—commit in fact a double murder. Nor is 

 it a sudden death we die. Bather is it a life 

 protracted by slow torture ; a fire that con- 

 sumes us whilst we live. 



The " plain gold ring" is a blessing truly ; 

 and an " ornament '-■' that casts even an addi- 

 tional lustre on the hand of a loving woman. 

 We dote on the sight. But when we con- 

 sider how much its possessor too often sacri- 

 fices for the " honor " of wearing it, then 

 does our pleasure receive a considerable 

 diminution. 



We are not speaking now of the Fashion- 

 able world. They can be happy anywhere, 

 with anybody ; under any circumstances. 

 Wealth is their object, wealth their idol; 

 wealth is what they live for ; money what 

 they pant to carry away with them when 

 they die. They live in luxury ; bid defiance to 

 anxiety and grief, have no wish ungratified, 

 know nothing of fine feeling; and despise the 

 blessings of the domestic hearth. With such, 

 we have nothing to do ; and can possess no 

 feelings in common. So we leave them in 

 their (vain) glory. 



The persons we allude to, are those well- 

 educated men who move in the world of 

 commerce. Men who have hearts and souls, 

 and pure affections — who can value a woman 

 for her worth, live for her sake, and worship 

 her as the goddess of their home. These 

 men are too often the victims of circum- 

 stances. They are drawn into the vortex of 

 business transactions, till their time is ab- 

 sorbed thereby to the entire destruction of 

 domestic felicity. With no leisure for reflec- 

 tion, each day hurries them on into transac- 

 tions of a still greater magnitude. What is 

 the necessary consequence ? Why — that 

 all their soul did hold dear at home, gradu- 

 ally pines away with grief. She speaks — 

 but gets no answer. Or, if an answer there 

 be, it is short, and not to the purpose. 



Thus is an idolising woman's spirit broken ; 

 and thus is the " end of life " entirely lost 

 sight of. This is a matter of such daily 

 occurrence, that no apology can be heeded 

 for giving it our consideration. The same 

 principle, on a smaller scale, obtains in most 

 respectable grades of society — domestic 

 felicity being almost the last instead of the 

 very first consideration. 



We propose to illustrate our remarks by a 

 very admirable Sketch, which has recently 

 appeared in the " Leader " newspaper. The 

 writer's sentiments are so completely in uni- 

 son with our own, that we have pleasure in 

 giving them very extended publicity — feeling 

 assured that they must address themselves 

 forcibly to many of our readers. He very 

 happily compares a lovely, loving woman, in 

 her native freedom, to " a fairy." Such she 

 is by right. And why should she not con- 

 tinue so ? Is it not, we ask, all owing to the 



artificial state of our existence ? We live — 

 for what ? For ourselves ? No ! To keep 

 up appearances ! ! But let us hearken to 

 a warning voice : — 



A merchant married a Fairy. He was 

 so manly, so earnest, so energetic, and so 

 loving, that her heart was constrained 

 towards him, and she gave up her heritage 

 in Fairyland to accept the lot of Woman. 

 They were married ; they were happy ; and 

 the early months glided away like the 

 vanishing pageantry of a dream. Before the 

 year was over, he had returned to his affairs. 

 They were important and pressing, and 

 occupied more and more of his time. But 

 every evening as he hastened back to her 

 side, she felt the weariness of absence more 

 than repaid by the delight of his presence. 

 She sat at his feet, and sang to him, and 

 prattled aioay the remnant of care that lingered 

 in his mind. 



But his cares multiplied. The happiness 

 of many families depended on him. His 

 affairs were vast and complicated, and they 

 kept him longer away from her. All the day, 

 while he was amidst his bales of merchan- 

 dise, she roamed along the banks of a seques- 

 tered stream, weaving bright fancy pagean- 

 tries, or devising airy gaieties with which to 

 charm his troubled spirit. A bright and 

 sunny being, she comprehended nothing of 

 Care. Life was abounding in her. She 

 knew not the disease of reflection ; she felt 

 not the perplexities of life. To sing and to 

 laugh — to leap the stream and beckon him 

 to leap after her, as he used in the old lover 

 days, when she would conceal herself from 

 him in the folds of a water lily — to tantalise 

 and enchant him with a thousand capricious 

 coquetries —this was her idea of how they 

 should live. And when he gently refused 

 to join her in these childlike gambols, and 

 told her of the serious work that awaited him, 

 she raised her soft blue eyes to him in baby 

 wonderment, not comprehending what he 

 meant ; but acquiescing, with a sigh, because 

 he said it. 



She acquiesced; but a soft sadness fell 

 upon her. Life to her was " Love," and 

 nothing more. A soft sadness also fell upon 

 him. Life to him was Love, and something 

 more ; and he saw with regret that she did 

 not comprehend it. The wall of Care, 

 raised by busy hands, was gradually shutting 

 him out from her. If she visited him during 

 the day, she found herself a hindrance — and 

 retired. When he came to her at sunset, he 

 came pre-occupied. She sat at his feet, 

 loving his anxious face. He raised tenderly 

 the golden ripple of loveliness that fell in 

 ringlets on her neck, and kissed her soft 

 beseeching eyes. But there was a some- 

 thing in his eyes — a remote look, as if his soul 

 was afar, busy with other things, which 



