KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



307 



earnestness, that resistance disappears with 

 marvellous rapidity; and before the poor 

 thing has quite recovered from the sweet 

 delirium into which she has been thrown, she 

 finds herself a " wife" — sitting with her 

 husband before their mutual fireside, and 

 the object of his half-earnest, half-sportive 

 caresses. 



Much more might be said of the Merry 

 Heart ; but we will leave him now to enjoy 

 the blissful society of his amiable wife, and 

 beloved children. A pattern to them, and a 

 blessing to all his associates, he is — " the " 

 man for me ! J. H. 



ANCIENT VERULAM. 

 NOTES DURING A RECENT VISIT. 



On the first of November, 1853, my 

 dear Sir, I paid a visit to these relics of 

 ancient grandeur, accompanied by my 

 youngest son. 



My feelings on the occasion alluded to, 

 whilst progressing from Hatfield towards 

 St. Albans, were in unison with those of the 

 poet Thomson, who, in his " Winter," some 

 hundred and twenty years ago, thus wrote : 



All nature feels the renovating force 

 Of Winter, only to the thoughtless eye 

 In ruin seen. The frost -concocted glebe 

 Draws in abundant vegetable soul, 

 And gathers vigor for the coming year. 

 A stronger glow sits on the lively cheek 

 Of ruddy fire. 



We were so much pleased with our little 

 trip, and our snug quarters at the " Pea- 

 hen," that we determined to revisit them that 

 day six months, accompanied by " Our 

 Editor" and our faithful " Fino," — provided 

 we should live so long. Right pleased was 

 I then, on the evening of the 30th of April, 

 to spy our worthy Editor making his way up 

 to our gate. 



The morning of the 1st of May was not 

 very promising ; but four good friends were 

 not to be done out of a day's enjoyment on 

 the chance of a little soaking. No. There- 

 fore, not being made of sugar, and after 

 disposing of a good breakfast, we started for 

 the Hornsey station. 



How beautiful, how lovely, is even a 

 dull morning in Spring ! 



Up springs the lark, 

 Shrill-voiced and loud, the messenger of morn. 

 Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings 

 Amid the dawning clouds ; and from their haunts 

 Calls up the tuneful nations. Every copse, 

 Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush, 

 Bending with dewy moisture o'er the heads 

 Of the coy choristers that lodge within, 

 Are prodigal of harmony; the thrush 

 And wood-lark, o'er the kind contending throng, 

 Superior heard, run through the sweetest length 

 Of notes : when listening Philomela deigns 



handle, 

 of his 

 an ap- 

 frame, 



To let them joy, and purposes in thought 

 Elate to make her night excel their day. 

 The blackbird whistles from the thorny brake, 

 The mellow bullfinch answers from the grove ; 

 Nor are the linnets, o'er the flowering furze 

 Poured out profusely, silent. Join'd to these, 

 Innumerous songsters, in the fresh 'ning shade 

 Of new-sprung leaves, their modulations mix 

 Mellifluous. 



Reaching Hornsey in pretty good time, 

 we were soon whirled along to Hatfield ; 

 thence, an omnibus conveyed our jolly per- 

 sonages to St. Albans. A smart shower 

 during the transit, had clamped our outer 

 man ; for we disdained to carry a umbrella. 

 Nay, we were rather curious-looking cha- 

 racters. " Our Editor," with his editorial 

 baton ; old Bombyx, with a cane something 

 like a small tree (and which, in truth, a few 

 years ago, was a goodly holly tree on the 

 banks of the Tiber, the hook, or 

 representing a grotesque portrait 

 Holiness the Pope) ; his son, with 

 paratus for supporting the human 

 convertible at pleasure into a cane for fishing 

 beetles; and old "Fino," with his tail 

 wagging at least a thousand times a minute. 



In this fashion did we three reach the 

 " Peahen." The first thing now was, to 

 counteract the ill effects of the external 

 moisture by an internal application of " some- 

 thing curious." This " something curious " 

 was of a rich dark -brown color, and came 

 " strongly recommended " to us. Nor was 

 " mine hostess " a bad judge. 



Whilst the " tickets to view " the ancient 

 abbey were being procured, a blazing fire 

 was prepared with all due haste to gladden 

 our hearts ; and on a neat little table was 

 placed the remnant of a gigantic cheese — the 

 walls almost rivalling those of ancient 

 Verulam. Side by side was a nice loaf of 

 crusted new bread, and a tankard of foaming 

 creaming ale. These discussed, we arose, 

 refreshed like giants ; and ordering a tidy 

 little dinner, we stretched away for the 

 ancient abbey. Nor were we long in gaining 

 access to the magnificent walls of this ancient, 

 venerable pile. On our arrival, we found it 

 was the time for divine service. 



Nothing could exceed the soft, solemn, 

 stirring sound of the organ notes, pealing 

 through this sacred building. We listened 

 to it with rapture. Then, having ascer- 

 tained from the beadle that the service was 

 likely to last another hour, we resolved at 

 once to proceed to ancient Verulam, return- 

 ing thence to the abbey. 



Passing through the antique gatehouse 

 (the upper part of which is now used as the 

 prison for the borough), in some ten 

 minutes we found ourselves on the walls of 

 ancient Verulam ; or rather the relics of the 

 said walls, which are all that remain of that 



