KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



163 



While a noon-day sun is warm upon the 

 water, as yet his native element, he rises to 

 the surface, and above it, elevating both head 

 and shoulders, as if gasping for the new enjoy- 

 ments which await him. His breast swells, 

 as it were, with the sweet anticipation ; his 

 confining corslet bursts ; and the head — not 

 that which has played its part on the stage 

 of being now about to close, but another — 

 all plumed and decorated for a more brilliant 

 theatre, emerges through the rent, followed 

 by the shoulders and the filmy wings which 

 are to play upon the air. But have a care, 

 my little debutant ! Thou art yet upon the 

 water ; an unlucky somerset would wet thy 

 still soft and drooping pinions, and render 

 them unfit for flight. Now is thy critical 

 moment — hold thee steady — lose not thy 

 perpendicular, or — but why fear we for the 

 little mariner? He who clothes the lily and 

 feeds the sparrow, has provided him support in 

 this his hour of peril. The stiff covering of 

 his recent form, from which he is struggling 

 to escape, now serves him as a life-boat, the 

 second to which he will owe his safety. His 

 upright body forms its mast as well as sail ; 

 and in the breeze now rippling the water, he 

 is wafted rapidly along. He will assuredly 

 be capsized from press of sail. But see, he 

 has acquired by this time other helps to aid 

 his self-preserving efforts. His slender legs, 

 hitherto hung pendant, now feel for and find 

 the surface of the pool. His boat is left 

 behind, and, still endowed with an aquatic 

 power, he stands a moment on the water, then 

 rises buoyant, a winged inhabitant of air ! 



I CANNOT SAY "FAREWELL!" 



BY HELEN HETnERIXGTOX. 



I can hid adieu to grandeur 



Without one fond regret, 

 And part with pomp and pageantry 



As gaily as we met. 

 I think on thee, and o'er my heart 



Love weaves a secret spell; 

 Oh it is hard indeed to part, — 



To breathe the word " Farewell !" 



In vain I join the happy throng, 



My spirit yearns for thee; 

 The sportive dance, the merry song, 



Have now no charms forme. 

 A sadness o'er my spirit came, 



Where joy was wont to dwell; 

 Mv lips refus'd to breathe thy name, 



To add the word " Farewell !" 



I'm pledg'd, e'en with my latest breath 



To shield my country's laws ; 

 To brave both penury and death, 



In freedom's noble cause ; 

 But ah ! I must this subject shun, 



I dare not on it dwell ; 

 May Heaven bless thee, dearest one ! 



I cannot say, — " Farewell !" 



OUR EARLY FLOWERS. 



THE SWEET VIOLET AND PRIMROSE. 



The sweet violet has been, from the 

 most ancient times, a favorite of poets, and 

 an object of pursuit to all who can relish 

 simple and innocent pleasures. It eminently 

 unites simplicity, elegance, and modest grace, 

 with a delicious fragrance. Homer places 

 it in the garden of Calypso, and from his 

 time downwards the allusions to it by the 

 poets are far too numerous for us to attempt 

 either enumeration or selection. 



The sweet violet grows with us on banks 

 by the sides of fields and roads, often by the 

 borders of streams, generally in considerable 

 quantities together ; its characteristic mode 

 of growth, by runners, contributing to extend 

 it where it has once obtained a footing. It 

 requires a pure air, and can hardly be kept 

 alive amidst the smoke of cities. It often 

 flowers in the latter part of February, and 

 March may be considered as its proper period 

 of blooming ; but there is a variety now com- 

 mon in gardens, which flowers at nearly all 

 seasons, so that by a little management and 

 protection in the worst weather, a never- 

 failing supply may be obtained. There is a 

 very pretty white or cream-colored variety 

 nearly as common in most parts of England 

 as the purple one, and quite as fragrant. It 

 is strictly the same species, differing only in 

 color, but it appears to be a permanent variety 

 continued by seed, not a mere individual 

 peculiarity. Pale blue, lilac, and red varieties 

 are less common, but occasionally occur. 



Both the purple and white are also found 

 double in gardens ; and, as in this flower the 

 fragrance arises from the flower-leaves or 

 petals themselves, there is an increased 

 sweetness in the double varieties that gives 

 them a just claim to attention, though the 

 single might, perhaps, be thought more 

 beautiful. The most usual way in which a 

 flower becomes double, is by the organs 

 called stamens, which form the third circle, 

 changing Into petals the parts of the second 

 circle ; and this is generally accompanied by 

 an indefinite multiplication of the pieces, 

 whilst any peculiar development of any 

 part of a circle, as one petal of a violet, or 

 a nasturtium running out into a spur, is lost 

 in the double flower. In some instances, the 

 inner circle, consisting of the seed-bearing 

 organs, called by botanists carpels, is also 

 changed into colored flat pieces, resembling 

 petals, as in double anemones, where the 

 two kinds of parts in the double flower can 

 be well distinguished. Sometimes, as in 

 the double cherry, the carpels appear as 

 green leaves in the middle of the double 

 flower : but most commonly, as happens in 

 the violet, the inner circle remains unchanged, 

 or is almost suppressed. 



