KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



TO MY BABE. 



BY DELTA. 



There is no sound upon the night — 



As by the shaded lamp I trace, 

 My babe, in infant beauty bright, 



The changes of thy sleeping face. 



Hallow'd for ever be the hour 



To us, throughout all time to come, 



Which gave us thee, a living flower, 

 To bless and beautify our home ! 



Thy presence is a charm, which wakes 



A new creation to my sight ; 

 Gives life another look, and makes 



The wither'd green, the faded bright. 



Pure as a lily of the brook, 



Heaven's signet on thy forehead lies, 

 And Heaven is read in every look, 



My daughter, of thy soft blue eyes. 



In sleep, thy little spirit seems 



To some bright realm to wander back ; 



And seraphs, mingling with thy dreams, 

 Allure thee to their shining track. 



Already like a vernal flower 



I see thee opening to the light, 

 And day by day, and hour by hour, 



Becoming more divinely bright. 



Yet in my gladness stirs a sigh, 

 Even for the blessings of thy birth, 



Knowing how sins and sorrows try 

 Mankind, and darken o'er the earth. 



Ah ! little dost thou ween, my child, 



The dangers of the way before ; 

 How rocks in every path are piled, 



Which few unharm'd can clamber o'er. 



Sweet bud of beauty ! how wilt thou 

 Endure the bitter tempest's strife ? 



Shall thy blue eyes be dimm'd — thy brow 

 Indented by the cares of life ? 



If years are spared to thee — alas! 



It may be — ah ! it must be so ; 

 For all that live and breathe, the glass, 



Which must be quaff'd, is drugg'd with woe. 



Yet ah ! if prayers could aught avail, 

 So calm thy skies of life should be, 



That thou shouldst glide, beneath the sail 

 Of virtue, on a stormless sea ; 



And ever on thy thoughts, my child, 

 The sacred truth should be impress'd — 



Grief clouds the soul to sin beguiled, 

 Who liveth best, God loveth best. 



Across thy path, Religion's star 

 Should ever shed its healing ray, 



To lead thee from this world's vain jar, 

 To scenes of peace and purer day. 



Shun Vice — the breath of her abode 

 Is poison'd, though with roses strewn. 



And cling to virtue ; though the road 

 Be thorny, boldly travel on ! 



For thee I ask not riches — thou 



Wert wealthy with a spotless name ; 



I ask not beauty — for thy brow 

 Is fair as my desires could claim. 



Be thine a spirit loathing guilt, 



Kind, independent, pure, and free ; — 



Be like thy mother — and thou wilt 

 Be all my soul desires to see ! 



TETJE CHARITY. 



How much we lose, for want of thought !— Cecil. 



If we would do any real good to our- 

 selves or others, we should commence 

 with "number one," and introduce a radical 

 reform in our own private families. 



Family reform is the very pivot upon 

 which every other reform turns. Novel 

 principles have their birth in family circles. 

 It is the great seminary for power, greatness, 

 love, wealth, friendship, and their concomi- 

 tant virtues, vices, and talents. The 

 smallest beginnings have great endings, and 

 the spirit of charity, instilled with tact into 

 the bosom of a child, bursts forth enlarged in 

 the actions of the man, and perhaps by 

 sympathy may have ultimately a large share 

 in the future policy of a nation. 



We may look to the difference betwixt a 

 man brought up from his earliest infancy in a 

 rebellious, thoughtless, or extravagant house- 

 hold ; and another who has lived in peace, 

 and felt the glow of filial love. Contrast 

 them ; how different the bearing of their 

 minds ! If the former be good and tolerant, 

 it is only because, being pestered and worn 

 by bickerings, he has been led to compare 

 his home with the homes of otlters. And if 

 the latter person be unjust, he never fails to 

 show a wayward disposition instigated by 

 evil communion, which makes his repentance 

 still the more acute. Often do we hear a 

 penurious man exclaim, by way of a com- 

 promise with his conscience, as he turns 

 his back upon some starving wretch, 

 " Charity begins at home V How little is 

 that man aware of the mighty truth which 

 i he utters ! 



Charity does begin at home ; but it by no 

 '. means ends there. It is nourished carefully, 

 and in its leading strings, amid kindred 

 spirits ; and makes man a more domesticated, 

 kind, and thinking animal; more ready to 

 forgive by thinking on the possible cause of 

 offence, and placing himself in the same 

 position — more, ready to endure uncom- 

 plainingly, because he is aware that there 

 are certain annoyances which cannot always 

 be readily remedied — more willing to allow 

 another's opinion, because he judges man 

 by a higher standard — peaceful, because 

 knowing the value of peace — loving, by 

 having love bestowed on him — pitying, 



