KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



341 



the letter-writer — if, indeed, he has taken a 

 name not his own , if " 



11 Ah," said the ' honest man,' " you think 

 me decidedly more stupid than I am. No ; 

 all I should find stupid is your easy credulity ; 

 such things happen every day." 



I entered the house, and asked for . 



He was out. 



I felt offended that a man, so evidently my 

 inferior (since I possessed at that moment 

 five pounds more than he), should permit 

 himself to go out, instead of passing the rest 

 of his life humbly waiting till I thought 

 proper to call upon him. However, he might 

 have gone to my house for the answer to his 

 letter. This would have refuted a reproach 

 I had already made him, of waiting for my 

 answer and giving me the trouble of sending 



it. But then to return to my house and 



wait my convenience ; that was to harass me 

 — to be altogether wanting in the respect due 

 to me. 



"Well, this time," said I, iC it is his fault. 

 Had he been at home, there was the money. 

 I was as quick as possible about it — I came 

 myself." 



Persuading myself that it would be un- 

 becoming and altogether wrong to deposit the 

 money with the landlord, I left a card, and 

 returned home. 



" No doubt he will call to-morrow," said 

 I ; but at what time ? I can't stay a 

 prisoner at home till it pleases him to free 

 me. The least he could have done would 

 have been to wait foi me.'' 



The next morning he called. I was like 

 those people who dread a duel before it takes 

 place, but fight like lions when on the ground. 

 In the enemy's presence I behaved well ; 

 but I think I should have died of shame, 

 could he have guessed into what a stupid 

 contemptible wretch avarice had transformed 

 me for three hours on the previous day. 



This is what I wish to expiate by a 

 public confession. But do not let my readers 

 take advantage of it against me. Let them 

 first subject themselves to self-examination, 

 — such an one as I have inflicted on myself. 

 1 am strongly of opinion that they are not 

 much better than I. Also, that they are not 

 worse. Careful examination will incline 

 them (like myself) to indulgence. It will 

 prove to them that, if we wish to preserve 

 the right of being indulgent to ourselves and 

 to the worthless creatures we generally are, 

 it is requisite freely and liberally to pardon 

 others. 



The moral of the above, my dear sir, needs 

 not to be dwelt upon either by you or my- 

 self. Qui capit ille facit. The cap will fit 

 somebody. I quite agree with you, in your 

 remarks about the human heart. If people 

 would but " reflect " more than they do, they 

 would be better ; and the world also. I mean 



its inhabitants, of course — for the world is 

 good as ever it was. We are the offenders. 



FORESTIERA. 



[Thanks many, dear Forestiera. Yes ; 

 there can only be " one " mind between us. 

 Alphonse Karr has a deep insight into the 

 human heart, and he speaks to all mankind. 

 May they listen to his friendly voice ! Let us 

 say, at parting, that we value this paper 

 infinitely beyond expression, — also the fair 

 hand that translated it for us.] 



KEEP ME OUT— IF YOU CAN ! 



Little Love knows every form of air 



And every shape of earth; 

 And comes unbidden everywhere, 



Like thought's mysterious birth. 

 The moonlit sea and the sunset sky 



Are written with Love's words ; 

 And you hear his voice unceasingly, 



Like song in the time of birds. 



He peeps into the warrior's heart 



From the tip of a stooping plume, 

 And the serried spears, and the many men 



May not deny him room. 

 He'll come to his tent in the weary night, 



And be busy in his dream; 

 And he'll float to his eye in the morning light, 



Like a fay on a silver beam. 



He hears the sound of the hunter's gun, 



And rides on the echo back, 

 And sighs in his ear like a stirring leaf, 



And flits in his woodland track. 

 The shade of the wood, and the sheen of the 

 river, 



The cloud, and the open sky — 

 He will haunt them all with his subtle quiver, 



Like the light of your very eye. 



The fisher hangs over the leaning boat, 



And ponders the silver sea, 

 For Love is under the surface hid, 



And a spell of thoughts has he. 

 He heaves the waves like a bosom sweet, 



And speaks in the ripple low, 

 Till the bait is gone from the crafty line, 



And the hook hangs bare below. 



He blurs the print of the scholar's book, 



And intrudes in the maiden's prayer — 

 And profanes the cell of the holy man, 



In the shape of a lady fair. 

 In the darkest night, and bright daylight, 



In earth, and sea, and sky, 

 In every home of the human thought, 



Will love be lurking nigh. 



Cupid. 



[Love is a very sad little fellow. We know him 

 of old, and- advise great caution in giving him 

 admittance, — " except on business." He is no 

 respecter of persons ; and makes ead havoc with 

 a tender heart. He must not be offended with 

 us for giving him a " just character." Our public 

 vocation demands that we speak out ; yet will we 

 not be ill-natured. No !] 



