328 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



TO CORRESPONDENTS. 



Phrenology foe the Million will be continued next 



week. 

 C. H., and others.— A General Index will be prepared 



at the end of the year. 

 Communications Received. — J. Newton ; thanks ; it will 



be useful. — S, H., Totnes. In our next.— W. B. H. In 



No. 22. Apply for J. A. B.'s address, at 24, Great St. 



Andrew Street. — F. P. P. P. The Hedgehog, &c, 



shall appear soon. 



Correspondents sending in any " facts" connected with 

 Science or Natural History, are requested in every 

 case to append their names and places of abode. In no 

 instance, however, will their names be published with- 

 out their express sanction. 



Private Letters. — Of these we daily receive such 

 immense quantities, that we must really beg the 

 writers to excuse our not replying to them ; our time 

 being overwhelmingly occupied with Public duties. 



To obtain this Paper without any difficulty, our readers 

 need only order it to be sent to them by any of their 

 local Booksellers or Newsvendors. It is published 

 simultaneously with all the other weekly periodicals. 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



Saturday, May 22, 1852. 



In A recent number, we commented 

 upon the universally-pleasant green every- 

 where prevailing throughout Nature ; and we 

 urged upon our readers the necessity of 

 enjoying it while itlasted ; for alas ! too well 

 know we that its duration is but short ! 



Following our instructions to others, we 

 ourselves, a few evenings since, took a lovely 

 stroll in the " meadows of Chiswick" — those 

 more particularly towards the river, at the 

 rear of the Duke of Devonshire's rural 

 mansion. Oh ! how exquisite here was the 

 perfume of flowers ; how delightful the music 

 from a thousand happy voices in the trees 

 and hedges ; how soft to the feet the nodding 

 plumes of velvet grass ; how amiable the 

 bashful buttercups amongst which we wan- 

 dered. Buttercups ! but no — we will not 

 be selfish ; let Eliza Cook sing their praises. 

 Hearken, ye lovers of Nature, to the sweet 

 minstrel of the meadows ; and away with 

 you, with all fairy lightness, to the scene 

 Avhile it tarries. 



Hail, all hail, thou beautiful season of 

 buttercups ! thrice beautiful in thy timid 

 gentleness, thy confiding innocence, and thy 

 fulness of rich promise ! Welcome, fragrant 

 season of slanting sunbeams, fresh birthtime 

 of yellow flowers ! When the dear children 

 go with hearts full of spring-time, and hopes 

 yet in the unfolding bud — searching for the 

 snow-flakes and the spangles, the daisies 

 and the buttercups, which they think 

 Heaven has let fall as manna ; then, wearied 

 with prattle, to loiter home, in twos and 

 threes, laden with their flowery spoils, to lie 

 and dream all night of worlds made of 

 flowers, and people with yellow faces and 

 white daisy eyes, and yellow hair, walking 

 upon yellow ground, on which there is not 



room to tread without crushing the butter- 

 cups. 



Welcome, bright birthday of flowers and 

 song ! soft season of verdurous freshness, 

 bringing back the growth and glory of the 

 world, and filling manhood's heart with 

 dreams of boyhood, and the fairy pictures of 

 the past ! 



Welcome, season of buttercups and soft 

 gales that kiss the cheek with coolness ! 

 When the honeysuckle peeps in for the first 

 time at the open window ; when we venture 

 out once more with heads uncovered, and 

 watch the sparrows as they flutter round the 

 ivy ; and forgetting hawks and cats, imagine 

 their life a more joyous one than our own. 

 When the hills come nearer to us with their 

 fresh green flanks, and the wild woods 

 warble with a full heart's song. When the 

 bare branches wake from the night of winter 

 to the morning of spring, to peep at the 

 buttercups and blades of light green grass 

 that cluster round their knees. And then, 

 watching the amber bars of the East, as the 

 old sun climbs the slope of Heaven — so wink 

 and blink in the glare of the sunlight, that 

 tears start from their eyes, and form thou- 

 sands of yellow drops, which take root on 

 every spray and twig, and form their summer 

 coat of leaves ! 



Beautiful, fresh season ! Sanctified at thy 

 shrine of flowers by all the little birds that 

 woo and wed in the branches, by all the new 

 buds which break into emerald greenness ; 

 by all the dreamy bees which sail singing 

 after luscious honey : by all the milch kine 

 that breathe a " smell of dairy," and wallow, 

 knee deep in the new grass ; and by every 

 milkmaid whose cheek blushes with the rose 

 of health, whose breath is ever like the mea- 

 dowy breeze of June, and who makes her 

 hand hard with labor, and her cheek soft with 

 pity ! 



Welcome, sweet season of buttercups! 

 welcome ! 



Amen ! say we ; both on our own account, 

 and on behalf of our readers. Be there not 

 another moment wasted, but let us all — to the 

 fields away ! 



ORIGINAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



More Cruelty to Animals ; Poisoned Wheat for 

 the Destruction of Birds ! — Dear Mr. Editor, let 

 me entreat you to publish the pamphlet I here- 

 with send you, on the above subject. [The 

 pamphlet is written by the husband of our fair 

 Correspondent, and is addressed to young people, 

 —calling their attention to the acts of cruelty 

 inflicted upon poor little birds by administering 

 poison to them in the form of food. It does infi- 

 nite credit to the writer and the sender. It 

 appears, a chemist at Guernsey advertised and 

 sold this poisoned wheat. His shop has since 

 been closed ; and he has himself vanished. Cruel 



