86 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



which secure them from the effects of cold. 

 Those called herbaceous, which die down to 

 the root every autumn, are now safely con- 

 cealed under ground, — preparing their new 

 shoots to burst forth, when the earth is sof- 

 tened in Spring. Shrubs and trees, which are 

 exposed to the open air, have all their soft 

 and tender parts closely wrapped up in buds, 

 which by their firmness resist all the power 

 of frost. The larger kind of buds, and those 

 which are now almost ready to expand, — such 

 as the horse-chestnut, the sycamore, and the 

 lime, are further guarded by a covering of 

 resin or gum. Their external coverings, 

 however, and the closeness of their internal 

 texture, are of themselves by no means ade- 

 quate to resist the intense cold of a winter's 

 night. 



AYere a bud to be detached from its stem, 

 enclosed in a glass, and thus protected from all 

 access of external air — it would, if suspended 

 from a tree during a sharp frost, be entirely 

 penetrated, and its parts deranged by the cold. 

 Such would not be the case,while the buds re- 

 mained on the tree. They would experience 

 no injury whatever. AA^e must therefore at- 

 tribute to the living principle in vegetables, 

 as well as animals, the power of resisting cold 

 to a very considerable degree. We may re- 

 mark, that if one of these buds be carefully 

 opened, it will be found to consist of young 

 leaves rolled together; within which are indeed 

 all the blossoms in miniature that are after- 

 wards to adorn the Spring. But let us travel 

 on. The sun is now fast awakening mother 

 earth's latent energies. She rouses from her 

 sleep, greets the god of day, and smiles benig- 

 nantly in the consciousness of her strength. 

 AVe have passed through the most gloomy 

 part of the opening year. The mornings are 

 bright, the days are expanded, and the heart 

 feels the influences of the season. There is 

 no excuse now for lying in bed. So let us all 

 up with the lark : — 



Stern Winter's sky no more with tempest lowers, 

 To Arctic climes rough Boreas steals away ; 



And vernal breezes and refreshing showers 

 Are now companions of the lengthened day. 



The modest snowdrop, harbinger of Spring, 

 Now greets the eye with robe of virgin white ; 



With joyful notes the birds begin to sing 

 At peep of dawn, to hail the new-born light. 



Pleased with young life, the sportive lambs are 

 seen 

 Striving in mimic race with guileless mirth ; 

 Kind Nature now prepares her garb of green 

 To clothe her flow'rets teeming into birth. 

 At this sweet season let not man be sad, 

 AVhile bounteous Heav'n makes all around him 

 glad. 



There are frequently mornings in March, 

 when a lover of nature may enjoy, in a stroll, 

 sensations not to be exceeded, or, perhaps, 



equalled by any thing which the full glory 

 of summer can awaken : — mornings which 

 tempt us to cast the memory of winter, or 

 the fear of recurrence, out of our thoughts. 

 The air is mild and balmy, with now and 

 then a cool gush, by no means unpleasant, 

 but, on the contrary, contributing towards 

 that cheering and peculiar feeling which we 

 experience only in Spring. The sky is clear, 

 the sun flings abroad not only a gladdening 

 splendor, but an almost summer glow. The 

 world seems suddenly aroused to hope and 

 enjoyment. The fields are assuming a ver- 

 nal greenness, — the buds are swelling in the 

 hedges, — the banks are displaying, amidst 

 the brown remains of last year's vegetation, 

 the luxuriant weeds of this. There are 

 arums, ground-ivy, chervil, the glaucous 

 leaves, and burnished flowers of the pilewort, 



The first gilt thing 

 AVhich wears the trembling pearls of spring ; 



and many other fresh and early bursts of 

 greenery. All unexpectedly too, in some 

 embowered lane, you are arrested by the de- 

 licious odor of violets — those sweetest of 

 Flora's children, which have furnished so 

 many pretty allusions to the poets, and 

 which are not yet exhausted. They are like 

 true friends, — we do not know half their 

 sweetness till they have felt the sunshine of 

 our kindness ; and again, they are like the 

 pleasures of our childhood, the earliest and 

 the most beautiful. Now, how r ever, they are 

 to be seen in all their glory — blue and white 

 — modestly peering through the leaves. The 

 lark is carolling in the blue fields of air ; the 

 blackbird and thrush are again shouting and 

 replying to each other from the tops of the 

 highest trees. As you pass cottages, they 

 have caught the happy infection. There are 

 windows thrown open, and doors standing 

 ajar. The inhabitants are in their gardens ; 

 some cleaning away rubbish, some turning 

 up the light and fresh -smelling soil amongst 

 the tufts of snowdrops and rows of glowing 

 yellow crocusses, which everywhere abound; 

 and the children, ten to one, are busy peeping 

 into one of the first bird's nests of the season 

 — the hedge sparrow's, with its four blue 

 eggs, snugly, but unwisely, built where it can 

 be easily seen. 



In the fields, the laborers are planting and 

 trimming the hedges; and in all directions 

 are teams at plough. You smell the whole- 

 some, and we may truly say, aromatic soil, 

 as it is turned up to the sun, brown and rich, 

 the whole country over. It is delightful as 

 you pass along deep, hollow lanes, or are 

 hidden in copses, to hear the tinkling gear 

 of the horses, and the clear voices of the 

 lads calling to them. It is not less pleasant 

 to catch the busy caw of the rookery, and 

 the first meek cry of the young lambs. The 



