KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



121 



give utterance, in print, to what ought to be locked 

 up in his own bosom. We can imagine our noble 

 ally, Bombyx Atlas — who in the summer rises at 

 four a. m, and ere breakfast-time has " strolled" 

 we know not how many miles — " dabbling" in the 

 early dew, among the butterflies ; we can imagine 

 him, we say, reading Mr. Gray's sneering remarks, 

 and see his jolly, happy, healthy countenance ex- 

 panding into one wide and expressive laugh, as he 

 sits down to his streaky bacon, new laid eggs, and 

 tankard of foaming ale : — " No more 'curious facts,' 

 Eh ? Mr. Gray.— By Jove ! but there will be 

 though ; and they shall be recorded in the pages 

 of the Public's own Journal !" — Nothing, in na- 

 ture, Mr. Gray, is worthless ; and the humblest 

 inquirer is entitled to encouragement.] 



Thoughts on the coming " Spring.'''' — Winter 

 is fleeing before the conquering hand of Spring. 

 The loud-voiced wind rushes past with a joyous 

 shout, and the new year cometh on. The stream, 

 released from its icy thrall, bounds onward with 

 a joyful murmuring, and there is a spirit of liberty 

 in the pure air that fills the heart of the rambler 

 in the yet leafless wood, with a wild exulting glee. 

 The lark soars upward to the clear blue sky, and 

 greets us with his song. The blackbird wakes 

 sweet echoes in the wood ; the thrush answers 

 from the brake. The hedgehog, 



From his coat of leaves unveils his prickly form ;" 

 The mole 



" Has awaked from his winter sleep ;" 

 and the bat flits about in the dim twilight. Now, 

 too, that beauteous smiler of the wood, the sweet 

 violet, peeps kindly forth to greet the early morn, 

 and breathe its fragrance to the gale. The pale 

 primrose blossoms in the copse. The yellow 

 daffodil waves in the moist wood, and the trees 

 give glorious promise in the swelling buds. The 

 hedge too, looks gay with the golden balls of the 

 palm ; and the old river glides placidly along 

 through the tall rushes, past the marsh-mari- 

 golds that wave and clip as the breeze goes by ; 

 and from among the withered leaves in the wood, 

 the bluebell raises its head, and peeps through 

 the boughs above at the azure sky, where the 

 rook sails cawing along. Over hill and dale, 

 across the dreary moor, comes a sweet murmur. 

 It plays with the reeds by the pool, and kisses the 

 daisy in the mead. It comes from afar on the 

 wings of the wind, and fills the heart with glad- 

 ness. The birds in the trees hear it ; the plough- 

 man on the open land, the traveller on the hill. 

 Through brake and fell, o'er meadow and stream, 

 onward it comes ; chid in a robe of eternal green, 

 scattering flowers by the way, and bidding the 

 earth prepare — the herald of returning spring. 

 Hovering over the blossoms of the dandelion, we 

 find the brimstone butterfly ; which, allured by 

 the warm breath of spring, has left the nook that 

 sheltered him the long winter through, to roam 

 the mead, and spread the glad tidings of gay 

 spring's return. Occasionally, too, we observe the 

 gaudy Urticce, fanning her wings on the sunny 

 bank, or perchance, fair Cardui will come sailing 

 along on the breeze. But their elegant plumage 

 is worn and faded ; and their wings shattered by 

 the wintry blast. Yet we welcome them with 

 joy ; for they call to mind many a charming ram- 



ble, and many a pleasant spot where the delicate 

 harebells waved, and the wild-thyme sent up a 

 delicious fragrance, — where the lovely scabious 

 bent with the weight of the drowsy bee, and the 

 air was fraught with sweet dreaming sounds ; the 

 corn waved in the broad sunlight, and the soft 

 winds came, and went, and sighed, when the day 

 was over. — C. Miller. 



Cock-fighting in Liverpool. — I send you, Mr. 

 Editor, a Liverpool Mercury of Friday last, in 

 which you will find registered the names of thirty- 

 two bad characters ; some of them, the vilest 

 vagabonds that ever cumbered the earth. I do 

 not ask you to copy the details of the disgusting 

 doings by this crew ; but merely wish you to raise 

 your voice against cock-fighting, and other similar 

 abominations. The ring-leader you will perceive, 

 was a certain Matthew Walker, of Burlington 

 Street. He was fined, very properly, five pounds. 

 The other wretches were also fined in smaller or 

 larger sums. One of the offenders said — he was 

 so fond of the sport, that tchen he died, he should 

 have the feathers of a fighting-cock " put into his 

 coffin." — W. Jones, Salford. 



[We have not attempted to defile our columns 

 by extracting the filthy doings of this wretched 

 crew, and their " two hundred supporters." 

 There is no necessity for it. We live, fortunately, 

 in an age when people practising these brutalities 

 become "marked men." Any respectable man 

 seen in their company would, and very justly, be 

 reckoned as bad as themselves. A " cock fighter" 

 in our opinion, is just the very man that would be 

 selected to " play first-fiddle " in a case of brutal 

 murder.] 



Sagacity of the Log. — The Yorkshire Gazette 

 states, Mr. Editor, that an extraordinary instance 

 of the sagacity of the canine species (which 

 occurred lately in York) has just been communi- 

 cated to them. A dog was run over in Walm- 

 gate, and sustained a rather serious injury on one 

 of his legs. On escaping from his perilous situa- 

 tion, where this catastrophe had happened to him, 

 the animal proceeded straight to the first drug- 

 gist's shop, whence he was in the first instance 

 roughly ejected, as an unwelcome intruder. The 

 dog, however, was not to be foiled of his saga- 

 cious purpose ; and shortly he returned to the 

 same shop, threw himself on his back on the floor, 

 and extended toward the shopman, with a 

 beseeching look, his wounded limb. The person 

 who had before used him so roughly, now observed 

 that the poor animal's leg had been injured and 

 was bleeding; whereupon he proceeded to perform 

 the office of the good Samaritan, by ministering to 

 the surgical requirements of his naturally dumb — 

 though in this case all but speaking, patient. 

 When the work of mollifying and binding up his 

 wounds was completed, the animal, which had 

 been very patient under the operation, sprang to 

 his feet, wagged his tail in gratitude, and evinced 

 a desire to remain under the roof of his benefac- 

 tor, who indulged the poor dog for a time, and 

 then dismissed him. — Do you credit the above, 

 Mr. Editor, or is it, think you, a random shot from 

 a " long bow ? " — William T., Ripon. 



[We do not consider such a thing impossible — 

 the more especially, if the dog had ever before 



