KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



321 



SYMPATHY— AND ITS DELIGHTS. 



A happy pair were they ! 

 A sympathy unusual join'd their loves ; 

 They pair'd like turtles, still together drank, 

 Together sat, nor quarrelTd for the choice : 

 Like twining streams, both from "one" fountain fell ; 

 And, as they ran, still mingled smiles and tears. 

 Nat. Lee. 



Few are the hearts whence one same touch 



Bids the same fountain flow : 



Few — and by still conflicting powers 



Forbidden here to meet — 



Such ties would make this life of ours 



Too fair for aught so fleet. 



Mrs. Hemans. 



OLD INDEED, AND STRANGELY 

 APATHETIC ARE THE PEOPLE 

 INHABITING THE PLANET On 



which we move ! Contrasts 

 most fearful meet us at every 

 turn. We look for fellowship, 

 and cannot realise it. For 

 proffered love, we find two cold 

 clammy fingers slipping into our warm hand; 

 and as for " heart," the world seems to have 

 none at all, — not at least that which we call 

 heart. 



We had the great misfortune — alas, that 

 we should be compelled to use such a phrase ! 

 — to be born with an affectionate disposition. 

 It has accompanied us through life ; and we 

 imagine it will die with us, and not before 

 us. Hence do we naturally look for a cor- 

 responding return from our fellow-creatures. 

 Do we find it ? Surely not. Let us, how- 

 ever, frankly own that it is cradled in the 

 recesses of some few hearts ; and that we 

 possess the talisman or key to its discovery. 

 Deeply buried it may be, and is ; but sym- 

 pathy is so powerful, that it cannot long 

 resist its influence. Only let two people, 

 naturally warm-hearted, be fairly brought 

 into contact; our word for it, there will 

 be a most perfect mental understanding 

 thenceforward between them. Separated 

 they may be, — but distance diminishes not 

 the attraction. On the contrary, the knot 

 is more sweetly entangled than ever ; and 

 never needs to be unravelled. 



The union of souls is no sentiment for the 

 vulgar. We hint at it, because we know 

 OUR readers can comprehend it ; and we 

 encourage it, because we are a living proof of 

 the pure delight it entails on those who are 

 in the happy secret. We have harped much, 

 lately, upon innocence ; and maintained that 

 it does exist in the human heart. What we 

 are now speaking of, is a further corrobora- 

 tion of the same sentiment. How nicely 

 chimes in here, that stanza of Byron : — 



There's nought in this world like sympathy ; 

 'Tis so " becoming" to the soul and face ! 

 Sets to soft music the harmonious sigh, 

 And robes sweet friendship in a Brussels lace. 



The word "becoming" aptly describes the 

 irradiation of the countenance when animated 



by pure feeling. It glows with the sweetest 

 speaking expressiveness, and tells us at once 

 all its sympathies. How thoroughly do we 

 understand this language, — and cherish it ! 

 " But," it may be said, " these are not com- 

 mon ideas." True. That is why we uphold 

 them. We are an " exclusive," — properly 

 so called. The gross pleasures of the multi- 

 tude, and the gratification of their. purely 

 animal passions by society at large (just now 

 particularly), concern us not. We leave peo- 

 ple to consult their own feelings, and to do 

 as they will. We claim for ourself and asso- 

 ciates the same privilege. The Summer is 

 here ; and, D.V., we mean to " enjoy" it, 

 both naturally and rationally. 



The *' odd " materials of which our world 

 is composed, amuse us vastly. Observation 

 convinces us, daily, of the madness of the 

 inhabitants. We find fire and water " legally" 

 linked together ; also spring and autumn ; 

 quietness and noise ; virtue and vice ; inno- 

 cence and guilt ; purity of heart and rabid 

 jealousy; good-nature and ill-nature; kind- 

 ness and unkindness ; morality and immo- 

 rality ; gentleness and roughness ; affection 

 and cold reserve ; education and stolid igno- 

 rance, — the latter, accompanied (of course) 

 by the foulest suspicion of " ill where no ill 

 seems ;" charity and covetousness ; love and 

 hatred — and so on, to the end of a very long 

 and easily-imagined chapter. 



Mow what can be expected from such 

 elements, but discord ? There is war inces- 

 sant going on in the human breast. Every 

 day makes the battle rage more and more 

 fiercely ; as those who mix much in society 

 must perceive, in spite of the finesse and 

 " light heart" by which people (vainly) seek 

 to hide the demon lurking within their breast. 

 All, all proceeds from a want of sympathy. 



Well, — who is to blame for these moral 

 deformities? Who is it that teaches decep- 

 tion from the cradle upwards ; and makes 

 the child, from its very infancy, expert and 

 adept in hypocrisy and heartlessness ? Let 

 every honest parent answer the question we 

 so simply raise. There can be but " one " 

 reply. The world ever has been thus peo- 

 pled ; ever will be so ; but we labor for the 

 sweet reward of converts from the barbarous 

 usages of society. Let the rule continue — 

 it must ; but let us claim the " exceptions." 

 There are latent sparks of tenderness — 

 kindness — virtue — sympathy — in many a 

 thoughtless breast. How we long for " an 

 opportunity" to draw them out ! 



There is much, — very much, that we must 

 leave unsaid. There are causes for the evils 

 we so much deplore, far worse than any we 

 have yet hinted at. The pulpit, and super- 

 stition, are " interested" in these things being 

 so. Our teachers and " ghostly advisers" 

 are little better than " whited walls." They 



Vol. V.— 21. 



