
8 
KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 221 

and, seated aloft upon a_ hundred-weight 
of German paste, we saw him picking out all 
the nuggets, and revelling in luxury. His 
companion, the while, was making his way 
into a jar of hempseed. 
The brushes,of these squirrels are quite 
“pictures.” In fact, we never saw two 
prettier, tamer ‘animals, although we have 
had dozens of them. 
Had we not resolved to keep no more of 
these pets, those squirrels would long ere 
this have been racing about our house. One 
crept into our coat-pocket, and the other into 
our side-pocket, betore we came away; nor 
did they fail affectionately to salute us by 
means of their rough little tongues. Charm- 
ing—fond little rogues! 

HOW TO MAKE HOME HAPPY. 
From our own selves our joys must flow, 
Ana that dear hut,—our Hour. 
Corton. 
Lapres! One little word in your little 
ears. We have elsewhere lauded Fanny 
Fern, and she deserves it. The subjoined is 
from her pen,—a perfect gem of its kind. 
Let us preface it, by saying that women must 
not always have their own way. It is not 
good for them. A fond husband seldom, 
very seldom, crosses his wife without some 
excellent reason for it; and a small sacrifice 
on your part—QOh, does it not make home 
“happy?” We stick to our text, that a 
good little wife must secure to herself a good 
little husband. May you all prove like “the” 
Mary, about whom we are going to let Fanny 
Fern speak :— 
“ Dear Mary,” said Harry to his little 
wife, “I have a favor to ask of you. You have a 
friend whom I dislike very much, and who I am 
quite sure will make trouble between us. Will 
you give up Mrs. May for my sake, Mary.” 
A slight shade of vexation crossed Mary’s 
pretty face, as she said.‘ You are unreasonable, 
Harry. She is Jadylike, refined, intellectual, and 
fascinating, is she not?” 
_ “Yes, allof that, and for that very reason her 
influence over one so yielding and impulsive as 
yourself is more to be dreaded, if unfavorable. I’m 
quite in earnest, Mary. I could wish never to see 
you together again.” 
“Pshaw ! dear Harry, that’s going too far. 
Don’t be disagreeable ; let us talk of something 
else. As old Uncle Jeff says, ‘How’s trade?’ ” 
and she looked archly in his face. Harry didn’t 
smile. 
“ Well,” said the little wife, turning away, and 
patting her foot nervously; “I don’t see how I 
can break with her, Harry, for a whim of yours ; 
besides, I’ve promised to go there this very 
evening.” 
Harry made no reply, and in a few moments was 
on his way to his office. 

See nesses eee 

| 

Mary stood behind the curtain, and looked after 
him as he went down the sireet. ‘There was an 
uncomfortable, stifling sensation in her throat, and 
something very like a tear glittering in her eye. 
Harry was vexed; she was sure of that. He had 
gone off, for the first time since their marriage, 
without the affectionate good-bye that was usual 
with him, even when they parted but for an hour 
or two. And so she wandered, restless and un- 
happy, into her little sleeping-room. 
It was quite a little gem. ‘here were statuettes, 
and pictures, and vases, all gifts from him, either 
before or since their marriage; each one had a 
history of its own—some tender association con- 
nected with Harry. There was a bouquet, still 
fresh and fragrant, that he had purchased on his 
way home, the day before, to gratify her passion 
for flowers. There was a choice edition of poems 
they were reading together the night before, with 
Mary’s name written on the leaf, in Harry’s bold 
handsome hand. ‘Turn where she would, some 
proof of his devotion met her eye. But Mrs. May! 
She was so smart and satirical! She would make 
so much sport of her, for being “ruled” so by 
Harry! Hadn’t she told her ‘‘all the men were 
tyrants?” and this was Harry’s first attempt to 
govern her. No, no, it wouldn’t do for her to 
yield. 
So the pretty evening dress was taken out; the 
trimmings re-adjusted and re-modelled, and all 
the little et-ceteras of her toilet decided. Yes, 
she would go; she had quite made up her mind 
tothat. ‘Then she opened her jewel-case ; a little 
note fell at her feet. She knew the contents very 
well. It was from Harry—slipped slyly into her 
hand on her birthday, with that pretty bracelet. 
It couldn’t do any harm to read it again. It was 
very lover-like for a year-old husband; but she 
liked it. Dear Harry! and she folded it back, and 
sat down more unhappy than ever, with her hands 
crossed in her lap, and her mind in a most pitiable 
state of irresolution. 
Perhaps, after all, Harry was right about Mrs. 
May; and if he wasn’t, one hair of his head was 
worth more to her than all the women in the world. 
He had never said one unkind word to her— 
never! He had anticipated every wish. He had 
been so attentive and solicitous when she was ill. 
How could she grieve him ? 
Love conquered! The pretty robe was folded 
away, the jewels were returned to their case; and 
with alight heart, Mary sat down to await her 
husbana’s return. 
The lamps were notlighted in the drawing-room 
when Harry came up the street. She had gene, 
then—after all he had said! He passed slowly 
through the hall, entered the dark and deserted 
room, and threw himself on the sofa with a heavy 
sigh. He was not angry, but was grieved and 
disappointed. The first doubt that creeps over 
the mind of the affection of one we love, is so very 
painful ! 
“Dear Harry! 
side. ° 
“God bless you, Mary!” said the happy hus- 
band ; ‘“‘ you’ve saved me from a keen sorrow.” 
Dear reader—won’t you tell?—THERE ARE 
SOME HUSBANDS WORTH ALL THE SACRIFICES A 
LOVING HEART CAN MAKE. 
” said a welcome voice at his 

