
212 
were extinguished ; and placed for safety in 
an angular recess up aloft. Some starving 
mouse had nosed these dips; and escaping 
from penance, had in some extraordinary 
manner let himself down, and skeletonised 
them. We saw their anatomies, and mar- 
velled at the sagacity of that mouse. 
There were more curiosities in the church, 
which we need not enter upon. Before 
leaving, it struck us that we would enter the 
pulpit and hold forth. We had a select con- 
eregation, and we wished them to know our 
sentiments. Being our “ first appearance ” 
in rostro, we took a short text, and deli- 
vered it impressively. It was this :— 
‘« Let brotherly love continue.” 
Our congregation felt every word of this 
discourse, and responded affectionately— 
“ Amen!” We will venture to say that 
thousands of sermons have been preached 
much less effectively than this. We left the 
church edified. 
The churchyard is another curiosity, and ex- 
hibits some remarkable epitaphs. There is one 
tomb on which is engraven the following :— 
“In memory of Exizaneta Wess, 
Who died Dee. 8, 1840. 
Then weep not; though thus she hath fled 
In the blossom of beauty and prime; 
The flow’r is transplanted—not dead, 
The sunshine of Heaven is her clime. 
’Twere cruel to pray for her back, 
Since her glorified soul is at rest; 
Then weep not, but follow her track, 
She is gone to the land of the blest!” 
This eulogium, pronounced by the sur- 
viving husband, is racy of its class. ‘lhe 
man, Webb, hated his wife whilst living, and 
beat her black, blue, green, and mahogany— 
all colors. We agree with him, “ ’twere cruel 
to pray for her back;” so far as she would 
be concerned. The wretched man has married 
again. His present wife drinks hard, and he 
does the same. And as for cuffs and blows, 
they are ‘‘at it” together from morning till 
night— swearing, drinking, fighting! 
Another curious document is the inscrip- 
tion on the tomb of a poacher, executed at 
Winchester, March 23, 1822, and buried in 
this “ consecrated ground.” His name was 
Charles Smith. The stone records that “ he 
was executed for resisting by fire-arms his 
apprehension by the gamekeeper of Lord 
Viscount Palmerston, when found in Hough 
Coppice, looking after what ts called ‘ game.’”’ | 
| The hand of Mercy. 
His age is stated as “thirty,” and the final 
remarks are :— 
“Tf thou seest the oppression of the poor, and 
violent perversion of judgment,” &c. We 
marvel much at this, and at several other 
inscriptions, being admitted into the church- 
yard. Discipline, at those times, must have 
been lax indeed! 
KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 





Here we terminate this rambling sketch. 
Had we detailed but a twentieth part of 
what we heard, saw, felt, and enjoyed whilst 
we were out on furlough, we should have 
required one eatra JOUKNAL, at least. 
Suffice it, that we went out happy, and 
returned still happier—more impressed than 
ever with the delights of a country life, and 
amiable, rational society ; and more bitter 
than ever against the manners and habits of 
the horrible city of deception in which we 
labor. 
While we were away, we wore no mask. 
None was wanted. Free as air, we spoke 
our mind, Others did the same. Our dear 
lady-friends, too, wore their bonnets on their 
heads; and dressed as women should dress— 
modestly and becomingly. Being—sad._ to 
say—quite unused to this, we enjoyed, during 
our absence, Heaven upon earth. It recalled 
to our memory 
“The light of other days;” 
and when we parted, it was with the affec- 
tionate determination that we would 
ALL MEET AGAIN! 
thal dad Sil hed oh ac sas BL, at 
A BIRTH-DAY SONG. 
BY HELEN HETHERINGTON. 

Buxss’p be the light that shines upon this day ; 
Calm and serene the peaceful twilight hour: 
Let Nature wear her brightest, richest dress, 
And Joy attune our hearts to “ hymns of praise,— 
Thanksgiving, and the voice of melody Ue 
Then let us mingle, at the throne of grace, 
Our sweetest songs of gratitude and love ;— 
That God has spared thee to behold this day, 
The living still to bless His Holy name 
“ Who hath done all things well.” 
Say,—wilt thou accept 
The blessing of a heart that knows no joy 
But that which brings thee happiness and peace ? 
Oh, let my lips dwell on this gentle theme, 
Hint at the future, whisper words of hope, 
And with congratulations close the day ! 
What greater bliss can cheer my inmost soul, 
Than the assurance Heaven smiles on thee,— 
That God hath bless’d thee ! 
We have known sorrow ; 
Care, too, has crept with “telling” step across 
The path of Life ; and grief has robb’d our hearts 
Of many brilliant scenes of happiness,— 
But in the darkest hour of misery, 
When clouds of bleak despair obscur’d the way, 
A light has beam’d, and we have recognised ~ 
But away with care! 
Joy hails the day, and we will share her smiles. 
Love fills the heart, and ’tis its sweetest task 
To wish thee “ Many, many glad returns 
Or THIS DEAR DAY!” * 

* October 12. 


”~_—COTOCOCOOOO ll ee O00 0 0 aa as 

