176 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



and thicket. The accessories, too, were 

 changing every moment. Ducks, geese, 

 pigs, and children, gave way as we advanced 

 into the wood ; and they again disappeared 

 as we became more entangled in its mazes, 

 till we heard nothing save the song of the 

 nightingale, and saw only the silent flowers. 



What a piece of fairy-land ! The tall elms 

 overhead were bursting into tender vivid 

 leaf, with here and there a hoary oak or a 

 silver-barked larch ; every twig swelling 

 with the brown buds, and yet not quite 

 stripped of the tawny foliage of Autumn. 

 Tall hollies and hawthorn beneath, with 

 their crisp brilliant leaves, mixed with the 

 white blossoms of the sloe ; and were woven 

 together with garlands of woodbines and 

 wild briars. What a fairy-land ! 



Primroses, cowslips, pansies, and the 

 regular open-eyed white blossom of the wood 

 anemone, or wind-flower, were set under our 

 feet as thick as daisies in a meadow. And 

 look, there is the wood -sorrel! look at the 

 pendant white flower, shaped like a snow- 

 drop, and veined with purple streaks, and 

 with beautiful trefoil leaves folded like a 

 heart, — some, the young ones, so vividly yet 

 tenderly green, that the foliage of the elm 

 and the hawthorn would look dull by their 

 side ; others of a deeper tint, and lined as it 

 were with a rich and changeful purple. See 

 how beautiful they are, and in what pro- 

 fusion ! See how the dark shade of the holly 

 sets off the light and delicate coloring of the 

 flower ! And only look at that other bed 

 of them, springing from the rich moss in the 

 roots of that old beech tree ! 



Here is a touch of nature for us, that 

 awakens all the finest feelings of the* heart. 

 We envy not those who can read such a pure 

 language without being able to understand 

 it, and enjoy the delights which it paints in 

 such vivid yet harmonious colors. All who 

 love the country thoroughly, will appreciate 

 every single word ; and long for an early 

 opportunity to make similar observations for 

 themselves. The heart, now, requires ex- 

 pansion. 



But we must away. We have had a very 

 long gossip, and it behoves us to go abroad 

 and verify all that we have said. It is a 

 duty we shall gladly perform ; for now, — 



Heralded by sunbeams golden, 

 Garlanded with green buds fair, 



Modest snowdrops just unfolden, 

 Toying 'midst her streaming hair, 



Comes fair Spring, — a blushing maiden, 

 With rich hope and beauty laden! 



Over brake and meadow winging, 



Breathes she life, and light, and power ; 



Waking song-birds to their singing, 

 Calling up the dewy flower! 



Winter's sterner looks subduing, 

 Earth with greener tints imbuing. 



In the dell, a dewy bather, 



Blooms the golden celandine; 

 Violets into clusters gather, 



Daisies dip their fringe in wine. 

 Below are humming, bright-hued things ; 



Above, the lonely wild-bird sings. 



Zephyrs greet us, skies grow brighter, 

 Flashing 'neath the noon-tide ray; 



Fair eyes sparkle, hearts grow lighter, 

 Lambs with gladder impulse play. 



Spring brings earth her leaf and flower, 

 Hearts fresh gladness, minds new power. 



Sporting through green lane and meadow, 



Laughing half his time away, 

 Childhood, chasing bee and shadow, 



Toyeth out the pleasant day. 

 Limbs all wearied, laughing, sighing, 



Slowly creeps he, homeward hieing. 



Yes — readers all, hasten to the fields, frolic in 

 the meads, bathe yourselves in morning dew, 

 and then see what a true appetite is ! Out 

 again after breakfast, — ye who can find the 

 time ; range the woods, watch the bee, and 

 chase the shadow ; listen to the birds, and 

 gambol with the lambs. You will then come 

 home — 



Limbs all wearied, laughing, sighing, 

 Slowly creeping, homeward hieing, 



and thank us for having added — we know 

 not how many — years to your lives ! 



TO THE DAISY. 



[Contributed by a Lover of Nature in humble life.] 



I love thee with a Poet's Love, 



Thou hardy little flower; 

 Humblest of the precious gems 



That deck fair Flora's bower. 

 Whether in the new-born Spring 



Thou flashest on my sight, 

 Or the maturer Summer, still 



I hail thee with delight. 

 No flower attracts my wandering eye, 



As thou — so simple — wild ! 

 I love thee now, I lov'd thee when 



I was a tiny child ; 

 Would run to thee from baby toy, 

 And laugh and crow with baby joy : 



Or roll upon the dewy grass 



Like a little birdling free ; 

 And clasp thee to my beating heart 



In delightful ecstacy. 

 On the smooth and velvet lawn, 



In the o'er-arching glade, 

 Many are the joyous games 



Together thou and I have played ! 

 While some would call thee " common flower," 



I would call thee " treasure;" 

 They would gaze with glance of scorn, 



I would gaze with pleasure. 

 Yes, still thou art as dear to me 

 As in my happy infancy ! 



W. R. 



