KIDD'S LONDON JOURNAL. 



13 



The Keepsake. 



The tedded hay, the first-fruits of the soil, 

 The tedded hay and corn sheaves in one field, 

 Show summer gone, ere come. The foxglove 



tall 

 Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gust, 

 Or when it bends beneath the up-springing lark, 

 Or mountain -finch alighting. And the rose 

 (In vain the darling of successful love) 

 Stands, like some boasted beauty of past years, 

 The thorns remaining and the flowers all gone! 

 Nor can I find, amid my lonely walk 

 By rivulet, or spring, or wet road-side, 

 That blue and bright-eyed flow'ret of the brook, 

 Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not! 

 So will not fade the flowers which Emmeline, 

 With delicate fingers, on the snow-white silk 

 Has work'd (the flower which most she knew I 



lov'd) 

 And, more beloved than they, her auburn hair. 



In the cool morning twilight, early waked 

 By her full bosom's joyous restlessness, 

 Leaving the soft bed to her sleeping sister> 

 Softly she rose; and lightly stole along 

 Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower, 

 Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning 



breeze, 

 Over their dim fast-moving shadoAVS hung — 

 Making a quiet image of disquiet 

 In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool. 

 There, in that bower where first she owned her 



love, 

 And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy 

 From off her glowing cheek, she sat and stretch'd 

 The silk upon the frame, and work'd her name 

 Between the Moss-rose and Forget-me-not — 

 Her own clear name ! with her own auburn hair ! 

 That forc'd to wander till sweet spring return, 

 I yet might ne'er forget her smile, her look, 

 Her voice (that even in her mirthful mood 

 Has made me wish to steal away and weep), 

 Nor yet the entrancement of that maiden kiss 

 With which she promised that when spring 



return'd, » 



She would resign one-half of that dear name, 

 And own thenceforth no other name than mine ! 



COLEKIDGE. 



THE TWELFTH-CAKE. 



Young kings and queens, to every house, 

 The jolly twelfth-cake brings ; * 



And all around the merry board 

 Are happier far than kings. 



There is always an infusion of heartfelt 

 glee and young life into the whole family 

 upon those occasions, which are regarded as 

 more particularly jubilees of direct and posi- 

 tive enjoyment for the younger branches ; 

 and in those lightings -up anew of the lamp 

 of life in themselves, parents receive the 

 sweetest reward for those attentions which na- 

 ture so strongly prompts them to bestow upon 

 their offspring, and which are in fact nothing- 

 more than an equitable return for what the 

 parents themselves received from a former 



generation. It is thus that society becomes 

 the type or the copy of the life of a judi- 

 cious and happy individual, by the succes- 

 sion of generations in the one, being linked 

 together in the same bonds of pleasurable 

 feeling as a succession of days is in the 

 other. Gratitude for the past and hope in 

 the future, are the best foundations of pre- 

 sent enjoyment and future improvement ; 

 and when glachiess of the heart can thus be 

 made a constant companion in the path of 

 life, it is truly astonishing how sweet and 

 flowery that path becomes ! 



Nor is there any better arrangement in 

 domestic society than that this grand annual 

 infusion of young life should take place at 

 the commencement of the new year. Every 

 year has of course its cares ; for care is not 

 only inseparable from the lot of man, but 

 " taking care " forms no small item in the 

 aggregate of human wisdom. Care is how- 

 ever only for the present execution and the 

 future plan, and the moment that it becomes 

 a care of yesterday, we should leave it be- 

 hind and forget it, as useless and unprofit- 

 able. Hence it is wise that there should be 

 some period of the year at which the whole 

 of its cares should be sent to " the tomb of 

 all the Capulets ;" so that we may start anew 

 in the course of life, with all our energies 

 and all our hopes full and fresh upon us. 

 We can do this more completely, just as 

 the old year is closing and the new one 

 opening, than we can at any other season. 

 This is the time when all nature around us 

 makes the most profound pause. The last 

 leaf has fallen, not one bud has begun to 

 swell, and so much do living creatures par- 

 take in this cessation of activity, that not a 

 sparrow on the house-top will so much as 

 chirp. _ There is therefore nothing around us 

 to entice our attention, and we are left far 

 more to each other for enjoyment than at 

 any other time of the year. 



But this has had its effect not only in 

 those out-door occupations which depend 

 upon the seasons, but in the in-door labours 

 upon which there can be supposed to be little 

 seasonal influence. Previous to Christmas, 

 every one whips and spurs to have all 

 matters brought to an issue ; and then, who 

 would think of entering upon a new project 

 in business, or taking[a journey ; or in short, 

 beginning anything calculated to occupy the 

 attention, until the twelfth-cake has been 

 divided ? — and as this lapse of twelve clays is 

 the grand sabbath of the year, it is wonder- 

 ful how much, meantime, the tone of the 

 mind and the vigour of the body may be 

 strengthened. 



One of the main causes of this renovation 

 unquestionably consists in the blending of 

 all ranks and ages at this particular season. 

 During the months of toil and labour, each 



