauda arvensis) congregate, and fly to the warm stubble for shelter; and the nut-hatch (sitta europæa) is heard. The shell-less snail or slug (limax) makes its appearance, and commences its depredations on garden plants and green wheat. The missel-thrush (turdus viscivorus) begins its song. The hedge-sparrow (sylvia modularis), and the thrush (turdus musicus), begin to sing. The wren, also, 'pipes her perennial lay,' even among the flakes of snow. The titmouse (parus) pulls straw out of the thatch, in search of insects; linnets (fringilla linota) congregate; and rooks (corvus frugilegus) resort to their nest trees.

The house-sparrow (fringilla domestica) chirps; the

To the REDBREAST.

Sweet, social songster, of the dreary hour,

Whom Spring to flowery fields allured away,
Now frowning Winter strips the fleeting day
Öf all its blooms, and clouds portentous lour,
Retire, as erst, to Delia's sheltering bower,
Humbly again for food to sing thy lay;

And while the nymph that makes the moments gay
Shall trill the lute, fraught with sweet music's pow'r,
The notes, as to each cadence soft they move,
With imitative skill shalt thou retain,

Till young delight sports in the trembling grove,
And verdure clothes the chequered vales again;
Then gladsome with thy acquisition rove,
And be th' unrivalled warbler of the plain.

ORAM.

bat (vespertilio) appears; spiders shoot out their webs; and the blackbird (turdus merula) whistles. The fieldfares, red-wings, skylarks, and titlarks, resort to watered meadows for food, and are, in part, supported by the gnats which are on the snow, near the water. The tops of tender turnips and ivy-berries afford food for the graminivorous birds, as the ringdove, &c.,.

while yet the wheaten blade

Scarce shoots above the new-fall'n shower of snow,
The skylark's note in short excursion warbles.

Earth-worms lie out on the ground; and the shellsnail (helix nemoralis) appears. The chaffinch (fringilla cælebs) sings; jackdaws repair to the tops of churches; and the grey and white wagtail (motacilla, boarula and alba) appear. Snipes, woodcocks, herons, wild-ducks, and other water fowl, retire from the frozen marshes to streams that are still open; and, as the cold strengthens, sea-birds come up the river in quest of food. The fowler now

steals upon the With cautious step, and peering cut, surveys

The restless flood. No object meets his eye.

spot

But hark! what sound is that approaching near?

"Down close:"--the wild-ducks come, and darting down, Throw up on ev'ry side the troubled wave;

Then gaily swim around with idle play.

He views their movements, while his well-taught dogs
Like lifeless statues crouch. Now is the time.

Closer they join; nor will the growing light
Adinit of more delay-With fiery burst,
The unexpected death invades the flock;
Tuinbling they lie, and beat the flashing pool,
While those remoter from the fatal range
Of the swift shot, mount up on vig'rous wing,
And wake the sleeping echoes as they fly.
Quick on the floating spoil the spaniels rush,
And drag them to the shore.

FOWLING, a Poem.

The farmer exerts all his care in tending the domestic cattle. Cows can scarcely pick out any grass, and depend chiefly on hay for support: early lambs and

calves are housed, and watched with almost paternal solicitude. Hares, impelled by hunger, find their way into our gardens, to browse on the cultivated vegetables; and rabbits enter plantations, and commit great havoc by stripping trees of their bark. The sharp-eyed fox steals from the wood, and makes his incursions into the hen-roost and farmyard. The weasel and polecat also continue their depredations. The coldblooded animals, as the frog, snake, and lizard, are quite benumbed by the cold, and so remain till the approach of warm weather. The dormouse, marmot, &c. take their winter-sleep; while the squirrel and the field-mouse subsist, in their retreat, upon the provision which they have laid up during the autumn.

The most intense cold is usually felt in the month of January; and the weather is either bright and dry with frost, or foggy, with much snow. But snow ice, and frost, are mere strangers in England, if we reflect, but for a moment, on their long stay in more northern countries, and their almost perpetual residence among the storm-beaten rocks and vast glaciers of the Alps. The admirer of Nature, in all her primeval majesty, must visit the Simplon, St. Bernard, or St. Gothard, before he can form any adequate idea of the wonders of snow and ice.

