270 



KIDD'S LONDON JOURNAL. 



I had been long obtruded upon by duns ; a 

 kind of periodical pestilence with which I am 

 afflicted — until at length, the vehemence of 

 the disorder settled itself down into a con- 

 firmed brace of bailiffs, who kept watch op- 

 posite my house all day long. What do I 

 do, think you ? The street door of my next 

 neighbor is a bright yellow — I steal out in 

 the night and paint it all over a dark green, 

 the color of my own. What is the use of 

 that? you ask; this, Sir, this. The next 

 morning comes the bailiff — I'faith, Sir, keeps 

 a sharp eye on my neighbor's door, and 

 actually lays his electric paw upon the owner 

 ■ — a bank-clerk proceeding into the city ; and 

 in spite of shrieks and asseverations, bears 

 him away from his domestic circle, of which 

 he was so brilliant a segment ; while I march 

 off to my agent, receive my pay, and start 

 into the country without beat of drum." 



" Excellent, indeed. Captain, a most ex- 

 cellent device ; but tell me — why couldn't 

 you have made your escape during the night, 

 without the necessity of the painting pro- 

 cess ? " 



" Oh ! my dear friend, it was not conve- 

 nient, you know — not convenient. By the 

 bye, I met my friend the bank clerk a short 

 time ago." 



" Indeed ? what did he say to the trick 

 you had practised upon him ? " 



"Nothing — nothing in the world; he merely 

 told me never to ' darken ids doors ' again, 

 ha ! ha ! ha ! 



" Your philosophy, I perceive, Sir," said 

 I, " seems to be almost on a par with the 

 fertility of your invention. You are evidently 

 a man of vast mental resources; nothing ap- 

 pears to daunt or to depress you. You have 

 dipped, come now, confess it, you have im- 

 bibed golden maxims of prudence and con- 

 duct from the ancient philosophers ? " 



" Hang the ancient philosophers," quoth 

 the Captain, " a fig for the ancient philosophy 

 — everything I do is unpremeditated ; every- 

 thing I do is the result of 



' A plain heroic magnitude of mind,' 



as the poet says. I don't like those fellows 

 who study philosophy. I remember a friend 

 of mine once invited me to spend a few days 

 with him in the country. Well, Sir, this 

 person was a philosopher, ' a Modern Pytha- 

 gorean,' he called himself— believed nthe 

 transmigration of souls, and all that. It was 

 the shooting season. I walked out one morn- 

 ing with my gun — brought home a pheasant 

 — fine bird as I ever saw in my days. A 

 tremendous uproar took place when I entered 

 the hall with the bird in my fingers. Would 

 you believe it ? the fellow insisted upon it 

 that I had brought clown his grandmother ! 

 pshaw ! don't tell me a word about philoso- 

 phy after that : ha ! ha ! ha ! " 



At this moment, to my great relief — for 

 the wine he had drunk was evidently mount- 

 ing into the Captain's head — the waiter 

 entered, and gave him to understand that 

 the omnibus for the train was at the door. 



" Say you so ? " shouted the Captain, fling- 

 ing the remaining wine down his throat, " then 

 I'll go and besiege the roof of it forthwith. 

 Good night, my dear fellow," seizing me by 

 the hand, " come and see me in London ; 

 Captain Trigger — one of the best fellows in 

 the world — Cyder Cellars, Covent Garden : 

 a glorious knot of us meet there o'nights — 

 don't forget." 



And away went the Captain, leaving me 

 to the vainly-uttered wish, that my pen-and- 

 ink powers of outline were, if only for this 

 one occasion, comparable with the burin of 

 Eetsch — so should the reader be presented 

 with a breathing portraiture of one whose 

 full development might task the powers of a 

 Jonson or a Fletcher. — Brush. 



AN ADDRESS TO NATURE. 



BY JOHN FLINT. 



Gentle Nature, heavenly fair! 

 Oh, how sweet thy pleasures are ! 

 In thy presence while I stay, 

 As a stream Time glides away. 



On thy bosom I could rest, 

 Like the turtle in her nest ; 

 Tasting that sublime repose, 

 He who slights thee never knows. 



Mother! loyely, meek, and, mild, 

 Soothe the passions of thy child ! 

 Line for line, and part for part, 

 Print thine image on my heart ! 



Let me in thy beauties trace ? 

 Him who lends thee every grace ; 

 Raise me to His splendid throne, 

 Thy great Parent — and my own. 



"When His glories in thee shine, 

 When thy face is all divine, — 

 Like a mirror beaming bright, 

 With a soft, celestial light — 



Fount of Light, I look to Thee ! 

 Smile on Nature ! smile on me ! 

 Let thy humble suppliant know 

 Paradise received below! 



• Exercise. — Those who labor for their daily 

 bread are not only the healthiest, but, all things 

 considered, the happiest of mankind. Industry 

 gives them a good appetite, and makes the couch 

 easy to their wearied limbs; while indolence 

 stagnates the current of life, and brings on 

 disease of both mind and body. There is cer- 

 tainly more pleasure in working an hour than 

 in yawning a century. 



