

KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 

I WOULD NOT WISH THEE BACK, MY BOY! 
BY HELEN HETHERINGTON. 

"Twas sweet to see the placid smile 
That graced thy features e’en in death; 
For pleasure seem’d to reign awhile, 
Though Heaven had claim’d thy parting breath. 
But oh, could fortune spread her store 
Of wealth, and all her powers employ 
Life’s brightest prospects to ensure— 
I would not wish thee back, my boy. 
Thrice happy child! no more shall care 
Or sorrow reign within thy breast ; 
Oh, how I long thy bliss to share, 
To dwell with thee, for ever blest ! 
Thy fond remembrance claims my tears, 
For thou wert all my hope,—my joy; 
But Heaven has spared thy mother’s fears, 
I would not wish thee back, my boy ! 
Misfortune thou wilt nover know, 
Nor feel the pangs of hunger sore ; 
I would not have thee share my woe, 
In Heaven, my child, thou’lt weep no more. 
Sorrow may rend this aching breast, 
And all its happiness destroy ; 
But thou! yes, rHov, art with the bless’d— 
I WoULD NOT WISH THEE BACK, MY Boy! 

A CHAPTER ON TAME ANIMALS. 

AFFECTION’s power who can suppress ? 

THE suBJECT OF “ Domestic PETS” Is 
one which we tremble to handle; asnone but 
the voice of a printer (who has, even at 
starting, made us promise to be very concise) 
could stay our hand when once the heart sets 
the pen in motion. 
It will readily be supposed that a Jour- 
NAL like OURS, now boasting a circulation 
throughout the length and breadth of the 
land, must be richin “ facts” connected with 
natural history, and thoroughly furnished 
with living instances (innumerable) of tame, 
fond, and confiding ‘‘pets’”’ of all denomi- 
nations. Whoever thus imagines, is right. 
But we go beyond this. Hearsay evidence 
is good—very, because our authorities are 
all unimpeachable; but we have recently 
travelled some hundreds of miles, and in our 
rambles we have scen some of the curiosities 
of which we have been told. In another part 
of our paper, we have hinted at an extra- 
ordinary chaffinch, and an idolised skylark. 
Let us first speak of these. 
Some years ago, whilst our series of 
papers on ‘ British Song-Birds’’ was ap- 
pearing weekly in the Gardeners’ Chronicle, 
we received a very prettily-written note— 
evidently the production of a young lady of 
a most tender heart—requesting our advice, 
under heavy trials, for the treatment of an 
ailing chaffinch. We remember feeling an 
unusual degree of interest whilst perusing 
this communication ; and when, many months 



subsequently, another letter reached us, we 
recognised the handwriting instantly. It 
seems that we had been the means of saving 
the bird’s life. The letter told us as much ; 
and hopes were expressed that at some future 
day we would pay the bird a visit. This 
visit (far too long delayed) has been paid ; 
and as we feel particularly interested in the 
bird, we imagine the visit will be ‘“ repeated 
oceasionally.’”’? Jet us hope so. 
It is not for us, under the head we have 
chosen for this chapter, to speak of anything 
or anybody but birds and other pets. We 
shall therefore merely remark, that the 
chaffinch is domiciled in a most affectionate 
family ; and that if, under circumstances, he 
were less tame than he is, we should marvel 
exceedingly. 
He is not like an ordinary chaffinch, 
although his parents were of the ordinary 
breed. His body and wings are nearly white, 
his saddle is a bright jonque color, his tail 
is white, his eyes are ruby, and his legs are 
like those of a canary. His figure certainly 
resembles that of a common chaffinch, but 
he is of a smaller size. We must remark 
that he lives in a large and spacious palace ; 
the back being made of wood, the sides and 
front of wire. A raised platform above, gives 
him room for exercise; and here, as well as 
on his perches, he shows off his pretty little 
tricks. 
To detail the amiabilities of this most 
winning bird, would be impossible. He loves 
every member of the family, and fearlessly 
comes on their hand. Indeed, his confidence 
is quite endearing. We quite lost our heart 
with him. ‘ Took-ey,” said we, “we shall 
come and see you again.” At the same time 
we placed our cheek against the cage, and he 
lovingly saluted us. Before leaving, we 
placed his cage in the sun. This brought 
his head so in contact with that luminary, 
that we saw distinctly through his brain— 
the eyes being one clear flash of transparent 
ruby ; whereas they were ordinarily opaque. 
The bird was originally deserted by his 
parents. Being picked up in the garden, he 
was adopted as a foundling. His feathers 
were then white, and they have remained so 
ever since. We repeat it, he is a prodigy— 
a leetle spoilt, perhaps ; but how natural this ! 
In the same family, there is a pet skylark 
—Gentleman Lark-y —also a foundling. 
This bird is a remarkably fine and elegant 
specimen of his tribe. His symmetrical pro- 
portions, whilst parading in his grand palace, 
are seen to great advantage. And he comes 
out just when he pleases, dances on the 
carpet, and makes the room his domain! At 
dinner time, he marches on the table between 
the dishes, and helps himself to any and 
everything he fancies; and feels quite at 
home. Nothing alarms him, excepting it be 


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