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KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



What is every to-day of our life, but the 

 hope, or the fear, of to-morrow t April then 

 is worth two Mays ; because it tells of that 

 glorious goddess in every sigh that it 

 breathes, and in every tear that it lets fall. 

 It is the harbinger, the herald, the prophecy, 

 the foretaste, of all the beauties that are to 

 follow it. The goddess April, in a word, 

 has a charmed life. It is one sweet alter- 

 nation of smiles, and sighs, and tears, — and 

 tears, and sighs, and smiles. These go on, 

 until, at last, they are consummated in the 

 open laughter of rosy May. 



Far be it from us, to detain the reader 

 from the enjoyment of the season. We are 

 not going minutely to particularise what is 

 now coming daily under the eye, but to try 

 and win attention to it. Nature now is 

 awakened from her trance. Her great and 

 loving work is before her. She is, whilst 

 we write, watering the vegetation with light 

 showers, — warming it, and anon watering it 

 again, — thus showing to our very eyes, her 

 " own sweet hand " divested of its " cun- 

 ning." She is now dressing her plants 

 visibly, like a lady at her window. Do let 

 us regard her handiwork 1 



March came in very quiet. On the 5th 

 and 6th of the month, we were in actual 

 Spring. The blackbirds, thrushes, robins, 

 hedge-sparrows, and chaffinches, were sing- 

 ing loudly ; and basking in the sun. All, too, 

 were busily employed in the ceremonies con- 

 nected with incubation. We walked abroad, 

 and found a world of happiness springing 

 into an active existence. Rough as March 

 is, for the most part, yet is he worthy of a 

 passing good word. He has brought home 

 (like an honest, blustering servant as he is) 

 for his young mistress, the chaste snow- 

 drop, the rath primrose, the little yellow 

 celandine, and violets in all their loveliness. 

 To these she adds, of her own rearing, colum- 

 bines, jonquils, lilies of the valley — and 

 lady-smocks " all silver- white." 



Let us hope that, as the winter has been a 

 severe one, and the season altogether " try- 

 ing," this present April may burst upon us 

 warm and genial. Easter has fallen early 

 this year, and we are moving rapidly into 

 Spring. The signal has gone abroad for 

 recreation. All nature seems full of life and 

 joy ; and as each sun- shining holiday pre- 

 sents itself, every individual appears desirous 

 of showing a degree of gladness above his 

 fellows. It is precisely at this season, says 

 Leigh Hunt, that " girls pankt in their finest 

 dresses ; also youths and old men — look as if 

 they should never tire of skipping along the 

 green fields, enjoying the warm sunshine as 

 it falls with summer beauty on the early 

 flowers." 



Our pen has now arrived at a point, when, 

 if it were not arrested, it would travel on 



for ever amidst birds, green fields, flowers, 

 hedges, insects, and animated nature. This 

 would bring down upon us the ire of Mr. 

 John Gray, of Glasgow, who hates all 

 " curious facts " recorded by people who 

 " stroll " among the haunts of nature, and 

 " dabble " among the indescribable beauties 

 of creation. What an " amiable" individual ! 



Our readers must range the fields for them- 

 selves ; and see with their own eyes what, 

 after all, no description of ours could hope 

 to reach. All we need add is — rise betimes, 

 good folk ; rush out bodily into the bracing 

 morning air. Sip the early dew ; chase the 

 roving bee ; listen to the " matins " of the 

 blackbird — and that god of our idolatry, the 

 skylark, at break of day ; and hie far away 

 for a natural appetite to enjoy the morning 

 meal. 



The nightingale and blackcap will be here 

 in eight days. The cuckoo, too, may be 

 daily looked for ; and one by one our little 

 summer visitors will be found under our very 

 window, singing with all the joyousness of 

 renovated youth. The delights that await 

 all lovers of nature, from this day forward, 

 are so immense, that they can only be hinted 

 at and longed for. 



If we have created "a longing" for the 

 enjoyments we have so faintly anticipated, 

 we shall indeed be happy. We only wish 

 that some of our fair readers, whom we have 

 in our mind's eye, could set out with us on a 

 morning ramble. But as that would be one 

 of those few pleasures which we can enjoy 

 by imagination only, we will simply breathe 

 the wish on paper ; and carry our dear friends 

 in our rambles, deeply buried in our heart of 

 hearts. 



Sympathetic affection travels much swifter 

 than the most subtle fluid — electricity not ex- 

 cepted. We feel the truth of what we say, 

 while the ink is flowing from the pen ; and 

 the pleasing thought causes us to experience 

 all the elasticity of early youth. We have said 

 — and we believe it, — that we shall never 

 grow old ! 



ROUGH NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS. 



BY A SPORTSMAN AND NATURALIST. 



MONTGOMERY, NORTH WALES. 



I send you, Mr. Editor, some extracts 

 from my Note Book, made during the month 

 of February. What rough weather we 

 have had ! Frost and snow have beset us 

 all round ; and here, amid the Welsh moun- 

 tains, the thermometer has been below zero. 

 Talk of Baffin's Bay and its icebergs ! why, if 

 we could only get a good supply of " blubber, " 

 an Esquimaux might live veryjollily in these 

 parts. 



I never knew, till the other day, that a 



