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KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



THE SECRET OF HAPPINESS. 



BY ELIZA COOK. 



" Father ! forgive us," is our daily prayer, 



When the worn spirit feels its helpless dearth ; 

 Yet in our lowly greatness do we dare 



To seek from Heav'n what we refuse on earth ! 

 Too often will the bosom, sternly proud, 



Bear shafts of vengeance on its graveward 

 path; 

 Deaf to the teaching that has cried aloud, — 



" Let not the sun go down upon your wrath." 



We ask for mercy from the God above, 



In morning worship, and in vesper song ; 

 Then let us kindly shed the balm of love, 



To heal and soothe a brother's deed of wrong. 

 If ye would crush the bitter thorns of strife, 



And strew the bloom of Peace around your 

 path — 

 If ye would drink the sweetest streams of life, 



" Let not the sun go down upon your wrath." 



Were this remembered, many a human lot 



Would find more blessings in our home below ; 

 The chequered world would lose its darkest blot, 



And mortal record tell much less of woe. 

 The sacred counsels of the wise impart 



No holier words in all that language hath : 

 For light divine is kindled where the heart 



Lets not " the sun go down upon its wrath ! " 



JOTTINGS FROM THE NOTEBOOK 



OF THE LATE 



T. N. TALFOUED, ESQ. 



I have made a few excerpts, my dear sir, 

 from the " Supplement to Vacation Ram- 

 bles," by T. N. Talfourd, Esq. They were 

 originally printed for private circulation 

 amongst his friends; but now that he is, alas ! 

 gone from amongst us, they have become 

 public property. 



I have selected his remarks on the Coliseum 

 of Rome, the Pantheon, a lively sketch of 

 Naples, and a droll picture of a journey iu 

 the south of France, per diligence : 



IMPRESSIONS ON BEHOLDING THE 

 COLISEUM. 



From this "impostor to true fear," we 

 were conducted to that ruin which no 

 weather can affect ; no sunshine glorify; no 

 moonlight render more romantic — that huge 

 oval which we had trembled at in passing — 

 the Coliseum, which must surpass all expec- 

 tation, however exalted. Prints have made 

 the outlines of its form familiar ; but no 

 print, no picture, ever gave an adequate 

 notion of the colossal power the reality 

 exercises over the mind which, for the first 

 time, contemplates it. The rents which 

 disclose the jagged masses of its walls to the 

 eye, assist the perception of its magnitude — 

 not so much by rendering the thickness of 

 the walls palpable, as, by counteracting the 

 effect which else the beauty of its oval shape 



would produce in diminishing its apparent 

 size. On the other hand, the sense of that 

 very beauty, which is entirely preserved to 

 the mind, though thus broken to the eye, 

 enhances the idea of size, by suggesting the 

 wonder that a thing so beautiful should be 

 also so stupendous. The trees which, rooted 

 in its higher regions, wave in its openings or 

 tower into the sky, also assist, by the 

 standard they introduce, in procuring justice 

 from the eye for its height ; the arches and 

 fountains beside it, noble in themselves, 

 further aid in marking its supremacy ; and 

 the entire result of these combined felicities 

 is the perception of a work of human hands 

 beyond the architectural imagination of our 

 Martin to equal. 



THE PANTHEON. 



Through a wide market-squaTe, clogged 

 with the baskets and stores of market- 

 women, and strewn with vegetable refuse, we 

 struggled to the Pantheon ; which, of all 

 the buildings 1 saw in Rome, was to me 

 most replete w th interest that cannot die. 

 Its majestic portico, and more majestic dome, 

 carry the mind a little way beyond the 

 imperial mass of crime out of which the 

 grandeurs of the empire tower ; not far, 

 indeed, into the republic, but into an age 

 which was illustrated by its forms, and em- 

 bossed with the figures of its history. But 

 there is a charm breathing in that perfect 

 circle beyond the majestic beauty of its 

 form — beyond even the shows of free great- 

 ness which were attendant on its origin — 

 for it contains the ashes of the purest and 

 holiest of painters — of Raphael, cut down 

 in the flower of his life — the presence of 

 which, after many generations, was attested 

 by the exposure of the human hand which 

 had wrought immortal wonders, disclosed 

 entire to crumble at once into dust ! The 

 remains of other painters have clustered 

 about this shrine, where the sense of beauty 

 — the finest perfume of mortal life — will be 

 breathed while Rome shall stand. Amidst 

 the thoughts of power, greatness, oppression, 

 and perverted faith, which the dead and the 

 living Rome engendered in me, those which 

 the sense of happiest art awakened at the 

 tomb of its greatest master, were the 

 serenest and the most welcome. 



NAPLES. 



We went about, however, next day, to see 

 all the out-door wonders of Naples without 

 any guide in its stony wilderness, over which 

 the sun, in Pope's Homeric language, " re- 

 fulgent shot intolerable day." Having 

 always associated the idea of Naples with 

 that of lazy luxury, I was astonished to 

 recognise in it chiefly the idea of vastness — 

 of prodigious height, and enormous propor- 



