228 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



If we ever take a rose as our subject, we 

 may have an opportunity of connecting the 

 structure of Pomaceae with that of Rosacese, 

 and of the whole rosal alliance. At present 

 we return to the hawthorn, to observe that 

 the tree bears cutting remarkably well, and 

 is only induced by it to throw out a fresh 

 multitude of branches, which quality emi- 

 nently fits it for its old English use in con- 

 structing hedges. Our modern agriculturists 

 seem disposed to grudge the space and the 

 nourishment required for them; but when 

 they are well kept, the waste is not great, 

 and it is abundantly overpaid by their beauty. 

 The gratification of our taste for beauty and 

 fragrance is a real good obtained, and it is 

 a false estimate of utility which only counts 

 the food and clothing which the country 

 may be made to yield. 



Far distant be the day when our sweet 

 hawthorn hedges, marking the picturesque 

 forms of our old fields, breaking the dull 

 uniformity which characterises an unenclosed 

 country, and producing every returning spring 

 a fresh harvest of delight to old and young, 

 rich and poor, among the people, as well as 

 feeding our feathered songsters during the 

 severity of winter, and usefully marking the 

 boundaries of land, and protecting enclo- 

 sures — must give place to the inroads of a 

 too-encroaching cultivation, and be super- 

 seded by dead partitions, which will occupy 

 less space, and neither abstract nourishment 

 from the soil, nor so much interrupt the pas- 

 sage of light and air to the produce of the 

 field. A prosperous people is always willing 

 and anxious to pay something for ornament ; 

 and if we lost our hawthorn hedges, we should 

 find their value too late, and wish for them 

 again at any price. Let us keep them, and 

 value them as a part of the rural beauty of 

 our country, to which we have a national 

 attachment ; and let those who would destroy 

 them for the sake of a few feet of land be 

 made sensible that they are hurting the 

 feelings and forfeiting the good-will of their 

 neighbors for a paltry gain. 



Our hawthorn hedges are a national taste ; 

 and as the fragrant bloom bursts out upon 

 them in the sweet month of May, which gives 

 to it a popular name, our whole population 

 hastens to gather its portion for the bouquet 

 or the garland, delighting to select amongst 

 the clustered branches, and to breathe the 

 perfumed air. The hawthorn is a part of 

 our national conception of the loveliness of 

 May ; and it would be a sad change which 

 should leave us to depend on what may still 

 find a place in the park or the shrubbery, 

 instead of meeting it everywhere, by the 

 wayside and around the fields. 



W. Hincks, F. L. S. 



THE FIRST OF MAY. 



BY A. SMITH. 



This is the day of merriment ! Upon the village 



green 

 I see arrayed the rustic swains ; I see the May-day 



Queen, 

 Commingling in the festal throng, I see the 



village fair, 

 With silk embroider'd sandal'd shoes, and smoothly 



braided hair. 

 Young hearts are beating joyously ; and old ones, 



young again, 

 Are smiling on the gladsome scene, forgetful of 



their pain. 

 This is the day of merriment, and mirth shall have 



the sway, 

 Nor sorrow on our sports intrude upon the First of 



May. 



This is the day of merriment — see! see! the 



dance begins; 

 How happy is the favored youth, the Queen's fair 



hand who wins ! 

 Light feet are moving gracefully across the shaven 



lawn ; 

 Love lends to each his angel wings, and all are 



upward borne. 

 Scorn, Scorn ! withdraw thy chilling looks ; Care, 



hide thy wrinkled brow ! 

 I would not that this happy band should be less 



happy now. 

 This is the day of merriment ; and mirth shall 



have the sway, 

 And sadness from the mind be chas'd, upon the 



First of May. 



This is the day of merriment. In days that are 



no more, 

 My mother in the selfsame place the Queen's gay 



vestments wore ; 

 I've heard her many times and oft, with simple, 



honest pride, 

 Her feelings on that festal day to my young heart 



confide. 

 But time has passed, and she has grown a thought- 

 ful matron now ; 

 The bloom has fled her altered cheeks — the lustre 



left her brow. 

 But 'tis the day of merriment, and mirth shall 



have the sway, 

 And vain regrets be banished hence upon the 



First of May. 



This is the day of merriment ! All nature swells 



the song ; 

 Her loud responsive choral notes the harmony 



prolong : 

 The cuckoo tunes her merry voice as overhead she 



flies, 

 The lark sings high till lost to view 'mid the 



ethereal skies, 

 The linnet and the blackbird sing from copse, and 



brake, and bower, 

 While zephyrs waft their odor sweet from bud, and 



leaf, and flower. 

 This is the day of merriment ; and mirth shall 



have the sway, 

 And sorrow leave no lasting trace upon the First 



of May. 



