384 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



SMILES AHD TEARS. 



Let's Laugh at those who cannot bear 



The various ills of life ; 

 Those brave ones when there's joy to share, 



And cowards when there's strife ! 

 We all have clouds and sunshine, 



The needy with the rich ; 

 For Heaven hath wisely tempered 



Life's feelings unto each. 

 If there are thoughts that sadden, 

 If there are acts that madden — 

 "Why there are things that " gladden," 

 Things that should " patience" teach. 

 Then banish peevish cholic, 



And life's too gloomy fits ; 

 For, like two boys in frolic, 



Joy may with Grief cry — " Quits! " 

 Clouds will return with Winter's hour, 



But Summer hath its sky ; 

 If Death's white fingers touch a flower, 

 Are there not "fresh ones" by? 

 There may be some who hate us 

 The while we weep the tear; 

 But "some" are sure to love us 



When sorrow blights our cheer. 

 Woe may be in our dwelling, 

 Our present mirth expelling, — 

 But there's a whisper telling 

 Op better moments near. 

 Then banish peevish cholic, 



And life's too gloomy fits; 

 For, like two boys in frolic, 



Joy may with Grief cry — " Quits ! " 

 Lips may be false, and hearts untrue, 



But all are not like these! 

 Though wild winds sweep the green earth 

 through, 

 We have the gentle breeze. 

 Though touched at times by sickness, 



We find health's golden mine; 

 If common drink be water, 



We now and then get wine. 

 Joy is the twin of Sorrow, 



Both from the heart's store borrow, 

 And each may fill the morrow 

 With weather dull or fine. 

 So banish peevish cholic, 



And life's too gloomy fits; 

 For, like two boys in frolic, 

 Jor may with Grief cry — " Quits! " 



LITTLE KINDNESSES. 



The Time of the Year has come round, 

 when we are loudly called upon to render 

 certain little acts of kindness one to another. 

 The under-current of little kindnesses, though 

 but a creeping streamlet, yet incessantly flows. 

 Although it glides in silent secrecy within 

 the domestic walls, and along the walks of pri- 

 vate life, and makes neither appearance nor 

 noise in the world — yet does it prove in the 

 end a more copious tributary to the store of 

 human comfort and felicity, than any sudden and 

 transient flood of detached bounty, however 

 ample, that may rush into it with a mighty sound. 

 Let every one of us endeavor to test the truth 

 of this. How easy the effort! How undefinable 

 the pleasure of doing good, even on a small scale ! 



THE PRESENT AGE OF CRUELTY. 



BY HELEN HETHERINGTON. 



Where'er our footsteps roam, from morn till 



night, 

 Our hearts are tortur'd with the wretched sight 

 ( )f some poor creature suffering agony— 

 The hapless victim of man's cruelty ! * 



Poor jaded horse! panting so hard for breath, 

 Your pain will shortly terminate in death; 

 Yes, death will free you from the frightful rack, 

 And from the whip that lacerates your back. 



Are these poor creatures, given for our use, 

 Thus to be treated — goaded with abuse? 

 Lash'd, starv'd, and tortured, wounded, bleeding, 



lame, 

 And not a voice be heard to cry out " shame ! " 



Is there no mercy? can the living be 

 Dead to the feelings of humanity? 

 What sport is it to see the weak oppress'd? 

 Dwells there no pity in the human breast? 



Children whose little hearts should ever be 



The home of love and sympathy, 



Practise sad acts of cruelty and vice, 



By wounding helpless insects, tort'ring mice. 



As they advance in years, they seek to gain 



Some new invention for inflicting pain; 



Such are their "joys'' from day to day; and 



then, 

 These heartless children grow to worthless men. 



Mothers and daughters! stand ye idly by, 

 Whilst every street re-echoes with the cry 

 Of some poor beast — the sport of villany, 

 Of wretched man's insatiate tyranny? 



Men ! Fathers ! Christians ! let your voice be 



heard, 

 Heed not the jeerings of the heartless crowd; 

 Oppose oppression with your latest breath, 

 And save poor victims from a lingering 



DEATH. 



* See the recent case of "Roasting a Cat alive," 

 reported at page 377 of our present Number. 



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