KIDD'S OWN JOUKNAL. 



409 



less. It becomes mysteriously agitated, in 

 expectation of "a fee; 1 ' and lie " takes it" 

 with the best grace he can. Poetry and 

 prose come here painfully into contact. Yet 

 could not our professional friend live without 

 these little shining coins. "Business is busi- 

 ness," says Franklin. 



We confess " the fee" is an unpleasant 

 affair. Could we afford it, — we cannot ; we 

 would willingly write for nothing. Our life 

 should be one wide expanse of poetry. But 

 this is against Nature's law ; and we must all 

 admit that " the laborer is worthy of his 

 hire." 



The advantage gained by the proposed al- 

 teration, will be, — an addition to the quantity 

 of matter. We shall also print from new and 

 elegant types. When bound, each future vo- 

 lume will certainly have a more handsome 

 appearance ; and it will more strictly resemble 

 a library -book. 



As regards the general arrangement of the 

 subjects introduced, — this we shall not alter. 

 Everybody seems so well pleased with it now, 

 that we see no good reason for making any 

 change. Constant variety has been our aim, 

 combined with instruction ; and to this we 

 shall still adhere. 



Valuable materiel on all kinds of interesting 

 subjects has so encreased upon us, that we 

 feel our Miscellany must be more than ever 

 sought after when it becomes better known. 

 Our readers are now conversant with the bent 

 of our mind — with the one object of our 

 sleeping and waking thoughts. Our pen will 

 henceforward have its full sway. We are 

 aware of our growing power ; and will exer- 

 cise it for the public good. 



One word more. If our present subscribers 

 like our company — and we have voluminous 

 evidence that they do — let them kindly cling 

 to us. They shall lose nothing by it. Their 

 adhesion to us will in less than six months 

 stop an actual loss. Our own labor will, of 

 course, still be gratuitous. If our good 

 friends will reflect but one moment, they 

 will see how reasonable is our argument. 



A prospect of Hope and Fear lies before 

 us. If Love be added, we think the " Good 

 Ship ' Honesty' " may yet sail proudly into 

 port. Faith shall, at all events, be our 

 captain. 



So " Hurrah, boys ! 



Crowd all sail!" 



We are old enough to remember, 

 when Christmas was very different indeed to 

 what it is now. 



The " waits" were in those days " musi- 

 cians." If your slumbers were broken in 

 upon, it was that your ear might be at- 

 tuned to the sweetest of love-strains. Echo 

 took up the " refrain," and you might ima- 

 gine yourself in fairy-land. Now, — but we 

 won't mention it. 



The folks, too, who came round for their 

 " Boxes," were quite different creations to 

 what they are now. The " only true and 

 veritable dustman" has long since sunk to 

 his rest. " The gentleman," too, " who 

 swept your " chimbleys reg'lar." — he also 

 has passed away. The " bellman," and how 

 many others? — all, all are lost to sight. We 

 are becoming unkind ; and actually trying to 

 " do" our Postmen — God bless those emis- 

 saries of good news! — out of their well and 

 hard-earned gratuity at Christmas! These 

 are not pleasing " signs of the times;" and 

 we set our face boldly against such hard- 

 heartedness. 



We do not know how it is; but when these 

 particular seasons come round, our heart 

 seems naturally to melt. The feelings are 

 not sought after; they are self- existing. 

 From this — we are an oddity! — we augur 

 that they ought to be listened to ; especia ly 

 as they make us so inclined to " love one 

 another." We talk in this strain occasion- 

 ally, at Christmas, and at Midsummer ; and 

 also at other festive seasons. Our senti- 

 ments, however, find little echo. We must 

 live on, singular as ever — resting only on 

 the love of those " choice few " whom we so 

 dearly delight to honor. 



Yet would we kindly slip in one little 

 word to-day, by way of remembrance. No 

 doubt we shall, most of us, be snugly en- 

 sconced at some hospitable board ; well cared 

 for, wanting for nothing. We shall be warm 

 and comfortable — " merry," and, let us hope, 

 " wise." Whilst we are so blessed, there 

 will be many — their numbers countless — 

 totally unprovided for. Without either food, 

 shelter, or clothing, these poor creatures will 

 see on every hand what it is forbidden them 

 to taste, touch, or handle. They are fashioned 

 like ourselves ; suffer hunger and pain in 

 like degree ; and are objects for real pity. 

 We would just hint that the " wants " of 

 some of them might be taken into gentle con • 

 sideration, before we sit down and quite forget 

 that such people exist ; and that they 

 scarcely have where to lay their heads for 

 the night. This by the way. 



To give some little idea of what Christmas 

 formerly was, we subjoin a few interesting 

 remarks from Hervey's "Book of Christ- 

 mas :" — 



From the first introduction of Christianity 

 into these islands, the period of the Nativity seems 

 to have been kept as a season of festival, and its 

 observance recognised as a matter of state. The 

 Witenagemots of our Saxon ancestors, were held 

 under the solemn sanction and beneficent influ- 

 ence of the time; and the series of high festivities 

 established by the Anglo-Saxon kings, appear to 

 have been continued with yearly increasing 

 splendor, and multiplied ceremonies under the 

 monarchs of the Norman race. From the court, 

 the spirit of revelry descended, by all its thou- 



