96 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



portioned always to their bulk and to their habits. 

 The huge body of the elephant stands upon four 

 thick pillars, the stag has supports of a lighter 

 and nimbler quality. Animals that get some of 

 their living in the water, as beavers, otters, swans, 

 ducks, and geese, are born with paddles on their 

 feet. The mole, again, is born with spades on his 

 fore legs ; and the camel is born with his feet 

 carefully padded, with his head lifted high above 

 the sand waves, and his eyes carefully protected 

 from glare and dust. One might think through 

 a volume, to good purpose, about legs. Every 

 creature has the legs it wants. A traveller in 

 Africa relates how his baggage mule stumbled 

 and fell, and could retain no footing over ground 

 covered with fresh traces of the hippopotamus. 

 The hippopotamus was born with clouts, and had 

 the right feet for his own country ; the mule was 

 on a soil for which it had not been created. 



Let us watch the movement of a little thing. 

 How does a butterfly escape a bird ? By tacking. 

 It flies, when pursued, with a sharp zig-zag 

 motion. Let us compare strength with strength. 

 The commonest of beetles is in proportion six 

 times stronger than the horse. Linnaeus said of 

 the elephant, that if it were as strong for its size 

 as a stag-beetle, it would be able to tear up the 

 stoutest trees and knock down mountains. 



The movements of birds upon the wing, furnish 

 a familiar world of wonders. Some fly like 

 arrows; some describe circles in the sky; and 

 others take a waving undulating course. There 

 are birds everywhere, and they are capable of 

 almost anything; what one bird cannot do 

 another can. There are birds of the earth, birds 

 of the water, and birds of the air. There are 

 birds that scream at sea among the tempests ; 

 birds that sing at home of a calm evening in the 

 tree shading the cottage door. There are birds 

 that nest upon the soil in open plains ; and there 

 are birds that live in caverns. Birds of the wood, 

 birds of the mountain, birds that love towns and 

 houses; birds living alone in deserts. 



We have heard of the singing of swans. It is 

 npt quite a fable. During the winter nights, 

 flocks of swans traverse the frozen plains of Ice- 

 land, filling the air with harmonies like murmurs 

 of the lyre. There is perfect time kept at the 

 concert which they give. The ablest bird opens 

 the chant ; a second follows ; then a third ; and 

 finally, the whole choir fills the sky with melody. 

 The air is full of modulated utterances and re- 

 sponses, which the Icelander in his warm cabin is 

 glad to hear ; for he knows then, that the spring 

 weather is at hand. 



There are more harmonies in nature than mere 

 sounds afford. The world about us is all harmony, 

 of which w r e can perceive only a part. The 

 Cephisus that watered the gardens of the 

 Academy, has disappeared with the woods of 

 Mount Hymettus. The old Scamander has 

 disappeared with the cedars of Mount Ida, under 

 which it had its source. The climate of Italy 

 was milder than it is, less relentless in its heat, 

 before the destruction of the forests of the Tyrol. 

 He who cuts down a tree, destroys a colony of 

 insects, a home or haunt of many birds, a source 

 of food to quadrupeds perhaps, or even to man. 

 The plantain tree, that shades a fountain or 

 hangs over the marshy borders of a stream, is a 



beautiful object. Between the river and the tree 

 there is a harmony. The Persians were scourged 

 with pestilential maladies from their marsh-bor- 

 dered rivers, until they called the plantain trees 

 to their aid. " There has been no epidemic at 

 Ispahan," says Chardin, " since the Persians 

 thus adorned their river sides and gardens." 



We may consider, too, the harmony of colors. 

 Raffaelle was not more choice about his painting, 

 than we find the sun to be. As winter departs, 

 the modest violet first blossoms beneath a veil 

 of leaves. The modesty means need of shelter. 

 Protecting leaves radiate back upon the fragrant 

 little flower all the heat that departs from it. As 

 the snows disappear, blossoms of other flowers 

 open which display themselves more boldly, but 

 they are blanched, or nearly so. In the passage 

 from the last snows of winter to the first blossoms 

 of spring, the harmony of color ispeserv ed — 

 hillsides and orchards are laden with a delicate 

 white, varied rarely by the pink upon the almond- 

 trees. Petals of apple-blossom floating on the 

 wind mimic the flakes of snow that were so lately 

 seen. As the warm season advances, colors 

 deepen until we come to the dark crimson of 

 autumn flowers, and the brownnessofthe autumn 

 leaves. This change is meant not only to be 

 beautiful — it has its use. " Why" are the first 

 spring flowers all white, or nearly white ? 

 "Because," when the winds are still cold, and 

 when the sun is only moderately kind, a flower 

 would be chilled to death if its heat radiated from 

 it rapidly. But radiation takes place most freely 

 from dark colors — from black, from the strongly 

 defined greens, and blues, and reds. In the hot 

 weather, flowers and leaves so colored, cool them- 

 selves more readily of nights, and form upon their 

 surfaces the healing dew. In early spring, there 

 is little need of dew or of facilities for cooling. 

 The delicate spring flowers are, therefore, of a 

 color that is least ready to encourage radiation. 



For the same reason — because white substances 

 give out least freely the heat that they contain 

 or cover — arctic animals are white as their native 

 snows. For the same reason, too, the snow 

 itself is white. When cold becomes severe, snow 

 falls and hangs like a fur mantle about the soil. 

 If snow were black, or red, or blue, it would still 

 let some of the heat escape which is retained 

 under its whiteness. The colors, even of men, 

 darken in hot climates ; in the hottest they are 

 made quite black. 



TO THE WINDS. 



Talk to my heart, oh Winds ! 

 Talk to my heart to-night ! 

 My spirit always finds 

 With you a new delight, — 

 Finds always new delight 

 In your silver talk at night. 



Give me your soft embrace, — 

 As you used to long ago, 

 In your shadowy trysting place, 

 When you seem'd to love me so; 

 When you meekly kiss'd me so, 

 On the green hills long ago. 



Alice Carey. 



