KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



73 



the world. Though the prime mover of all 

 contentions, it is never found in the van of 

 the battle. Like a puny yet quarrelsome 

 companion, it is ever bringing its fellow- 

 members into jeopardy by its bickering pro- 

 pensities ; but the moment they are attacked, 

 it seeks its own safety, and leaves them to 

 get off as they can. Oh, how aggravated 

 will be its reckoning with the nose, for the 

 multiplied mishaps it has occasioned that 

 august personage ! How greatly is it in- 

 debted to that magnanimous go-between for 

 the claret and carbuncular protuberances, lost 

 and won in its defence ! And how striking 

 is the contrast between the bold manly 

 bearing of the one, and the shameful pusil- 

 animity of the other ! 



If the nose offend by a scornful contemp- 

 tuous corrugation, there is no skulking, no 

 manoeuvring to elude consequences; all is 

 fair, open, dignified. It stands forth un- 

 daunted, schooled to suffer with the fortitude 

 and equanimity of a martyr. Not so the 

 tongue It seems to consider that the glory 

 of a warrior does not consist in the accumu- 

 lation of scars, but in the multitude of re- 

 treats he has effected ; and therefore it always 

 makes the most of an opportunity to escape. 

 In this it reminds me of a schoolmate of mine, 

 a peevish, impudent, brawling little stripling, 

 who was continually abusing his fellows, 

 but was never known to right ; for if they 

 attempted to chastise his insolence, he flew 

 to his father's door-step, and, whenever 

 any of them approached, he whipped in, 

 turned the bolt, and remained secure till the 

 storm had subsided. 



Though deficient in the endowment of 

 personal beauty and genuine courage, the 

 tongue is not wanting in utility, — the cha- 

 racteristic virtue of the age. It possesses all 

 the essentials of a steam-engine, with in- 

 finitely more power to the square inch ; and 

 at the same time, requires no expense to keep 

 it always in repair. There is no loss by 

 friction; no wear and tear of material. 

 Year after year it runs on uninjured, (would 

 that I might add uninjuring !) with the most 

 reckless and untiring perseverance. The 

 hand and foot, the eye and ear, become 

 wearied by continual action, and require rest 

 to recover their exhausted energies ; but the 

 tongue never falters nor faints from the 

 longest exertion— the most overtasked per- 

 formances of its functions. It appears to be 

 free from the physical weaknesses of the 

 other members, and to gain strength and 

 suppleness in proportion to the severity of 

 its use. Without this diminutive and ap- 

 parently insignificant organ, life would be 

 nothing but a pantomime, civilisation would 

 retrograde, and, in the lapse of a century, I 

 have little doubt that Lord Monboddo's 

 theory of a tailed humanity would be literally 



realised. Annihilate the tongue, and sonnets 

 and serenades, novels and tragedies, would 

 be forgotten ; the memory of glorious Shak- 

 speare would pass away ; and instead of real 

 thorough-going sentimental courtships, man- 

 kind, like birds, would have their pairing 

 time — their St. Valentine's day. 



The activity of the tongue is truly astonish- 

 ing — the rapid flash of the eye cannot be 

 compared with it. If you do not believe me, 

 just listen to the pronunciation of a fluent 

 Frenchman. The words fall from his lips 

 like the quick drops of a shower ; so swift 

 and continuous that it is an impossibility to 

 count them. Yet these are all modulated 

 in some measure by the tongue ; and in 

 Spanish, where almost every letter is sounded, 

 the celerity of movement which this organ 

 evinces, must surpass that of any other 

 muscular action with which we are ac- 

 quainted. 



It is related, in one of Decatur's battles, 

 that some of his guns were discharged a 

 dozen times during a minute ; yet what is 

 this to the glossal ordnance of an offended 

 woman? It is like the snail-pace of the 

 sloth to the lightning-speed of the antelope, 

 when compared with the hurried volleys of 

 such a battery. Why — I should rather have 

 been in the front rank at Lodi, than stand in 

 the point-blank of an angry Xantippe's facial 

 artillery 1 . -yy p^ 



SPEING ! I LOVE THEE ! 



Oh ! I love, I love the beautiful Spring, 



When leaves and plants are growing ; 

 When the joyous birds in the greenwoods sing, 



And gales o'er the hills are blowing. 

 And I love, I love the musical note 

 Of waters that swift through the valleys float, 



Their way to the far sea taking ; 

 My spirit it thrills with a holy thought, 

 And my heart with a gentle love is fraught, 



Amid the young Year's waking. 



Oh ! I love, I love the beautiful Spring, 



When morn is newly beaming, 

 And the larks aloft on their missions wing, 



Their praise through the ether streaming ; 

 And I love, I love the freshening breeze, 

 The lowing herds, and the green, green trees, 



And the fields of glistening flowers. 

 The sun rejoices o'er valley and stream, 

 The mountains he tips with a golden beam, 



And lights the budding bowers. 



Oh ! I love, I love the beautiful Spring 



When day is calmly closing, 

 And the flowers abroad their fragrance fling, 



On the twilight air reposing. 

 And I love, I love from the hawthorn tree 

 The gush of the nightingale's melody, 



While the moonbeams quiet are sleeping — 

 When peace like a veil o'er the landscape lies, 

 And the earth smells sweet as the balmy aides 



Their dew-drop tears are weeping. 



