Godey's Lady's Book March 1864

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By HENRY L. RAYMOND.

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THE FANCHON JACKET.

(Front view.)

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This jacket can be made of the same materia! as the skirt, or else of black silk. It is trimmed with braid, velvet,
or bands of leather, and a narrow fluted ruffle of the material of the jacket. The coiffure is one of the latest styles,
and suitable for a young lady.

224

THE FANCHON JACKET.

{Back view.)

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226

DEESS FOE A YOUNG LADY.

It is made of amethyst-colored silk. The skirt is trimmed with four flounces edged with black lace. A graduated piece of
black lace, trimmed with lace, velvet, and buttons, extends down the front of the dress, and five sash-like strips of different
lengths are arranged round the skirt. The girdle and bretelles are also of black silk, trimmed with laee and velvet.

226

THE DARRO.

[From the establishment of G. Bkodie, 51 Canal Street, New York.

of costume.]

Drawn by L. T, Voiot, from actual articles

This mode is one that recommends itself at a glance. Possessing such elegance and quiet refinement, in conjuga-
tion with its comfort, it can challensr e comparison with any of its predecessors. The garment may be made in several
modes, either of the same or two different materials. The front and sides of sleeves may be, for instance, of silk or
moiri antique, whilst the body of the pardessus is of cloth. The trimming consists of brandebourgs and cords.

227

EMBBOIDERY.

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NEW SPRING CLOAK

{Front view.)

This cloak is made of a fine soft blue and green plaid cloth. It is trimmed witii a heavv twisted wool chenille fringe.

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EMBROIDERY.

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NEW SPRING CLOAK

(Back view.)

The hood resembles a small shawl Gracefully draped round the shoulders, and trimmed with a narrow chenille fringe.

229

LA FBJVOLITE. 1

VESTE EN MOUSSELINE.

A irmslin jacket, to wear with a Inw-necked dress. .It is trimmed with muslin puffs and a worked ruffle,
same style of jacket may be made of either black or white lace, and the effect is extremely pretty.

230

The

231

COIFFURES.

Fig. 1. — Spring coiffure
for a young lady. The
hair is waved, brushed
over frizettes, and caught
into a puff by a fancy
Bide comb. The back hair
is dressed waterfall style.

Fig. 2. — Fancy evening
coiffure. The hair is ar-
ranged over a cushion in
front, and a large bow
falls low on the neck at
the back. A bouquet of
flowers is placed directly
over the forehead.

NAME FOR MARKING.

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232

GODEY'S

00k ana Hags

PHILADELPHIA, MARCH, 1864.

"NOBODY TO BLAME.' :

BY MARION HARLAXD

[Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by Louis A. Godet, in the clerk's office of the District Court

of the United States, ia and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.]

(Continued from page 141.)

CHAPTER V,

We will pass over the scene that ensued in
the carnage, when the trio recovered from
the amazement produced by Mr. Cleveland's
unexpected adieu, and present ourselves in
Miss Dupont's private sitting-room, just as
the little party gathered around the lire, to
talk over the matter already discussed at some
length in the course of their ride.

Maggie was paler than usual with excite-
ment, and there was a droop of the eyelids
and an occasional quiver of the lip, that
showed a mind ill at ease. Marie drew her to
a lounge, and putting her arms around her,
tried to reassure her.

" What if he does tell Will and Marian, and
they think so strange of it, little trembler ?
You have but to state the truth to clear
yourself, Say that Mary was always a queer
girl, and wanted to play a harmless trick upon
you, but that she was very sorry when she
found out that you were troubled about it,
and rjromised not to do the like again. What
is easier?"

" Nothing, I suppose ; but what if they ask
if I knew who he was before I got into the
carriage ?"

"Say 'no!' " said Marie, boldly,

'* But would that be true ?" objected Maggie,
stealing a glance at the face, whose owner she
had designated by the expressive personal
pronoun.

That face was watching hers very intently
vol. lxviii. — 19

just then, and its look was the same that had
given offence to John Cleveland's nice notions
of the respect due the beloved one on the night
of Maggie's d4but. He smiled, as he caught
the furtive light of her eye. He was less
handsome in this smile than when his features
were in repose, because it heightened the
peculiar effect of the curling upper lip, before
mentioned. It was as if the unpleasant savor.
he seemed ever inhaling, had suddenly grown
stronger, when, to borrow Dickens' inimitable
description of the like effect, "his moustache
went up and his nose came down." Yet he
was, to a casual observer, a splendid-looking
man, tall, well-made, with dark eyes, a full,
silky beard, and a Romanesque nose. Marie
had repeatedly declared to Maggie that he was
her beau ideal of manly perfection and beauty,
and she, simple, trusting soul, endorsed the
report of his mental and spiritual worth, as
freely as she did that of his physical charms,
and believed devoutly in both.

He abandoned his station by the mantel at
her wordless appeal, and pushing an ottoman
towards her sat down at her feet.

"Why would it be untrue?" he asked,
insinuatingly. "You cannot be said to know
a thing that you are not sure of. You had
your suspicions that Thomas would be Thomas
no longer, when he took off his new, great
coat, but what proof had you of my identity,
besides this vague impression? I contend
that you would commit a grave error were

233

234

godey's lady's book and magazine.

you to say anything of so slight a surmise,
when you are questioned about our innocent
frolic. There is no reason why you should
get yourself into needless trouble."

4 'You see, my darling," resumed Marie,
" Albert came unexpectedly in the six o'clock
train. He wrote to me this morning, inclos-
ing a note for you, saying that he would be
up to-night, and asking me to have you here.
But this did not arrive until an hour after
he did. So, mamma having gone to spend
the night in New York, and taken the boys
with her, I had no chaperon or escort to watch
over me in my moonlight jaunt, unless I had
chosen to keep the baby out of bed, and run
the risk of croup, cough, and crossness.
Thomas was out of the way too, he always is
when I want him. What else could we do,
unless we had broken our hearts by doing
without you ?"

"Perhaps she thinks that would have been
the best arrangement," said Lorraine, art-
fully.

" You know better than that !" said Maggie,
in ingenuous haste. "But, I think Marian
would have let me come more readily if she
had known who your protector was. I do not
see what objection she would have had, for
she believes that you two are — " she stopped,
covered with blushes.

"Yes, of course!" nodded Marie. "She
thinks just what we meant she should, until
we are ready to undeceive her. Why call her
attention to xilbert's frequent companionship
with yourself more than is necessary ? And
your god-father, my dear ! that unselfish
adopted brother of yours, what would he have
said to your moonlight flitting?"

"Indeed, dear Marie, you are greatly mis-
taken as to Mr. Cleveland's feelings for me!"
rejoined Maggie, eagerly. He is a friend —
a brotherly friend — nothing more, I do assure
you ! ' '

"Nous verrons! For the nonce, he is use-
ful to us. Now, as I can guess how unwelcome
I am here, I shall betake myself to the parlor
to write a letter. See here, my pet!" She
drew a foreign-looking missive from her pocket,
and partially unfolded the large, thin sheets.
"You are not the only happy ones to-night."

"0, delightful!" exclaimed Maggie, clap-
ping her hands. " When did it come ?"

"Albert brought it up, like the good brother
he is."

"Is he well?"

"Very well in body, trds malheureux et trls
Jicttle, selon les riglesV said Marie, without a
blush, and evidently thinking that the foreign
phrase was a very modest veil for communi-
cations upon so delicate a subject. And she
danced out singing, " Toujour s Jidllel Toujours

Uncomfortable as John Cleveland's reveries
were after Maggie's abduction, they were
cheerful in comparison with the horror that
would have seized him, could he have looked
into Miss Dupont's boudoir that night. Mag-
gie's hand lay confidingly in Lorraine's,
while his arm encircled her waist ; love words
fell fast and low from his lips, and no utter-
ance of hers reproved his freedom. Why
should she shrink from, or repel her betrothed
lover ?

