KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



319 



paused at a fashionable-looking shop, no 

 other than that of Madame Crepon, which 

 Lennox well knew ; but after a momentary 

 delay, she rang sharply at a side door close 

 by, which being immediately opened, she en- 

 tered hastily. This, more than anything else, 

 confirmed Mr. Lennox's suspicions, yet this 

 was no time for deliberation ; he therefore 

 presented himself at the same door, after 

 touching the bell, and was informed that 

 no one (work-women excepted) was permit- 

 ted to enter there. Disappointed at the 

 failure of his design, he retraced his steps, 

 and after a hasty demolition of some lamb- 

 cutlets at a dining establishment in Oxford 

 Street, betook himself home, where to his 

 surprise he found his wife seated in her 

 own place by the little work-table surrounded 

 by her accustomed paraphernalia of frame, 

 lambs' wool, patterns, and scissors. She was 

 however, engaged in reading a note, which, 

 on her husband's arrival, she handed 

 over to him. After a glance round the room, 

 during which his quick eye discovered the 

 cause of all his misery, the green silk bonnet 

 peeping out of a band-box, he commenced a 

 perusal of the epistle, which ran thus :— 



" Madam, — I hope you wil not be very han- 

 gry with me on akount of my neglect and 

 rimissiless in not putin the" Linin as de- 

 sired in _ your bonnit, but peraps your good 

 natur will parden me, and make my excuses 

 with miss smith, who is verry strict with us 

 gals. I took the liberty of warm your bon- 

 nit this mornin when I went into hide park 

 to meet a military Gentleman who has a par- 

 shality for me, and I was detayned longer than 

 I expected. As the Old linin was to be Rim- 

 moved, and New put in, akorclin to your Or- 

 ders, I thought it wouldnt mattir. Prayin you 

 to Forgiv me, I transcribe myself, madam, 



" Your most obedient Humbel Sirvant, 

 " Louisa Baffin." 



m " Why, what is the meaning of all this ?" 

 inquired Mr. Lennox. 



" That's just what I am going to tell you," 

 replied his wife ; " you must know that I and 

 Mary thought my bonnet looked rather shab- 

 by, and we had fixed to surprise you with a 

 new lining and fresh ribbon, instead of which 

 as you see, nothing has been done. But, 

 now Sir, I am going to lecture you. Why 

 have you, — 



" A note for you, Sir, if you please," in- 

 terrupted Mary, delivering a small triangular 

 epistle to Mr. Lennox. 



"From Lacy, I declare. What does he 

 say?" 



" Dear Len.,— There's some mystery about 

 that bonnet I can't fathom, but I have my 

 suspicions. Sergeant Jones, of our corps, met 

 to my knowledge a girl in the park, this 

 morning, by name Louisa. I have just 



seen him, for the second time to-day, and 

 have discovered, by pumping, that his sweet- 

 heart wore a green silk bonnet, which tallies 

 with your description. I only mention this 

 that you may not make a fool of yourself. 

 Adieu ! 



" Arthur Lacy." 

 " Well, Sir, what do you think of your 

 conduct ?" inquired the fair Emily, trying 

 in vain to muster a judicial frown. " I see 

 you can't speak, so I must answer for you ; 

 1 allow it did look strange, but then you 

 know husbands ought never to be suspicious ; 

 come, I don't think you will ever treat me 

 so again, — will you, Charlie ?" 



A kiss was the only answer. 



&- # * *' % 



Let our readers take a lesson if they will, 

 from the foregoing tale, the moral of which 

 alone we have now to lay before them: — 

 " Let jealousy and suspicion be ever ba- 

 nished, by mutual consent of husband and 

 wife ; for serious disagreements may often 

 arise from more trifling causes than 

 the — ' Green Silk Bonnet. ' " 



BEAUTIES OF AUTUMN. 



Every individual, more or less, has a favorite 

 season of the year. Some greatly prefer the 

 summer, others the spring, others the winter, 

 and others, the golden autumn. The zest of our 

 pleasures is heightened by an infusion of melan- 

 choly. Few things are more melancholy than 

 music — none so melancholy as love, which is, in 

 fact, nothing but the consciousness of a desire 

 never to be wholly gratified here below. 



Love is the eager yearning of the soul after 

 the beautiful, which is but another expression for 

 the infinite. Doubtless the fresh green of spring, 

 when the trees stand in genteel half-dress before 

 the modest sun, is highly refreshing to the mind 

 as well as to the eye. But autumn comes to us 

 decked in a thousand colors, j)ainted partly by 

 the hand of decay. It is beauty on the threshold 

 of the tomb, rendered more beautiful and fasci- 

 nating by the air breathing upon it from beyond. 

 We fancy we never discovered all its loveliness 

 till then. 



Death itself is marvellously beautiful, in its 

 eternal silence and composure; it hints the mys- 

 tery ic dares not speak ; it seems to have closed 

 its eyes, only that it may indulge in delicious 

 dreams for ever. All realities seem nothing, 

 compared with the ideal creation which throngs 

 upon the soul in death. An autumn is the 

 threshold of death — nature, soft, balmy, like the 

 thoughts of old age, illuminated by the light of 

 heaven. For this reason we love the autumn, and 

 appear to think and feel in it with the greatest 

 ease and delight. 



FRIENDSHIP AND ITS SYMPATHIES. 



Kind hearts there are ; and melting eyes; 

 Both with " a suffering friend" do sympathise. 

 Who from" a friend in trouble" would escape, 

 Is but a brute at best, — in human shape. 



