
10 KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 

ENGLISH ABOMINATIONS. 
THE AGAPEMONE. 

Mownast’RIES AND ConveENts are disgraceful, 
Unnat’ral Institutions,—by honest nature censur’d, 
spurn’d, 
Repudiated. Fore’d institutions, 
Engendering sentiments unworthy 
Of mankind, pisGRAcEFUL to the Christian. 
W. PEACE. 
THE RECENT OUTCRY by men of inte- 
grity, against convents and other similar 
establishments, has no doubt been strength- 
ened by the filthy doings that from time to 
time become known through the public news- 
papers. Sly as the “‘keepers” of these in- 
stitutions may be and are, still little inklings 
of their misdoings will, providentially, ooze 
out occasionally. Hence the alarm among 
the truly upright. 
Beginning at Exeter, and travelling north- 
ward, had we a second Asmodeus amongst 
us he would doubtless show us scenes which 
would make “each particular hair’ on our 
head ‘‘to stand on end.” However, it seems 
these matters are from policy to be ‘ hushed 
up.” ‘This is sad indeed; but as we might 
perhaps, by too close an inquiry, only add 
to the present secresy observed, and so 
injure some of the innocent indwellers, we 
will not assist in multiplying their sorrows. 
May God protect them! say we. 
The Agapemone, or Abode of Love, is at 
all events fair game. The impieties practised 
here, are but too well known; and yet 
nobody interferes with them. We have from 
time to time read public statements of their 
practices which even in France, or in any other 
country but England, would have brought 
down upon the impious ruler of this infernal 
den condign punishment. Yet, there must 
be no inquiry! of course not. Are we living 
in a state of civilisation ? we think not. 
The recent account of the Agapemone, 
or the Abode of Love, as detailed by the 
Sherborne Journal, must not disfigure our 
columns. Surely not. We wouldrnot dare 
to print the blasphemous assumptions of 
Mr. Prince. What is going on within his 
walls may be readily conceived; nay, it 
appears to be no secret. Yet do his neigh- 
bors become reconciled to his propinquity, 
and grow ‘‘ used”’ to his practices! If WE 
lived near him,—but let him be thankful that 
we don’t. 
“Oh shame! where is thy blush?” 
All who wish well to virtue, and who depre- 
cate the incarceration of amiable women 
with a view to making them ‘“ devout’—a 
species of philosophy we have often tried 
vainly to comprehend, should exert them- 
selves to put down these evils. If not, 
people will talk ; fathers will fear; mothers 
will tremble. Surely the sacrifice of a pure- 
minded maiden should not be so very lightly 
esteemed as it is! 

HARK! ’TIS THE VOICE OF SUMMER. 
BY HELEN HETHERINGTON. 
————. 
Harx! ’tis the voice of Summer 
Breathing soft melody, — 
Softly its accents murmur, 
Far over land and sea; 
Merrily carolling through the trees, 
Or whispering low to the passing breeze. 
Gaily her laugh is ringing 
O’er many a rocky pile, 
And gentle flow’rets springing, 
Glean beauty from her smile. 
Swiftly the sounds o’er the waters steal, 
And sunbeams dance to the merry peal. 
Lightly her foot is tripping 
Over the mountain heath ; 
Or with gay flowers skipping, 
She weaves a rosy wreath ; 
And ever and anon she strays 
Where dew-drops glisten on the sprays. 
Now on the velvet turf 
Her steps at twilight roam ; 
Then, dashing thro’ the surf, 
She seeks her ocean home. 
But ere the moon rides in the sky, 
She sings the sun’s sweet lullaby. 
E’en when she rose to kiss 
The mountain’s fiery tip, 
Fair roses craved the bliss— 
And from her gentle lip 
They claimed their exquisite perfume, 
And bore away its lovely bloom. 
Hark! ’tis the voice of Summer 
Calls thee from toil and care, 
To welcome each new comer 
That blooms to call her fair. 
Go, watch the dawn glide o’er the lea ; 
There nature holds her revelry ! 
Go where she smiles to bless, 
With love and beauty crown’d ; 
She wears her bridal dress, 
And flowers bestrew the ground. 
Oh, many a rare and brilliant gem 
Is sparkling from her diadem ! 
Go bathe thy grief-worn face, 
Where dew-drops deck the sod ; 
Bow with true Christian grace, 
And worship Nature’s God. 
Earth doth His wondrous works declare, 
AND HEAVEN PROCLAIM THAT GOD Is THERE ! 
HOPES. 

“On, boy! why seek’st thou with such care 
Those bubbles of the sea? 
Thy touch but frees the prison’d air.”— 
“Ym gathering Hopes,” saith he. 
“ Old man! why in that shatter’d bark 
Dost tempt this troubled sea, 
Without a compass, rudder, mark ?’’— 
‘Tm following Hope,” saith he. 