This was a romance of Marie's manufacture.
Affianced herself to an elder Lorraine, who
was now abroad, she desired that her "twin
soul," as she was fond of styling Maggie,
should know similar felicity. Who more
likely to effect this end than her Clement's
brother ? Albert was nothing loath when he
had once seen his predestined inamorata.
From thinking of the benefit to accrue to him
from an alliance with the daughter of a
wealthy man, he soon came to love the
gentle, pretty creature thrown sedulously in
his way, a love far inferior in quality to the
depth and singleness of Cleveland's devotion,
but as exalted a sentiment as he was capable
of feeling. The two men were opposites in
grain and in culture. Beneath John's ready
smile and merry word there were solidity of
thought, uncorruptible principle, and true,
inborn refinement, while Lorraine's volubility,
a heritage from his French father, covered,
sometimes well, sometimes miserably, a shal-
low, ill-worked mind, as did his gallant and
fine sajdngs, inherent and ineradicable selfish-
ness.

Maggie was hardly to blame that her wo-
manly instinct erred in her estimate of her
suitor. Marie's influence over her was not
merely the ascendency of a strong over a
pliant will ; it was the authority oi a clever
mistress over a loving slave. While Mr.
Boylan delved in his counting-house, and his
wife dozed, read novels, and bemoaned her
petty griefs at home ; while Tiny held fidgety
sway in her domain, and Marian ruled with a
milder hand in hers, the youngling of the
flock was helped by Marie's mother wit to

'XOBOPY TO BLAME.

235

cheat and evade teachers in class hours,
and walked, ate, and slept with her during
the rest of the twenty-four. She spent more
holidays and Sabbaths at Mrs. Dupont's than
in her own home, and no one vetoed the ar-
rangement. Tiny's jealousy of her growth in
stature and beauty made her presence at her
father's irksome to both sisters, and while
Marian regretted that this was so, she could
not chide Maggie for preferring Marie's so-
ciety. Albert Lorraine was always in atten-
dance on these fete days, and nobody asked
wherefore this should not be. Mrs. Dupont
had her friends, and her daughter had hers,
and they were best pleased when the house
was full of a giddy crowd of pleasure-seekers,
whose chief object in existence was the en-
joyment of the passing hour.

It was impossible that an impressible girl
should retain, in this atmosphere, that recti-
tude of intention with respect to the right and
the wrong, that nicety of discrimination be-
tween the true and the false, which is requisite
to guide her safely through the labyrinths of
fashionable life. Marie's pupil charmed her
instructress by her proficiency in dissimulation
after her acquaintance with Lorraine had ar-
rived at a certain stage, the interesting
turning-point between mutual and evident
admiration, and a more absorbing, but more
shy emotion. "Maggie never could hide
anything in her life," was a proverb in her
home, and the faith of her family in its truth
was never stronger than when she wore what
was supposed to be a present from Marie, but
was, in reality, the publicly displayed pledge
of a secret betrothal. But why secret ? Because
Marie so willed it, and Marie knew best what
was to be done for her in this, as in every-
thing else, because Albert seconded Marie,
and Albert was infallible, thought Maggie.
Because it was so delightfully romantic, and
had the enchanting smack of mystery that
she relished ; because it was grand fun to
carry the matter on without being suspected
by a soul beyond their little circle, and the
denouement would be splendid ! thought Marie,
gleefully. All women love the post of privy-
counsellor and manager-general. With her,
this liking was a passion. Because it was
sound wisdom to secure the young bird before
trying to ensnare the old one, and Mr. Boy Ian
was a very sly old bird, one whose investiga-
tions and calculations were likely to be un-
pleasantly close. It was not every fellow

whose everyday life could bear such an airing
as must be undergone by any one who offered
to become his son-in-law. The thing must be
confessed at last, but where was the hurry /
This was a much more agreeable fashion of
love-making than a hum-drum courtship,
prosecuted under the prying eyes and vixen-
ish nose of that fussy old maid sister. And
when it should " come out," what a sensa-
tion the news would create ! how the girls
would envy her, and the men hate him for
having so cunningly stolen a march upon
them !

Thus Lorraine had secretly reasoned hith-
erto, but theie were certain grave reasons
now why he should alter his policy. Fast
horses, champagne suppers, and cards, the
luxuries enumerated by Mr. Carvell, as those
to which the gay youth did most seriously
incline, could not be kept up on only a "fair
salary," and creditors began to encroach
upon his pleasures. The prestige of an en-
gagement with the daughter of a rich merchant
would keep these troublesome creatures at
bay until he could "raise the wind." It was
an agreeable way to get out of his difficulties,
this marrying the girl he worshipped. This
was not exactly the way he stated his case to
Maggie, however.

' ' You see, my angel, I am growing very
impatient, not so much of concealment, but of
the necessity for it. I cannot live without
you much longer. You are now nineteen
years old. Mrs. Ainslie was but twenty when
she married. Why should I not ask your
father to make me as happy as he did your
brother-in-law ? a thousand times more happy,
indeed, for what is Marian compared with my
precious girl ? I am miserable without you.
I only live in your presence. Why may I not
enjoy it always ?"

Maggie hid her face upon the arm of the
sofa.

' ' No, no ! " she murmured, while a shiver
ran over her, born of what strange presenti-
ment, of what inward recoil, she could not
tell.

Lorraine frowned — a look it was as well she
did not see.

"No! and why not ?" he asked, in a soft
voice, that had no kinship with the language
of his eye. "You fear lest you would weary
of me, then, if I were continually near you ?"

Her reply was to place her hand within his.

"Perhaps, then, you dread a refusal from

236

GODEY's LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

your father? I acknowledge that I do not
deserve you, Maggie. No man living ever
can."

" You are too good for me !" returned she,
half audibly.

" Your father may differ from you as to this.
How then?"

" He will like you. How could it be other-
wise ?" Maggie raised her head to say ear-
nestly. "He is irritable and often stern. I
am afraid of him, but you need never be. I
have heard Marian say that he was very kind
and just to Will when he proposed for her."

"Kind and just! That means came down
pretty handsomely with the rhino, I hope I"
thought Lorraine. " What is your objection,
then?" he inquired, yet more tenderly.

Again Maggie shook with that unaccounta-
ble, nameless fear, and her eyes dilated as at
the approach of some startling apparition.

' ' I don't know ; I am nervous, I suppose. We
are so happy now that I dread any change !"
she faltered.

Lorraine arose loftily. "Which dread I
am to construe into a disinclination ever to
become my wife!" he said, freezingly ; then
turning from her, apparently to conceal his
emotion, he added, in a changed tone : " And
this is the end of all my hopes 1 I had not
looked for coquetry from you, Maggie !"

1 ' The end ! ' ' Maggie seized his hand. * l Oh,
Albert ! how can you misunderstand me so
cruelly ? Can you suspect me of trilling ?
Me!"

She sobbed as though her heart were broken.

Lorraine had gained the day. He felt this,
as he took the frightened, weeping child into
his arms, and soothed her with renewed pro-
testations of love and trust. Marie perceived
it upon her return to the apartment, and, well
pleased at her ally's victory, informed him,
gayly, that it was past midnight, and that
Maggie's roses must be saved for the approach-
ing ball.

When the girls were in their chamber, Miss
Dupont listened to the story of the arrange-
ments that awaited her sanction. Lorraine
was to call upon Mr. Boylan the day suc-
ceeding the jparty, and formally request his
permission to address his daughter.

"I begged him not to do it before that
time, ' ' said Maggie. ' ' It would be embar-
rassing to appear in company immediately
after the announcement. People will be
talking about us, you know, and then, to

speak frankly, Marie, I think Tiny will be
vexed when she hears it, and that would spoil
the pleasure of my evening and hers too."

4 ' A very good idea ! Just as it should be ! "
responded Marie. " And, for pity's sake, don't
have a long engagement! They are forlorn
affairs when they are public. How much
attention would I receive in society if it were
believed that I was fiancee f When poor, deai
Clement addressed me, I stipulated that the
affair should be kept a profound secret until
his return. As to the blind which Albert's
attentions throw over the state of my affections,
it is so flimsy as scarcely to discourage the
most faint-hearted of my other beaux. Any
one who is at all knowing in les affaires du
cceur must see that it is only a Platonic at-
tachment on both sides. And your trousseau,
my dearest ! What fun we shall have in pre-
paring it ! Don't trust Tiny to superintend
your shopping. Let Marian or myself do it.
We will take more interest in making you
charming. Albert has exquisite taste, and
his bride must not disappoint him."

