Switch-swirch, With a lurch, Flopped the bird from his perch As he spread out his wings And set forth on his search-- His search-- Switch-swirch. Click!-bang!-- How it rang, How the small bullet sang As it sped through the air-- And the crow, with a pang, Went spang-- Chi-bang. THE TAIL FEATHERS. Now know, That to crow Often brings one to woe; Which the lines up above Have been put there to show, And so, Don't crow. THE LONDON MILK-WOMAN. BY ALEXANDER WAINWRIGHT. Very sturdy in form and honest in face is the London milk-woman shown in our picture. She has broad English features, smoothly parted hair, and a nice white frill running round her old-fashioned, curtained bonnet. Her boots are strong, and her dress is warm--the petticoats cut short to prevent them from draggling in the mud. A wooden yoke fits to her shoulders, which are almost as broad as a man's, and from the yoke hang her cans, filled with milk and cream, the little ones being hooked to the larger ones. The London day has opened on a storm, and the snow lies thick on the area railings, the lamp-posts and the roofs; but the morning is not too cold or stormy for her. Oh, no! the mornings never are. It may rain, or blow, or snow the hardest that ever was known, no inclemency of weather keeps her from her morning round, and in the dull cold of London frosts and the yellow obscurity of London fogs, she appears in the streets, uttering her familiar cry, "Me-oh! me-oh!" which is her way of calling milk. Pretty kitchen-maids come up the area steps with their pitchers to meet her, and detain her with much gossip. The one in the picture, whose arms are comfortably folded under her white apron, may be telling her that the mistress's baby is sick, and that the doctor despairs of its life. She may even be saying to her: "The only thing it can swallow, poor little dear, is a little milk and arrowroot, and the doctor says unless it can have this it must die." A great deal of the London milk is adulterated, and, perhaps, this honest-looking milk-woman knows that water has been added to hers. May be, she has babies of her own, and then her heart must be sore when she realizes that the little sick one upstairs may perish through her employer's greed for undue profits. [Illustration: AT THE AREA GATE.]