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KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 

own, about “plain” people. We have 
usually found that people called plain, are 
intelligent ; and as frequently,amiable. Nay 
more—when we have been twitted for 
speaking of our “pets” in such high 
terms, we have learnt to regard them as 
“ beautiful.” 
amiability, which illumines the countenance 
of a “‘plain’’ person till it becomes radiant 
as a diamond ! P 
We can afford to be laughed at for such 
sentiments. 
THE WOMEN OF CHINA. 
WE HAVE GIVEN IN ANOTHER COLUMN 
some interesting particulars of the Spanish 
women. Jet us now hear what Mr. Power, 
in his “‘ Recollections of Three Years’ Resi- 
dence in China,” says of the females of 
that country :— 
The wife and daughter of the Chinese farmer 
walk about the world with such feet as it has 
pleased God to give them, and very pretty feet 
and ankles they generally are. Infact, whatever 
want of beauty of feature there may be among 
the Chinese women, no one can deny them the 
merit of remarkably beautiful feet, ankles, hands, 
and arms. Of the rest of the figure one cau 
judge but indifferently, from their peculiar though 
not ungraceful costumes. 
In the country villages the young girls and 
matrons may be seen at their doors, or grouped 
together beneath the trees, or in the yard 
attached to the house, engaged in household or 
farm occupation; laughing the while in merry 
chorus to their work. I have often, from the 
back of my horse, looked over the low walls at 
such a group, but the result was rarely compli- 
mentary; for on some coy damsel suddenly 
catching sight of my Saxon face, she would 
scream an alarm to the rest, who retreated to the 
house with a general screech. On reaching the 
threshold, however, they would generally stop to 
giggle at the object of their fears, on finding him 
not pursuing with savage intent; or sometimes 
the respectable bearded patriarch would take them 
by the shoulders, and in spite of their affected 
resistance, push them all out again into the yard, 
calling jokingly to me at the same time, in some 
incomprehensible gibberish probably, “to eat 
them up.” I flatter myself, however, that I 
was not sufficiently frightful to alarm them very 
much; with a stout wall between, and the whole 
village within call. 
Far different, however, was the case when “ the 
foreign devil” happened to come upon one soli- 
tary matron, pursuing her way from one village 
or farm to the other. Her fears were really ter- 
rible ; and she fled as fast as her legs could carry 
her. If, however, the unprotected female hap- 
pened to be of the small-footed kind, she stag- 
gered off with the aid of her bamboo, till an un- 
lucky trip would usually leave her sprawling on 
the path, or not impossibly in the mud and water 
of a paddy-field. ‘To rush to her assistance was 
the natural impulse; but the approach of the 
So great is the power of 
monster was a signal for the most tremendous 
shrieking, and one could only persevere at the 
risk of throwing the distressed matron into 
hysterics. It was a disagreeable dilemma, but it 
invariably ended in my walking on and leaving 
the lady to scramble out of the mud. in her own 
way. If I had a Chinese attendant with me, I 
usually sent him on to conduct any fair one I 
might meet into a secure bypath, or to assure her 
of the harmlessness of my general character and 
habits. 
It is “ well” that the Chinese women have 
“remarkably beautiful feet, ankles, hands, 
and arms.” Their snub-noses and copper 
faces are not exactly what one could fall in 
love with. 
We believe that only one daughter in 
every family has “ pinched-up” feet. That 
is an honor which is “expensive.” The 
other members run nimbly about to discharge 
their needful domestic duties. 
There can be nothing to admire in little 
feet—made little by the barbarous screw. 
The others, however, may do “ nicely.” 
HOLYROOD. 

Tue moonlight fell like pity o’er the walls 
And broken arches, which the conqueror, Time, 
Had rode unto destruction; the grey moss, 
A silver cloak, hung lightly o’er the ruins ; 
And nothing came upon my soul but soft 
Sad images. And this was once a palace, 
Where the rich viol answered to the lute, 
And maidens flung the flowers from their hair, 
Till the halls swam with perfume: here the dance 
Kept time with light harps, and yet lighter feet ; 
And here the beautiful Mary kept her court, 
Where sighs and smiles made her regality, 
And dreamed not of the long and many years 
When the heart was to waste itself away 
In hope, whose anxiousness was as a curse : 
Here, royal in her beauty and her power, 
The prison and the scaffold, could they be 
But things whose very name was not for her? 
And this now fallen sanctuary, how oft 
Have hymns and incense made it holiness ! 
How oft, perhaps, at the low midnight hour, 
Its once fair mistress may have stolen to pour 
At its pure altar, thoughts which have no vent 
But deep and silent prayer ; when the heart finds 
That it may not suffice unto itself, 
But seeks communion with that other state, 
Whose mystery to it is as a shroud 
strife of thought 
* * * 
But it is utterly changed : 
No incense rises, save some chance wild-flower 
Breathes grateful to the air; no hymn is heard, 
No sound but the bat’s melancholy wings; 
And all is desolate and solitude. 
And thus it is with links of destiny 
Clay fastens on with gold, and none may tell 
What the chain’s next unravelling will be. 
Alas the mockeries in which Fate delights! 
Alas for time !—still more,—alas for change ! 
d Weg ae 
In which it may conceal its 
* 
And find repose 
* % * 