Maggie had ceased the duties of her toilet,
and sunk down into a chair, her unbound
hair streaming over her white dressing-gown,
her eyes fixed on the fire. The brightness
had all gone from her face, and a haggard ex-
pression had followed upon the spent excite-
ment. She looked worn-out, anxious, unhap-
py — a sad sight in one who had just decided
upon so important a move in life.

While Marie talked on of milliners, mer-
chants, and mantua-makers, the thoughts of
the other were roving far wide of such disser-
tations. Why should the scene she had
quitted hours before, for the society of her
lover, arise before her now in such distinctness
and beauty ? What meant the indefinable
longing with which she turned to it — calm,
restful, full of holy affection — after the hot,
passionate atmosphere that had surrounded
her since she had parted from the pleasant
family group? What was the dull aching,
far down in her heart, as she thought of
saying "Farewell" to John, the steadfast
friend of her girlhood? She had divined
something of his prejudice against Lorraine ;
she knew that Albert returned the feeling
with interest, that his wife would not be
likely to meet his supposed rival, except as a
common acquaintance. Why was it so hard
to reconcile herself to the thought of this
separation ? She could not endure to picture

"NOBODY to blame.'

237

John's approach to her without the lighted
eve, the beaming smile, the outstretched
hand, and the deep, sweet voice, that made
his simple "Maggie J" a more heartfelt greet-
ing, a more earnest assurance of his interest
in her than the most lavish professions from
other tongues.

And Marian! Maggie had never realized
before her belief in Marie's representations of
Mrs. Ainslie's designs for her best-loved
sister. She had repelled, laughingly or seri-
ously, as the occasion required, Miss Dupont's
intimations of Mr. Cleveland's sentiments
with regard to his whilom playfellow, and
the favor that these met with in the eyes of
his partner's wife.

41 Marian likes him, just as I do. She never
dr?ams of. bringing about a match between us.
She would be very angry if she knew that
such motives were imputed to her," she had
said so often and so earnestly as to delude
herself into the conviction of her own sincer-
ity. She said it inwardly, now, but very
faintly, and derived no comfort from the re-
flection. What if Will and Marian were
alienated by the disclosure of her attachment
to Albert ? Would she have to resign them
also ? And Tiny would be mortally offended
at her presumption in daring to be engaged
before herself, and her mother would cry all
day— "Heigho!"

44 What a sigh I and what a distressed
countenance!" cried Marie, with a shriek of
laughter that made Maggie jump as if a pistol
had been fired at her ear. "One would think
that the child were going to be buried, instead
of married ! ' '

Maggie burst into a flood of hysterical tears.

44 I wish I were ! 0, Marie ! I am afraid ! I
am afraid!"

CHAPTER VI.

" I have brought John back with me, " said
Mr. Ainslie to his wife, the next evening.

Marian was preparing a salad in the dining-
room, whither her husband had come to seek
her.

4 4 1 am glad to hear it ! " she said, sincerely.
4 ' He is always welcome, never makes any
difference in my arrangements. How did you
prevail upon him to deviate so far from his
fixed principles as to visit us upon two suc-
cessive days ?"

"Why, the truth is, the poor fellow has

19*

been unusually depressed to-day. He tried
not to show it, pretended he had a headache
from drinking that punch last night, that
would not have hurt a fly, but I saw through
it all. I told him the quiet and purer air of
the country would cure him, and in spite of
a desperate show of resistance on his part, I
brought him along. I tell you what, Marian,
he is pretty far gone ! Can't I recognize the
signs ?"

Mr. Ainslie emphasized these observations
by a kiss, bestowed with unwonted gusto,
born of the awakened memories of the days
when the familiar symptoms possessed him
also. Marian smiled wisely, and went on
with her work, Will standing by and watching
the interesting process.

44 Will Maggie drop in this evening, do you
think?" he inquired.

44 1 hope so, unless the saucy minx is afraid
to face me after the escapade of last night."

"Better not scold her!" advised Will.
"She is a timid, tender-hearted little thing,
and loves you very dearly. I don't believe
she ever had a thought she was not willing
you should share."

"Maggie is affectionate and frank, there is
no doubt about that, ' ' said Marian.

"She would be safer in the world If she
had more force of character, and the power, if
not the disposition, to hide her feelings, but
she is a sweet child, and I have no wish to
scold her. She gets enough of that at home. ' '

44 The more reason why she should marry
John! (Don't you think a trifle more oil
would be an improvement ?) His wife will
never have cause to complain of his harshness
or stubbornness. (Not too much Cayenne,
lovey ! John has a tender mouth.)"

4 4 Did that last observation refer to his
eating my salad, or his obedience to the
wifely curb ?" asked Marian.

44 To both, if you choose. He dreads pepper
and temper alike. That is why Tiny never
caught him. That reminds me ! — did I ever
tell you that when he comes home with me,
we always take the back street, to avoid her
look-out from the parlor windows ? She
scrutinizes every man that passes that way
from the depot. If there is anything that
makes me nervous, it is to have her pop in
while he is here."

44 Am I not a troublesome visitor?" said
John, as his hostess extended her hand in
welcome.

238

godey's lady's book and magazine.

"Only when you apologize for giving us
pleasure, ' ' she answered, frankly as gracefully.

She had that rare virtue in a wife, of
viewing her husband's friends as her own.
In consideration of this, and a hundred other
excellent traits, John was willing to overlook
her satirical tendencies and very decided
fondness for assuming the rule wherever she
had a semblance of right to do so. She made
Will very happy, and his home more than
comfortable for him and his associates, and
she was the sister preferred by Maggie, there-
fore John loved her almost as well as if she
were his sister also.

The new dressing-gown and cap had not
been sent to the city yet, and the three
adjourned to the smoking-room after dinner,
for a repetition of the previous night's per-
formances. All thought of the figure that was
missing from the corner ottoman, but no one
spoke of her, unless a sigh that escaped John's
lips, with the first whiff of smoke, were an
unsyllabled lament over departed joys. It was
hardly lost in air, when a rosy face peeped in
at the door.

" Is there admittance for a runaway, Marian,
dear ? I have come for my lecture."

"Come in!" called Will. "I will stand
between you and her, if she is inclined to be
cross."

She advanced quite into the room before she
perceived Mr. Cleveland. Then the blood
poured over her cheeks and brow, and she
paused, as if meditating a retreat.

" I did not know that you were here !"

Marian exchanged a swift, triumphant
glance with her husband.

"Why should he not be where you left
him?" she said. "We have only to imagine
that Miss Dupont's call and kidnapping exploit
were an unpleasant dream, and we shall be as
merry as we meant to be last evening."

Maggie changed color. She was busied in
untying her hood and taking off her shawl,
but John thought he detected a twinge of
painful emotion about the mouth. She was
silent for a minute, until her wrappings were
unfolded and laid on a table, at the back of
the room. Was there a fleeting wish, clear
as transient, that all that had passed last night,
after she left them, were indeed a dream?
She did not ponder this question. She was
playing a part, and her role must not be
marred by dangerous meditations.

Instead of accepting the chair offered by

her brother-in-law, she sat down upon Marian's
foot-cushion, and crossed her arms upon her
sister's lap in mock penitence.

"If you please, madam, I am sorry I was
naughty last night ! ' '

" Not very naughty !" Marian caressed the
pretty head resting against her knee. "It
was not your fault, and we were more disap-
pointed than angry. Only, dear" — she felt
that she must warn the inexperienced child —
"I do not admire Miss Dupont so much as I
could wish, since she is so dear to you She
is too loud and self-willed to suit my taste ;
too much her own mistress, and disposed to
domineer over others for so young a "iady."

Maggie was troubled. " Marie means well,
sister. It is only her way. She is very kind
and good, and I can't help loving hei\"

" Love her as much as you choose," inter-
posed Will. "But don't grow to be like
her!"

"Preposterous!" ejaculated John, filliping
his cigar, impatiently. "As if she ever
could!"

Maggie tried to smile. "You mean to be
complimentary, I suppose, Mr. Cleveland, and
I thank you for your good opinion of me, but
in my eyes, Marie is almost perfection, and I
regret more than I can express, the dislike
that you have all conceived for her."

* ' True to your colors ! That : s a brave
girl ! Stand up for your friends, right or
wrong ! ' ' said Will, in his character as Maggie's
backer.

