142 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



THE MOCCAS-PARK OAK ' 



The Moccas-Park Oak, says Strutt, is 

 thirty six feet in circumference, at three 

 feet from the ground. It stands in the 

 Park of Moccas Court, on the banks of the 

 Wye, in Herefordshire— the seat of Sir 

 George Amyand Cornwall, Bart., who traces 

 his ancestry from Richard, second son of 

 King John, Earl of Cornwall, and King of 

 the Romans. 



The whole estate, from the very nature 

 of its situation — forming part of the borders 

 between England and Wales — is fraught with 

 historical associations, which extend them- 

 selves, with pleasing interest, to this ancient 

 " monarch of the wood," amongst whose 

 boughs the war-cry has often reverberated 

 in former ages; and who has witnessed many 

 a fierce contention, under our Henrys, and our 

 Edwards, hand-to-hand, and foot-to-foot, for 

 the domains on which he still survives. 

 There he lives, in venerable, though decay- 

 ing majesty; surrounded by aged denizens of 

 the forest, the oldest of whom, nevertheless, 

 compared with himself, seems but as yester- 

 day. The stillness of the scene, at the 

 present time, forms a soothing contrast to 

 the recollections of the turbulent past ; and 

 the following lines are so in harmony with 

 the reflections it is calculated to awaken, 

 that it is hoped the transplanting of them 

 from the pages of a brother amateur of the 

 forests, to the page before us, will not dis- 

 please him or the reader : — 



" Than a tree, a grander child earth bears not ! 



What are the boasted palaces of man, 



Imperial city or triumphal arch, 



To forests of immeasurable extent, 



Which Time confirms, — which centuries waste 



not? 

 Oaks gather strength for ages ; and when at last 

 They wane, so beauteous in decrepitude, 

 So grand in weakness ! E'en in their decay 

 So venerable ! 'Twere sacrilege t' escape 

 The consecrating touch of time. Time watched 

 The blossom of the parent bough. Time saw 

 The acorn loosen from the spray. Time passed, 

 While, springing from its swaddling shell, yon 



oak, 

 The cloud-crown'd monarch of our woods, by 



thorns 

 Environ'd, 'scaped the raven's bill, the tooth 

 Of goat and deer, the schoolboy's knife — and 



sprang, 

 A royal hero, from his nurse's arms. 

 Time gave it seasons, and Time gave it years; 

 Ages bestow'd, and centuries grudged not. 

 Time knew the sapling, when gay summer's 



breath, 

 Shook to the roots the infant oak, which after 

 Tempests moved not. Time hollowed in its 



trunk, 

 A tomb for centuries ; and buried there 

 The epochs of the rise and fall of States, 

 The fading generations of the world — 

 TnE Memory of Man. Puss. 



THE VALUE OF ORDER. 



And had not nature's serjeant (that is, order) 



Them well disposed by his busie paine, 



And i-aunged farre abroad in every border, 



They would have caused much confusion and disorder. 



We cannot fail, Mr. Editor, to have 

 observed, in the general harmony of nature, 

 a grand example of the same order that 

 should exist among ourselves ; and, at the 

 same time, the most convincing proof of its 

 economy and importance. Pope has de- 

 clared — 



Order is heaven's first law : 



the immutable truth of which, every one 

 may determine for himself, if but a moment's 

 thought be devoted to the contemplation of 

 those numberless orbs that are the majestic 

 tenants of the space around us ; each revolv- 

 ing in their continual and prescribed circuit, 

 each affording its decreed ray of light or 

 cherishing warmth — its seasons — and its suc- 

 cession of day and night. 



The minor harmonies of nature are seen 

 in the instinct and habits of the ant, humble- 

 bee, beaver, and many others, whose cities 

 and empires are upheld by unfailing rule and 

 discipline. To insects, quadrupeds, &c, 

 Providence has endowed fixed instinctive 

 attributes, neither changed nor amended in 

 nature by subsequent ordination. To man 

 has been given not only the faculty of dis- 

 cerning the wisdom of nature's dowries, but 

 also the privilege of improving them, by 

 ennobling and praiseworthy pursuits. Per- 

 haps no auxiliary is of more importance 

 towards the proper execution of our various 

 undertakings, than that of order ; it renders 

 tedious pursuits pleasant, and arduous ones 

 comparatively easy. The failures we fre- 

 quently experience in our every-day specu- 

 lations, are too often attributed to that 

 bugbear — that unmeaning and mysterious 

 agency, chance ; whereas, in nearly every 

 instance, the improper application of the 

 advantages we possess constitutes the chief 

 cause of our (so called) ill-fortune. Where 

 order is pre-eminent, there shines the pleasant 

 face of success ; at once the reward of our 

 methodical endeavors, and an invitation to 

 others. 



Among the many good branches that spring 

 from the mother germ — order, none occupy 

 a higher place in the estimation of the world 

 than punctuality, though it is to be feared, 

 'tis more loved than practised. Method is the 

 companion of thought. It often comprises 

 a peculiarity that hangs on the memory. 

 Thought originates action ; and action leads 

 to punctuality. 



When it is considered that by far the 

 greater portion of our happiness or unhap- 

 piness is the direct effect of ramifications, 

 proceeding, in different shapes, from order 



