154 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



raded in deep-sculptured letters on the 

 various stones. No! 



The grave which struck us as being the 

 most chaste and effective in the whole 

 place, was situate between the Catacombs 

 and the Chapel. Its number was 3702. 



This grave occupied but a small space. 

 There was a palisade of plain but neat iron- 

 work all round it. Within were just one 

 dwarf Cypress, one Cuba, one dwarf Box- 

 tree. An elevated; stone at the head of the 

 grave, neatly bordered with black, told on 

 its centre, the simple, eloquent, but bitter 

 tale : — 



AKT2TIE. 



No mockery have we here. No empty, 

 ostentatious "profession" of feeling. No 

 prostitution of good poetry, — no insult to 

 the dead by introducing doggrel. 



" The Grave of Annie!" 



Happy parents of an adored child ! How 

 we do admire the exquisitely-good taste that 

 has thus briefly recorded these " simple 

 annals !" Poetry and Love ! 



As for the graves generally, — the flowers 

 are sadly faded ; and long rank grass grows 

 wildly around them. Too evident proofs 

 are there, on every hand, of neglect and for- 

 getfulness. This should not be. How small 

 the annual cost of this very little " tribute 

 of affection," — " if but for appearance 

 sake !" 



These grounds are thrown open, daily, to 

 the Public; and it is pleasing to observe, 

 every now and then, the tear of grief and 

 the tear of hope springing up in the eye of a 

 lingering visitor, who, as the hour of closing 

 draws nigh, seems reluctant to withdraw 

 from all the heart holds dear in this world. 

 We love to note these holy feelings, and to 

 share them. Many a tear has fallen from 

 our own eye, in these sacred grounds, over 

 departed worth — more remain. " Dust " 

 lies there — dust which the affection of a 

 fond brother mourns sore. 



In the arrangement of a place like this, 

 we can see no reason for cypresses, or 

 willows ; although universal and immemorial 

 usage has appropriated these trees to such 

 melancholy localities. We would prefer, 

 infinitely, some cheerful flowering trees, that 

 would impress the idea of a perpetual 

 Spring. 



Since we all have wishes of our own, as 

 regards a final resting-place — and there can 

 be no possible objection to it — let us here 

 note what our wishes are ; and let a very 

 favorite but neglected poet of ours sing our 

 thoughts : — 



Under a flat turf let me lie, 



Where mid-day sunbeams never come; 



Let a light brook go whispering by; 

 Near 3 let the small birds build their home. 



And round about, and over head, 

 And everywhere except the west, 



Let a thin screen of leaves be spread, 

 As curtains to this couch of rest. 



I'll have no weeping willow there, 



No ) r ew to shed its churchyard gloom ; 



But blackthorn, with its blossoms fair, 

 And light birch, with its dancing plume. 



Woodbine — that loves on cottage eaves 

 To hang its flowers and tendrils slim ; 



And holly — with gay glittering leaves, 

 And berries red, and branches trim. 



And looking out from that dear spot, 

 Let none but sights of joy be seen; 



The village spire, the peasant's cot, 

 With its small patch of garden green. 



Field flowers in blossom, sparkling rills, 



And far-off trees of every hue ; 

 The white flocks feeding on the hills ; 



And last of all — the distance blue. 



What ! in that best of earthly bowers, 



Must types of sorrow mock the dead? 

 Well! let one wild rose drop its flowers, 



Or one small lily hang its head ! 



^ • 



ORIGINAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



White Wood-Pigeons. — In my communication 

 last week, I omitted to mention that there were 

 two wood-pigeons bred at Rankeilour this year, 

 almost white. Of these, I requested my game- 

 keeper to shoot one, — this I mean to have 

 stuffed. It is nearly snow white, with a shade of 

 buff, or fawn-color, on some parts. I do not 

 intend that the other shall be shot until it has 

 attained its winter plumage. — W. H. F., Cupar. 



Notes on the Common Wasp. — In the neighbor- 

 hood of Glasgow, Mr. Editor, where I live, the 

 common wasp is this year exceedingly nume- 

 rous. Gooseberries (which fruit they prefer be- 

 fore most others) are fast disappearing under 

 their ravages; and so plentiful are the destruc- 

 tives among the bushes, that three persons in 

 about half-an-hour, one evening this week, killed 

 upwards of Jive hundred. Ensconced within the 

 berry, they suck till they are " dead drunk ;" and 

 then falling to the ground, become an easy prey 

 to the foot of the destroyer. Last summer, the 

 reverse was the case. Scarcely a single wasp 

 could be seen. As the previous winter had been 

 unusually mild and warm, it seems at first diffi- 

 cult to account for this ; but, I believe the follow- 

 ing is the true solution. On turning over the 

 top stones of " dykes," as loose stone walls are* 

 here designated, in m3 r hunts after beetles and 

 chrysalides of moths, &c, I found several queen 

 wasps fixed by their mandibles to the under side of 

 the stones. They were perfectly torpid, but 

 revived on being brought near a fire, and again 

 lapsed into torpidity on being withdrawn from 

 its influence. These sole survivors of the pre- 

 ceding year are the progenitors of all the ensuing 

 year's torments. Perhaps the unusual mildness 

 of the winters 1850-51, induced them to come 

 forth from their crevices sooner than usual ; and 

 then a day or two of nipping frost totally de- 

 stroyed them. The nests this year are all, or 



