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KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



melody which mingle in our ideas of sum- 

 mer. The hawthorn is in full flower : the 

 leafy hedges appear half-buried in the lofty 

 grass. Butterflies take their wavering flight 

 from flower to flower ; and dragonflies on the 

 banks of rivers. The mowing-grass pre- 

 sents a mosaic of the most gorgeous and in- 

 imitable hues, or is white with waving um- 

 bels. A passing gale awakens a scene of 

 lively imagination. The massy foliage of 

 trees swings heavily, the boughs of the haw- 

 thorn wave with all their loads of fragrant 

 bloom, and snowy umbelliferous plants toss 

 on the lea like foam on the stormy ocean. 



Cottage gardens are now perfect paradises ; 

 and, after gazing on their sunny quietude, 

 their lilacs, pceonies, wallflowers, tulips, and 

 anemones, now becoming as common at the 

 doors of cottages as the rosemary and rue 

 once were — one cannot help regretting that 

 more of our laboring classes do not enjoy 

 the freshness of earth, and the pure breeze 

 of Heaven, in these little rural retreats, in- 

 stead of being buried in close and sombre 

 alleys. Their lives would be lengthened 

 thereby, and their limbs strengthened. 



But we must away. If we have awakened 

 any desire in our readers to enjoy what we 

 have been speaking of in the merest outline, 

 most heartily shall we rejoice. All nature 

 now is rife with beauty ; and that must in- 

 deed be a sorrowful heart which is not open 

 to receive her impressions. She is easily won, 

 and her joys are lasting. The Spring has its 

 delights, and much do we love them ; but 

 Summer perfects the joys begun : — 



They may boast of the Spring time when flowers 



are fairest, 

 And birds sing by thousands on every tree ; 

 They may call it the loveliest, the greenest, the 



rarest, 

 But Summer's the season that's dearest to me. 

 For the brightness of sunshine ; the depth of the 



shadows ; 

 The crystal of waters ; the fulness of green ; 

 And the rich flow'ry growth of the old pasture 



meadows, — 

 In the glory of Summer alone can be seen. 



THE IMAGINATION,— 



OR 



HOW IS IT DONE? 



Mrs. Hayden, the " rap-ping" Medium,vtho re- 

 cently called up "to order" the ghost of Nebu- 

 chadnezzar's maiden aunt's first cousin, in a pink 

 sarcenet slip — to the unmitigated terror of a 

 shrivelled-up old gentleman, in decayed Hessians 

 and a faded figured-vest (since " shaky"), is invited 

 to read the following. The calf s head is quite in 

 her line, and apropos to her " guinea seances": — 



Buckland, the distinguished geologist, one day 

 gave a dinner after dissecting a Mississippi alli- 

 gator ; having asked a good many of the most dis- 

 tinguished of his classes to dine with him. His 

 house and all his establishment were in good style 



and taste. His guests congregated. The dinner 

 table looked splendid, with glass, china, and plate, 

 and the meal commenced with excellent soup. 

 " How do you like the soup?" asked the doctor, 

 after having finished his own plate, addressing a 

 famous gourmand of the day. " Very good in- 

 deed," answered the other; "turtle, is it not? I 

 only ask because I do not find any green fat." 

 The doctor shook his head. "I think it has 

 somewhat of a musky taste," said another, "not 

 unpleasant but peculiar." " All alligators have," 

 replied Buckland, " the cayman peculiarly so. 

 The fellow I dissected this morning, and whom 



you have just been eating ." There was a 



general route of the whole guests. Every one 

 turned pale. Half-a-dozen started up from the 

 table. Two or three ran out of the room, and 

 only those who had stout stomachs remained to 

 the close of an excellent entertainment. " See 

 what imagination is," said Buckland ; " if I had 

 told them that it was turtle, or terrapin, or birds' 

 nest soup, salt water, amphibia, or fresh, or the 

 gluten of a fish from the maw of a sea-biid — they 

 would have pronounced it excellent, and their 

 digestion been none the worse. Such is pre- 

 judice." " But was it really an alligator?" asked 

 a lady. " As good a calf's head as ever wore a 

 coronet," answered Buckland. 



In connection with the table-moving and spirit- 

 rapping imposture, Alexander Von Humboldt has 

 been applied to for his opinion He has given it 

 at some length in the Silesian Gazette. At the 

 close of his Tetter, he adverts to a long series of 

 pseudo-scientific discoveries, which have been 

 made and exploded in the course of his 84 years' 

 experience ; and he advises the table-movers and 

 spirit-rappers — " to try their chaff upon some 

 younger bird." 



THE HAEP'S WILD NOTES. 



BY ELIZA COOK. 



A Zephyr breath of wind is playing. 

 So softly none can trace its wings , 



And lone and fitful in its straying, 

 It falls upon the silver strings.. 



They pour an answering strain that nevep 

 Could be awoke by minstrel's skill ; 



The rarest melody that ever 



Stirred from the chords to bless and thrill. 



So rich, so full, so pure, so deep> 

 The air in dreamy sweetness floats ' T 



But only spirit hands can sweep 



Such music from the harp's wild notes. 



So many a breast where music liveth 

 May yield a store of measured tone ' T 



Full many a burning lay it giveth, 

 Its rarest breathing still unknown. 



The throb of strange and holy feeling, 

 The dearest joy, the saddest sigh, 



"Will fill the soul with high revealing ; 

 But, like the harp strain, it must die. 



None can record the matchless theme 

 That with the mystic wind-kiss floats ; 



And none can learn the Poet's dream 

 That singeth in the Heart's wild notes. 



