'Sweep--sweep--sw-e-ep!'

ILLEGAL WATCHWORD.

The first of May! There is a merry freshness in the sound, calling to
our minds a thousand thoughts of all that is pleasant in nature and
beautiful in her most delightful form. What man is there, over whose
mind a bright spring morning does not exercise a magic
influence--carrying him back to the days of his childish sports, and
conjuring up before him the old green field with its gently-waving trees,
where the birds sang as he has never heard them since--where the
butterfly fluttered far more gaily than he ever sees him now, in all his
ramblings--where the sky seemed bluer, and the sun shone more
brightly--where the air blew more freshly over greener grass, and
sweeter-smelling flowers--where everything wore a richer and more
brilliant hue than it is ever dressed in now! Such are the deep feelings
of childhood, and such are the impressions which every lovely object
stamps upon its heart! The hardy traveller wanders through the maze of
thick and pathless woods, where the sun's rays never shone, and heaven's
pure air never played; he stands on the brink of the roaring waterfall,
and, giddy and bewildered, watches the foaming mass as it leaps from
stone to stone, and from crag to crag; he lingers in the fertile plains
of a land of perpetual sunshine, and revels in the luxury of their balmy
breath. But what are the deep forests, or the thundering waters, or the
richest landscapes that bounteous nature ever spread, to charm the eyes,
and captivate the senses of man, compared with the recollection of the
old scenes of his early youth? Magic scenes indeed; for the fancies of
childhood dressed them in colours brighter than the rainbow, and almost
as fleeting!

In former times, spring brought with it not only such associations as
these, connected with the past, but sports and games for the
present--merry dances round rustic pillars, adorned with emblems of the
season, and reared in honour of its coming. Where are they now! Pillars
we have, but they are no longer rustic ones; and as to dancers, they are
used to rooms, and lights, and would not show well in the open air.
Think of the immorality, too! What would your sabbath enthusiasts say,
to an aristocratic ring encircling the Duke of York's column in
Carlton-terrace--a grand _poussette_ of the middle classes, round
Alderman Waithman's monument in Fleet-street,--o