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KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



are reckoned of tlie most pure breed, are of a 

 uniform buff color. A single dark feather 

 would be fatal to a high price. So much for 

 taste ! 



Let us say what we will, no fowl can sur- 

 pass the Dorking — if wanted for the table ; 

 nor will any beat the Hamburgh for eggs. 



The Sentiments we expressed in a 

 recent number, touching a proper obser- 

 vance of the Sabbath, in the fear of God, — 

 have been received as Ave imagined they 

 would be, with great favor. Were it not for 

 the rule we have laid down to exclude Re- 

 ligion and Politics, we should much like to 

 print several of the very interesting letters 

 that have reached us, from high quarters, 

 seconding and confirming our views.* 



We see no reason to recall one word that 

 we have written ; and we again maintain, that 

 sincerity and an honest heart are the best 

 and only acceptable sacrifices to our Creator. 

 The day for religious cant is gone by. Our 

 eyes are now open to see our teachers ; and 

 priestcraft can no longer ride over us rough- 

 shod. " The wayfaring man, though a fool," 

 has an unerring guide ; and the " little Moni- 

 tor within " never fails to tell us when we 

 do wrong. Only let us take the " hint," 

 and act upon it, and we may be a happy 

 nation yet. 



* The writer " G.C.," who so kindly communi- 

 cates to us the sad goings-on in the West of 

 England with the "Sisters or* Mercy," Auricu- 

 lar Confession, and a certain notoriotis Bishop 

 (all, alas ! but too well known to us before), — 

 must excuse our not printing his letter. Much 

 as we may deplore the fall of theProtestant cause, 

 yet are such subjects unsuited for discussion 

 in Our Journal. — Ed. K. J. 



The Wellington Mania is at its 

 height. John Bull is as mad as ever. All 

 the rag-a-muffins in London have received 

 " tickets " to see " St. Paul's hung with 

 black ;" and have reaped a rich harvest by 

 selling the said tickets to strangers. This 

 is the way " things are managed in London." 

 The Duke's " good-name " has served its 

 turn ! 



Well ; one thing is clear. We have lost a 

 good soldier, and an honest man. Peace to 

 his manes ! Yet do we blush to record what 

 has sprung from his ashes. Could he but 

 know it ! — but he can't. 



The death of the Duke of Wellington 

 was the immediate signal for all the evil pas- 

 sions of man to be brought to light. The 



sorrows of death, one would have thought, 

 (foolishly) had power sufficient to make a 

 nation weep. Weep ! oh — no ! The warrior's 

 soul had scarcely quitted the body, ere every 

 London tradesman, rich and poor, pounced 

 upon the name of "Wellington," as a step- 



ping-stone to fortune. Rapacity, and extor- 

 tion of every kind, were openly — unblush- 

 ingly practised ; and all w r as put down to the 

 account of " the lamented Hero of Water- 

 loo ! !'" 



Trafficking in seats to view, has already 

 been so mercilessly exposed and commented 

 upon by all the respectable public Journals, 

 that we need not go over the same ground 

 again. We are indeed " a nation of shop- 

 keepers !" Napoleon was quite right in say- 

 ing so. When money is in question, an Eng- 

 lishman really does appear to be altogether 

 divested of a conscience. Gold is indeed his 

 only God. 



The Foreign Journals have immortalised 

 our recent " doings," in connection with the 

 State Funeral. With all their severity, how- 

 ever, our neighbors have spoken but the truth 

 of us. WeJtave disgraced ourselves, signally ; 

 and they have a right to laugh at us. 



As for the name of Wellington, — we be- 

 lieve it never will die. It distinguishes 

 everything now in use, — from a thimble to a 

 mustard-pot. The hosiers, glovers, pastry- 

 cooks, hatters, silversmiths, — all are big with 

 the- name of Wellington. Even oysters are 

 recommended as the " Wellington Oysters ;" 

 and it has descended as low as the Whelk. 

 This tomfoolery is disgusting ; but John Bull 

 lives on it. He would die, were it not for 

 such excitement. 



The "Guy-Fawkes Car,''/* too, which con- 

 veyed the body to its final resting-place, — 

 that -was indeed a fair object for proper 

 ridicule ! It was worthy of the taste (!) of 

 its brainless designers, who now try to cast 

 the blame upon the manufacturers. But, as 

 we have said, the tom-foolery is now over. 

 We have had our " fun" — and have got to 

 pay for it. 



Poor Arthur,— Duke of Wellington ! 

 Couldst thou have seen the tawdry set-out 

 that was preparing to "do thee honor," — Iioav 

 wouldst thou have exclaimed, — " Save me 

 from MY friends !" 



May We never live to see another State 

 Funeral ! 



* So called by the Newspaper Press. • 



ORIGINAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



Toads, casting and eating their Skins.— You have 

 proved, Mr. Editor, very satisfactorily, that toads 

 eat their skins. However, I will give you addi- 

 tional evidence of that fact. Some time during 

 the month of July, 1851, I was sitting cosily in 

 one of the vineries, ' smoking a fine flavored 

 cigar. I was in a particularly happy vein I re- 

 member; for my vines were healthy and vigorous, 

 and nature all round me was charmingly attrac- 

 tive. Whilst blowing a cloud, and gazing list- 

 lessly on. the spiral smoke as it curled gracefully 

 upwards, my eye chanced to fall upon a toad 



