KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



281 



Bull, to a pretty tune ; and we hardly need 

 say that they are ignorance personified. 

 No ! we leave them to prey as they list, upon 

 their eager and easily-caught victims ; nor 

 do we see any reason to pity the latter. 

 They want experience ; and it is perhaps 

 right that they should " pay" for it. 



The power of arriving at people's charac- 

 ters by a perusal of their MSS., is most 

 assuredly an intuitive gift. It is not merely 

 the formation of each separate letter that 

 would enable us to form a judgment. It is 

 the mode of expression (crude or otherwise) 

 — the style of composition, as well as the 

 manner of tracing the writer's thoughts on 

 paper. The re-perusal of a letter some half- 

 dozen times, seems to bring you into sympa- 

 thetic contact with the party who penned it. 

 Every time you commence reading it anew, 

 you seem to catch the feeling that directed 

 the pen to the first word. As you proceed, 

 the feeling becomes more intense ; and even- 

 tually, you become " one " with your cor- 

 respondent. We have " presumed " on this 

 feeling, with very many of our correspond- 

 ents ; and in no one instance have we ever 

 been mistaken in our judgment. We have 

 indeed formed just estimates of each other. 



When we first launched our literary bark ; 

 and at a price that placed us on a level with 

 the, so-called, " cheap Periodicals " — a peep 

 at our Letter-box Avas a curiosity truly. It 

 was filled, daily, with communications from 

 all sorts of people — cold, selfish, overbearing, 

 opinionated, conceited, and impertinent. 

 These good folk supplied us with fuel suffi- 

 cient for many a blazing fire. We did not 

 — we confess it — know how to deal with 

 some of them. We had no wish to offend 

 them, and yet we could not avail ourselves 

 of their favors. However, they one and all 

 took to flight the moment we began to talk 

 about raising our price, with a view to secure 

 ourselves from the very heavy loss we were 

 sustaining from week to week. Theirs was 

 evidently cupboard love. With them, Christ- 

 ian charity began " at home." They have 

 fled— and left their characters in our hands ! 



We lost, be it known, when we raised our 

 price, one-half " our supporters " at least 

 — but do we not value those who remain 

 behind, and those choice spirits who have 

 since joined our standard? Indeed do we. 

 Our present " body-guard," as we are pleased 

 to call them, are the delight of our life. 

 May the day never arrive, when aught but 

 death shall separate us ! 



With regard to the inherent power of 

 estimating characters by their letters of 

 correspondence, is it not in accordance with 

 other similar, though less sensitive, powers ? 

 If you meet a man in the street, with a 

 remarkably-built hat on, and observe him 

 narrowly in his gait, you shall soon fathom 



his empty mind. The same with a man 

 habited in a figured shirt, on which opera 

 girls are vigorously dancing the cachouca. 

 The man's mind, and thoughts, are here full- 

 blown. Highly as he may extol the purity 

 of his taste, yet you may write his daily life. 

 Then again, gaze upon a young man with an 

 open waistcoat, and wide expanse of curi- 

 ously-worked linen shirt — illuminated in its 

 centre with a pin somewhat less than the egg 

 of a pheasant, and having globular pendants 

 above and below " to match." His history 

 is short but impressive. You know at once 

 the depth ( ! ) of his mind. 



The same, with young men fond of an exu- 

 berance of rings, and an elaboration of orna- 

 mental jewellery; and the patrons of those 

 gigantic heads of matted hair. More " ex- 

 amples," too, are to be seen, among people who 

 ape moustaches, imperials, and any other vul- 

 gar assumption of dignity. Then look at our 

 streets, filled with respectably-dressed men 

 "ornamented" with cigars and cheroots in their 

 mouths — poisoning the very air we breathe. 

 Many of them have been " educated ;" but their 

 ideas of " refinement " are at least curious. 

 Then look at the conceits of our "fine men," 

 and our " fine women," whose tailors and 

 dressmakers have hung upon them, as 

 " pegs," the last new fashion. To see these 

 devotees patiently writhing under the inflic- 

 tion — one does sometimes feel moved (almost) 

 to pity them as they pass in their agonies. 

 Fashion ! thou art a tyrant. 



Then again, how easy is it, by closely 

 observing the human countenance, to get at 

 the measure of a person's mind ! Only try 

 it for one single day ; whilst walking from 

 Eegent-street to the bottom of Cheapside. 

 We often thus employ ourself while thread- 

 ing the public thoroughfares. A philosopher 

 never needs want food for thought, whilst he 

 is in London. Every lane, alley, and bye- 

 way, is a study for a twelvemonth. Where 

 do those children come from ? and those 

 mere infants, whose faces already are become 

 indices of what their future lives must be ? 

 Where do they all sleep ? What is their 

 occupation? What do they consider to be 

 their " duty toward God and man ?" Look 

 at them, and read the " answer " plainly 

 written on their frontispieces. So much for 

 character. We might pursue the subject 

 for ever. 



The power of defining the natural dispo- 

 sition of persons from the character of their 

 handwriting, and expressed ideas — is more 

 subtle, we grant, than the power of drawing 

 general inferences from the modes of dress, 

 and outward bearing of such individuals as 

 daily come under our eye in public. The 

 latter speak for themselves. Although an 

 incubus on society — yet are they links in the 

 chain of humanity, by means of which, cer- 



