332 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



That threaten the profane ; a pillared shade, 



Upon whose glassy floor of red-brown hue, 



By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged, 



Perennially, beneath whose sable roof 



Of boughs, as if for festal purpose decked 



With unrejoicing berries, ghostly shapes 



May meet at noon-tide — Fear and trembling 



hope, 

 Silence and foresight — death the skeleton, 

 And time the shadow, there to celebrate, 

 As in a natural temple, scatter'd o'er 

 With altars undisturbed of mossy stone, 

 United worship, or in mute repose 

 To lie, and listen to the mountain flood, 

 Murmuring from Glennamara's inmost cave. 



The cause of the general introduction of 

 the yew tree into cemeteries has been dif- 

 ferently surmised. The following explanation 

 seems sufficiently probable. The sacred 

 funeral yew, well calculated to give solemnity 

 to the village churchyard, and from its un- 

 changing foliage and enduring nature, fit em- 

 blem of immortality, has ever been associated 

 with religious observances. When anciently 

 it was the custom, as it still is in Catholic 

 countries, to carry palms on Palm Sunday, 

 the yew w-as substituted on such occasion for 

 the palm. Two or three trees, the usual 

 number growing in church-yards, were 

 enough for such purposes. Of these, one, 

 at least, was more especially consecrated, and 

 was then estimated at twenty times the value 

 of less hallowed trees of its own kind, and 

 double that of the finest oak, as appears from 

 ancient record. An extract from Caxton's 

 Directions for keeping Feasts all the Year, 

 printed in 1483, may be considered decisive 

 on this subject. In the lecture for Palm 

 Sunday, the writer, after giving the Scrip- 

 ture account of our Saviour's triumphant 

 entry into Jerusalem, proceeds thus : 

 " Wherefore holy chirche this day makyth 

 solemne processyon in mind of the proces- 

 syon that Cryst made this day. But for 

 eucheson that we have nou olyve that berith 

 green leaf, algate therefore we take ewe in- 

 stead of palm and olyve, and berin about in 

 processyon, and so is thys day called Palm 

 Sunday." 



In confirmation, we may add, that the yews 

 in the church-yards of East Kent are, at this 

 day, called palms. Small branches were 

 likewise wont to be borne at funeral solem- 

 nities, and cast into the grave. It is remark- 

 able that bodies interred beneath the shade 

 of trees, return to their pristine dust in a 

 very few years, perhaps one third less time 

 than when deposited in the open ground. 

 This rapid decay may be in some degree 

 occasioned by the perpetual percolation of 

 concentrated moisture, and the comparative 

 absence of sun and air. That our mortal re- 

 mains should be laid to rest beneath such 

 natural canopy, seems almost an inherent 

 propensity in human nature. Puss. 



" DON'T YOU REMEMBER?' 



BY ELIZA COOK. 



Oh ! these are the words that eternally utter 



The spell that is seldom cast o'er us in vain ; 

 With the wings and the wand of a fairy they flutter, 



And draw a charmed circle about us again. 

 We return to the spot where our Infancy 

 gambolled ; 

 We linger once more in the haunts of our Youth ; 

 We re-tread where young Passion first stealthily 

 rambled, 

 And whispers are heard full of Nature and Truth, 

 Saying," Don't you remember?" 



We treasure the picture where Color seems 

 breathing 

 In lineaments mocking a long-worshipped face ; 

 We are proud of some trees in a chain of close 

 wreathing, 

 And gold-links of Ophir are poor in its place. 

 Oh ! what is the secret that giveth them power 



To fling out a star on our darkest of ways ? 

 'Tis the tone of Affection — Life's holiest power — 

 That murmurs about them, and blissfully says, 

 " Don't you remember ?" 



The voice of Old Age, while it tells some old story, 

 » Exults o'er the tale with fresh warmth in the 

 breast ; 

 As the haze of the twilight e'er deepens the glory 

 Of beams that are fast going down in the west. 

 When the friends of our boyhood are gathered 

 around us, 

 The spirit retraces its wild-flower track ; 

 The heart is still held by the strings that first 

 bound us, 

 And feeling keeps singing, while -wandering 

 back, — 



" Don't you remember?" 



When those whom we prized have departed for 

 ever, 

 Yet perfume is shed o'er the cypress we twine ; 

 Yes, fond Recollection refuses to sever, 



And turns to the past, like a saint to the 

 shrine. 

 Praise carved on the marble is often deceiving, 

 The gaze of the stranger is all it may claim ; 

 But the strongest of love and the purest of grieving 

 Are heard when lips dwell on the missing one's 

 name, 



Saying, — " Don't you remember ? " 



MOUNT ETNA IN WINTER. 



I saw Mount Etna in its winter character at the 

 beginning of March, 1830. Three-fourths of the 

 mountain, namely, the whole of the naked, and 

 almost the whole of the wooded zones, lay beneath 

 an unbroken covering of snow ; while, at the base, 

 all the fields were clothed in the brightest green of 

 spring. Peas, beans, and flax, were already in full 

 blossom ; the flowers of the almond had fallen, and 

 given place to the leaves ; and the fig-leaves were 

 beginning to unfold. The meadows were decorated 

 with hyacinths, narcissus, crocuses, anemones, and 

 countless other flowers. Etna stood there as an 

 enormous cone of snow, with its base encircled by 

 a gigantic wreath of flowers. — Schouw's Earth, 

 Plants, and Man. 



