KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



347 



approval of being so indulged, and then bow him- 

 self out again. 



At this time the sun was warm and bright ; the 

 trees were in full foliage ; food was plentiful, and 

 Bob took care to let us know that his wife was 

 the most happy mother of five little robins. 

 Time passed on ; the winter of course did not 

 make him less tame, and we dared not encou- 

 rage him beyond his own domains, lest he should 

 fall a prey to the cats. 



When the spring arrived, we could not so 

 firmly resist our little favorite's advances; and 

 we so far indulged him as to permit him to 

 come into the room for his breakfast. Regularly 

 every morning there Avas little Bob, ready to 

 hop in the moment the window was opened. 

 One morning, great was our consternation to 

 miss our accustomed visitor. Nobody had seen 

 him that day, nor had his cheerful song been 

 heard. Six weeks passed on ; and deeply did we 

 deplore our pet, and reproach ourselves for hav- 

 ing let him come so much in the way of the 

 cats. At the end of that time he returned. On 

 opening the window, in he flew ; and gave such 

 unmistakable signs of delight to be again with us, 

 that we were overjoyed. As a faithful historian 

 of his doings, I must say he never satisfactorily 

 accounted for that absence of his. 



Sir Robin, however, returned fully bent on 

 making the amende honorable; for, although not 

 free of the house, he devoted himself to us on 

 every occasion when he could find us in the 

 house. He would perch on the chairs, hop about 

 the table, take tid-bits from the hand, place him- 

 self on the nearest spray, and sing as if resolved 

 to charm us more and more. It is needless to 

 trace his many endearing ways too minutely ; my 

 object being to present dear Bob as he is, rather 

 than as he was. One treacherous act, early in 

 the spring, caused the immediate expulsion of 

 all the cats — a fact well known to you, Mr. Edi- 

 tor ; and I have great satisfaction in reporting 

 that each feline favorite is now well and happy 

 in their several homes. 



What a day was that for Bob ! The doors of 

 our house were at once thrown open ; he was as 

 freely admitted there as he had been to our 

 hearts. He took instant possession. Up stairs, 

 or down ; it was all one to Bob. He could find us 

 out, and make himself perfectly understood. First 

 he looked for a constant supply of food, and then, 

 after a short time, enough for his wife as well as 

 himself; then a small family was to be provided 

 for. He next hinted, with divers and sundry 

 bows and knowing looks, that a small glass of 

 water would be an agreeable addition. This was 

 conceded ; and to indulge him still more, a bath 

 was snugly placed. This was a most satisfactory 

 arrangement ; and indeed Bob's happiness was 

 complete as soon as we could sit out all day, and 

 he make one of the party. 



And now, behold Bob, as I write (May 27th), 

 seated under the shade of a large tree, has placed 

 himself upon my desk — only a few inches from my 

 hand : one little foot snugly hidden amongst his 

 feathers, and his throat indicating that we may 

 shortly expect him to pour forth " the full tide 

 of song." 



Bob is what would be called extremely tame 

 for a poor unhappy trapped bird ; he will come 



freely, and perch on the finger, feed from our 

 mouth ; and as for his song, we never have to 

 wait for that. His life is an endless song of gra- 

 titude and love. 



All this has been accomplished by kindness — 

 unaided by bergamot, clipped wings, starvation, 

 or any other cruelty. Where his intimacy will 

 end, I am at a loss to guess even ; for he has in- 

 troduced five young grey robins that can just 

 peck. They, too, come to the window for food 

 already; and another party may probably be 

 added shortly. 



I hope I have now quite exonerated Sir Robin 

 from the imputations against him ; and I trust 

 many will be inclined to have tame birds with- 

 out depriving them of that liberty which they 

 know but too well how to value. 



Puss. 



SUMMER AND ITS CONSEQUENCES —No. I. 

 WOMEN AND THEIR PARASOLS. 



When the heat of Summer visits us, and 

 clouds of dust present themselves on every hand, 

 the signal seems to have gone forth for men, 

 women, and children, to become unnatural, and to 

 disfigure themselves as much as in them lieth. 

 Such "adornments " of the person as now meet 

 the eye daily, are disgusting exceedingly ; and 

 will infallibly cause us to "speak out" next 

 month. Animals we are, truly ; and we approxi- 

 mate very closely to the genus monkey ; but we 

 are striving to go several degrees even below this ! 

 Nobody will contradict what we say, for a walk 

 through any public street will confirm it. 

 Mais revenons a nos moutons. 



A correspondent, who says he " writes with a 

 green shade over his eyes," entreats us to enter 

 a public remonstrance with the army of fair wan- 

 derers who, at this season, go forth in all direc- 

 tions brandishing parasols with projecting ivory 

 points. 



Our correspondent says, and very justly, that 

 the risk we all daily run of losing one, if not both 

 our eyes, by the flourishing about of these silk 

 toys — is fearfully great. It is so. We confess to 

 going about from day to day in bodily fear ; and 

 we incur no little ill-will, with sometimes unkind 

 words in addition, for covering our face with our 

 hand while either entering or quitting a public 

 conveyance — be it omnibus, or steam-boat. The 

 mad propensity to "flourish," is alike in each ! 



How is it — we ask submissively — that women 

 have so universal, so innate a penchant for 

 poking one in the eye, or for scratching one's nose 

 (the latter, let us whisper, often involves an \m- 

 pleasant inference, or inquiry, as to who did the 

 mischief!) with their parasols? With all our 

 gallantry (the extent of which never yet was ascer- 

 tained), and with all our patient endurance (well 

 known to be expansive as the ocean), we cannot 

 remain silent under this parasol infliction. How- 

 ever, " more in sorrow than in anger," we have 

 spoken our mind ; and there ends the matter. 



Let us hope that our oculists will not quarrel 

 with us for having, perhaps, been the means of 

 depriving them of many a patient. We should 

 be sorry that our Journal should prove an eye- 

 sore to anybody. 



