

KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



borne by ourself. This defies all opposition, and 
procures us démediate access everywhere.* 
Pusiic Companies and Largr KHsraBLisH- 
MENTS will soon be alive to the secret we are 
hinting at. Already are our advertising columns 
fast evidencing that the view we take is a widely 
popular one. We have long foreseen what would 
be the issue of our patience. 
* The number of postage-stamps remitted to 
us during the month, in payment for copies of the 
JOURNAL to be forwarded direct, would amply 
suffice to line the walls of the spacious apartment 
in which we are now writing. ADVERTISERS 
should consider this; for it is important to their 
interests. Nay, it is to their great advantage to 
promote such a mode of additional circulation. 
THE WORLD AND ITS MAKER. 

Wuen we have viewed the Creation in all its 
variety of wonder and fulness of glory, what shall 
we say of the Creator? In the midst of so much 
real greatness, we seem more than ever conscious 
of our own littleness. Surrounded by so much 
light and loveliness, majesty and magnificence, 
we are lost in wonder and are rapt in praise. 
And yet what is all this outward and visible 
grandeur, compared with the inherent and unveiled 
glory of what lies beyond? ‘Think of those 
thousand, thousand suns, larger, brighter and 
more burning than our own, which illumine the 
unmeasured fields of space—think of Heaven 
encircling Heaven, and each lighted up by a 
higher firmament of suns and systems. Count 
these suns and systems by millions multiplied by 
millions—conceive of their light all flowing to- 
gether, and so mingling as to form but one body 
of effulgence, and how dazzling is the thought! 
Now if the simple idea of such brightness 
oppresses the mind, who could sustain the sight ? 
Yet all light is but the shadow of God. It 
bespeaks the existence of something else beside 
itself, and infinitely more glorious. Whatever it 
may reveal and make known, there is much more 
which it conceals and renders invisible. Were 
it not for darkness and the shadow of the 
earth—the noblest part of creation had remained 
unseen and unknown. Yonder sun, which en- 
lightens this our earthly dwelling, and brings into 
view so much of the life and beauty with which 
we are surrounded, shuts out from our admiring 
gaze that bright and gorgeous firmament in 
which stars and constellations cluster in myriads 
upon myriads. 
Nor is it the material creation only which is 
thus screened and rendered invisible by this 
excess of light. It is the veil on the face of the 
Eternal Throne, concealing the interior glory of 
His nature, the mere reflection of whose glory 
fills the divine temple, and hangs like so much 
rich and shining drapery all around. And if the 
robe-garment be so ineffably bright and dazzling— 
if the covering on the Throne be so resplendent 
and overpowering, what must be the grandeur of 
the Great Creator of Heaven and Earth ? 
AxsEncE is the invisible and incorporeal mother 
of ideal beauty.—Lanpor. 
HAVE WOMEN ANY SENSE? 
THIS IS AN AWFUL INTERROGATIVE to 
commence an article with; but it is a 
“leading question,” and we shall wait 
patiently for an answer to it. Will the 
answer ever reach us? Question! The fol- 
lowing remarks are by Mr. PUNcH :— 
Our beautiful “fashions” go on improving! 
Like Buckingham Palace, they are constantly 
being altered, and never altered for the better. 
What the human facade will be ultimately, there’s 
no knowing. Everything has been tried in the 
shape of flowers, feathers, ornaments on the top, 
and in some instances paint, that could possibly 
disfigure it. Let these disfigurements only con- 
tinue, and they may have the effect of converting the 
human head into a kind of Medusa’s, that will turn 
into stone all who Jook at it. One of the latest 
absurdities is the way in which ladies wear their 
bonnets—if it can be called wearing at all, when 
it is falling, like a Capuchin’s hood, right down 
their backs. It thus forms a capital receptacle for 
collecting any refuse or rubbish that may be dropt 
or thrown into it. We know one lady who found 
her bonnet, when she got home, perfectly filled 
with dust. It was quite a dust-bin in a small way 
—and the luncheon, which was on the table at the 
time, had to be sent away, as everything was 
spoilt by the dusty shower that the lady had un- 
consciously shaken down upon it. 
There was another lady—whose husband is not 
so rich as he should be, and who grumbles fear- 
fully, poor fellow, at every new bonnet he has to 
ay for—who discovered her chapeau to be as full 
as it could hold of orange-peel. Some malicious 
little boys must have amused themselves in walking 
behind her and pitching into it every piece of 
orange-peel they found lying about. It was an 
amusing game of pitch-in-the-hole to them. The 
consequence has been that the lady, who is ex- 
tremely particular, especially when she takes a 
new fancy like a new bonnet into her head, has 
been compelled to throw away her old bonnet, and 
to have a new one. The poor husband, who is 
really to be pitied (husbands generally are), has 
been obliged, in order to pay for the additional 
expense, to walk instead of riding, to give up 
smoking, and to cut off his luncheons—all of which 
expenses came out of his own pocket and not out 
of the housekeeping. The last time he was seen, 
he was so thin that it was almost a microscopical 
effort to see him. But this absurd fashion, coupled 
with the other absurdity of long dresses, has the 
one good effect in keeping our streets clean, for 
the low bonnets carry off all the superfluous dust, 
and the long dresses carry away all the super- 
fluous mud. 
It would be difficult to say which fashion, in 
point of cleanliness, ranks the lowest. A classical 
friend of ours humorously declares that he thinks 
the bonnets will soon be the lower of the two, and 
that the ladies, for convenience sake, will shortly 
be wearing them tied on to the end of their dresses. 
It will be relieving them, he funnily says, of a 
great draw-back, and will have the further ad- 
vantage of keeping their dear heads cool. 
Punch seems puzzled as much as ourself, 

—— Oe 
