346 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



but when it was ascertained that one was going 

 on well, the other was abandoned. In due time 

 the young princess appeared. The temporary 

 erections necessary to convert a common cell into 

 a royal one were demolished ; the works were re- 

 paired; and everything went on as usual, except 

 that the working bees appeared not to pay so 

 much respect to the new as to the old queen. I 

 imagine that from the circumstances under which 

 she was created queen, she was incapacitated to 

 become a mother, and that the workers, being 

 aware of the fact, paid her less attention. There 

 appears to be some departure from the common 

 rule in destroying the royal cell after the birth- 

 day, as in ordinary cases several are to be found 

 in the hive. It appears to have been quite out of 

 place here. 



Before I conclude, allow me to ask two ques- 

 tions of those who are more experienced in such 

 matters than myself. Perhaps some will say, 

 here is plenty to convince any one that it is pos- 

 sible for the working bees to change the larva of 

 the worker into a queen. I am not, however, quite 

 so sure of this. I wish to ask if there may not 

 be eggs at all times in the breeding season which 

 would become queens ; and should they be de- 

 stroyed if there is no need of them ? I also 

 ask, what would have been the fate of these 

 bees the ensuing summer, in consequence of the 

 new queen being barren, and there being no 

 drones in the hive ? 



I should have liked to continue these experi 

 ments, but circumstances, over which I had no 

 control, obliged me to desist. 



F.J. 



THE EFFECTS OF " STUDY" ON THE PEESON. 



TO THE SOUTH WIND. 



In general, the consciousness of internal power 

 leads rather to a disregard of, than a studied at- 

 tention to, external appearance. The wear and 

 tear of the mind does not improve the sleekness of 

 the skin, or the elasticity of the muscles. The 

 burthen of thought weighs down the body like a 

 porter's burthen. A man cannot stand so upright, 

 or move so briskly under it, as if he had nothing to 

 carry in his head or on his shoulders. The rose on 

 the cheek and the canker at the heart do not flourish 

 at the same time ; and he who has much to think 

 of, must take many things to heart — for thought 

 and feeling are one. He has a world of cares on 

 his hands, which nobody thinks anything of but 

 himself. This is not one of the least miseries of a 

 studious life. The common herd do not by any 

 means give him full credit for his gratuitous sym- 

 pathy with their concerns, but are struck with his 

 lack-lustre eye and wasted appearance. They can- 

 not translate the expression of his countenance out 

 of the vulgate. They mistake the knitting of his 

 brows for the frown of displeasure ; the paleness 

 of study for the languor of sickness ; the furrows 

 of thought for the regular approaches of old age. 

 They read his looks — but not his books ; have no 

 clue to penetrate the last recesses of the mind, and 

 attribute the height of abstraction to more than 

 an ordinary degree of stupidity. The majority go 

 by personal appearances, not by proofs of intel- 

 lectual power. Hence is their judgment erro- 

 neous ; for they see through a distorting glass. 



sweet South Wind ! 



Long hast thou lingered 'midst those islands fair, 



Which lie, enchanted, on the Indian deep. 



Like sea-maids all asleep — 



Charmed by the cloudless sun and azure air ! 



sweetest Southern Wind ! 



Pause here awhile, and gently now unbind 



Thy dark rose-crowned hair ! 



Wilt thou not unloose now, 



In this, the bluest of all hours, 



Thy passion-colored flowers ? — 



Kest ; and let fall the fragance from thy brow, 



On Beauty's parted lips and closed eyes. 



And on her cheeks, which crimson like tl*e skies ; 



And slumber on her bosom, white as snow, 



Whilst starry midnight flies ! 



We, whom the Northern blast 



Blows on, from night till morn, from morn to eve, 



Hearing thee, sometimes grieve 



That our poor summer's day not long may last : 



And yet, perhaps 'twere well 



We should not ever dwell 



With thee, sweet Spirit of the sunny South ; 



But touch thy odorous mouth 



Once, and be gone unto our blasts again, 



And their bleak welcome, and our wintry snow ; 



And arm us, by enduring, for that pain 



Which the bad world sends forth, and all its woe ! 



Barry Cornwall. 



OUK TAME ROBIN. 



Truth is strange; stranger than fiction. 



Sir Robin Redbreast presents his affectio- 

 nate regards to his staunch friend and advocate, 

 the Editor of our Journal. Sir Robin hopes the 

 Editor will insert the following paper, written by 

 one of " the many" to whom he is well known, 

 and by whom he is well beloved. 



Sir Robin would not have intruded his History 

 in the pages of our Journal, had he not been 

 given to understand that more than one person 

 had maligned him ; and imputed his familiarity 

 and affection to selfishness — contending that cold 

 and want have alone been the causes of his con- 

 stant visits. Sir Robin scorns such a base charge 



; both for himself and family. 



" It is now about two years since Sir RobinRed- 



J breast made his appearance at the window of our 

 general sitting room. He bowed and scraped most 

 politely, and in language too plain to be misun- 



i derstood he intimated his wish and intention to 

 join our family circle. He also conveyed his de- 

 sire to be treated with great familiarity. In the 

 same language he intimated his intention to sink 

 his title, and be known as plain Bob. Now, how- 

 ever much we might have felt gratified by such 

 a visit, there was an insurmountable difficulty in 

 permitting Bob to enter our house. We had 

 several cats ! so a compromise was proposed ; a 

 small table well furnished with dainties was 

 placed by the window ; and Bob was tolerably 

 well satisfied. He would (whenever we were 

 occupied near the open window) hop in, take a 

 minute survey of all that was going on> bow his 



