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KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 

ber. Her yearly task is over. She has 
bountifully supplied all our wants, superin- 
tended all our preparations for the coming 
seasons, and brought us safely to our jour- 
ney’s end. She willsleep anon, and her sleep 
will be a sound one. 
How she will stretch herself out ere she 
again awakes! And how will she look when 
her eyelids unclose? Who will be near her 
when her early handmaids—the snowdrop, the 
crocus, the violet, and the primrose, attend 
to do her homage ? 
Well, let her sleep. Soon shall our present 
pastime be among the things that were. Our 
boys and girls, now so happy and frolicsome, 
will return to school. We older folk shall 
resume our every-day duties; the season of 
Winter will move on; the Spring will return; 
and then once more shall our dear Parent 
open her eyes, her heart, her bosom—beam 
upon us with universal benevolence; and, 
hand in hand with her partner, the Sun, 
gladden us with sights of beauty and songs 
of praise. Thus much of the present, 
Of the future, we need not say much. Let 
us hope we shall, in every sense of the word, 
progress. Ifwe reduce to practice only one- 
half what has occupied our thoughts and our 
pen in OuR JOURNAL, during the past year, 
we shall be going a-head pleasantly,profitably, 
safely. The ‘‘fashions” of the past year 
have been degrading to us as a nation. Let 
these be reformed. We would be men and 
women—not beasts, and caricatures of hu- 
manity. Gifted with souls, we would exer- 
cise reason and good sense. Gifted with 
hearts, we would live to benefit the world in 
which we move. How much better this, 
than to be targets for those noble moral 
reformers, PUNCH and Diogenes! These 
worthies would then seek other objects to 
crack their jokes upon, and society would 
cease to be the scoff of the “ thinking” por- 
tion of mankind. In place of all these tom- 
fooleries, let the coming year tell of labors 
of love and works of benevolence. 
As this is the concluding number of the 
present volume of Our. JOURNAL (the Fourth), 
we shall not, although it be the opening 
month of the New Year, say anything here 
to our readers about future movements. We 
may offer, perhaps, a few passing remarks in 
our next. 
Meantime, ail will be gratified to know 
that we have of late made rapid strides in 
public estimation—amply sufficient to war- 
rant us in prosecuting our pleasing duties 
with redoubled.ardor. 
We have not only made and retained hosts 
of friends, but we have won back those who 
were angry with us for so fearlessly speaking 
out in the discharge of our public duty. 
This last conquest is more glorious than the 
ESS et 
first; for few people like to acknowledge 
themselves to be in error. 
Let us be generous; and say that, in this 
matter, WE are the obliged party. We 
really mean what we say; for there is a 
pleasure derivable from doing good which is 
perfectly indescribable. 
AN ODE TO NEW YEAR’S DAY. 
BY HELEN HETHERINGTON. 

Hail, happy day! with joy I welcome thee ; 
Thy glad return brings to my memory 
The cheerful smiles of those now far from hence,— 
Who shared in childhood’s joyous innocence, 
Join’d in one sport, and on a holiday 
Dane’d on the turf, and laugh’d the hours away,— 
Roam’d through the forest wild in search of 
flow’rs, 
And plann’d new pleasures for our leisure hours. 
Friends of my infancy! the subtle wiles 
Of treach’rous Time Lets not effaced your smiles. 
But where are ye? Dispersed on every hand ! 
Some braving danger in a foreign land, 
Inured to toil and care ; and some there be 
Who calmly sleep beneath the cypress tree,— 
The soft, green turf, emboss’d with flowers, their 
bed, 
And Heaven their home! Why should we mourn 
the dead ? 
Long ere this day arrived, some time was spent 
Maturing plans by mutual consent. 
Anticipating joy, we counted o’er 
Our weekly stipend, now a sacred store. 
Consign’d by filial love to scenes of joy, 
Proof against tempting tarts, or tinsell’d toy, 
Oh, with what pleasure did we hail the day; 
And, with a rapturous delight, essay 
Who should be first to kiss mamma, and prove 
Our fond affection in a pledge of love! 
Some childish gift, that scarce deserv’d the name, 
Save by the gentle source from whence it came: 
The kind congratulation that it bore, 
By lisping lips repeated o’er and o’er,— 
Those little gifts were seen in after years; 
Their history told, and oft bedew'd with tears! 
But time now brings me to the well-spread board, 
A brilliant feast, with dainty viands stored: 
Here, from the lips we lovw’d, a blessing flow’d, 
In praising God for mercies thus bestow’d. 
A gentle murmur rose upon the air, 
As grateful hearts responded to the prayer. 
Thus, as the day wore on, each hour was spent 
In harmless pleasures, bless’d by sweet content : 
Music, too, lent its charm. ‘Till eventide 
Brought a gay circle round the fireside ; 
Then merry games succeeded, one by one, 
And laughter revell’d in “a feast of fun.” 
But Time, whose mandate no one dare oppose, 
Saw wearied Nature sink in deep repose: 
Yet, ere we closed our eyes, we knelt to pray,— 
And THANKED Gop ror “a Happy New YuAR’s 
Day!” 
_———- 
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