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CHAMBERS' EDINBURGH JOURNAL

CONTENTS

A CHILD'S TOY


JAMES FENIMORE COOPER


WHY DOES THE PENDULUM SWING?


THE COUNTRY COUSIN


THE DROLLERIES OF FALSE POLITICAL ECONOMY


FAMILY LIFE IN A NEGRO TOWN


THE COMMERCIAL PORTS OF ENGLAND


AN UNFORTUNATE MAN


SLOW BUT SURE


THE SEA-KINGS OF NANTUCKET


THE LINNÆA BOREALIS





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Banner: Chambers' Edinburgh Journal

CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF 'CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,' 'CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' &c.


No. 418.   NEW SERIES.SATURDAY, JANUARY 3, 1852.PRICE 1½d.

A CHILD'S TOY.

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The afternoon was drawing in towards evening; the air was crisp and cool, and the wind near the earth, steady but gentle; while above all was as calm as sleep, and the pale clouds—just beginning in the west to be softly gilded by the declining sun—hung light and motionless. The city, although not distant, was no longer visible, being hidden by one of the many hills which give such enchantment to the aspect of our city. There was altogether something singularly soothing in the scene—something that disposed not to gravity, but to elevated thought. As we looked upwards, there was some object that appeared to mingle with the clouds, to form a part of their company, to linger, mute and motionless like them, in that breathless blue, as if feeling the influence of the hour. It was not a white-winged bird that had stolen away to muse in the solitudes of air: it was nothing more than a paper kite.

On that paper kite we looked long and intently. It was the moral of the picture; it appeared to gather in to itself the sympathies of the whole beautiful world; and as it hung there, herding with the things of heaven, our spirit seemed to ascend and perch upon its pale bosom like a wearied dove. Presently we knew the nature of the influence it exercised upon our imagination; for a cord, not visible at first to the external organs, though doubtless felt by the inner sense, connected it with the earth of which we were a denizen. We knew not by what hand the cord was held so steadily. Perhaps by some silent boy, lying prone on the sward behind yonder plantation, gazing up along the delicate ladder, and seeing unconsciously angels ascending and descending. When we had looked our fill, we went slowly and thoughtfully home along the deserted road, and nestled as usual, like a moth, among our books. A dictio

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