350 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



THE AGES PASSED AWAY. 



To the Editor. — Dear Sir, Our Journal is 

 now becoming so widely circulated in Families, 

 that I think it right to call your attention to one 

 single passage in it (see p. 87, vol. i.), . in which 

 " a sentiment " appears to he expressed, from 

 which I know you, and all your readers, would 

 recoil with horror. I allude to the concluding- 

 stanza of Mr. Sankey's poetical sketch, headed 

 as above. It would, as it at present stands, seem 

 to deny the doctrine of the immortality of the 

 soul — a doctrine which, in every line you pen, 

 seems to be ever uppermost in your mind. One 

 word from you will set all right. 



Your sincere friend, J. N. M. 



Iiusholme, Manchester, Nov. 18, 1852. 



[We return you, Sir, ten thousand thanks for 

 your vigilant observation. Far be it from us, either 

 in thought or by word, to offend in a matter in- 

 volving such serious considerations. You have 

 judged us righteously. We believe the impression 

 meant to be conveyed was — simply the instability 

 of all below; and that as one dies, so another 

 arises to take his place. In this confession of 

 ours, let us behold the bane and antidote."] 



FIE ST, — AND "ONLY" LOVE. 



BY THE AUTHOR OF " A COLD." * 



Love has ever been the master-tyrant of 

 mankind. Poets from the earliest ages, 

 have sung their sweetest notes about him ; 

 and yet, to this day, there is something 

 more to be said of love. In fact, love is quite 

 undefinable. lie that can define the Deity, 

 may define love. We may call it the love 

 of the universe, or by whatever poetical 

 term we please ; and, after all, we have not 

 the shadoiD of lovers power pictured in the 

 fancy. 



Love is the link of similitude among 

 mankind. Zones may separate, the sun 

 scorch, and atmospheres vary the size and 

 shape of the body. But in every clime, 

 love is the same ; in the smile of refinement, 

 and in the rude laugh of the savage's admi- 

 ration. Still, in these days, every writer 

 who wishes to sublimate his character by 

 apeing the stoic, relieves himself of some 

 pert common-place about love. Love-sick, 

 love-lorn, and love-mad, are introduced with 

 much grave conceit. True, the subject of 

 love is too often harped upon by ephemeral 

 rhymes ; but is it on this account that in- 

 discriminate ridicule is to be thrown on love, 

 moonlight, and poetry? Do the witty gentry 

 mean to tell us, that love is not a proper 

 theme for poetry ; and that moonlight, after 

 all their pointless jests, is not an hour of 

 inspiration? The critics need not be 

 alarmed ; for though love and moonlight 

 are often united, and though the former will 

 ever be the main-spring of all our hopes, 



* See vol. I., p. 172. 



fears, energies, and exertions, Venalism has 

 long unveiled it of that romantic and noble 

 enthusiasm with which our ancestors invested 

 love. Modern society is, in plain words, a 

 penny-getting, hand-to-mouth creature. 



Youth is the season for love in its genuine 

 purity and freshness. From the age of 

 nineteen to five-and-twenty, there is a bloom 

 on the mind, which, once worn away, never 

 returns. — It is as delicate as the down on 

 the flower, which vanishes at the rude touch 

 of the elements. At this springtide age, the 

 heart is unsoured by the cares of life. As 

 yet, the world has not chilled the warm cur- 

 rent of generous feeling, nor nipped its bud- 

 ding hopes : it has little of that worldly dross 

 collected around it, called experience ; which, 

 the more it increases, the more it eats 

 away the tenderness of sympathy, and the 

 fire of enthusiasm. From nineteen to five- 

 and-twenty, is the May-day of the mind. 



There are those, whose grey wisdom will 

 smile at this. They have become satiated 

 with life, and they repay its unkindness by 

 sarcasm on the romantic affections of the 

 young. They have marked the folly of young- 

 people imagining themselves into a mutual 

 affection, before they have seen enough of 

 the world to judge of the firmness of their 

 inclinations; — they had better wait till 

 added years have tempered their passions, 

 and tried their firmness. By such reason- 

 ing, the blossoms of young affections are 

 often torn away ; and two hearts which 

 would have been fountains of love to each 

 other through life, are sundered, and left 

 to wear away in uncongenial spheres. 



That the prudence of age is often neces- 

 sary to cool the ardor of youth, cannot be 

 denied. In some instances, the hand which 

 snaps a link that would unite two hearts 

 together for future want or woe, is merci- 

 ful though severe. But does it not too 

 often happen, that pride rather than wis- 

 dom rules the destiny of affectionate minds ? 

 Is that mother, for instance, to be called 

 kind and wise, who severs her child from 

 her first affections, to which she has clung 

 with the energy of innocence and truth, 

 because the object of it does not reach the 

 precise point of her vanity or ambition ? 

 Is it for her child's sake, or for the grati- 

 fication of her own pertinacity, that she 

 dooms her to love no longer? A mother 

 may cloak her vanity under this amiable 

 garb ; the neighboring mammas and friends 

 may applaud her 'prudence and warm soli- 

 citude for her daughter's welfare ; but in 

 the clear eye of Nature and of God, she 

 stands condemned. 



Duty will often triumph over love : and, 

 therefore, a daughter, submitting to the 

 decrees of her parent, will bury her passion 

 in her own bosom, and believe, or try to be- 