"But our best friends have faults," re-
sponded Marian, " and you must confess, dear
Maggie, that it was neither friendly nor lad}^-
like in Miss Dupont to play such a trick upon
you as dressing her lover in her coachman's
livery, and enticing you to accompany her,
and me to permit you to go, by representations
of "Thomas'" respectability! Whatever
liberty she may choose to take with you, her
terms of intimacy with Mr. Ainslie and my-
self do not justity her in attempting practical
jests with us."

' ' Keep cool ! ' ' suggested Will. ' * Fair and
easy! Don't crowd on steam upon a down
grade !"

" I don't mean to be harsh or uncharitable,
darling ! ' ' Marian, warm-tempered, but warm-
hearted, checked herself and went on more
mildly. "You know that I would not vex
you wilfully, nor do I hold you accountable for
your companions' imprudence or folly. Alter

239

all, as John intimates, there is no danger of
their doing you any harm."

Now John never intended to imply any
such thing. That Maggie could grow into a
counterpart of Miss Dupont, he did not believe ;
that she might sustain much and serious
injury by her intercourse with this wild girl,
he greatly feared. But this was not the time
for him to speak. He saw that Maggie was
already wounded to the quick. The grieved,
not sulky pout of her red lip, her downcast
eyes and varying complexion, were a pretty
and touching sight. He could not have put
the next question that fell from Marian,
although his anxiety to hear the reply ex-
ceeded hers.

"Did you know that Mr. Lorraine was Miss
Bupont's driver before you got into the car-
riage?"

Maggie hesitated. It was not an easy thing
for her to equivocate, much less tell a direct
untruth, when removed from Marie's eye and
guidance. She had expected this query, and
as we have seen, been prepared for it by her
Jesuitical instructors ; but still her tongue
was slow to frame the words her mind had
ready. Involuntarily she glanced at John.
His eyes were fastened upon her ; his counte-
nance eager, expectant, apprehensive. With
womanly quickness she recalled the searching
look he had shot at the supposed coachman,
at the sound of the voice that had drawn her
attention to him, and considered the proba-
bility that her agitation had not passed un-
noticed.

She spoke very slowly, trying to master the
confusion that was beginning to becloud her
wits. " I had no susjjicion of anything wrong
until I heard him speak. Then I was sur-
prised, for I know Thomas' voice well, and
thought that this was not he. After we
started Marie told me how she had hoaxed
us, I was sadly troubled, for I foresaw how
displeased you all would be. She apologized,
upon seeing how badly I felt, and begged me
to assure you, if you were offended, that she
only intended a harmless jest."

" Tried by a council of peers, and honorably
acquitted!" said Will.

"One more question!" resumed Marian,
somewhat curiously. "What did Mr. Lor-
raine, the usurper of honest Thomas' dignities
and overcoat, say about his part in this re-
fined species of amusement ?"

" Ail that a gentleman could do !" answered

Maggie, with unwonted spirit. Her eyes
sparkled, her cheek burned, and she arose to
her feet. " Is my cross-examination ended ?"

"There, there! Marian; you are making a
mountain out of a mole-hill, as I told you
last night !" Will interfered. " Let the mat-
ter rest. It is all right, Maggie ! So long as
the man don't break your neck, we have no
cause of complaint against him."

"I have no further inquiries to make,"
said Marian, drily. "It is a consolation to
hear, since Maggie is obliged to associate
with him, that Mr. Lorraine is a gentleman.
I confess that I had misgivings upon the sub-
ject. He has, tome, more the air of a chevalier
dHndustrie."

It was very seldom that Mrs. Ainslie assumed
this tone in addressing Maggie, and John was
indignant that she did so now, while he
silently assented to her judgment of the * ' gen-
tleman" under debate. His displeasure was
quickly forgotten in admiration of the manner
of the younger sister beneath the sarcasm.
For one second, she quivered — literally swayed
and shook, like a leaf in a storm — her head
dropped, and her hands sought each other,
in a tight, straining clasp. Then, she raised
her face and forced a smile, while the tears
gathered large and bright ready to fall.

1 ' Marian ! ' ' said her husband, in surprise.
"You forget that you are addressing this
innocent child ! She does not mean anything
unkind to you, Maggie."

1 1 1 know it. She would not hurt my feelings
any sooner than I would hers," she replied,
sweetly, brushing off the clinging drops from
her lashes. " We have never quarrelled yet,
and we will not begin now, May, dear, will
we ? I was cross myself, or she would not
have answered me as she did. Forgive and
forget!"

She stooped over and kissed her sister's
willing lips, and peace was restored outwardly
at least.

"She is an angel!" thought Cleveland,
enthusiastically. " There is not another like
her in the universe ! "

Truly Maggie had exercised what was in her
an almost miraculous degree of self-control
and magnanimity, in seeming to overlook and
pardon this hasty and injudicious remark.
We say "seeming," since her studiously-
acquired art of dissimulation had some part in
her conduct. To refute the aspersion cast
upon Albert's character, would have been to

240

godey's lady's book and magazine.

avow intimate acquaintance with his ante-
cedents and habits of life ; to resent it, might
reveal a keener smart than she had a right to
feel from this thrust at a friend's friend. To
propitiate Marian was indispensable, whether
her engagement remained secret, or was soon
avowed. Marie's parting advice was, that
this coadjutor should be secured at all hazards.
Therefore, far as the repentant sister was from
imagining it, there was hypocrisy in the kiss
of reconciliation she received, burning, bitter
thoughts hidden behind the blushing, tearful
face that bowed over her, as the token of
amity was exchanged.

* ' Not another like her in creation ! ' ' repeated
John, inwardly. ' ' How far superior to both
of her sisters I ' '

The front door was opened and closed, and
a pair of high heels clicked along the hall-floor,
a patter, not unlike the scamper of a cat shod
with walnut shells. Will arose aghast ;
Marian sighed, not inaudibly. John threw
his cigar into the grate and gave a wistful,
hopeless look at a bay-window, as if seeking
a hiding-place.

"Not a word to Tiny about this, please!"
Maggie had just time to say, in a terrified,
imploring tone, when the diminutive Terror
appeared.

" Ah ! I have found you, have I, truant ?"
she began, affectionately jocular, appearing to
see Maggie only.

" Yes, madam, here I am quite at your
service!" said Mr. Cleveland, audaciously
impertinent, making a low bow.

Tiny uttered a charming little scream, and
put both hands to her face in dire confusion.

''Mercy! Mr. Cleveland, you have fright-
ened me nearly to death ! Who would have
thought of seeing you here ?"

"I cannot say, indeed, unless you did!"
rejoined he, wickedly, and Tiny little thought
how truthfully.

' ' Not I ! I came to hunt up this naughty
child, who ran off without giving me a hint of
her intentions, and left me with no company
besides my own meditations."

"And they were not agreeable, we are to
judge from your appearance here," John
went on, more from the force of habit and the
feeling that he must be talking, than from
any propensity to badinage. * ' We are debtors
to those same annoying reflections. Your
pain has been our gain."

Tiny tossed her head gratifiedly, and put up

one nicely-fitting gaiter on the fender, to warm
or to show the foot it covered. She was
especially vain of her hands and feet, and was
forever devising ways and means of exhibiting
them. Maggie had retired into the back-
ground, and sat demurely thinking her own
thoughts.

"Why does Mr. Cleveland flatter Tiny?
He never runs on in that strain to me," she
had once said to Marian.

"No ; because he respects you, and nobody
that knows her can respect Tiny," was the
reply.

It came back to Maggie now, and brought
with it a sense of shame and humiliation.

" Would he, could he respect me if he knew
all ?" she asked herself. ' ' Oh, if it were over,
and I could see what was before me !"

' ' I ran over to consult you, Marian, ' ' Tiny
continued, with a plausible show of proba-
bility, about my preparations about Marie
Dupont's party. Are you going?"

"No."

" No ? who is to chaperone us if you decline
the office ?"

"I cannot say, I am sure, unless ma' will
undertake the task."

"That would be a resurrection indeed!
Poor, dear mamma would expire at the
thought of so much exertion. Why do you
stay away ? You are so fond of going out,
and this is to be the most brilliant affair of
the season, I understand. Marie is Maggie's
best friend, too ! She will think it odd if you
are not there."

