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KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



NATURE AND ABT. 



In vain with love our bosoms glow, 

 Can all our tears, can all our sighs, 

 New lustre to tliose charms impart ? 

 Can checks, where living roses blow, 

 Where Nature spreads her richest dyes, 

 Require the borrow'd gloss of Art ? 



" God made the Country ; and Man 

 the Town," — sings one of our sweetest 

 poets. How does our heart echo to his 

 lovely sentiment ! 



What a delicious thing it is, in the midst 

 of a " London season" — as the frequenters 

 of Almacks' denominate it — to take a run 

 into the country ! To breathe the fresh air 

 — to enjoy tranquillity, for at least a time — 

 and to find one's-self all alone, at some nice 

 little village, some twenty or thirty miles 

 from the metropolis, where one is wholly 

 unknown ; and where, therefore, one may 

 give one's-self up to the wild vagaries of one's 

 own mind and imagination, and indulge any 

 innocent whim or feeling, without being 

 called to a rigid account by your formal or 

 fashionable friends. 



Let our reader fancy himself in such a 

 case ; seated in some romantic bower, com- 

 manding a beautiful, though, it may be, con- 

 fined view ; the cawing rooks and cuckoo's 

 voice, instead of the rumbling of carts and 

 coaches ; the shrill crow of chanticleer, in- 

 stead of the shouts and screams of a pack of 

 noisy little urchins, who almost block up 

 the thoroughfare of the street ; the painted 

 canvass of the mimic scene at a theatre, it 

 may be, changed for the real rich luxurious 

 trees, where every branch 



Is musical with birds, that sing and sport, 

 In wantonness of spirit ; the songs of insects in 



the glade 

 Try their thin wings, and dance in the warm 



beam 

 That wak'd them into life. 



Oh, yes ! it is indeed delicious to find one's- 

 self in the midst of tranquil nature — to look 

 back upon the thoughts of a noisy world, 

 and give one's-self up to meditation in such 

 a scene as this, where — 



Even the green trees 

 Partake the deep contentment, as they bend 

 To the soft winds ; the sun from the blue sky 

 Looks in, and sheds a blessing on the scene : 

 Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to 



, enjoy 

 Existence, than the winged plunderer 

 That sucks its sweets. 



In the midst of enjoyment like this, it really 

 does seem folly — if not madness, to make 

 this the season for Loudon gaiety. Yet it 

 is true, that at the very moment the country 

 is budding into beauty, everybody is hurry- 

 ing away from it, and entering the crowded 

 streets of London ! What a strange thing it 



is, that amongst those studiers of pleasure, 

 the votaries of fashion, they have not yet 

 discovered a mode of adapting their plea- 

 sures to the course of nature, enjoying all 

 her beauties when they are most luxuriant, 

 and seeking shelter in the crowded city 

 when winter has robbed her of her charms ! 

 The English, we really believe, are the only 

 people who are guilty of this folly; and it is 

 guilt to neglect the many pleasures with 

 which the beneficent Creator has endued all 

 the works of his unerring hand. 



How many heart-burnings would be 

 avoided by a pursuit of nature hi her wood- 

 lands, instead of gaiety hi society ! Those, 

 too, who are oppressed with care, fly to the 

 convivial enjoyments of the table; to the 

 crowded ball or rout, as a temporary relief, 

 or rather forgetfulness of their cares. But 

 these come back with redoubled force with 

 the reaction of their waking thoughts. Let 

 them try another course, and 



Enter this wild wood, 

 And view the haunts of Nature. The calm 



shade 

 Shall bring a kindred calm — and the sweet 



breeze 

 That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft 



a balm 

 To the sick heart. It will find nothing here 

 Of all that pained it in the haunts of men. 



But leaving the sentiments of flowers, and 

 green trees, and sylvan solitude — let us look 

 at nature as the great instructress. These 

 trees, with then* budding leaves, their um- 

 brageous branches, their varied-colored 

 barks, are beautiful. But every leaf and 

 bud bears a lesson to the agriculturist and 

 the planter — to the sower and the reaper, 

 of which few, if any of them, reap the 

 benefit. They depict the proper time for 

 sowing and planting ; and thus an accurate 

 observation of them, by a prudent husband- 

 man, may tend to produce that plenty which 

 lays the best foundation of the public wel- 

 fare and happiness. 



In Sweden, the budding and leafing of the 

 birch tree is always considered as the 

 directory for sowing barley. No one can 

 deny that the same power which brings 

 forth the leaves of trees, will make grain 

 vegetate ; for the law of nature operates on 

 the whole of it. The husbandman, there- 

 fore, cannot do better than take his rule 

 for sowing from the leafing of trees. 



Linnaeus, in the most earnest manner, ex- 

 horted his countrymen, to observe with all 

 care and diligence at what time each tree 

 expanded its buds, and unfolded its leaves ; 

 imagining, and not without reason, that 

 some time or other his country would derive 

 the greatest benefit from observations of this 

 kind made in different years. The ignorant 

 farmer, tenacious of the ways ofhisances- 



