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KIDD'S LONDON JOURNAL. 



the spot or behold the scenes, which once 

 were the objects of our mutual admiration. 

 Tf divided by distance, the lover indulges 

 reveries of felicity among grand or beautiful 

 scenery, the image of his mistress is imme- 

 diately associated with it ; and, at peace 

 with all the world, he sinks into one Of those 

 silent meditations, which in so powerful a 

 manner expand the faculties of the imagi- 

 nation, and chasten the feelings of the heart. 

 Thus was it with Petrarch. When lie was 

 at Valchiusa, he fancied every tree screened 

 his beloved Laura ; when he beheld any 

 magnificent scene among the Pyrenees, his 

 imagination painted her standing by his side ; 

 in the forest of Ardenne, he heard her in 

 every echo, and when at Lyons, he was 

 transported at the sight of the Rhone, be- 

 cause that majestic river washes the walls 

 of Avignon. " In fact, 1 ' said he, " I may 

 hide myself among woods and rocks and 

 caves ; but no places so wild, so beautiful, 

 or so solitary, but love pursues me at every 

 step." 



ODE TO JULIA. 



WRITTEN AT PONT-ABERGLASSLYN. 



I've rov'd o'er many a mountain wide, 

 And conn'd their charms from side to side ; 

 Seen many a rock aspiring rise, 

 Astonish' d to its native skies; 

 While countless crags appear'd below, 

 All black with shade, or white with snow; 

 These, as I've seen, my heart still true, 

 Trembled— for I thought of you ! 



I've listen'd to the torrent's roar, 



In scenes where man ne'er trod before; 



And, as I've heard the vernal bee 



In sweet delirious ecstacy, 



Make rocks, and caves, and vallies ring, 



Responsive to its murmuring — 



I've bade those scenes and sounds adieu, 

 To dwell in pensive thought on you I 



As on the ocean's shelvy shore, 



I've listen'd to its solemn roar; 



Beset with awful wonders round, 



While sea birds screamed with grating sound, 



And moon majestic from a cloud 



Display'd her front, sublime and proud — 



I've thought how sweet, how far more dear, 

 Those sounds would be were Julia near ! 



In secluded walks, on the banks of rivers, 

 in unfrequented recesses, and in the most 

 savage solitudes, the lover delights to indulge 

 the luxury of meditation. There every 

 scene serves to increase the strength and 

 delicacy of his passion, and all nature dressed 

 in her boldest or most beautiful attire, wears 

 to his imagination 



-"a look of love;" 



While all the tumults of a guilty world, 

 Tos't by ungenerous passions, sink away. 



This, gentle readers, if vou please, is 

 « Love ! " " 



GETTING UP ON COLD MOSHIKGS. 



Some people say it is a very easy thing to 

 get up of a cold morning. Is it? You have 

 only, they tell you, to take the resolution ; 

 and the thing is done. This may be very 

 true ; just as a boy at school has only to take 

 a flogging, and the thing is over. But we 

 have not at all made up our minds upon it ; 

 and we rind it a very pleasant exercise to 

 discuss the matter, candidly, before we get 

 up. This at least is not idling, though it may 

 be lying. It affords an excellent answer to 

 those who ask, how lying in bed can be in- 

 dulged in by a reasoning being, — a rational 

 creature. How ? Why, with the argument 

 calmly at work in one's head, and the 

 clothes over one's shoulder. Oh — it is a 

 fine way of spending a sensible, impartial 

 half-hour ! 



If these people would be more charitable, 

 they would get on with their argument better. 

 But they are apt to reason so ill, and to 

 assert so dogmatically, that one could wish 

 to have them stand round one's bed of a 

 bitter morning, and lie before their faces. 

 They ought to hear both sides of the bed, 

 the inside and out. If they cannot entertain 

 themselves with their own thoughts for half 

 an hour or so, it is not the fault of those 

 who can. 



Candid inquiries into one's decumbency, 

 besides the greater or less privileges to be 

 allowed a man in proportion to his ability of 

 keeping early hours, the work given his 

 faculties, &c, will at least concede their due 

 merits to such representations as the follow- 

 ing. In the first place, says the injured but 

 calm appealer, I have been warm all night, 

 and find my system in a state perfectly 

 suitable to a warm-blooded animal. To get 

 out of this state into the cold, besides the 

 inharmonious and uncritical abruptness of 

 the transition, is so unnatural to such a 

 creature, that the poets, refining upon the 

 tortures of the damned, make one of their 

 greatest agonies consist in being suddenly 

 transported from heat to cold, — from fire to 

 ice. They are "haled" out of their "beds," 

 says Milton, by "harpy-footed furies," — fel- 

 lows who come to call them. On my 

 first movement towards the anticipation of 

 getting up, I find that such parts of the sheets 

 and bolster as are exposed to the air of the 

 room, are stone cold. On opening my eyes, 

 the first thing that meets them is my own 

 breath rolling forth, as if in the open air, like 

 smoke out of a chimney. Think of this 

 symptom. Then I turn my eyes sideways, 

 and see the window all frozen over. Think 

 of that. Then the servant comes in. " It is 

 very cold this morning, is it not ? " — '' Very 

 cold, Sir."—" Very cold indeed, is'nt it ? " 

 — " Very cold indeed, Sir." — " More than 



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