26 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



ORIGINAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



Where can I hear a first-rate Blackbird sing ? 

 —I have been so delighted, Mr. Editor, with 

 your remarks from time to time about the Black- 

 bird's song, that I am most anxious to hear him. 

 Can you tell me where I can gratify my desire in 

 the immediate neighborhood of London ? I 

 think nothing at all of the song of birds in con- 

 finement. I want to hear the pure, wild note. 

 "Will you, " dear Mr. Kidd," take my request 

 into consideration? Then will your fair petitioner 

 ever pray, &c. — Julia A. 



[The breathing of your sweet voice, Miss 

 Julia, has entered our ear, and found a resting- 

 place in our heart ; consider this, and every other 

 wish of yours, so far as our ability extends, most 

 readily and joyfully granted. We shall do you 

 more good than you imagine by our remarks. 

 Listen. To hear the blackbird, Julia, at his 

 " matins," you must rise at 5 a.m., ]|and be in 

 Kensington Gardens by 6. There, as you walk 

 (take some " interesting friend" with you) be- 

 neath the lofty trees, you will hear him chanting ; 

 first to his Maker (a noble example for us), and 

 then to his mate. They are now engaged in pre- 

 paring, some for a second, others for a third family. 

 The blackbird's song, just now, is sweet beyond 

 description ; but as it will not last long, you must 

 lose no time. As you journey to and fro, you 

 will also hear the blackcap discoursing. This 

 alone is worth a morning stroll. Of all our 

 Summer visitors, he is the most joyous, the most 

 lovely. Now remember, Miss Julia, if your 

 morning ramble is a delightful one, repeat it, and 

 do get into the habit of rising early. Your 

 countenance now may be lovely — we dare say it 

 is ; but what can equal the beauty imparted by 

 wandering through the morning dews of sum- 

 mer? The rude glow of health is worth a slight 

 effort to obtain ; and lie-a-beds in summer never 

 can be well. Excuse our frankness, Miss 

 Julia, caused by the interest we feel for your 

 welfare.] 



Profit derivable from keeping Poultry. — Allow 

 me, Mr. Editor, to call your attention to a sub- 

 ject that may be useful at this season of the 

 year. From February to September, our tables 

 are with difficulty supplied with poultry. This 

 might easily be remedied by art. The same method 

 that provides us with capons, might also provide 

 us with very large turkies, geese, and guinea 

 fowl. Rabbits, also, might be similarly increased 

 in size and weight, as well as flavor. I cannot 

 help thinking that a suggestion of this kind, 

 appearing in the Public's "Owh Journal," 

 would induce many practical men to make the 

 experiment. — Veebum Sat. 



Goats, proper Management of. — Can any of 

 your readers, Mr. Editor, tell me the proper 

 method of rearing, keeping, and tending Goats? 

 I know not of any book that treats of them. I 

 have a fine young " Billy," of the pure Turkish 

 breed; two "Nannies," and a young "Nanny 

 Kid." These are all at present quite healthy. 

 — S.'B. W., Hampstead. 



[Although some of these animals have claimed 

 a right to our family-title (spelt " short"), yet 



are we not sufficiently learned in their nature to 

 give the information sought for. Will some of 

 our good friends be pleased to answer for us in 

 this matter, and give us the benefit of their ex- 

 perience?] 



" Nature and Art." — Do tell me, " dear 

 Mr. Kidd," whether a girl who loves nature as I 

 do (and who of course reads " Our" Journal), 

 ought to be rigidly trained to the rigidly strict 

 observance of dry formalities in every-day life? 

 I move in a high circle, truly ; but there is so 

 much artificial nonsense, as I call it, pervading 

 the society we keep, that my heart feels sick at 

 being obliged to go through the various " conven- 

 tional rules." I must not ' ' laugh" when I am 

 pleased; I must not- run; I must not romp; I 

 must not "enjoy" anything. In a word, I must 

 live, if I can, to please the world, not myself. If 

 I follow the dictates of nature, I am " vulgar; " 

 if I am joyous, I am *' rude," and a disgrace to 

 the family! Do tell me, "dear Mr. Kidd," 

 what shall I do? — Leonora. 



[You have done wisely in sending us your 

 name and address, Miss Leonora; and have 

 chosen a signature which we shall always re- 

 cognise as " your own." Your grievances are 

 great, and we have published a portion of your 

 letter pro bono. There are thousands of amiable 

 girls, who, like yourself, die victims to the follies 

 of fashion; but how can we aid them? The 

 better feelings of nature either become stifled by 

 habit (" use is second nature"), or the spirit be- 

 comes broken, and sinks to its final rest in a pre- 

 mature grave. These things happen daily. In 

 your case, being a minor, you cannot act for 

 yourself, and we dare not advise disobedience. 

 However, we should shudder to believe that with 

 such amiable feelings as yours, you could be 

 "sacrificed" at the shrine of fashion. By all 

 means cultivate your present natural feelings. 

 They do you honor. If you must bow to the 

 follies of high life, let it be by constraint, not from 

 choice. When you are of age, only two years 

 removed, you are entitled to do as you consider 

 best. We know not what the " sacrifice " might 

 be. This, of course, you will have to reflect upon. 

 Your secret is " safe " with us ; you know this 

 well. You are the inmate of a family, of whom 

 Dr. Chalmers thus speaks in one of his 

 Sermons : — " There is a set of people whom I 

 cannot bear — the pinks of fashionable propriety 

 — whose every word is precise, and whose every 

 movement is unexceptionable, but who, though 

 well versed in all the categories of polite behavior, 

 have not a particle of soul or of cordiality about 

 them. We allow that their manners may be 

 abundantly ' correct.' There may be elegance 

 in every gesture, and gracefulness in every po- 

 sition; not a smile out of place, and not a step 

 that would not bear the measurement of the 

 severest scrutiny. This is all very fine; but 

 what I want is, the heart and the gaiety of social 

 intercourse — the frankness that spreads ease and 

 animation — the eye that speaks affability to all, 

 that chases timidity from every bosom, and tells 

 every man in the company to be confident and 

 happy. This is what I conceive to be the virtue 

 of the text, and not the sickening formality of 

 those who walk by rule, and would reduce the 



