64 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



frightful noise, as if a host of cats were 

 coming screaming down stairs, ending with a 

 heavy thump against my door, made me 

 decided for action. 



I took up my glimmering light, but in the 

 moment that I opened the door it expired, 

 or was blown out. A gigantic white figure 

 hovered before me, and I felt myself sud- 

 denly grasped by two powerful arms. I 

 cried out for help, and struggled so hard, 

 that my antagonist fell to the ground with 

 me ; but I happened to be uppermost. Like 

 an arrow I bounded up, and would have run, 

 but stumbled over something, I know not 

 what ; I believe somebody had seized my 

 feet. Again I fell to the ground, struck my 

 head against the corner of the table, and 

 lost my senses with a sound like loud laugh- 

 ter ringing in my ears. When I opened my 

 eyes again, they encountered a dazzling glare. 

 1 closed them again, and listened again, and 

 listened to a distracting noise that hovered 

 around me. 



Again I opened them, and tried to dis- 

 tinguish and recognise some of the objects 

 about me, which seemed so new and wonder- 

 ful, that I suddenly feared I had lost my 

 senses. I lay upon a sofa, and — no, I was 

 not deluded ! — the beautiful maiden who 

 had hovered before my imagination all the 

 evening, now really stood beside me, with a 

 heavenly expression of sympathy, and bathed 

 my head with vinegar ! A young man, 

 whose face seemed familiar to me, stood and 

 held my hand. I saw also the fat gentleman, 

 and another thin gentleman ; and next I dis- 

 covered the lady, the children, and the para- 

 dise of the tea-table glimmering in a sort of 

 twilight distance : in short, by some incon- 

 ceivable humor of fortune, I found myself 

 in the midst of the very family which I had, 

 an hour before, contemplated with such 

 interest ! 



As I recovered my faculties the military 

 young man enfolded me in his arms. " Do 

 you not know me again ? " said he, while I 

 sat still as if petrified. " Have you forgot 

 Augustus, whose life you saved not long ago 

 at the risk of your own ? whom you fished 

 out of the water, at the risk of remaining to 

 keep company with fishes yourself? See, 

 here are my father, my mother, and my 

 sister Wilhelmina." 



I pressed his hand. Then, with a smart 

 blow of his fist upon the table, the father 

 exclaimed, " And because you have saved 

 my son's life, and you are an honorable fellow, 

 that can suffer hunger to afford food to 

 others, I declare you shall have the bene- 

 fice at H ; I — I have the patronage, 



you understand ! " 



For awhile I was bereft the power of 

 thought and speech ; and, amid all the ex- 

 planations that were given, there was only 



one thing that impressed itself clearly on 

 my mind — that Wilhelmina was not — that 

 Wilhelmina was the sister of Augustus ! 



There is a fine " moral " attached to this 

 episode. 



ORIGINAL POETRY. 



TRUE HAPPINESS. 



BY HELEN HETHERINGTON. 



Mercy in every work of God 



Is mingled with his power, 



From the vast firmament of Heaven 



To Earth's most tiny flower. 



Love beams on all that live and move, 



And have a being — God is Love! 



The earth is glad; the boundless sea 



With joy his word fulfils; 



The lowing herds proclaim his power 



Upon a thousand hills : 



The little birds rejoice and sing, 



The valleys shout — " The Lord is King !" 



Not e'en a little sparrow falls 



Till his decree has pass'd ; 



The timid lamb so lately shorn, 



He shelters from the blast; 



He gives the hungry ravens food, 



And clothes the lilies — God is good! 



Oh, let us strive to imitate 



His mercy while we live, — 



To bless as we are truly blest, 



To pity — love — forgive; 



To give the needy help, relief ; 



And soothe the heart oppress' d with grief! 



SELECT POETRY. 

 FIRST LOVE. 



BY GOETHE. 



Oh, who will bring me back the days, 



So beautiful, so bright! 

 Those days when love first bore my heart 



Aloft on pinions light? 

 Oh, who will bring me but an hour 



Of that delightful time, 

 And wake in me again the power 



That fired my golden prime? 

 I nurse my wound in solitude, 



I sigh the livelong day, 

 And mourn the joys,dn wayward mood, 



That now are pass'd away 

 Oh, who will bring me back the days 



Of that delightful time, 

 And wake in me again the blaze 



That fired my golden prime ? 



London : - Published for William Kidd, by William 

 Spooner, 379, Strand, (to whom all Letters, Parcels, 

 and Communications, Addressed to "the Editor," 

 and Books for Review, are to be forwarded) ; and 

 Procurable, by order, of every Bookseller and News- 

 vendor in the Kingdom. Agents: Dublin, John Wise- 

 heart ; Edinburgh, John Menzies; Glasgow, John 

 M'Leod. 



London: M. S. Myers, Printer, 22, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden. 



