
a damper upon the show of flowers, &c. 
We sorrowed, too, to see so much injury 
done to the dresses of the assembled lady- 
visitors. Costly indeed was their array on 
entering; but we fear it was of little com- 
parative value on their departure.* 
We saw many lovely ankles that were 
wont to repose on velvet, here completely 
immersed in mud and filth—the impending 
drapery presenting a truly pitiable sight; 
whilst shoes and stockings assumed the very 
opposites of black and white. ‘These effects 
were trying to the temper, and added much 
to the length of some hundreds of otherwise 
pretty faces. We could not help fancying 
them arrived ‘“‘at home;” and if the thought 
caused us to remember the funny song of 
“Sich a gittin’ up-stairs! ” (which would 
struggle to escape from our lips, in spite of 
our teeth) perhaps we shall be forgiven under 
the circumstances. We thanked our stars 
WE should not be 
“There to see!” 

* If itis worthy of record (for reference here- 
after ) that, on Wednesday, July 13, it commenced 
raining violently, and that for twenty-four hours 
(almost continuously) the rain never ceased. 
The quantity of water thus poured upon the land 
was enormous. The damage done thereby was, 
we imagine, incalculable. Whole acres of grass 
were literally washed away; the fields resembled 
ponds; some gave an idea of the expansive 
ocean. As for strawberries, raspberries, and 
other summer fruit, the flavor seems to have al- 
together left them. Still did our English ladies 
shew their indomitable spirit, where ‘“ Fashion” 
was in question. There was to be a grand field- 
day at Chobham on the 14th of July. According- 
ly, the desire “to be seen” far outweighed the 
drawback to enjoyment by going there through 
cataracts of water. Carriages out of number, 
well filled with extravagantly-dressed women, 
passed our window at an early hour. Some of 
the carriages were “‘open;” others, partially 
closed. Ofcourse, the rain drifted in at every 
corner. No matter! The cry, for several hours, 
was, ‘‘ still they come!” 
Stage coaches, omnibuses, chaises, and barouches, 
all crowded on—heavily laden with the devotees 
of Fashion! Women were by far the most nu- 
merous; and many of these (poor souls!) were 
when we saw them (only four miles from London) 
halfdrenched with rain. As for the gentlemen, 
they resembled half-drowned rats. Their cigars 
would not burn; their summer dress would not 
shield them. Their faces were “ long,” indeed ! 
As we withdrew from the window, we found 
ourself incontinently humming— 

“There’s no place like Home !” 
Hugging this sentiment, we discussed a more 
_ than usually interesting breakfast—marvelling 
_ the while whether the world was mad or not. To 
risk one’s life, to witness the game of “ playing 

_ very! 

KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 

_ at soldiers” on a soaking wet day, looks “odd” — 
35 

We are bad hands at stemming a storm, and 
invariably retreat when we observe the 
mercury rising. ‘ Poor Maria”’ is the vic- 
tim. But then she is‘ used” to it. Ladies’- 
maids must not be ‘ particular to a shade,” 
—or a substance. 
But if July dawned inauspiciously, it never- 
theless brought in its train its usual lovely 
attendants. When in Hampshire—the month 
previous, we had seen certain roses in bud; 
and admired their undeveloped but gradually - 
expanding beauties whilst reposing in their 
native beds. Our eye dwelt fondly upon 
them, and we believe our thoughts found 
utterance. Be that as it may, the very kind | 
lady whose guest we were, had determined 
that we should see those roses again—and 
how improved in fragrance! Sucha gather- 
ing of those lovely, blushing heads, are now 
gracing our room! and oh, the richness of 
their aromatic breath! What a picture of 
beauty are we gazing upon—each pretty face 
more winning if possible than its near 
neighbor; yet all so charming! Let us 
again say, Oh, Nature—how we love thee ! 
We must not dwell upon the many delights 
of the past month. No pen can do justice 
to—not even give an idea of what has been 
visible in the gardens, the fields, and the 
hedge-rows. We have revelled in wild 
flowers. We have listened in ecstacy to the 
flute-like strains of our much-loved little 
friend, the Black-cap, who seems determined 
to sing to the very last. We have also heard 
the serenely happy Black-bird, pouring out 
an occasional note of melody from a lofty 
tree. Nor have the thrush, robin, little wren, 
and others, been wanting to complete the 
harmony of a rural ramble. 
Buried deeply in woodland scenery—far 
away from noise and tumult, who so happy 
aswe? And when we find a companion, re- 
joicing in the same pursuits, worshipping at 
the same altar, loving the same objects, and 
sharing our undivided heart—what would we 
more? These pleasures cost nothing —there- 
fore are they lightly esteemed. 
But we are now in AuaustT. This isa 
month when our pleasures will have a large 
increase; for we cannot but see how quietly 
Nature is “ perfecting”’ the work of her lovely 
hands. Whilst all animal life is everywhere 
happy,—some creatures basking in the sun, 
others retreating into the shade; the fields 
are becoming “ white unto harvest,” and the 
fruits of the earth are fast ripening. Now is 
the time for the mind to expand. Business 
and toil become distressingly irksome. The 
aching head refuses to work. The dull brain 
is unwilling to be over-taxed. The splutter- 
ing pen refuses to be mended. The pale- 
faced ink will not flow. Ideas become con- 
fused. Subjects requiring thought, cannot 
be attempted. If commenced, the whole is 


