KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



19 



its eyes with its hand, while looking at the 

 sun, or smiling to see that pale primrose 

 color which now and then spreads over the 

 sky. Every day it discovers some new 

 object, of pleasure, some new source of de- 

 light, in the putting forth of a fresh flower, 

 or the low note of an additional bird. It 

 has shaken the snow of Winter from its 

 flowing hair, and melted the hoary frost- 

 work with its warm breath ; and there is a 

 look of love in its clear blue eye, while 

 watching the birds pair on St. Valentine's Day. 



Sometimes through the sunny flashes that 

 fall upon the landscape in the course of this 

 month, the lark will suddenly spring up ; 

 and beating against the wind, send out a few 

 shivering notes, which are only answered by 

 the ploughman's whistle ; for. with a few ex- 

 ceptions, the great band of birds are silent, 

 and many of them far away over the sea. 

 So the messenger of Spring will again des- 

 cend, and hide himself somewhere a little 

 longer ; it may be, grieving all the while for 

 the absence of the flowers. If the season is 

 mild, the starry celandine will show its yellow 

 flowers under the sheltering hedge-rows ; and 

 on mossy banks that face the sunny south, 

 those foremost heralds of Spring's pale prim- 

 roses, which Milton says "die unmarried," 

 will be found in bloom. A bud will be per- 

 ceived here, and a bell there, where last 

 month all was brown and bare, and desolate ; 

 for there is a stir of life about the earth and 

 in the air, though Nature hath not yet 

 thoroughly awoke ; many a little flower is 

 sitting up and rubbing its eyes, which, by- 

 and-by, will be wide open. 



Winter seems to feel that his end is 

 drawing nigh — that the branches which he 

 struck numb and lifeless, and left for dead, 

 again feel the sap stirring within their veins. 

 Even the little round daisy-buds begin to rise 

 under him, and break his rest ; and he knows 

 that the time of his departure is at hand. 

 The low humming in the air, and the increased 

 twittering in the copse, proclaim that Spring 

 is on her way ; and that unless he makes 

 haste to retire, he will be buried beneath the 

 approaching flowers. He knows by the 

 melting snow-flakes as they fall, that the air 

 is already impregnated by her warm breath ; 

 and that he must hurry back to the regions 

 of icy sleet and howling storm. For this is 

 the old month of Valentines and love-making, 

 began at first by the birds ; but tradition has 

 not even preserved the date of this ancient 

 wooing, which commenced so long, long ago. 

 It is only the British birds who remain with 

 us all the year, that are said to choose their 

 mates on Valentine Day, and remain true to 

 them until death. Those which go over the 

 sea and return again, are not so constant. 

 The English birds only have true, faithful, 

 loving, and constant hearts. 



It is said that until St. Valentine came 

 amongst them, there was squabbling in the 

 shrubs and battling amid the branches, and 

 quarrelling noises around the nests, — that 

 this bird was ever wishing to change, and 

 that bird was never happy. Whilst a third 

 was envious and jealous, and ever pecking at 

 his partner, because her plumage was not so 

 bright and rich as hers in the neighboring 

 nest. Some turned up their bills at the 

 insects their husbands brought them; and 

 said that, when single, they had not been 

 used to such food. Others complained that 

 the hips and haws were coarse and hard ; and 

 wished that they had gone over the sea, 

 when they had the offer, with that fine foreign 

 bird, that came and sang so sweetly in May, 

 and went away in June (he, like Leander, 

 was drowned while crossing the Hellespont). 

 Even the doves at times murmured at one 

 another, instead of cooing ; until good 

 Bishop Valentine came and touched them ; 

 and then their purple beaks breathed only 

 vows of love, and cooed promises of faithful 

 endearment and everlasting affection. And 

 then he at last touched the tender heart of 

 Woman ; and when she saw the young buds 

 opening, and the first flowers blooming, there 

 was a milder and softer light in her eye, and 

 a sweeter and more heart-tender tone in her 

 voice ; and she too began to confess the 

 power of good St. Valentine. And from 

 that time the whole air around her has ever 

 since breathed of love. 



Ladies, Love, and Flowers are inseparable. 

 They were linked together when the first 

 golden mornings broke over the garden of 

 Eden, and while " the stars sang together for 

 joy." Flowers are God's messengers, — they 

 have descended to us pure as when they 

 were first planted in Paradise, before Eve 

 was tempted and fell. The early dew that 

 then hung upon them is undimmed ; the 

 rounded pearls which now tremble on their 

 bells in the morning breeze, showed not 

 brighter to her eyes than they now appear 

 to her fair daughters. Fair are they as she 

 herself was, when our first father startled 

 her — gazing at her own sweet shadow in the 

 fountain. 



A SONG TO MY LOVE. 



When the gentle morn is breaking, 

 And the misty shadows flee, 



From a dream of bliss awaking, — 

 Then, my love, I sigh for thee. 



When the noon-day sun shines o'er me, 

 Shaded by thy fav'rite tree, 



Fancy bririgs thy form before me ; 

 Then, my love, I sigh for thee. 



When the ev'ning dews are falling, 

 And the moonbeams smile on me, 



Memory thy sweet smile recalling — 

 Then, love, falls the tear for thee ! 



