KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



263 



and ball (the ball not being held by a string), 

 were also much admired ; but nothing pro- 

 duced so great a sensation of admiration and 

 anxiety as the following : — 



This alarming performance realises twenty 

 times in succession the marvellous exploit 

 of William Tell. One of the jugglers places 

 himself against the boards, with his hand ex- 

 tended. Another, who is provided with a 

 number of sharp knives, throws them one 

 after another ; and, passing through the in- 

 terstices of the fingers with a precision that 

 makes one shudder, they remain fixed in the 

 board. A hair's breadth, more or less, and 

 the hand would be nailed to the plank ! One 

 is at a loss which most to admire, the man 

 who throws the poignards, or the man who 

 consents to serve as their target. What pre- 

 cision ! — what courage ! — what coolness ! 



The most skilful master of the knife of 

 Seville or Cordova would hesitate to throw 

 his weapon at this living target. But, listen 

 further — the head takes the place of the hand, 

 and the knives are thrown, near the throat, 

 the nape of the neck, the forehead, with 

 unerring certainty . The slightest deviation 

 might be fatal. We have seen nothing to 

 exceed this. After each trial, the human 

 target plays, by way of rejoicing, some little 

 air upon the gong, imitating that of the tam- 

 borine of Karagheny (the Turkish Punch), 

 that makes one almost die of laughter. 



Besides their incomparable dexterity as 

 jugglers, in vaulting, and sleight of hand, 

 these Chinese possess true artistical talent. 

 In the spoken dialogue, which intervenes 

 between the different performances, one is 

 struck with the truth of the pantomime and 

 the quick play of the features. At the same 

 time, what laughter is evoked by the unheard- 

 of tones of their unknown language, its sudden 

 clinking accents, its unexpected sharp ones, 

 its intonations altogether so discordant to 

 European organs ! 



1 have translated the above from the 

 French. There is a " closeness" about it, and 

 an individuality, peculiar to themselves 

 alone. These wonderful Chinese folk have 

 lately exhibited here, — exciting at once sur- 

 prise, horror, and admiration. 



FORESTIERA. 



[There is no comparison to be drawn 

 between the feat of William Tell and the 

 Chinese man of many knives. The cutting 

 jokes of the latter are indeed fearful to witness. 

 Few are the hairs which ornament our royal 

 head; yet were these fairly erect — stiff as 

 any bristles — whilst gazing on the flying steel 

 dismissed from that strange man's hand. 

 " How does he do it?" asked a sweet voice 

 behind us. We whispered a " notion" into the 

 ear of the fair postulant that caused her to 

 turn deadly pale !] 



LOVE LANE. 

 A SKETCH. 



In my native village, in that fair vale 

 of Suffolk, there is a long, narrow lane, which 

 bears the sweet name of Love Lane. I love 

 its simple name, as I love other country 

 names — names of fields, and meadows, and 

 woods — Mill Piece, Double Acre, Daisy 

 Nook, Dingle Wood, Stack Close, and other 

 words which tell their own tale, even to the 

 simplest. 



Let me love Love Lane, then, for its sweet 

 simple name. Let me love it also for itself. 

 It is a pleasant country walk, just out of the 

 village ; you enter it by an old brown stile. 

 On the right it is bounded by a hedge, and a 

 deep-toned shady wood of firs ; on the left 

 by another hedge, a garden, and soft, cool, 

 green meadows, reaching to the village with 

 its neat thatched houses, and its white 

 church spire. The lane itself is straight, but 

 the firs reach over it here and there ; and 

 their dark boughs, gemmed with delicate 

 cones, and intermixed with graceful branchy 

 larches, take off all harshness from the out- 

 line. Then there are long-haired tufts of 

 grass hanging from the bank ; and in sunny 

 spring-tide, mild-eyed primroses, and sweet- 

 faced bramble-flowers, and dog roses, and 

 blue-orbed violets, and golden buttercups, 

 and our own fair daisies, peering from amid 

 or beneath the hedge. What festooning and 

 draping of man-milliner can do more for re- 

 forming into the curves of beauty a straight 

 outline than Nature's eternal dress-making ! 

 In robes of green she oftest tires her darling 

 earth ; but what shot-silk of ball beauty 

 can .rival the glancing changing lights and 

 shades, and tints and dyes, with which she 

 throws out that ground color of her garmen- 

 ture ! And then, when she crowns her bright 

 high temples, and garlands her glorious 

 flowing locks with leaves, and flowers, and 

 fruits — it is Eve in Paradise. 



Love Lane, also, is not only straight, but- 

 narrow. Along its little beaten path, only 

 two can walk abreast. Shall this, however, 

 be regretted, when God has made us in pairs ! 

 Let us not regret then that it is narrow, but 

 rather be glad that a couple may walk in it 

 together. Only reflect that all the blessed 

 world of people might thus walk through a 

 grand Love Lane, in sweet pairs, in choice 

 couples — two and two, brave boy and fair 

 girl, loving husband and happy wife, nob e 

 veteran and worthy matron. Even in this 

 Love Lane of ours, how many young hearts 

 may have been glad that only two could walk 

 abreast in it ! For each of these, to the 

 other, was the whole world. Future gene- 

 rations walked with them ; and how many 

 hopes and fears ! How many of these may 

 not our narrow Love Lane have joined never 



