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KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



SELECT POETRY. 



WE'LL MEET AGAIN. 



We'll meet again: how sweet the word, — 



How soothing is its sound ! 

 Like strains of far-off music heard 



On some enchanted ground. 



We'll meet again, — thus friendship speaks 

 When those most dear depart, 



And in the pleasing prospect seeks 

 Balm for the bleeding heart. 



We'll meet again, the lover cries; 



And oh ! what thought hut this 

 Can e'er assuage the agonies 



Of the last parting kiss ? 



We'll meet again, are accents heard 



Beside the dying bed, 

 When all the soul by grief is stirr'd, 



And bitter tears are shed. 



We'll meet again, are words that cheer 

 While bending o'er the tomb; 



For oh ! that hope, so bright and dear, 

 Can pierce its deepest gloom. 



We'll meet again j then cease to weep, 



Whatever may divide; 

 Not time, nor death, can always keep 



The loved ones from our side : 



For in the mansions of the blest, 



Secure from care and pain, 

 In Heaven's serene and endless rest 



We'll surely meet again! 



A LOCK OF HAIR. 



ORIGINAL POETRY. 

 THE PLEASURES OF HOPE. 



Pew things in this world are so delightful as 

 keepsakes from those we love ; nor do they ever, 

 to our heart at least, or to our eyes, lose their 

 tender, most tender and powerful charms. And 

 of all keepsakes, memorials, relics — most dearly, 

 most devotedly do we love a little lock of hair ! 

 Oh! when the head it beautified has long moul- 

 dered in the dust, how spiritual seems the undy- 

 ing glossiness of the sole remaining lock! All 

 else gone to nothing, save and except that soft 

 smooth, burnished, and glorious fragment of the 

 apparelling, that once hung in clouds and sun- 

 shine over an angel's brow! 



Aye, a lock of hair is far better than any pic- 

 ture — it is part of the beloved object herself. It 

 belongs to the tresses that often, long ago, may 

 have been dishevelled, like a shower of sunbeams 

 over your beating breast! But now, solemn 

 thoughts sadden the beauty once so bright — so 

 refulgent ; the longer you gaze on it, the more 

 and more it seems to say upbraidingly, " weep'st 

 thou not more for me?" 



But, indeed, a tear, true to the imperishable 

 affections in which all nature seems to rejoice, 

 bears witness that the object to which it yearned 

 is no more forgotten, now that she has been 

 dead for many, many long weary days, months, 

 years, than she was forgotten during one hour of 

 absence that came like a passing cloud between 

 us and the sunshine of her living— her loving 

 smiles. 



Oh, we do love a little lock of hair ! 



BY HELEN HETHERINGTON. 



The pleasant prospect of some future joy 



Is of itself a real happiness. 

 Expected joys our fears destroy; 



Anticipated Pleasure smiles to bless. 



Sorrow may sadden; but again the mind 



Glows with some future scene of fond delight; 



Dwells on a theme of happiness — resign'd 



To Fortune's frowns, and Disappointment's 

 blight. 



Thus is the mind sustained through grief and care, 

 Supported in Affliction's trying hour; 



Hope intercepts the visions of Despair, 

 And Faith proclaims its bright, all-conquering 

 power. 



Resting on Hope, unhappy thoughts are borne 

 To regions of unspeakable delight; 



Imagination fondly hails the morn 



Of that resplendent day that knows no night. 



Bliss undefinable beams on the soul ; 



This anguish cannot dim, nor sorrow fade. 

 Now clings the heart to pleasures that console, 



Beyond the cheerless world that Man has 

 made ! 



Mr. Editor,— In consequence of your not sending me a 

 ' ' proof " last week, a misprint has crept into my poetical 

 article, at page 192. In the fourth stanza, second line, 

 the word ' claims' should have been ' demands.' Please 

 notice this ; as the ' measure' is ' faulty' as it now stands. 

 -H. H. 



TRY AGAIN! 



"I tell you, I can't do it." — I tell you, you 

 can. Try — try hard, try often — and you must 

 accomplish it. Yield to every discouraging cir- 

 cumstance, and you will do nothing worthy of a 

 great mind. Try, and you will do wonders. You 

 will be astonished at yourself — your advance- 

 ment in whatever you undertake. " I can't," 

 has ruined many a man; has been the tomb of 

 bright expectation and ardent hope. Let " I 

 will try " be your motto in whatever you un- 

 dertake; and if you press onward, you will 

 steadily and surely accomplish your object and 

 come off victorious. — Probatum est. 



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