352 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



SUMMER IS NIGH. 



The richest of perfumes and jewels are mine, 

 While the dog-roses blow and the dew- 

 spangles shine ; 

 And the softest of music is waken'd for me, 

 By the stream o'er the pebble — the wind in 



the tree. 

 Nature, kind mother, my heart is content 

 With the beauty and mirth thou hast lavishly 



sent : 

 Sweet Summer is nigh, and my spirit leaps 



high, 

 As the sun travels farther along the blue sky. 



If I murmur, it is that my home is not made 



•Mid the flowers and drops in the green 

 coppice shade ; 



If I sigh, 'tis to think that my steps cannot 

 stray 



With the breeze and the brook on their wan- 

 dering way. 



Nature, kind mother, I long to behold 



All the glories thyblossom-ring'd fingers unfold. 



None like thee can I meet, for all others will 

 cheat, 



With a portion of bitter disguised in the sweet. 



The earth, the wide earth, will be beautiful soon, 

 With the cherry-bloom wreath and the night- 

 ingale's tune ; 

 And the dreams without sleep with strange 



magic will come, 

 While the wood-pigeons coo, and the honey 



bees hum. 

 Oh, Nature, kind mother, 'tis only thy breast 

 That can nurse my deep feeling and lull it to 



rest. 

 For my soul is too proud to be telling aloud 

 What to thee it can utter all weeping and bow'd. 



I see the rife buds on the wide-spreading 

 bough ; 



Soon, soon they will shadow my thought- 

 laden brow. 



I see the bright primroses burst where I stand, 



And I laugh like a child as they drip in 

 my hand. 



Nature, kind mother, thou hearest me breathe 



My devotion at altars where wild flowers 

 wreathe ; 



None other e'er knows how my warm bosom 

 glows, 



As I watch the young daisy-fringe open 

 and close. 



I see the blue violets peep from the bank; 

 I praise their Creator — I bless and I thank — 

 And the gossamer insect at play in the beam 

 Is an atom that bids me adore the Supreme. 

 Nature, kind mother, my heart is content 

 With the beauty and mirth thou hast lavishly 



sent. 

 Sweet summer is nigh, and my spirit leaps 



high, 

 As the sun travels farther along the blue sky. 



Eliza Cook. 



OUR NEW " TITLE." 



(See "Punch," May 15.) 



Our noble, witty, and good-tempered friend, 

 Punch, has conferred on us a Title that will stick 

 to us, we imagine, through life. May it never 

 bring us into trouble! Go where we may, turn 

 which way we will, a whisper follows us, — " that's 

 dear Mr. Kidd ! " 



This " taking title," as the booksellers word 

 it, emanates, be it known, from Miss Violet, the 

 reigning heroine of one of Punch's romances of 

 real life. She is anxious, it appears, to engage 

 us as private tutor,— not for her boys (she has 

 none yet), but for her canaries. She vows, "as 

 we write so delightfully about birds," that she 

 " will make her papa engage us into the family, 

 provided we ' go out.' " Excellent ! 



Now, as Miss Violet is at Brighton, and seems 

 a nice affectionate little puss, with winning 

 ways, we feel almost inclined to accept a short 

 engagement for her sake,— for she is besieged, 

 we observe, by that horrible sleek sinner, Ichabod 

 Blare. We know the fellow, well ; and should 

 like to meet him face to face, in order that we 

 might cudgel him. " His Keverence," the shep- 

 herd, is however in good hands; for Punch knows 

 him as intimately as we do. Poor little " Ju- 

 jube !" What a narrow escape hadst thou from 

 this Stiggins' umbrella! When we come down 

 to teach thee to talk, thy first lesson shall be 

 to call us, "Dear Mr. Kidd," and the second 

 lesson to dub Ichabod Blare " a canting old 

 rogue." Thou shalt excel in both. 



Origin of Brandy. 



Brandy, man's bitterest curse, is supposed to 

 have been invented by Raymundus Lullius, the 

 famous alchymist, who died in the year 1315. 

 Charles the Bad, King of Navarre, came to a 

 most horrible end, says Mezerey, who, to restore 

 his strength, weakened by debauchery, was 

 wrapped in sheets steeped in eau de vie, or 

 brandy. His valet, by accident, set fire to them ; 

 after the third day he died in the most dreadful 

 tortures. If we were to tell one half we know 

 about what Brandy has done, even in our own 

 remembrance, we should fill a volume. It is a 

 fearful discovery, and far more mischievous than 

 gunpowder. The number of victims that it slays 

 in a year, it has been found impossible to calcu- 

 late. Yet is it worshipped at our tables by day ; 

 and parted from reluctantly at night ! 



NOTICE. 



Vice. — Though Heaven should not know, and 

 men should not punish, — yet let us not commit 



it ; SO MEAN A THING IS VICE. 



OUR FIRST QUARTERLY VOLUME 

 (With Index, Title Page and Preface), 



Price 2s. 6d. cloth lettered, post-free 3s., 

 IS NOW READY. Also Part V., price 7d. 



London : Published for William Kidd, by William 

 Spooner, 379, Strand, (to whom all Letters, Parcels, 

 and Communications, Addressed to "the Editor," 

 and Books for Review, are to be forwarded) ; and 

 Procurable, by order, of every Bookseller and News- 

 vendor in the Kingdom. Agents: Dublin, Edward Mil- 

 liken ; Edinburgh, John M enzies ; Glasgow, Murray 

 and Son. 



London : M. S. Myers, Printer, 22, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, 



