134 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



columns of our Journal, — -what a treat 

 our readers would have ! Who knows? 



Droll ideas sometimes eome to pass. For 

 " et-cetera " like these, we will gladly find 

 room ; and, if needs be, ourself attend at the 

 performances. We are " great " at every- 

 thing of the kind ; and one day's notice is 

 always sufficient for us ! 



The hirelings of the press, in tomahawk- 

 ing this book, have shown little good sense 

 Pruned of certain exuberances, there is 

 " that within which passeth show." The 

 Lady Emmeline shall be one of our " pets." 

 We have said it. 



FLOWEES. 



Go ! mark the matchless working of the Power 

 That shuts within the seed the future flower ; 

 Bids these in elegance of form excel, — 

 In color these, and those delight the smell, 

 Sends nature forth, the daughter of the skies, 

 To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes. 



The love of flowers would seem to 

 be a naturally implanted passion, without 

 any alloy or debasing object in its motive. 

 The cottage has its pink, its rose, and its poly- 

 anthus ; the villa its dahlia, its clematis, and 

 geranium. AYe cherish them in youth, we 

 admire them in declining years. 



But perhaps it is the early flowers of spring 

 that always bring with them the greatest de- 

 gree of pleasure ; and our affections seem to 

 expand at the sight of the first blossom under 

 the sunny wall, or sheltered bank, however 

 humble its race may be. In the long and 

 sombre months of winter, our love of nature, 

 like the buds of vegetation, seems close and 

 torpid ; but, like them, it unfolds and reani- 

 mates with the opening year, and we welcome 

 our long-lost associates, with a cordiality that 

 no other season can excite, as friends in a 

 foreign clime. 



The violet of autumn is greeted with none 

 of the love with which we hail the violet of 

 spring. It is unseasonable ; perhaps it brings 

 with it rather a sort of melancholy than a 

 joy. We view it with curiosity, not affection; 

 and thus the late is not like the early rose. 

 It is not intrinsic beauty or splendor that so 

 charms us, — for the fair maids of spring can- 

 not compete with the grander matrons of 

 the advanced year. They would be unper- 

 ceived, perhaps lost, in the rosy bowers of 

 summer and of autumn. No ; it is our first 

 meeting with a long-lost friend, — the revi- 

 ving glow of a natural affection, that so 

 warms us at this season. To maturity they 

 give pleasure, as the harbinger of the renewal 

 of life. To youth, they are an expanding 

 being; opening years, hilarity, and joy; and 

 the child let loose from the house, riots in 

 the flowery meads — 



" Monarch of all lie surveys." 



There is not a prettier emblem of spring, 

 than an infant sporting in the sunny field, 

 with its osier basket, wreathed with butter- 

 cups or orchises and daisies. With summer 

 flowers we seem to live, as with our neigh 

 bors, in harmony and good order. But spring 

 flowers are cherished as private friend- 

 ships. 



THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING. 



BY HELEN HETHERINGTON. 



Old Winter is gone ! We have bade him good 



bye ; 

 And Spring has return'd with her pretty blue sky. 

 She has brought \is some treasures to add to our 



store, 

 And promises kindly, we soon shall have more. 

 She causes each songster to rise on the wing, 

 And welcome with pleasure the first day of Spring. 



Yes, Winter is gone ! but we parted as those 

 Who again hope to meet at the year's happy close. 

 He hade me remember, as Summer drew nigh, 

 That the fairest of flowers must wither and die ; 

 The pretty birds, too ! who now merrily sing, 

 And welcome with pleasure the first day of 

 Spring. 



But joy is before us, and nature is gay ; 

 She is dress'd in her fairest apparel to day, 

 Her smile is bewitching, her look is as mild 

 As a fond mother wears, when she welcomes her 



child— 

 Her praise shall resound on the harp's gentle 



string, 

 With her we will welcome the first day of Spring. 



The bright sun is rising ! oh let us away, 

 While dew-drops are sparkling on every spray. 

 Delighted we'll wander through forest and grove, 

 j To hear the sweet song of the birds that we 

 love — 

 And see yonder lark, proudly pois'd on the wing, 

 Now warbling his praise to the first day of Spring ! 



The busy bee whispers to every flower — 

 ] There's joy in the sunshine, and hope in the 



shower ; 

 I There is mirth on the breeze, for delight is afloat, 

 ! And echo responds to the lark's merry note. 

 Ambition, and care, to their victims we'll fling, 

 And welcome with Nature the first day of Spring. 



PERPETUAL YOUTH,- 



A SECRET. 



How is it some men, " thought to be " so old, 

 look so young; whilst others, " known to be " so 

 yoimg, must still look old ? The cause lies fre- 

 quently within themselves. One who led a long 

 and happy life , on being asked the secret, — gave 

 this answer : " I never ride when I can walk. 

 I never eat of more than one dish at dinner ; and 

 I never get intoxicated. My walking keeps my 

 blood in circidation ; my simple diet prevents in- 

 digestion ; and by never touching ardent spirits, 

 my liver has no fear of being eaten up alive." 



