Se CS SS aca 
KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 203 

and then coincident with temperance: but 
that, moreover, wine is an indispensable 
gift of Heaven, and the use of it, too, an 
inalienable matter of private judgment ; into 
which abstinence-leagues, though backed by 
medicine and chemistry, will find it impos- 
sible to intrude. 

THE WORLD’S KINDNESS. 
What numbers, once in Fortune’s lap, high-fed, 
Solicit the cold hand of Charity ! 
Yo shock us more, solicit it nv vain! 
YOUNG. 
AS WE HAVE BUT ONE GRAND END in 
view-—the regeneration and better ordering 
of society, we never care how many adjutants 
we press into the service. Our task is to 
collect honey from every opening flower, 
whilst we live; and, when we die, to leave 
behind us something by which we may be 
ee remembered. The world isa large 
field. 
Whilst walking through this modern 
Babylon of ours, how often is our heart 
horror-stricken at the scenes of sorrow which 
force themselves upon our vision! This, not 
in the glare of open day only, but when the 
shades of evening are stretched out. So 
common are the scenes to which we allude, 
that although well known they excite no 
commiseration. When we say that the 
bodies and souls of many thousand unfortu- 
nates perish yearly, without one single effort 
being put forth to relieve them—one good 
Samaritan at hand to bind up their wounds, 
we speak but the truth. We refrain from 
going more into detail. 
Why is itthus? Ina Protestant country, 
boasting so much, one would surely expect 
something like operative Christian charity to 
prevail among us. But, alas! the word 
charity, though ever in our mouths, finds no 
place im our hearts. All is outside show— 
all vain glory. 
We often ponder, thoughtfully, on certain 
documents recently placed in our hands by 
our gentle correspondent ForrsTiERA; and 
when we read what is done by women, 
unostentatiously, from a sincere love to God— 
abroad, we blush for ‘“ the land we live in.” 
If Ithuriel’s spear were to touch ts, and test 
our sincerity, our devotion, our humanity, 
our sympathy one for the other, what a sorry 
rusty lot we should prove! Condemnation 
would sit heavily on our brow; and we 
should never be able to pass our examination. 
This thought often haunts us when we see 
people persuaded to do evil “ because others 
do it.” Shall we follow in their wake? No; 
rather will we dare to be singular in this par- 
ticular ; and whilst we draw breath, be found 
actively engaged in labors of love. We 
marvel at the baseness of the human heart, 
which is so exclusively selfish—so formal, so 




cold, so unmindful of its own present interests 
and its eternal welfare. Ask a man to do 
you an act of disinterested service, “ hoping 
for nothing in return,” and see how he will 
stare at you! A madman are you in his 
sight. 
But, we shall be asked, what means this 
preface ? It is a simple prelude, good friends, 
to a little episode in real life, penned by that 
shrewd observer of passing events—Fanny 
Fern. In her portfolio are registered many 
dottings-down that please us amazingly. The 
American women have some sterling stuff 
about them. God has given them excellent 
talents, and they trade with them to good 
effect. Oh! that some of owr women would 
“come out” in a similar manner, and become 
‘‘useful ’’ in their day and generation ! 
The object of the sketch which we subjoin 
is to hold the mirror up to Nature ; and to cut 
deep at the universal practice in society of 
turning their backs upon imnocence and true 
worth, for fear of “losing caste”’ (as an 
amiable correspondent observed in our last). 
It appears that Mr. Grant, the father of a 
sweet girl, called Emma, had made too free 
use of another person’s money. It was dis- 
covered; and the unhappy man was of course 
punished. Thereupon discourse was held, 
by two women of the world, as follows :— 
“Tt is really very unfortunate, that affair of Mr. 
Grant’s. I don’t see what will become of Emma. 
I presume she won't think of holding up her head 
after it. I dare say she will ‘expect’ to be on the 
same terms with her friends as before, but the 
thing is i 
““ Quite impossible!” said the gay Mrs. Blair, 
arranging her ringlets; “the man has dragged 
his family down with him, and there’s no help for 
it that I can see.” 
‘He has no family but Emma,” said her friend, 
“and I suppose some benevolent soul will look 
after her; at any rate, it don’t concern ws.” And 
the so-called two friends tied on their bonnets for 
a promenade. 
Emma Grant was, in truth, almost broken- 
hearted at this sad “mistake” of her father’s ; 
but, with the limited knowledge of human nature 
gleaned from the experience of a sunny life of 
eighteen happy years, she doubted not the willing- 
ness of old friends to assist her in her determination 
to become a teacher. To one after another of these 
summer friends she applied for patronage. Some 
“couldn’t,in conscience recommend the daughter 
of a defaulter;”’ some, less free-spoken, went on 
the non-comfnittal system—“ would think of it 
and let her know’’—taking very good care not to 
specify any particular time for this good purpose. 
Others who did not want their consciences 
troubled by the sight of her, advised her, very 
disinterestedly, to “go back into the country 
somewhere, and occupy the independent position 
of making herself generally useful in some farmer’s 
family.” Others still dodged the question by 

humbly recommending her to apply to persons of 
greater influence than themselves; and one and 
all ‘wished her well, and hoped she’d succeed” 

