132 
like the wife of Bishop Cooper, who, 
jealous of his books, consigned the labor of 
many years to the flames. Nor like the wife 
of Sir Henry Seville, whose affection was 
so strong as to cause her to destroy his most 
valuable manuscripts, because they monopo- 
lised so much of his attention. Neither 
should she resemble in charaeter Mrs. Bayr- 
clay, who made both herself and her 
husband ridiculous by her great public admi- 
ration of his abilities—she considering him 
little less than a demi-god. 
She should either be like the lady of 
Dacier, who was his equal in erudition and 
his superior in taste, but whose good sense 
caused her to respect and give place to her 
husband at all times and on all occasions, 
and whose love for him kept her from the 
slightest feeling of presumption, because 
she was his equal in mind—or, as the wite of 
Wieland, a domestic woman, who, though 
not much given to study, was of a calm, even 
temperament, and always soothed instead of 
excited her husband’s irritable disposition. 
Above all things, the wife of a literary man 
must avoid jealousy. Jealousy and suspicion 
poison the very springs of life. Only give 
them entrance once, and farewell to happi- 
ness! All public men must be“ privileged.” 
Their avocations demand this. They are 
made the depositories of a host of secrets, 
emanating from persons whose names, 
characters, and objects must be revered like 
Truth—held sacred as Holy Writ. 
It is impossible to conceive what some- 
times is imparted to the Editor of a public 
journal. In him, is vested a power for good 
or evil which is positively gigantic in its 
extent. His wife then, as a prudent woman, 
should yield him implicit confidence, and 
believe him incapable of doing or saying any- 
thing prejudicial to her interests or his 
honor. She should trust him, cheerfully, 
with anybody, anywhere; and always treat 
him as the well-beloved object of her heart 
of hearts. Such a man, if well educated, 
would never be found tripping; whilst his 
love for his wife will be boundless as the 
ocean. ‘Lry this course of action, fair ladies, 
and tell us if we be not a true prophet. 
Nature is a good mother! 
There remains only to be said, that a 
literary man, in choosing a wife, should not 
look so much for shining abilities, as for a 
clear, discriminating judgment, and a warm 
and affectionate heart. A combination of 
these qualities, if he be not an unreasonable, 
cross-grained tyrant, will be sURE to bring 
DOMESTIC FELICITY. 
New York, Aug. 1. 
[The above is from the pen of our Ame- 
rican Correspondent; and as we cordially 
agree in sentiment with the worthy writer, 
all we shall add to it is—‘‘ PRoBATUM EST!” | 
UMpRA. 

ee 


KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 
THE WORLD AND ITS INHABITANTS. 
BY HELEN HETHERINGTON. 

Gov made the world, good in his sight ; 
He bless’d it when he gave it light— 
But sin has cast a mournfal gloom 
E’en from the cradle to the tomb, 
Diffusing with its poison’d breath— 
Want, misery, disease, and death ! 
But there are many scenes in life 
Unsullied by the hand of strife ; 
Free from the ravings of despair, 
Exempt from sorrow, pain, or care— 
Scenes that convey our thoughts above, 
To holy, pure, unchanging love. 
In infancy, how oft we trace 
Emblems of innocence and grace ; 
We seem to breathe a purer air 
When we behold a child at prayer, 
And hear its lisping accents say— 
“ Lord, teach a little child to pray !” 
How gracefully the blushing morn 
Unfolds her charms! the golden corn 
Waving with elegance and ease, 
In meek submission, as the breeze 
Watts gently by. Here let us raise 
A grateful song of prayer and praise. 
I love the pensive evening hour, 
When dew-drops fall on field and flower ; 
When stars are peeping, one by one, 
As if they feared the setting sun 
Had not resigned his throne of light, 
And left them victors of the night. 
But there’s a scene, oh! brighter far 
Than morning sun or evening star ; 
’Tis when the Christian yields his breath, 
And leaves this world for Heaven. Death 
Has no sting! No doubt or care 
ASSAILS HIS SOUL—FOR GoD IS THERE! 
JEANNETTE,—THE AMIABLE MONKEY. 

‘‘ Render unto Ceasar the things which are Cesar’s.” 

My pDEAR S1rR,—AS YOU INVITE your 
readers to contribute from their store of in- 
formation, or anecdotes, to the general fund 
of that branch of natural science which OUR 
JOURNAL is especially designed to illustrate, 
I am induced to send you the following 
sketch of one of the most interesting of a 
species, for which, in general, I believe, you 
entertain no particular liking—that of mon- 
keys. Whether, with Dr. Ollapod, you class 
cats, rats, monkeys, and old maids, in the © 
same category, 1 cannot presume to say ;* 
suffice it for the present purpose, that I entreat 
your indulgence for the following brief me- 


* Ag we are not put upon our oath, we had 
rather leave this an “open question.” Dr, Ollapod 
was a funny fellow. He was a brave fellow too, 
thus to beard the race of ‘old maids” to their 
very teeth.— Hp. K. J. 



