272 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



The reflection, continues Mr. Kay, to 

 which this sight leads every beholder is, that 

 if this is the condition of all the children of 

 the German towns, it is no wonder that the 

 poor are so much more prosperous, virtuous, 

 and happy than our own. 



BEAUT Y,— 

 MENTAL AND SUBSTANTIVE. 



bickerings instead of blessedness, flirtation 

 instead of fixedness, falsehood instead of faith, 

 despondency instead of devotion, and caudle- 

 ism instead of consolation ? 



ALAS ! SUCH IS LIFE ! 



BY HELEN HETHERINGTON. 



So long as mind and matter shall exist, 

 there will be a sympathy between mental and 

 substantive beauty. Every form is perfected 

 by the perfection of an idea. The daisy of 

 the field, the moss on the mountain, the lily 

 in the valley, the shell by the sea, the stars 

 in the firmament — are all and each complete 

 by the completeness of our perceptive 

 qualities. If it were not so, these objects 

 would appear the same to every individual. 

 The poet would see in them no more supe- 

 riority than the most worldly man observes. 

 The intimacy of form and idea affects the 

 course of our whole social and moral life. 

 An ideal image of domestic peace governs 

 the literal existence of domestic feeling. 



We will take two instances — Love and 

 Pleasure. It is necessary to have a lofty 

 conception of love, that the reality may not 

 sink into mere conventional duty. How 

 often do we wonder at the matrimonial 

 happiness which exists, in spite of poverty ? 

 We contrast this state of things with the 

 proverb : — " When poverty comes in at the 

 door, love flies out of the window ; " and we 

 find the proverb false. The cause of the 

 falsity in the adage can only be traced to the 

 agency of an idea. The happiness of the 

 marriage state exists only when the anticipa- 

 tion of good has preceded, and is preserved 

 through the existence of the evil. When the 

 faith in happiness is weak, the growth of 

 misery is rapid and strong. 



Can it be said that, in proportion as the 

 age becomes intelligent, it anticipates the 

 advent of social beauty ? 



No. Look around, and see how love lies 

 bleeding under the golden hoof of Mammon ! 

 Few, very few, have knelt before the sacred 

 altar with bosoms untouched by the gangrene 

 of selfishness. Alas ! the traffic of human 

 hearts is as common as the traffic of common 

 merchandise ! Hearts, in the freshness of 

 innocency, are bleeding their life away at 

 every pore. Affection has lost a portion of 

 its sublime completeness, and is fast dwindling 

 into a thing of shreds and patches. Many a 

 man has married a house, who should have 

 married a woman ; and many a man has 

 wedded a fidgetty uncle's will, or an asthma - 

 tical grandfather's legacy, when the world 

 has applauded him for a more magnanimous 

 action. Can we then wonder when we see 



Our hearts may be gay as we hail a bright day, 

 Yet its close brings us anguish and pain ; 



At eve we may rove with the kind friends we love, 

 But never behold them again ! 



Though the heart with its brightest affections 

 seems rife, 



They fade ere we grasp them— alas, such is life ! 



The mariner hold to his bosom doth fold 



His wife and his children dear ; 

 They murmur their fears, as they mingle their 

 tears, 

 For sorrow — keen sorrow is here. 

 But his ship waits to bear him far over the main, 

 And he cries as he leaves them, "I'll meet you 

 again." 



The ship nears the shore J she will never reach 

 more, 

 For a tempest is raging there ; 

 Their shroud is the 6urge, the wind howls their 

 dirge, 

 She sinks — whilst a shriek rends the air. 

 Hark ! whose is that scream ? 'tis the mariner's 



wife, 

 Her poor heart is broken ! Alas, such is life ! 



The soldier has been to the battle, and seen 

 His comrades fall round him and die ; 

 ; He's now'goingt to^ part with the friend of his 



heart, 

 ! And a tear dims the brave soldier's eye 

 j "Be faithful," he cries, "all our fears will prove 

 vain, 

 I'll fight for t my country — then meet thee again." 



The sol dier~re turns, in his bosomistill burns 

 True love for the dear ones at home ! 



He blesses his lot as he hies to her^cot, 

 Resolved he no longer will roam. 



But the kind gentle girl he would claim as his wife 



Now sleeps^in the churchyard — alas, suchis life ! 



The fond mother creeps o'er the cold grave where 

 sleeps 



Her darling — her only child ; 

 Her husband lies slain on the dark battle-plain, 



With grief and despair she is wild. 

 All she loved in this world — as a mother, a wife, 



Is GONE — GONE FOB EVER ! ALAS, SUCH is LIFE ! 



TRUE LCVE. 



— 'Tts made of every fin e*e motion, 

 Of generous impulses and noble thoughts : — 

 It looketh to the stars, and dreams of Heaven ; 

 It nestles 'mid the flowers, and -sweetens earth. 

 Love is aspiring, yet 'tis humble too ; 

 It doth exalt another o'er itself, 

 With sweet heart-homage which delights to raise 

 its object 



