V s 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



293 



where to ride, and I followed the example my 

 guide set me. Nor, to tell the truth, did I at 

 the moment think of anything hut my mule, as 

 he moved slowly, step by step, round the yawn- 

 ing abyss, with scarcely three inches to spare on 

 either side. 



As we proceeded, the path got still narrower, 

 the abyss seemed deeper; and looking down 

 once, between the ' mule's side and my stir- 

 rups, I saw below in the deep hollow a perfect 

 heap of skeletons — mules, that must have tumbled 

 down since the last flood, or their bones would 

 have been washed away. In my horror I forgot 

 the warning of the vaquiano, and, grasping the 

 reins of my mule, tried to turn it away from the 

 edge, which seemed to me as if it must crumble 

 beneath its next step. My imprudence was near 

 being fatal to me, for, turning the head of my 

 mule away from the precipice, it lost its sure foot- 

 ing, stepped aside, and striking the saddle-bags 

 against the rock, it stumbled forward. Yet 

 we did not tumble. The mule planted its fore 

 hoofs on a firm part of the crumbling ledge, and 

 lifted itself up again, just as a small piece of stone, 

 loosened by the effort, fell noiselessly from the 

 path ; and, springing from under us, toppled over, 

 and struck long afterwards with a dull, hollow 

 sound into the deep. 



I need not be ashamed to say that this little 

 incident made me tremble, and I thought the 

 blood became stagnant in my veins. 



FRIENDSHIP, AN EVERGREEN. 



BY ELIZA COOK. 



To- 



Some liken their love to the beautiful rose, 



And some to the violet sweet in the shade ; 

 But the Flower Queen dies when the Summer-day 

 goes, 

 And the blue eye shuts up when the Spring 

 blossoms fade] 

 So we'll choose for our emblem a sturdier thing, 

 We will go to the mountain and worship its 

 tree; ' 



Then a health to the Cedar — the Evergreen King, 

 Like the Evergreen so shall our Friendship be ! 



The perfume it carries is deeply concealed, 



Not a breath of rich scent will its branches 

 impart , 

 But how lasting and pure is the odor revealed 



In the inmost and deepest recess of its heart ! 

 It groweth in might and it liveth right long ; 



And the longer it liveth the nobler the tree ; 

 Then a health to the Cedar — the true and the 

 strong, 



Like the Evergreen so shall our Friendship be ! 



It remaineth unseared in the deluge of light, 



When the flood of the sun-tide is pouring around; 

 And as firmly and bravely it meeteth the night, 



With the storm-torrent laden, and thunder- 

 cloud crowned ; 

 And so shall all changes that Fortune can bring, 



Find our spirits unaltered and staunch as the 

 tree ; 

 Then a health to the Cedar — the Evergreen King, 



Like the Evergreen so shall our Friendship be ! 



FLOWERS AND THEIR CHARMS. 



Flowers are the poetry of the 

 vegetable world. The love thereof is 

 exclusively the attribute of man, for it is an 

 instinct bestowed by divine benevolence 

 only on the human race. Man has been 

 defined to be a cooking animal ; how much 

 more intellectually might he be designated 

 a flower- loving being — the only one in crea- 

 tion that has an eye to admire, a heart to 

 feel, or a mind to expatiate on these gems of 

 floral loveliness 1 



A flower will often attract the attention of 

 an infant that has scarcely learnt to recog- 

 nise a mother's smile. 



When March with its winds has past o'er, 



When April has scattered her showers, 

 And spring-tide from May's threshold door, 



Enlivens creation with flowers, — 

 What more glads the heart of a child, 



And bids it with ecstasy glow, 

 Than leave it to ramble forth wild, 



Where daisies and buttercups grow ? 



When these weedy wonders of our infancy 

 have lost their attraction, 



The violet blue, the primrose pale, 

 That gems the bank, and scents the vale, 



court the love of the youth, and woo the 

 adoration of the maiden. 



These, again, when familiarity has brushed 

 off the dew of novelty with which rarity 

 had bedecked them, are in their turn thrown 

 aside for further floral favorites, which, if 

 not intrinsically more beautiful, are generally 

 less common. Every age, from the dawn of 

 intelligence to the settling of intellect, is 

 delighted with a flower. The very savage, 

 who despises all the luxuries of civilised 

 life, often pauses in his rapid course to 

 pluck the wild flower that embroiders 

 nature's vegetable carpet. Even when 

 reason, man's faculty divine, is eclipsed, 



The moping idiot, and the madman gay, 



can nurse his melancholy or feed his fancy, 

 by gazing on, or toying with, some chosen 

 one of Flora's favored children. 



Flowers are the joy of nature in the 

 spring. They are upon the earth what the 

 stars are in the skies. As the stars are the 

 flowers of heaven, so the flowers are the 

 stars of the earth. They form the language 

 of the heart, the eloquence of the mind. 

 Without the metaphorical intervention of 

 flowers, language would lose its most beauti- 

 ful expressions ; for affection would be de- 

 prived of its most endearing epithets, love 

 of its most delicate- comparisons, and reli- 

 gion of its most touching imagery. The 

 idiom of flowers is universal, it is applied to 

 all subjects, by all nations. It imparts 

 beauty without inducing weakness, and em- 

 bodies passion without offending delicacy. 