Tiny said all this in the smoothest of coax-
ing tones, a sort of affected purr, that acted
uncomfortably upon the mental diaphragms of
those who were familiar with her out-of-com-
pany moods.

"I suppose, moreover, that it will not be
many months before Miss Dupont retires to
the seclusion of wedded life," she continued,
bent upon being entertaining. " Mr. Lorraine
is the soul of devotion. What a handsome
couple they will be ! I presume there is no
doubt about their being engaged. How is it,
Maggie ?"

Maggie gave a start as from a profound
reverie.

" What did you say?" she stammered, en-
tirely at a loss how to reply.

" Why, you are dreaming, surely ! I asked
you if Marie Dupont were engaged to Mr.
Lorraine."

'NOBODY TO BLAME.

241

The answer was withheld until all eyes
were turned wonderingly upon the confused
girl. Her presence of mind had completely
forsaken her. She had been sorely tried by
the conversation that preceded Tiny ' s entrance,
and ere her cheeks had cooled, or her heart
ceased its alarmed tremor, this direct question
put her returning composure to flight. With-
out a thought of the after consequences of
such a response — only dreading lest her tre-
pidation might provoke further investigation
and lead to premature discovery — she said,
hastily, but with tolerable firmness, " Yes,
that is, I believe that she is."

" I did not say to Albert Lorraine !" she ex-
cused herself in her own mind, at the excla-
mation of conscience against this falsehood.
It was a quibble worthy of Marie's scholar,
and a part of its punishment was not slow.
"In three days they will all know you have
told a deliberate untruth!" said Conscience,
sternly. " Will this miserable plea clear you
in their eyes ?"

John saw her growing distress, and attribu-
ted it to a different cause.

"It is unfair to put you to so severe a test
of your discretion," he said, gayly. " These
pretty little stories are usually committed
to the keeping of some fifty intimate friends,
each of whom is sworn to secrecy until the
moment of general disclosure arrives. Like
the plot of a novel, the secret, technically so-
called, may be guessed by the shrewd reader
of the opening chapter, but he is expected
to keep his suspicions to himself, and be
properly thrilled when the denouement is an-
nounced. Is it not so with Love's mysteries,
Miss Tiny?"

Maggie was grateful for the diversion of
notice from herself ; Tiny tickled by the very
frail straw of his appeal to her upon this
interesting subject. Such straws, she wisely
argued, showed which way the wind blew,
and to the faintest zephyr from the Enchanted
Land where Hymen reigned, the vane of her
imaginations turned alluringly.

The hour that followed was filled up with
cheerful chat, all joining in with a show of
mirth, Mr. Cleveland leading in genuine
lightness of heart. Still, intermingled with
his glee, there was a kindliness of tone, a
softened gleam in his eye, that bespoke the
rule of some deeper, gentler emotion than that
called forth by the hilarious converse in which
he was a participant. Tiny manoeuvred care-

fully, but vainly, to make him wait upon her
home. He put her shawl upon her shoulders
as she requested ; picked up the gloves, then
the rigolette she let fall at his feet, and while
she was drawing on the former, he stepped
across to where Maggie stood, close beside
Mr. Ainslie, and invited her to take his arm.

Will had a thankless duty to perform in
escorting his fair, elder sister to the paternal
abode. Her heels clattered upon the side-
walk with a decided ring that betrayed the
spiteful, slighted woman, her head oscillated
like that of a fretful colt under a curb, and
after the tart monosyllable that noticed his
observation upon the beauty of the night,
neither spoke until they were at the gate of
Mr. Boylan's garden.

1 ' What a lazy walker Maggie is ! " snapped
Tiny then, sending a jealous gleam of her gray
eyes down the street to where the flood of
moonlight showed two forms slowly approach-
ing the goal she had reached.

"I am much mistaken if Cleveland is not
the laggard," returned Will, taking out a
match and a cigar.

" He can walk fast enough when he likes,"
said Tiny crossly. "You were both in such
haste this afternoon, that you had not the po-
liteness to stay and help me out of the cars."

"I did not know that you were on the
train. Had you been down to the city ?"

" Yes, and was tired to death ! I called you
as loud as I could. I wanted your arm up the
hill."

" I did not hear you ; it was a pity !"

" Oh, I could not expect you to have eyes
or ears for me! If it had been Maggie, you
would neither of you been so blind or deaf. ' '

Will lighted his cigar in prudent silence,
cogitating upon this one signal failure of his
back street stratagem, and amused at the idea
of what Tiny's sensations would be when she
called to mind the discrepancy between the
statement she had just made and her extra-
vagant display of surprise at finding Mr.
Cleveland in her sister's library.

"A nut for Marian to crack !" he thought,
and then resolved upon the self-denial of
keeping it from her. "The fact is, those
girls quarrel too much now. Tiny is a vixen,
but worrying does not improve her temper."

All this time John and his companion were
walking slowly homewards in the bright moon-
light. Not many words had passed between
them, but these few were full of meaning.

242

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK ANT) MAGAZINE.

"Have I said anything to wound you to-
night ?" John inquired, when they were fairly
in the street.

" No, nothing!"

Then came a pause.

" 1 wish I could tell you, Maggie, how fer-
vently I desire your happiness — how precious
in my sight is your peaxse of mind, present
and future."

" Thank you ! You are a true friend."

" I am not ?" exclaimed John, impetuously.
" It is a cold word ! I may be presumptuous ;
but I am no longer satisfied with the name
and place of ' friend.' For years I have longed
for the hour when I could throw off this dis-
guise, and confess to you the stronger, warmer
feeling that fills my heart."

"Please don't !" Maggie's hand fell from
his own, and she drew back in alarm. " Don't
speak to me in that way ! I mean, don't say
anything more until — I. am not prepared to
answer — wait awhile and I will" — her voice
died away.

"Wait!" repeated John, joyfully. "As
long as you bid me, dear Maggie ! I love you
too truly to disturb you by wringing a reply
from you in your surprise and agitation at
this avowal of mine. I only ask that you will
think upon what I have said, and, some time,
when you can listen more quietly, allow me
to speak to you again upon this subject. My
affection is not the hasty growth of a day, that
it cannot endure a brief period of suspense.
You will hear me at another time, will you
not?"

Maggie's heart beat so violently that she
eouFd not articulate. She bowed her head,
too sick and dizzy to know what the gesture
implied. John returned her hand to its rest-
ing-place, and felt a thrill of rapture, as she
clung unconsciously to his arm. She needed
the support, and with it tottered rather than
walked by his side, until they joined the im-
patient Tiny and her philosophically cool
brother-in-law. This coolness enabled him to
detect something unusual in the manner of
the belated pedestrians, and he hurried the
leavetakings so officiously that John could
only press Maggie's fingers as he released
them, without a spoken word, and bow to
Tiny, before he was dragged away.

"Well, I must say" — began Tiny, as she
shut and locked the door after her.

If the strong necessity of speech was upon
her, it is likely that she obeyed the prompt-

ings and had her "say" out. But it was in
soliloquy, not merely unheard, but uncared
for by Maggie. With a fleet but unsteady
step she glided up the staircase, reached her
room, made fast the entrance, and threw her-
self, face downwards, upon the bed — a fright-
ened, helpless child, whose unthinking touch
had set in motion machinery, the rush and
whirl of which bore down her puny will, and
threatened to destroy reason and happiness.

"I cannot be false to Albert! Yet John
thinks that I have encouraged hum I dare
not undeceive him ! It is wicked and cruel
to let him go on loving me ! Oh, how I wish
that I could tell him everything, and ask him
to forgive me ! I used to think it would be a
delightful thing to be loved. I find now that
it is more sad than sweet !"

Thus she mused, thinking and weeping,
marvelling at and lamenting the grievous
perplexities that had crept into the life, lately
so bright and free, until, chilled and ex-
hausted, she got up and began to prepare for
slumber. Her diamond ring flashed glaringly,
pertinaciously, as her hand moved to and fro
in the gaslight. While combing out her long,
soft hair, she was constrained, as it were, by
its reflected gleams in the mirror, to pause and
examine it more closely.

