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KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL 



But why linger we thus on the threshold ? 

 Let us prove what we say by giving examples. 

 On the present occasion, we select three 

 subjects for extract. The first, il Little 

 Benny," reminds us strongly of an article 

 from our own pen, on " Kensall- Green Ce- 

 metery " (see Vol. II., p. 154). We called 

 attention, we remember, to a poetical tomb- 

 stone, whereon appeared these simple words — 



" itjr* irauB nf 



ANNIE;" 



and we commented at some length upon the 

 general want of taste in these matters. 



Our second excerpt will be " A Little Boy 

 with a Big Heart ; " and the third, " Rosalie 

 and Hetty." Whoever reads these, and ap- 

 preciates the feelings of the writer, will 

 assist in circulating her work to the ends of 

 the earth. 



"little benny." 



So the simple head-stone said. Why did my 

 eyes fill ? I never saw the little creature. I never 

 looked in his laughing eye, or heard his merry 

 shout, or listened for his tripping tread ; I never 

 pillowed his little head, or bore his little form, or 

 smoothed his silky locks, or laved his dimpled 

 limbs, or fed his cherry lips with dainty bits, or 

 kissed his rosy cheek as he lay sleeping. 



I did not see his eye grow dim ; or his little 

 hand droop powerless ; or the dew of agony gather 

 on his pale forehead. I stood not with clasped 

 hands, and suspended breath, nor watched the 

 look that comes but once, flit over his cherub face. 

 And yet, " Little Benny," my tears are falling; 

 for somewhere, I know, there's an empty crib, a 

 vacant chair, useless robes and toys, a desolate 

 hearth-stone, and a weeping mother. 



"Little Benny!" 



It was all her full heart could utter; and it wa 

 enough. It tells the whole story. 



A LITTLE BOY WITH A BIG HEART. 



A rich man was little Georgey's father ! So 

 many houses, and shops, and farms as he owned ; 

 so many horses and carriages ; such a big house 

 as he lived in, by the Park, and so many servants 

 as he had in it, — but he loved little Georgey 

 better than any of them, and bought him toys 

 enough to fill a shop, live animals enough to stock 

 a menagerie, and jackets and trousers enough to 

 clothe half the boys in New York. 



Georgey was a pretty boy ; he had a broad, 

 noble forehead, large, dark, loving eyes, and a 

 form as straight and lithe as a little Indian's. His 

 mother was very proud of him, — not because he 

 was good, but because he was pretty. She was a 

 very foolish woman, and talked to him a great 

 deal about his fine clothes, and his curling hair ; 

 but for all that, she didn't manage to spoil 

 Georgey. He didn't care an old marble, not he, 

 for all the fine clothes in Christendom ; and would 

 have been glad to have had every curl on his 

 merry little head clipped off. 



Georgey had no brothers nor sisters. He was so 

 sorry for that — he would rather have had such a 

 playmate than all the toys his father bought him. 

 His little heart was brimfull of love, and his birds, 



and rabbits, and ponies were well enough, but 

 they couldn't say, " Georgey, I love you." 

 Neither could he make them understand what he 

 was thinking about ; so he wearied of them, and 

 would often linger in the street, and look after 

 the little groups of children so wistfully, that I 

 quite pitied him. I used to think that, with all 

 his money, he wasn't half as happy as little Pat 

 and Neil Connor, two little Irish brothers, who 

 played hop-scotch every day under my window. 



It was a very cold day in January. Jack Frost 

 had been out all day on a frolic, and was still 

 busily at work. He had drawn all sorts of pic- 

 tures on the window panes, such as beautiful trees 

 and flowers, and great towering castles, and tall- 

 masted ships, and church spires, and little cot- 

 tages (so oddly shaped) ; beside birds that " Au- 

 dubon " never dreamed of, and animals that Noah 

 never huddled into the ark. Then he festooned 

 all the eaves, and fences, and trees, and bushes 

 with crystal drops, which sparkled and glittered 

 in the sunbeams like royal diamonds. Then he 

 hung icicles on the poor old horses' noses, and 

 tripped up the heels of precise old bachelors, and 

 sent the old maids spinning round on the side- 

 walks, till they were perfectly ashamed of them- 

 selves ; and then he got into the houses, and burst 

 and cracked all the water pitchers, and choked up 

 the steady old pump, so that it might as well 

 have been without a nose as with one ; and pinched 

 the cheeks of the little girls till they were as red 

 as a pulpit cushion, blew right through the key- 

 hole on grand-pa's poor, rheumatic old back, and 

 ran round the street corner, tearing open folks' 

 cloaks, and shawls, and furred wrappers, till they 

 shook as if they had an ague fit. I verily believe 

 he'd just as quick trip up our minister's heels as 

 yours or mine ! Oh, he is a graceless rogue — 

 that Jack Frost ! and many's the time he's tipped 

 Aunt Fanny's venerable nose with indigo. 



Goorgey didn't care a penny whistle for the 

 fellow, all muffled up to the chin in his little 

 wadded velvet sack, with a rich cashmere scarf of 

 his mother's wound about his neck, and a velvet 

 cap crushed down over his bright, curly head. 



How the sleighs did fly past ! with their gaily- 

 fringed buffaloes, and prancing horses necklaced 

 with little inkling bells. How merrily the pretty 

 ladies peeped from out their gay worsted hoods ! 

 Oh ! it was a pretty sight, — Georgey liked it, — 

 everybody moved so briskly, and seemed so 

 happy ! 



What ails Georgey now ? He has crossed the 

 street, stopped short, and the bright color flushes 

 his cheeks, till he looks quite beautiful. Ah ! he 

 has spied a little apple-girl, seated upon the icy 

 pavement. The wind is making merry with her 

 thin rags, — her little toes peep, blue and be- 

 numbed, from out her half-worn shoes, — and she 

 is blowing on her stiffened fingers, vainly trying 

 to keep them warm. 



Georgey looked down at his nice warm coat, 

 and then at Kate's thin cotton gown. Georgey 

 was never cold in his life, never hungry. His 

 eyes fill — his little breast heaves. Then quickly 

 untwisting the thick, warm scarf from his little 

 throat, he throws it round her shivering form and 

 says, with a glad smile, That will warm you ! — 

 and bounds out of sight before she can thank him. 

 Old Mr. Prince stands by, wiping his eyes, and 



