358 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



little repose — (bear in mind, however, that I shall 

 not allow you to take too long a nap) — from your 

 very fatiguing occupation. Upon my word, I 

 think you are quite right. With such a host of 

 Correspondents, and other labors, your mind 

 must require relaxation. I find that, even with 

 myself. Well, whenever you are prepared to 

 renew the charge, call upon me. My answer will 

 be, — " Ready, aye ready 1 — Bow, wow, wow ! " 

 God bless you ! 



Always your affectionate old Dog, 



June 20. 



P.S. — As soon as the weather gets a little 

 finer, we shall have a rare day among the 

 rabbits. Hurrah, for the " Bald-faced Stag ! " 

 This time, we must divide our favors. Won't 

 we draw the folks out, and double them up ; in 

 those parts ! I do love Epping Forest. I shall 

 never forget what you told me about that pic-nic 

 held there, when there were nearly sixty of you. 

 Oh, what fun ! 



[Have at you, Fino ! We're the boy for " the 

 Bald-faced Stag." With a mind lighter than 

 gossamer, won't we be "jolly? " Ray — ther !] 



OUR MIRROR OF THE MONTHS. 

 JULY. 



Come, dearest friends ! Let v$> to the copse 

 Where the brisk squirrel sports from hough to hough ; 

 While from a hollow oak, whose naked roots 

 O'erhang a pensive rill, the busy bees 

 Hum drowsy lullabies. 



If thou art worn, and hard beset 



With sorrows that thou would' st forget, — 



If thou would'st read a lesson that will keep 



Thy heart from fainting, and thy soul from sleep — 



Come to the woods and hills ! No tears 



Dim the sweet look that nature wears ! 



One half the year has now fled. The longest 

 day has arrived, and has departed. The sun grows 

 hotter ; and the days, alas ! get shorter. We begin 

 to rub our eyes, and wonder what all this means. 

 Up to June 20, we scarcely had one fair evening 

 this year to wander abroad; and lo ! the shadows 

 of gradually-departing Summer now cast their re- 

 flection upon our footsteps as we press the grass ! 



Is the Emperor of Russia to be blamed for this, 

 we wonder? Every grievance now is laid at his 

 door ; and few persons will hold him innocent of 

 bringing upon us all our woes. There cannot be 

 any doubt about his having much to answer for, — 

 if not all. To read of the savage slaughter of our 

 fellow-men, and the wanton sacrifice of human 

 life — r-all caused by that fiendish despot, is enough 

 to make people weep tears of blood. Oh, the 

 many scenes of desolation that still await fathers, 

 mothers, sisters, and affectionate relations! Let 

 us draw a veil over the thought, whilst we turn 

 to gentler scenes of passing pleasure. 



This year has been an eventful one in every 

 point of view. The very seasons prove it. The 

 early part of June was cold, — so cold that fires 

 were indispensable. It continued so during the 

 first half of the month. The necessary conse- 

 quence has been, — serious injury to many of our 

 roses, and other of those little summer annuals in 

 whose rise, progress, and blossoming we take such 

 pure delight. Nothing daunted, however, we 



have replaced the drooping; and "made much" 

 of the survivors. There is still a sufficiency to 

 rejoice our heart, and make us happy in their 

 sweet company. " One" friend, when more can- 

 not be found, is a luxury. 



The delay of Summer has been really compen- 

 sated for this year. What a March, and what 

 an April we had ! Spring came tripping in, right 

 merrily; her long graceful tresses waving over 

 her sweet shoulders with most bewitching loveli- 

 ness. Light was her laugh, — timidly joyous, 

 maiden-like, — whilst her innocent heart and 

 aromatic breath told us of her sympathies with 

 every good feeling of our nature. We greeted 

 her honest countenance most lovingly ; and her 

 bashful simplicity made her ours for ever. This 

 is "unity" if you please. Sweet Spring ! We do 

 love thee. Thou makest us feel pure and inno- 

 cent as thine own fair self. 



But now, — Spring is Spring no longer ! The 

 coy damsel that flirted with us so prettily in 

 the fields, leading us trippingly from daisy to daisy, 

 from field to forest, — fairly tiring us out with play, 

 has put on her womanly attire. Her streaming 

 ringlets that waved and wantoned in the passing 

 breeze, are now garnered up under a modest and 

 beautifully-worked veil of green leaves. We now 

 worship what we before toyed with. We no 

 longer behold that fair open bosom, — delicious to 

 gaze upon because of its virgin purity. Other 

 drapery now conceals this goodly sight. Eoliage 

 and flowers robe her mature form, and she is one 

 blush of loveliness. Like many other fair maidens, 

 she has passed into a new state of existence. Her 

 pleasant duties are, to sit still for a season and be 

 admired. All she beholds is her own by right. 

 Summer reigns triumphant. 



Busy, too, just now, is our universal mother. 

 Nature has yet much to do ere she rests. She 

 is at work with the corn, the fruit, the summer 

 flowers, insect-life, animal-life, and all her other 

 assigned duties. Next month, she will have time 

 to rest; and look round upon her finished work. 

 We shall keep her company, and never quit her an 

 instant. Her noble ally, the sun, is fast hastening 

 on the grand operations of the month. His fair 

 face works miracles by the thousand. Every 

 smile of his, brings up " something" from the 

 ground. Talk of sympathy ! — what can equal 



HIS? 



And then, dear friends, only think of the new- 

 mown hay,which, whilst we write, lies everywhere 

 in fallen heaps, — scattering before the breeze 

 unimaginable odors. Aromatic incense like this, 

 is sweetly overpowering to the senses. We 

 alluded to hay-making in our last. It'brought to 

 our mind — as it always does — such charming 

 recollections of early days ! Lads and lasses were 

 then harmlessly innocent. Playful, merry, joy- 

 ous, they indulged to the top of their bent. Often, 

 very often have we frolicked together ; joining in 

 the most delightful of hay -field scrimmages. Bosy 

 cheeks flourished in those days. Health sat upon 

 the brow. Nor was good-nature behindhand in 

 making the nut-brown hay-makers affectionately 

 jolly :— 



Memory oftentimes retraces 



Those nimble feet — those fields— *those races ; 



Our boyish thoughts beheld " the Graces" 



Each time we kissed those roguish faces! 



