KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



329 



Soft floats the moon amid the lingering fogs — 

 Till the sun's ray, that gilds their fleecy robes, 

 Dissolves them, opening wide the prospect 

 round. 



And as they pass in all their variety of 

 light and shade, what wonderful effects are 

 produced on the scenery below ! 



Then is it charming to behold 

 The forests shine in vegetable gold! 

 How mixed the many chequer'd shades between 

 The tawny mellowing hue, and gay and vivid 

 green ! 



The " vivid green" is now very sparingly 

 seen ; hence the heightened contrast. But 

 to the clouds. Now a large impending rock 

 towers above us, fringed all round with the 

 purest silver. Now a whole chain of moun- 

 tains stretches far away to the right and 

 left — the sea apparently rolling onwards 

 beneath. 



Then comes the sun, peeping from behind 

 a lofty tower ; and gradually rising with a 

 smile on his lovely countenance, to dispel 

 the chilling mists, and gild all nature with 

 richly-glowing tints. Anon the whole are 

 rolled up like a scroll. The face of the 

 heavens becomes changed, the winds howl, 

 the rain descends, the birds seek safety in 

 the hedges. We are left alone to our medi- 

 tations. 



These are scenes, amidst which we fondly 

 delight to revel. In every season, our 

 element is the fields. When the weather per- 

 mits, Nature is our study ; Nature's God the 

 object of our adoration and praise. In these 

 pursuits we feel " happy." We envy no 

 man ; nor do we covet more than we possess. 

 This is the true test of happiness. 



It must be confessed that we have very 

 imperfectly hinted at the beauties of Autumn ; 

 but such are the feelings engendered by the 

 season, that it is not in the power of language 

 to set them properly forth. All we behold 

 out of doors — insects, trees, flowers, animals, 

 all have a speaking voice. The universal 

 law of nature, in all her beautiful provisions, 

 and providential care for creation, is un- 

 folded at every step. We care not for the 

 company of any one who can behold these 

 things unmoved. 



It is whilst thus far removed from the 

 noisy, giddy, and superficial world, that we 

 feel as we wish to feel — in love with the God 

 of nature. We seem to be made " willing " 

 to play out the remainder of the part as- 

 signed us in the drama of life ; whilst we yet 

 pant for a release from the routine of daily 

 duties, and aspire to know more of what 

 awaits us hereafter. How very insignificant, 

 at such times, appears this little round ball 

 of earth ; and how very little care we for it ! 

 Still, there are many living on it who are very 

 dear to us : and for their sakes Ave are 

 passive. 



But let us quit the regions of poetry, and 

 descend to something nearer home — our 

 gardens to wit. Amidst all the falling 

 leaves, and in spite of all the denuded 

 branches (how lovely some of the trees do 

 look in their deshabille !), we can always have 

 something attractive near the house ; aye, 

 and something green too ! We have winter- 

 blowing Laurustinus, trim Holly bushes, 

 bedight with scarlet berries ; and tall Spruce 

 Firs, shooting up their pyramid of feathery 

 branches beside the low ivy-grown porch. 

 Then we have the ivy in elegant profusion, 

 and a variety of other ever-greens and 

 winter flowers, which remind us that we are 

 surrounded by " life." 



Lastly — for the printer has commanded us 

 to " halt," our winter joys are rendered com- 

 plete by the company of our beautiful fancy 

 poultry, as well as by numerous songsters — 

 all so tame ! Thrushes have we in plenty ; 

 wrens, titmice, chaffinches, robins, hedge- 

 sparrows, &c. &c. These merry rogues are 

 singing perpetually ; most of them under our 

 very window. Indeed several of them have 

 formed an intimacy with our "pet " canaries, 

 and have entered themselves as parlor- 

 boarders. The window, or the house door, 

 is never closed against them ; never will be. 

 We dearly love such company. 



In the garden, our little friends and we 

 trot about together. While we use the spade, 

 they sing us a song. Sometimes they perch 

 upon a branch just over our heads, looking 

 affectionately on at "the works." We next 

 find them dodging our footsteps. Anon, 

 they perch themselves upon our shoulder ; 

 and presently they are prepared, with ex- 

 tended wings, to give us (a playful) battle. 



Such are the innocent charms of a country 

 life. Herein lies all our "happiness." 



Great indeed have been the pre- 

 parations, unceasing the toil, for giving all 

 due effect to the funeral ceremonies of His 

 Grace the Duke of Wellington. Both by 

 day and by night, thousands of men have 

 been employed, for many weeks past ; and 

 regardless of cost, an imposing sight has 

 been got up, to witness which one half of the 

 world, at least, seem to have left their homes. 

 Trade is looking up ! 



John Bull rejoices in all these empty 

 displays. He would give his very last shil- 

 ling to be found in a crowd, gazing on tinsel. 

 He loves to talk about it, and boast of it. 

 His weak point costs him dear — but what of 

 that ? " He saw the whole with his own 

 eyes ; " and he sits down abundantly satisfied. 

 Ought any one to call him to task ? As- 

 suredly not. Gewgaws are the very life of 

 his spirit. 



The sums that have been realised in the 

 matter of " seats to view," would almost 