In

The convent of St. Bernard, founded in the year 968, is situated 8,074 feet above the level of the sea, and is, undoubtedly, the most elevated habitation, not only in Europe, but over all the antient continent. No chalet is to be met with at that height. It touches the boundaries of everlasting snow. the height of summer the least breeze makes the cold quite unpleasant. The thermometer, in this season, descends almost every evening nearly to the freezing point, and below it if the wind be northerly. M. de Saussure observed it below zero on the first of August,

This lofty situation is still overlooked by peaks fifteen hundred feet higher.

at one o'clock p. m., though the sun was continually piercing through the clouds."

"On the 25th of August, 1801, M.Bourrit remarked that the environs of the convent were covered with and that the thermometer was at 9.

snow,

Stiff with eternal ice, and hid in snow,
That fell a thousand centuries ago,
The mountain stands; nor can the rising sun
Unfix her frosts, and teach 'em how to run:
Deep as the dark infernal waters lie

From the bright regions of the cheerful sky,
So far the proud ascending rocks invade
Heav'n's upper realms, and cast a dreadful shade:
No spring nor summer on the mountain seen,
Smiles with gay fruits, or with delightful green;
But hoary winter, unadorned and bare,
Dwells in the dire retreat, and freezes there;
There she assembles all her blackest storms,
And the rude hail in rattling tempests forms;
Thither the loud tumultuous winds resort,
And on the mountain keep their boisterous court,.
That in thick showers her rocky summit shrowds,
And darkens all the broken view with clouds.

Silius Italicus, b. 3, trans. by Addison.

The little garden of the monks produces, with the greatest difficulty, by the end of August, a few stunted lettuces and cabbages, a little spinage, and some sorrel all the necessaries of life, as bread, wine, flour,. eheese, dried fruits, and wood for fuel, are brought,. at a great expense, from the neighbouring valleys. The wood, of which a great quantity is consumed, is earried a distance of twelve miles, on the backs of mules, by a steep path, which is open for six weeks. only in the year. The milch cows also must be supplied with forage: the horses winter at Roche, in the government of Aigle, where the convent has a farm.

The ecclesiastics who live in the convent are from ten to twelve in number, and are canons regular of the order of St. Augustin. Their active humanity savesmany lives every year, and the hospitality with which all strangers are received reflects the highest honour on the order to which they belong. Every one is

treated with the greatest affability, and the poor are supplied gratis with clothing, even to shoes and stockings. The sick find all the relief which medicine and surgery can afford them, and that without distinction of rank, sex, country, or religion. For all this care and trouble, nothing is demanded of the traveller but to inscribe his name in an album, a book kept for the purpose.

This, like the other mountain-convents, is supported by an annual collection in the neighbouring parts of France, Switzerland, and Italy, and by the casual offerings of those whom curiosity may attract to this useful establishment.

'From November to May, a trusty servant, accompanied by an ecclesiastic, goes every day half way down the mountain in search of travellers. They have with them one or two large dogs, trained for the parpose, which will scent a inan at a great distance, and find out the road, in the thickest fogs, storms, and heaviest falls of snow. Suspended from their necks are little baskets with meat and drink to refresh the wearied traveller. These dogs are of a dusky fawn colour, mixed with white spots; they never offer to bite strangers, and seldom bark.

The fathers themselves, also, perform this work of humanity. Often are they seen anxiously looking out, from the highest summits of the rocks, for the storm-beaten traveller. They show him the way, lead him along, holding him up when unable to stand alone; sometimes even they carry him on their shoulders to the convent. Often are they obliged to use violence to the traveller, when, benumbed with cold, and exhausted with fatigue, he earnestly begs that they will allow him just to rest, or to sleep for a few moments only on the snow. It is necessary to shake him well, and to drag him by force from insidious sleep, the fatal forerunner of death. Nothing but constant motion can give the body sufficient warmth to resist extreme cold. When the fathers are compelled to be out in the open