KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



361 



and luxuriant fertility ! Lovely, most lovely 

 are the variegated fruit-blossoms — the beau- 

 teous cradles of the little germs which are soon 

 to ripen into those colored and sunny balls 

 ■which shall bowdown the branches in autumn! 

 Beautiful are the gay inhabitants of the 

 garden ! 



Rose of the morning! in thy glorious beauty 

 Bright as the stars, and delicate and lovely : 

 Lift up thy head above thy earthly dwelling, 

 Daughter of Heaven ! 



Look too at yon gorgeous and queen-like 

 rose, and at purity's emblem — the fair lily. 

 See how gracefully bends the lofty and 

 clustering lilac ; whilst the fringed pink, the 

 lowly hearts-ease, the rainbow-headed tulip, 

 and many others equally beautiful, call forth 

 our admiration at every turn. Nor must we 

 pass over in silence the climbing and odorous 

 honeysuckle. See how it adorns the object 

 by which it is supported, entwining its 

 delicate arms affectionately around it — lovely 

 and apt emblem of the devotedness and fond 

 affection of Woman ! 



But beautiful as our brilliant and cultivated 

 flowers are — and we could dwell on their 

 beauties for ever — beauty is not confined to 

 them alone. Do not the hedgerow, the field, 

 the river's brink, indeed every spot that is 

 accessible to the silver shower or the creative 

 sunbeam, fill us with sensations of constant 

 delight ? Are the exquisite flowers of the 

 wild violet, blue and white, inferior to any 

 of their more favored brethren in a state of 

 cultivation? Is there no beauty in an 

 asphodel ? Does not the simple and modest 

 daisy, which gems the fields and the lawns 

 almost throughout the entire year, call forth 

 our admiration? Aye, and has not the 

 meadow, as we lately sang, its golden wealth 

 of cowslips and buttercups ; the hedge its 

 hawthorn; and the heath its blue-bells? And 

 have we not one word for the lichens and the 

 mosses ? Low as they may rank in the scale 

 of excellence, yet do they' clothe the most 

 desolate places, and they are replete both 

 with sweetness and beauty. 



But we must stay our hand here ; not, how- 

 ever, without entreating our readers to make 

 good use of this lovely month. Above all 

 things, let them rise early, and watch the 

 light breath of morn waking the slumbering 

 leaves; listening betimes to the mounting 

 lark, as he springs from the sullen earth, and 

 welcomes with his hymns the coming day. 



What a picture is the rising sun — the 

 generating sun ! How do the trees, the woods, 

 the fields, and the distant hills, burst into 

 sudden light ! Quickly up-curled is the dusky 

 mist from the shining river. Quickly is the 

 cold dew drunk from the raised heads of the 

 drooping flowers ! 



Young maids and old maids, young men 

 and old men—" up " and away ! 



ORIGINAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



Some very remarkable " Facts,' ' completely 

 establishing the Amiability of the "Hen" Robin. — 

 "Sutjm cuique!" dear Mr. Editor; or "Ilender 

 unto Csesar," &c» Forgive me for seeking your 

 friendship under the guise of Latin ; but, feeling 

 some mauvaise honte, or maiden diffidence at 

 " coming out" in print, — I knew I must do some- 

 thing not exactly in the "common way." Don't be 

 alarmed at my Latin, pray ; nor imagine I am a 

 blue-stocking, — oh, no ; no ; no ! I found the 

 Latin inside one of my brother's books; and he 

 told me it signified that nobody had any right 

 to steal it, as it was his own property. This little 

 confession enables me to go on, and in the words 

 of "Punch's" heroine, Miss Violet, to call you 

 " dear Mr. Kidd !" [Our breath is short, — our 

 pulse beats 1,000 to the minute. What will 

 become of us, ere the Summer is past? Mais 

 rtimporte. The wind is in the west, and we will 

 " brave it all."] You say at p. 287 of your 

 immortal Journal, that " the milk of human 

 kindness that once ran in your veins is dried up 

 forever.'' I don't believe it. It is impossible! 

 That you have been grossly ill-used by that par- 

 venu, John Tuthill, is true ; but you shall find 

 that humanity is not so black as you will have it 

 to be. Perhaps you will say, — who am I? Be 

 patient; all in good time "dear Mr. Kidd!" 

 At all events, I am not one of those fair crea- 

 tures whom you deem " a peg" at page 30 of 

 your Journal. No; I dress " becomingly;" 

 disdain the caprices of modern fashion; and am 

 what you say you delight in — " a practical Lady 

 Gardener." You should only just see me when 

 at work among my flowers, and arranging my 

 lovely parterre ! My heart is in my studies ; 

 and, I repeat it, I wish you could see me ! 

 [Oh ! how we wish it also ! ! Could our pen but 

 speak, — but it can't.] Well; after this long 

 preface to win your favor, I will at once try your 

 good temper. I have taken the nest of a Robin, 

 full of young ones ! ! Having made the confes- 

 sion, my mind is easy; let me trust yours is 

 also. [Fair tempter ! It is well that you are an 

 extra-ordinary Correspondent, or our " fixed 

 principles" would be eradicated. They " totter" 

 already; but go on.] But, to my little anec- 

 dote; for I feel now, my heart is yours. [We 

 anticipate an early attack of delirium tremens .'] 

 Early this spring, a hen robin (such a love !) 

 between whom and myself a strict intimacy has 

 subsisted for years, — took me into the fondest 

 confidence as to her proposed future movements. 

 (I should first name, that my house has ever been 

 her home, summer and winter.) She brought in 

 successively moss, dry leaves, fibres of roots, 

 and horse hair; and with these, when exhibited, 

 she flew into the garden (trying to coax me to 

 follow her) to construct a nest. In saying that 

 she showed me all these materials, as she brought 

 them in her bill, I wish to be literally under- 

 stood. I was too near-sighted to observe them 

 myself, in the first instance; but she used so 

 many artful ways to engage my attention, that 

 she made me see what she was doing. Sometimes 

 she would perch on the bough of a lilac, close to 

 the walk where I passed; hopping on the ground, 

 taking up, laying down, and selecting whatever 



