KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 
SUSPICION AND JEALOUSY. 
SUSPICION ever haunts the Guiry mind. 
SHAKSPEARE. 
Of all 
Our passions, I wonder Nature made 
The worst, foul JEaLousy, her favorite ! 
And, if it be not so, why took she care 
That every thing should give the monster nourish- 
ment, 
AND LEFT US NOTHING TO DESTROY IT WITH ? 
SUCKLING. 
WE HAVE EVER OBSERVED, that Suspi- 
cion and Jealousy are foster-children—their 
habitation, a heart naturally depraved; one 
that sets virtue at defiance. 
There are some defects of the mind, aris- 
ing from a neglect of early education, that 
may by kindness and argument be all-but 
eradicated ; but these, never. They are foul 
blots on the fair face of humanity. Ever anti- 
cipating evil, suspicious people see by a 
morbid reflection, things that never had— 
never could have had an existence. Thus 
are they always creating a poisonous diet on 
which to feed. The poison flows in their 
veins, and the whole system is radically cor- 
rupt. They are living volcanoes of mischief— 
a terror to themselves, and a pest to those 
with whom they are unfortunately asso- 
ciated. They render matrimony HATEFUL. 
We have been urged to write an “ Essay” 
on the subject, and to point out whereby 
these evils can be “cured.” This is a moral 
impossibility. We dare not attempt it. All 
we can do—is, to enforce upon parents 
the necessity there is for paying the 
strictest attention to their children’s earliest 
education. Let them mark their failings, 
and correct them in time. The twig may be 
bent, when the ¢ree is too obstinate to yield 
to force. 
The world is full of painful examples of 
parental neglect. Our newspapers groan 
with the “ consequences.” Horrible details 
of crime, in which suspicion and jealousy 
figure prominently, meet the eye daily ; and 
we always find, whilst perusing the evidence, 
that these vices have gained strength from 
their having been unchecked in infancy. We 
can never begin to teach a child too soon. 
Let us add that, as contact is very danger- 
ous where the heart is naturally depraved, 
children of a better principle should never be 
allowed to associate with such as give early 
indication of the mental depravity of which 
we speak. 
We owe a duty to the world and to each 
other; and must never knowingly scatter 
firebrands amongst those who delight in 
cultivating the nobler priciples of the 
human heart. 
Parents ! listen to this warning voice. 
Reticion stands in no need whatever of Art. 
It rests on its own majesty. 


A HINT TO “FAST” MEN. 
Your whale can swallow a hogshead for a pill, 
But the Maxer of the mousetrap, ’tis HE that hath the 
SKILL. BEN JONSON. 
WE HAVE ALL BEEN YOUNG; and it is 
truly said that you ‘‘ cannot put old heads 
upon young shoulders.”’ Every one must get 
experience and “pay” for it. This both in 
body and in purse. 
At this season, the Country,—our ‘* Water- 
ing Places ’’ in particular,—(Margate, Rams- 
gate, Brighton, &c., to wit), is flooded by 
visitors of the genus “gent.” There is no 
mistake about their identity. Moses is their 
outfitter, and the “ cut ’’ is undeniable. We 
find them in armies—fluttering about our 
| steam-boats, and on our railways, passim. 
We look for their extensive ‘‘ summer tie”’ 
(the ends projecting fearfully on each side of 
their figure-head), and we ery—there it is! 
Zebra-like, the “ gent” is striped all over,— 
his dress bespeaking the man and his mind. 
We owe Moses and his patrons a heavy debt 
of gratitude. 
Now let us behold the ‘‘gent”’ at his hotel. 
How immense he looks, as he bears down 
upon the poor waiter with his repeated calls 
and “ orders,”—abusing him for his inatten- 
tion. Here the ‘‘gent’’ is at home. Our 
city clerks, too,—how they do ‘‘ come out ” 
in the summer! What with their bejewelled 
fingers, cool ties, remarkable hats, and sum- 
mer ‘‘make up,”—amusement never flags. 
Our good city sends out some rich specimens 
of ‘“‘ fast men,’’ of “refined taste.” 
All the gentry we are pointing at—good- 
naturedly, be it said—are excellent judges of 
wine. They always abuse the first bottle, 
and very frequently the second,—just to shew 
their acumen. ‘The landlord is called in. 
He hem’s and ha’s, is very sorry, very sorry 
indeed; it isalla mistake. But he will rectify 
it. Hedisappears. The door soon re-opens. 
A smiling look, and a wink (the wink does 
it!) convince the grumblers that all is now 
“vieht.” They taste and are delighted. “T 
knew you could do the thing, landlord!” cries 
Dobson; and mine host replies—“ J should 
think so!”’ ‘This game has now commenced, 
and will be played at for some three months 
longer. Ahem ! 
“In vino*veritas.” 
“There is no deceit in wine.”-—Is there not! 
Having drawn our “little sketch,” we will 
now recommend for the benefit of the parties 
interested, the perusal of a short dialogue. 
This dialogue took place between a man 
named Burley (formerly landlord of an hotel, 
but now retired) and one of his former cus- 
tomers. They met by chance; and both 
being in good humor, and the landlord now 
a ‘private gentleman,” their discourse hap- 
pened thus. (POOLE is our authority, there- 
tore we are clear of offence) :— 