No, she was not free to think of another's
love ! Here was the symbol of her bondage.
Its dazzling rays seemed to mock her inde-
cision. Not that she was really halting be-
tween two opinions. She knew her duty, and
was ready to obey its leadings. Albert was
handsome and noble, and he idolized her.
Marie was always telling her what a prize she
had won, and how many other girls had tried
to capture him and failed ; and how proud
and happy she ought to be — and whatever
Marie approved must be right. It would be
very pleasant to be her sister, and live next
door to her, and go out riding, and shopping,
and visiting with her, and hear everybody
talking in praise of the two Mesdames Lor-
raine ; but there was so much to be braved,
so many explanations to make ! Her thoughts
were running into the same channel they had
taken, the previous evening, while Marie was
descanting upon these future glories, and
somehow she could not drive them back now.
Marie had said that she was cowardly and
childish in permitting these fears to over-
shadow her, and that she ought to love Albert
so intensely as to lose sight of everything

PORTFOLIO DOTTINGS.

243

and everybody else in the world. " I do love
him! I could not have engaged myself to
him if I had not loved him passionately " she
murmured, in self-exculpation ; but the con-
trast between the strength of meaning in the
word and the feeble emphasis was nearly
ludicrous.

At that instant, just as she was raising the
ring to her lips — the caress Lorraine had
begged her to bestow each night and morning
upon his love-token — she heard the distant
shriek of a locomotive. It was the train in
which John was to go back to the city. She
imagined him happy and hopeful, forgetting
the loneliness of his ride in dreams of her and
the sweet half promise he had obtained. She
remembered the respectful fervor of his ad-
dvess — the very simplicity of earnestness ; his
delicate allusion to his long attachment ; the
generosity he had showed in consenting to
await her time of reply — and unconsciously at
first, afterwards in spite of her will, she com-
pared all this with the fluent, high-flown,
pressing declaration of her accepted lover.

"But it is no use thinking of these things
now ! " she said, aloud and desperately. " The
matter is settled, and all I can do is to float
the current. Only" — her voice breaking and
eyes swimming — " I should be happier if I
could love Albert as well when I am away from
him as when he is with me!" And for the
first time since it was put upon her finger she
fell asleep without kissing the charmed ring.
(To be continued.)

PORTFOLIO DOTTINGS.

BY REV. F. S. CASSADY.
THE POWER OP KIND WORDS.

Sympathy in a man is indeed a high and
holy attribute. Its sweet and encouraging
voice lightens the toil and enlivens the spirit
of many a child of earth who, without it,
would travel life's checkered pathway in sor-
row and sadness. Under the mighty inspira-
tion of that kindly-spoken word, there are
those at this moment who are battling the
stern difficulties of life with a newer and no-
bler energy, and all because of the inspiring
magic of that kind utterance. What the
gently distilled dew of heaven is to the plants
and flowers, so is the kind voice of sympathy
to the bosom that heaves under the pressure
of life's accumulated sorrows and afflictions.

It cannot help carrying gladness and sunshine
with it in every direction, and awakening
gratitudes that live forever. A kind word can
no more die than the noble nature which
prompts its utterance. It is a living, potential
influence for good forever ! Those who have
been wont to speak kindly to their fellows
have in this respect an inheritance that is
imperishable. Acting upon the principle
that

"The drying up a singie tear has more
Of honest fame than shedding seas of gore "

the glory of Alexanders and Csesars of history
falls into insignificance before the peerless
majesty of their deeds !

LABOR THE GREAT LAW OP LIFE.

As Jehovah has embosomed the precious
gold deep down in the earth that man may
delve after it and enrich himself by it, so that
even the process of finding it may prove a
blessing to him ; and as what is now the
finely chiseled, almost breathing marble once
lay in the rough in the quarry, only await-
ing the sublime touch of genius to mould it
into beauty and symmetry ; so does the hu-
man intellect only require the proper un-
folding of its powers that it may be itself, and
fulfil its sublime destiny in mental power and
moral might !

If the law of labor has not been planned out
as a great good to man both in the world of
matter and of mind, why do not the precious
metals, the gold and silver of the earth, lie on
the surface? and why does not the mind,
without the aid of culture, shine out in all its
majesty and splendor? The answer is at
hand. Both the hands and head have their
appropriate work in the fulfilment of the
Creator's great design. Our destiny in this
regard, as in every other, is in our own hands.
We must of necessity carve it out ourselves.

A DEFINITE PURPOSE NECESSARY TO SUCCESS.

Success is never an accident. In whatever
department of effort it is achieved, it is always
the result of a definite purpose. The thousand
failures which are made all around us show
very forcibly that more than splendid dream-
ing is necessary to success in any cause.
Men come not to the results of wealth, learning,
or fame in the world by the mere caprice of
fortune. The man who desires wealth, if he
would have desire culminate in success, must

244

godey's lady's book and magazine.

intelligently plan and earnestly work for it.
He who aspires after the palm of learning is
but the merest visionary, unless he is animated
by a longing for its acquisition that will brook
no defeat in the execution of his deliberate
purpose. And he only may hope to have his
name entered upon the roll of distinction
who feels the consciousness that the end is to
be reached through the means, and who is,
therefore, intelligently and determinately re-
solved on success. Energy, directed by a
plan to a given object, must succeed.

"Where there is a will, there is a way."
So runs the old proverb. A great purpose is
always the antecedent of a great action.
Napoleon had never scaled Alpine heights
with his veteran soldiery had not a mighty
purpose sustained the herculean enterprise.
Demosthenes had never made his fame as an
orator immortal and world-wide, had not an
all-conquering purpose made him equal to a
triumph over almost insuperable natural de-
fects in speaking. Our own Franklin had
never risen to proud eminence as a philosopher
and statesman, had not a great purpose marked
out for him, and then nerved him with the
power to fill his true niche on the record of
human greatness. Thus we might continue
to cite names to show that an earnest purpose
is a necessary condition of success. We have
only to look around us and see how many
have acquired wealth, learning, position, and
fame, in fact everything by it to teach us
that

" Perseverance is a Roman virtue,
That wins each God-iike act, and plucks success
Even from the spear-proof crest of rugged danger."

NECESSITY OF FAITH IN PROVIDENCE.

Certain moral necessities are on the mind
and heart of man ; and the recognition of an
overruling Providence is one of them. An
all-seeing and an all-disposing power confronts
us everywhere and in everything ; and not to
believe in a Providence of which this power is
the visible expression would be to confound
all the circumstances and necessities of human
life, as well as to falsify the whole testimony
of our moral nature. The admission of a
creation draws after it as a necessary sequence
the acknowledgment of a Providence. To
admit the one and deny the other is a palpable
contradiction.

In an hour of darkness and distress — con-
ditions to which human experience is ever

incident — man is forced to look to the super-
natural and divine for light and comfort.
Here is a condition of dependence which no
human power can relieve ; this dependence,
therefore, implies, unless man's whole nature
is a lie, something to depend on y which must, of
necessity, be divine and without limitation.
Faith in a superintending, beneficent Provi-
dence is therefore a necessity to the human
heart. 'Tis indeed a sublime comfort to the
earth-troubled spirit to know that

"Unheard, no burdened heart's appeal

Moans up to God's inclining ear ;
Unheeded by his tender eye,

Falls to the earth no sufferer's tear."

THE CONSISTENCY OF TRUTH.

Truth is consistent. It never contradicts
itself. It is always in consonance with the
reality and fitness of things. Although truth
is everywhere and in everything, yet it always
agrees with itself and the laws which govern
the universe. AW its parts, whether in ma-
thematics, mechanism, science, government,
morals, or religion, are harmoniously adjusted
the one to the other, and hang together in
order, beauty, and symmetry. Error is crooked
and deformed, because self-contradictory ; but
truth is majestic and peerless, because sel*-
agreeing.

Truth could not be itself, if it were not al-
ways of a piece. Its self-consistency is its
charm and crown. The least variance with
itself in any of its parts would untruth it. We
could as soon look for darkness from light,
heat from cold, music from discord, or happi-
ness from guilt, as to see truth self-opposed
or inharmonious. Lord Shaftesbury justly
observes : " The most natural beauty in the
world is moral truth. For all beauty is truth.
True features make the beauty of the face ;
and true proportions the beauty of architec-
ture ; as true measures that of harmony and
music."

Beauty is always the creation of truth.
What is not true as an ideal possibility or an
objective reality cannot be beautiful. The
rose is beautiful because of the nice adapta-
tion of its several parts and colors to our sense
of the beautiful. Any given piece of mecha-
nism, combining with just artistic designs
grace of proportion and elegance of finish, is
so for the same reason. The creations cf art
are only beautiful in the same proportion that
they embody a just conception of the natural

POETRY.

