KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



275 



See that fine old grey, now white with age ! 

 His head alone Avould suffice to show the 

 high breeding of himself and ancestors. The 

 small taper nose, whose nostril is now dis- 

 tended with pain and exhaustion, shows 

 plainly the cross of the Arab that had been 

 resorted to, to bring an English breed to the 

 highest caste. That portion of the frontal 

 bone arching the eye, still shows, by its 

 prominence and capacity, that it once con- 

 tained an orb bright and full, sparkling with 

 intelligence and noble spirit ; his fine form 

 shows where once strongly-developed muscle 

 spoke of speed, endurance, and powers, the 

 pride of his master, the terror of the turf, and 

 the admiration of the field. He, for whom once 

 a trusty groom was held insufficient without 

 the superintendence of a superior, at a cost of 

 at least two hundred a year to his employer — 

 for whom the very elements were watched, 

 that his clothing might be arranged to pre- 

 vent their blowing too rudely on his polished 

 coat and tender skin — for whom the sensitive 

 feelings of man were not trusted to, but the 

 thermometer consulted, that the atmosphere 

 he breathed in his stable should be precisely 

 at the height most conducive to his health 

 and comfort — for whom the hand and head of 

 the horseman were once requisite to prevent 

 his generous spirit exhausting his wonderful 

 powers by over-willing exertion in the flying 

 chase — see him now, 



Scourged like a panniered ass ! 



He drags mechanically his weary limbs one 

 after the other, all but insensible even to 

 pain ; his outstretched neck shows one of 

 the last sure symptoms of exhausted nature ; 

 that eye of fire now shows sunken, glazed, 

 opaque, motionless, and seemingly fixed upon 

 vacancy. 



Reader, you have oft (let us hope thought- 

 lessly) availed yourself of a vehicle where 

 the animal drawing it was the prototype of 

 the poor grey; aye, and have added to 

 his sufferings, by the promise of extra 

 reward — for what ? for extra and detestable 

 cruelty on the part of the driver, to gratify 

 your impatience, or save five minutes of time 

 that, in ordinary circumstances, you must use 

 for better purpose than your fellow man ; if 

 that five minutes were destined to any purpose 

 that could be admitted even as a palliation 

 for the infliction of barbarity on the wreck of 

 a noble animal. 



I have no wish to be tedious, my dear sir, 

 else could I profitably pursue this subject. 

 You will agree with me, I feel sure, that such 

 matters are not unworthy our notice. Yours 

 being a Journal of " thought," is just the 

 channel in which to give currency to what 

 ought to he universally interesting. 



FORESTIERA. 



[Alas ! dear Forestiera, that we should 



have to work so hard to make people only 

 commonly humane ! We wish we had better 

 materiel to work upon ; but while selfishness 

 carries all before it, and the worst of passions 

 are rather encouraged than controlled, we 

 cannot expect to make much progress. We 

 are, as a nation, semi-savages.] 



ALAS! MY BOY. 



I cannot make him dead ! 



His fair sunshiny head 

 Is ever hounding round my study chair ; 



Yet when my eyes, now dim 



With tears, I turn to him, 

 The vision vanishes — he is not there ! 



I walk my parlor floor, 



And, through the open door, 

 I hear a footfall on the chamber stair ; 



I'm stepping toward the hall, 



To give the boy a call, 

 And then bethink me that — he is not there ! 



I thread the crowded street, 



A satchel'd lad I meet, 

 With the same beaming eyes and colored hair ; 



And, as he's running by, 



Follow him with my eye, 

 Scarcely believing that — he is not there ! 



I know his face is hid, 



Under the coffin lid ; 

 Closed are his eyes — cold is his forehead fair : 



My hand that marble felt, 



O'er it in prayer I knelt, 

 Yet my heart whisper'd that — he is not there ! 



I cannot make him dead ! 



When passing by the bed 

 So long watch d over by parental care, 



My spirit and my eye 



Seek it inquiringly, 

 Before the thought comes that — he is not there ! 



When at the cool, gay break 



Of day from sleep I wake, 

 When at first breathing of the morning air, 



My soul goes up with joy 



To Him who gave my boy, 

 Then comes the sad thought that — he is not there ! 



When at the day's calm close, 



Before we seek repose, 

 I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer; 



Whate'er I may be saying, 



I am, in spirit, praying 

 That we may be resigned — he is not there ! 



HOPE. 



TO 



Though I leave thee now in sorrow, 

 Smiles might light on love to-morrow ; 



Doom'd to part, my faithful heart 

 A gleam of joy from Hope shall borrow. 

 Ah ! ne'er forget, when friends are near, 



That heart is thine, — for ever ; 

 Thou mai/st find some to love thee, dear, 



But not a love like mine, — No ! neveb ! 



