MARRIAGE.

This

It is important to a well-assorted marriage that the balance of nature be preserved, and that the degree of superiority, incident to the higher sex, should obtain in the matrimonial connexion. rule can rarely be infringed without mischief. Manifest superiority in a women either produces in her a feeling of disrespect towards him with whom she is associated, destructive of the reverence essential to female love, or, at least creates a suspicion that such want of reverence is entertained. Especially when the superiority is in those mental qualities in which manly vigour ought to be evinced;-if, in spite of this disproportion, in some instances, the unsuitability is not apparent, it must either result from great good sense on the one hand, or of great good temper on the other. Again, if inferiority, not subordination, characterise the female side, the balance is equally destroyed, and the probability of happiness still more doubtful. For the affection which will render married life happy is not the passing admiration of a pretty face, but the esteem which cherishes because it respects, and grows because it discovers intrinsic qualities to value. It may be remarked, that if marriage is to both parties a risk, it is especially so to a woman. In one sense, indeed, the higher her tone of feeling the better regulated her character; the greater the hazard. For though a woman of superior mind is enabled to encounter trial, and even to rise above it; though she can often smooth asperities, and so use her influence, as to prevent and cure domestic discomfort, still, she is far more alive to the sorrows arising from matrimonial uncongeniality than one of a less fine mould. She knows that her duty lies in submission; that it becomes her not to oppose, rarely to remonstrate; that whilst she secretly deplores the causes of her sorrow, she must lock them up in her own bosom, and patiently endure what she cannot remedy, Indifference cannot be her refuge; neither can she seek, in company and diversion, to forget, or to avoid her home; she must either be herself the soul and solace of married life, or the victim of conjugal happiness.-Female Improvement (by Mrs. Sand

ford).

POPPING THE QUESTION.

Maiden, blush not, if I ask thee,
Oh be not now enrag'd,

If I now sincerely ask thee,
Pray is thy heart engag'd?
Her faint blue eyes began to roll,
The silent tear to flow,

Her feelings, she could scarce controul,
But softly answer'd-no.

Then as thy heart is single now,
O may I hope in time,
That you'll agree to this-that thou
Will link thine heart with mine.

With crimson blush upon her cheek,
She rais'd her drooping head,
And then in language sweet, and meek-
I will she fainty said.

When it was communicated to her Majesty that an Alderman had fallen from his horse in the procession, she smilingly asked if the civic equestrian did not mean it as a shew off.

When Mr. Thomas Sheridan, son of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, was candidate for the representation of a Cornish borough, he told his father that if he succeeded, he should place a label on his forehead, with the words to let, and side with the party that made the best offer. Right, Tom, said the father, but dont forget to add the word 'unfurnished.'

TO MARIA L—.

And must I bid a long adieu

To all those pleasant hours,
Which I have often spent with you,
In friendship's peaceful bowers.
Those happy hours which friendship bought
Have swiftly roll'd on,

They pass'd away as quick as thought,
And now for ever gone.

But though their fond remembrance live,
And still revives each day,
Yet all the pleasure mem'ry gives
Gilds not the cheerless May.

Ah! when I view the vacant chair,
I fancy thee I see,

But there's no living image there,

No voice to answer me.

Then sadness draws her curtains round,
And casts o'er me a gloom,
Then hearing not the welcome sound,
I quickly leave the room.
True friendship's like the stream that flows,
Unruffled by the breeze,
Then gently rolling on
Proceeding by degrees.

goes,

True friendship hath no fits, or starts,
She seeks another's weal,
She pierces not, with angry darts,
She has a heart to feel.
Farewell-farewell again I bid
Those happy hours farewell;
All their pleasures now are hid
In mem'rys sacred cell.

The time may come, when ebon clouds
Shall vanish far away,

Then bursting from their tight-bound shrouds,

Shall usher lucid day.

Then must I bid a long farewell,

To pleasures once I knew, Where friendship dearly lov'd to dwell, And change her thoughts with you.

NOT COMFORTABLE YET.

A highly respectable and wealthy farmer in Connecticut gives the following as his own experience:-"When I first came here to settle, about forty years ago, I told my wife I wanted to be rich-all she wanted was enough to make her 'comfortable.' I went to work and cleared up my land, I've worked hard ever since, and have got rich-as rich as I want to be. Most of my children have settled about me, and they have all got farms. And my wife ain't comfortable yet."

ADVANCEMENT IN LIFE.

An auctioneer having commenced publican, and soon after been thrown into the King's Bench, the following article appeared in a newspaper, "Mr. who lately left the pulpit for the bar, is promoted to the bench.

THE PHYSICAL APPEARANCES OF

LOVE.

The head to one side doth incline,
The eyes with brilliant lustre shine;
Then gently on their lover roll,
And pierce him through the inmost soul.
The eyelids drop their lashes low,
The breath is more than usual slow;
The hands without a motion lie,
With now and then a gentle sigh;
A joyous feeling fills the soul,
And melting langour drowns the whole.

THE MOTHER AND HER INFANT

IN A STORM.

The keen winds swept the mountains height,
And pathless was the dreary wild,
As 'midst the cheerless hours of night,
A mother wander'd with her child.
Her lovely babe lay on her breast,
As through the drifting snow she press'd.
Keen, keener blew the piercing wind,

The gloomy hours of night roll'd on,
No shelter could the mother find;

Her limbs grew stiff-her strength was gone.
Great God! she cry'd, in accents mild,
Oh save! oh save! my darling child!
She tore the mantle from her breast,
And bar'd her bosom to the storm;
Then round the babe, she wrapt the vest,
And smil'd to think her child was warm.
One kiss she gave, one tear she shed,
Then sunk upon her snowy bed,

Once more she try'd, in vain to rise,
Grim death drew near, and clos'd her eyes.

A trav❜ller pass'd at break of day,

And saw beneath a snowy veil,
The vital spark had fled away,

Her cheek and hand were cold-and pale.
He mov'd the veil from off the child,
It liv'd! look'd up-and sweetly smil❜d.

In the parish of St. Paul, Covent Garden, the machinery of churchwardenship works well together. One is a cabbage dealer, one a cook, and the other a dentist. The first can obtain the cabbage, the second can cook it, and the last can help to eat it, and afterwards cleanse the organs of mastication, to the great profit of St. Paul.

At the museum in New York is a set of waxwork figures, among whom are Saul, in a Frenchman's embroidered coat; the Witch of Endor in the costume of a housemaid; and Samuel, in a robe de chambre and cotton nightcap.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The following are accepted.-Love a Conqueror
-On Tears-The Chocolate Lozenge-To
Elizabeth-Alice Lee, a Tale-An Address
Thanks to Coralius for his hints.
to Fancy.
The following are declined:-The Royal Assistant

-On Time-To Flora-Lines by W. C. and
R. S.-Acrostic by C. V.- Home sweet
Home.

Correspondents are requested to send their com

munications (Post Paid) not later than Wednesday previous to publication, addressed to the Victoria Literary Club, at their office, 12, Wellington Street, Strand.

THE STAR. No. 18 will be published on Saturday next, with a beautiful specimen of the lithographic art by Nib Boj, from a drawing by Edwards. Now ready, Part IV., containing numbers 13, 14, 15 and 16, in a neat wrapper, price Eightpence.

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