245

and the real. Only so far as they "hold the
mirror up to nature, so that nature can look
in and see herself," can they inspire the emo-
tion of the beautiful.

" Truth is a vision of delight
To bless us given ;
Beauty embodied to our sight,
A type of heaven ! ' '

Truth is the perfection of beauty. It is
beauty itself. Who can paint it ? or who can
throw its true proportions and colors on the
canvas ? No human limner can do it justice.
Like the effort " to gild refined gold, to paint
the lily, or to add another hue to the rain-
bow," 'twere "wasteful and ridiculous ex-
cess" to attempt it. It is simply beyond
description. In the language of a gifted
poet —

" It is not in the power
Of painting or of sculpture to express
Aught so divine as the fair form of Truth !
The creatures of their art may catch the eye,
But her sweet nature captivates the soul."

The whole secret of the beauty of truth,
wherever or in whatever manifested, consists
in its harmonious self-agreement — its accord-
ance with the eternal nature and reason of
things ! Always true to itself and its sublime
mission among men, it is an evangel in the
world to assimilate it to itself and enrobe it
in the light, purity, and beauty of heaven !

FORSAKEN.

BY JOHN P. MITCHELL.

you tell me to forget him, to remember him no more ;
That his vows of love were transient as footprints on the

shore ;
That he trifled with affection as pure as angel's prayer ;
That all his vows were fleeting as the arrow in the air ;
That he won my love to scorn me, and to cast me from his

heart,
When he knew my deep affection was of my life a part ;
That he triumphs in the anguish of a spii-it he has wrung
In the wail of severed heart-strings that to himself have

clung.
you tell me he is cruel, that his heart is all deceit,
That I no more must love him, for we ne'er again shall

meet;
But how little you have fathomed the depth of woman's

heart,
If you think that at her bidding love's image will depart.
Oh the face may glow with pleasure, and the voice in

laughter ring,
While despair its darkest shadows may o'er her spirit

fling.
In the world she may be joyous, and no being ever know
How her weary heart throbs onward beneath a weight of

woe;

VOL. LXVIII. — 20

As the fairest flowers may blossom above the sleeping

dead,
As a gorgeous crown may glitter upon a weary head,
As the billows of the ocean in their majesty may sweep
Above the buried millions who have perished iu the deep ;
So a woman's face may dazzle in its beauty as before,
While within her bosom live the dark memories of yore.
She may smile on all that meet her, while the heart, in

deepest woe,
Is draped in sable mourning for the love of long ago.
Ah, how vain the dream that woman can forget the happy

hours
When love her pathway scattered with ever blooming

flowers !
Oh, how well do I remember when he told me of his love,
When I dreamed that I was happy as angels are above !
In vain were every effort to hide from memory's sight
Those days of heavenly pleasure, those moments of de-
light,
For they breathe upon my spirit, they burn within my

brain,
They whisper me of pleasures I shall never see again.
When the future comes upon me, still my heart will ever

grope
In the darkness of the past, o'er the grave of buried hope ;
My soul will still remember, though all other powers

should fail,
Hours ere the night was round me, or I heard love's

dying wail —
An oasis in the desert, a green island in the sea,
When the shadows of life are darkest those days will ever

be.
He will learn the fearful anguish of an unrequited love,
Vainly will his tired spirit seek assistance from above ;
And far upon the distant past he will gaze in deepest

woe,
His memory still will linger on the love of long ago ;
He will long for the affection that he won but to betray.
When all his hopes are blighted and his joys all flown

away.
But vain were every effort to hate him, or forget
Those happy, happy memories that throng around me

yet.
I will strive to hide my sorrow that the world shall never

know
How my dream of love has faded in darkest shades of

woe;
But the past will ever linger in my memory as before,
And tell me, as I sorrow, " Love is love for evermore."

THE PINES.

BY A. M. F. A.

In their perpetual green the stately pines

Hear their round columns on the mountain's side,
While lowland trees, with their meek, clinging vines,

Unsightly all, amidst the landscape wide,

Are bared of every robe and wreath of pride.
Vet little love or joy our glance betrays,

Which rests upon the emerald crowns that hide
Those regal heads ; unto the lowliest sprays,
Mourning the palest leaf of summer days,

We turn us sadly from their living sheen ;—

Sternly unyielding it hath never been
Faded, and from our anxious watching strown,

And in their sympathies our natures lean
To things whose doom reminds us of our own.

A PAIE OF MITTENS.

BY MART W. JANVRIN.

" Good-morning, Mrs. Sutherland, and my
dear Dora ! I was passing, and thought I
must run in a minute ; besides, I wanted to
ask if you had heard of the new arrival who
is likely to prove such an acquisition to our
Westfield society ?" was the salutation of Mrs.
Judge Cooper, wife of the principal lawyer of
a pleasant suburban town, as she seated her-
self, one December morning, in the handsome
parlor of the ladies addressed.

"No, indeed! Whom do you mean?"
asked Mrs. Sutherland, a showy widow of
forty ; while her beautiful eighteen year old
daughter glanced up from the novel she was
reading with a slight expression of interest on
her delicately-chiselled features.

"Well, of course you remember old Mr.
Vane, who died two years ago, leaving a large
property ; but, I forgot, that must have been
before you came here ! This is his nephew
and heir, young Doctor Edward Vane, who is
just home from Europe ; and is going to settle
down at 'the Elms,' they say."

' ' Really, I am glad to hear that Westfield
is to receive such an addition as a cultivated,
travelled gentleman will be ! Dora, my love,
you hear Mrs. Cooper's news!" said Mrs.
Sutherland, turning to her daughter.

The fair Dora, fully aroused from her list-
lessness, replied : " Certainly, mamma ! There
are so few real gentlemen here in Westfield,
you know, Mrs. Cooper!" she added, apolo-
getically.

"It is so different from the city! There
our society was constantly numbering new
arrivals. Seriously, I have been half-regret-
ting that we purchased our place here in
Westfield, and was planning going back to
town again for a lively winter!" said the
widow. "Not that / care for society, you
know, my dear Mrs. Cooper," and she glanced
at her becoming black dress, "for I have
always said I should never marry again ; but
Dora is young, you know, and this seclusion
is so unsuitable for her."

"Oh, we can't afford to lose you, Mrs.

Sutherland!" exclaimed Mrs. Cooper. "I

know our town is quiet, but we must try and

make it interesting for the young people this

246

winter. We have a few families of wealth
and refinement, you know, my dear friendy
who can appreciate the charms of social con-
verse," and the lawyer's lady drew herself up
with dignity. " I was remarking to the Judge
this morning, that we must try and give a tone
to Westfield society this winter. 'Exactly,
my dear,' said he, and then he spoke about
young Doctor Vane's return : and then it
occurred to me that we old families ought to
welcome him back by extending the hospital-
ities of our homes to him, for he told the
Judge, who was over to his hotel last evening,
a great deal about the hospitality of the
English people, and I am sure we ought to let
him see that we are not a whit behind them.
So I told the Judge, that I meant to inaugu-
rate this by giving a soiree one night this
week, and the Judge thought it a grand idea.
' Somebody must open the season, ' I told him,
and I couldn't bear that the Osbornes should
get hold of him first. That Margaretta is so
bold, and does flirt so outrageously for any-
body of her age, thirty, if she 's a day, though
she passes for twenty- three or four ! So I 've
got the plan laid to secure Doctor Vane for
Thursday night, and issue invitations for a
select party. Suppose I shall have to extend
them to the Osbornes for appearances' sake ;
but I am planning a better match for our new
arrival than in that quarter ! ' ' and she looked
meaningly at Dora.

That elegant young lady laughed and tossed
her head, exclaiming, with a pretty affectation
of alarm : —

' ' Upon my word, what a dangerous woman
you are, Mrs. Cooper !" but it was easy to see
that she was pleased and flattered.

" Yes, indeed ! The heir to eighty thousand
and that fine old mansion, ' the Elms, ' which,
of course, needs a mistress! Why shouldn't
you be the lucky one, Dora ? But I must be
going home to write out my invitations after
I know, certainly, whether the Judge has
secured Doctor Vane. Good-morning I"

" Eighty thousand and that fine old country
seat ! Of course he won't need to practise,
with that fortune, and you could spend your
winters in town! He is worth coming to

A PAIR OF MITTENS.

247

Westfield for ! You must have something new
for the party, Dora, and send over for that
little seamstress, Miss Gerry. She gets ex-
cellent fits for you, you know ! ' '

Sweet Fanny Gerry ! the prettiest girl in all
Westville, hers was a hard, bitter lot, the
poor orphan's !

Fanny's father had been a farmer, " well to
do in the world," as the country phrase is, and
it had been his pride and joy to give his one
ewe lamb every fostering care and advantage
of education, while good old aunt Dorothy,
his maiden sister, took charge of household
cares and filled the place of the girl's departed,
sweet-voiced, gentle mother ; but sickness
came upon him, and then, as if to verify the
old adage that "misfortunes never come
singly," the crops failed, and a man for whom
he was held bound played the villain, and the
comfortable farm house and the snug acres
were swept away at one stroke to satisfy the
demands of relentless creditors. True, many
said "it was hard for old Gerry, he had al-
ways been industrious and hard-working I ' '
but, with the usual "way of the world," no-
body offered to put a shoulder to the sinking
wheel and lift him from the mire ; and so he
sank still lower, and sickness made greater
ravages where disappointment had under-
mined his constitution — and he went under
entirely — and it all ended with a new grave
in the churchyard, and little fifteen-year old
Fanny left a lonely waif in the world.

But little Fanny, though a child in years,
proved herself a woman in thought and action ;
she helped Aunt Dorothy arrange the furniture
they had saved from the wreck in a few hired
rooms in a house at the edge of the town ;
and then learned the trade of a dressmaker,
and soon had sufficient employment to fill her
time. It was hard, to be sure, to lay aside
her studies, and her beautiful music, and the
many little elegancies of needlework she was
engaged upon at the time when their misfor-
tunes came ; but she sacrificed them all most
nobly. And so for three years had she toiled,
three years, short, and fleeting to the beauti-
ful, giddy, pleasure-loving Dora Sutherland,
released from the restraints of a fashionable
boarding-school; but ah, how long to the
delicate sewing-girl, from whom the freshness
of youth was fast departing, and her life
merged into sterner woman toils !

Let us follow Fanny on the day of which we

write — that preceding Mrs. Judge Cooper's
soiree — to the house of Mrs. Sutherland,
where she had been for two days engaged upon
a costly silk which was to be completed for
Dora's wearing. All the long day had she
sat sewing upon the thick silk, until the
quick-coming winter's twilight fell over her,
then she let the dress drop from her hands,
and clasped her slender fingers over her
forehead corrugated by lines as of pain, while
her head burned and her cheeks were scarlet
red. Thus she sat until a light step bounded
up the staircase, the door was flung open, and
Dora Sutherland came in.

' ' What, in the dark ? That careless Bridget
not been up yet !" and she lit the gas, turning
on such a full flood of light as fairly made
the poor seamstress' aching eyes shrink.
' ' Well, how are you getting along with my
dress, Miss Gerry?" she asked, turning over
the work. "All done but putting in the
sleeves and fastening that trimming, I see !
Well. I am glad ; for I had set my heart on
having something different from anybody else
in this stupid town. But pray, can't you find
time to put this lace on this Spanish waist
before you go home, Miss Gerry? I shall
want it to wear over my blue silk in a night
or two ; and, if you can do it — and it won't
take more than an hour or so — it '11 save the
trouble of your coming again to-morrow."

"If I get time, I will, Miss Sutherland.
But I have a bad headache to-night, ' ' replied
Fanny.

' ' Oh, you must get time ! You will have
time to rest afterward /" exclaimed the heart-
less girl. " Now, don't disappoint me ! It 's
only a trifle, you see ! After tea, while I am
busy with the hair-dresser, you can do it.
I'm sorry for your head, I'm sure!" she
added, as she turned to leave the chamber.

Two hours afterward, while Miss Sutherland
sat under the hands of the hair-dresser whom
her mother had sent into town for, the flushed
scarlet cheeks and brilliant eyes of the sewing-
girl rose before her like a vision. But she
banished her from her mind, with the impa-
tient thought, "nothing but a cold ! She'll
be well enough to-morrow ! besides, it was
only a little work to trim the waist ! ' ' and then,
dismissing the Frenchman who had elaborately
arranged her abundant, silky hair, she arrayed
herself in the new dress which had just been
completed.

An hour later, just as the clock struck

248

godey's lady's book and magazine.

eight, and Mrs. Sutherland, elegantly dressed
in a rich, lustreless black silk, with crape
trimmings — a style of ' ' half-mourning' ' to
which the fair, blonde widow of forty adhered
— Bridget brought up word that the dress-
maker had finished her work.

Entering the chamber where Fanny stood
with bonnet and shawl on, she said : " Well,
Miss Gerry, what is your bill for making the
dress ?" sliding the clasp from her well-filled
porte-monnaie as she spoke.

''Well, ma'am, I think it worth about four
dollars, as I have cut and made the whole
without assistance !" said Fanny.

"Four dollars! why, child, what can you
be thinking of?" exclaimed Mrs. Sutherland,
in astonishment. "I never pay over three
for a dress — in the country, I mean — city
prices vary, of course !"

"But, ma'am, this is a silk, and hard and
stiff to sew!" ventured Fanny. "You will
remember that it is trimmed a great deal, too,
both skirt and sleeves, and I worked late last
night before going home."

"A dress is a dress. I can't afford to pay
more than three dollars, miss. If that price
suits, then I shall continue to give you more
work. You will remember that I always
employed Miss Davis till I took you on Mrs.
Judge Cooper's recommendation. I dare say
you are laying up money now, only yourself
to support !" and, laying the bill on the table,
she turned from the chamber.

For a minute Fanny Gerry stood motionless.
Her first impulse was to indignantly spurn the
scanty remuneration for the two days of hurry
and toil over the costly silk, and the hours
she had stolen from sleep the previous night ;
but then came over her the thought of her
poverty, and for old Aunt Dorothy's sake
she swallowed the choking sensation in her
throat, and descended the stairs and left the
house.

And a half hour afterward, while the poor
seamstress, feverish and ill, entered the room
where Aunt Dorothy sat waiting her coming,
the brilliant Dora Sutherland, radiant in
health, beauty, and animation, was the envy
of half the women and the admired of all the
gentlemen in Mrs. Judge Cooper's parlors.

Two months later — during which a constant
round of parties had sufficed to bring our hero,
young Doctor Vane, into contact with "the
refined portion of Westfield Society," as Mrs.

Judge Cooper expressed it — that young gen-
tleman bent his steps, one starlit February
evening, to the Westville Town Hall, into
which a tide of people were wending their
footsteps.

In the vestibule, as he paused to pay his
admission fee, he came in contact with old
Doctor Quinine, a queer, quaint, half-cynical,
half-goodnatured, wealthy old gentleman —
and the only disciple of Esculapius, except
himself, of whom Westfield could boast.

"Ah, good evening, doctor ! You care steal
a little time from your patients then, to come
and patronize our benevolent ladies in their
noble labors for the soldiers ?" said the young
man, smilingly, passing into the hall at the
old gentleman's side.

' ' Ah, hum, had to look in, you see ! ' Twould
be mighty small, you know, not to come to a
soldiers' benefit. But fairs, in general, are
bores to an old man like me ! ' ' was the reply.
" And I told them I 'd rather pay for half a
dozen tickets and stay away ; but the women
folks got hold of it, and said I 'd got to come.
I only hope the poor fellows off at the war will
get the money all this folderol is going to
fetch!" and he glanced round at the gayly
decorated tables.

' ' Of course they will, doctor ! Our ladies —
God bless them ! — will coin hundreds of dol-
lars from this festival, to mitigate and alleviate
the hardships of our gallant soldiers," replied
young Doctor Vane. "But which way go
you ? Literally, I am beset with attractions,
perfect bazaars of beautiful things, and pre-
siding houries, in readiness to make sad havoc
on a man's pocket-book and heart, on either
side!"

By this time the two physicians had ad-
vanced up the hall, and were the observed of
a score of young ladies and middle-aged
matrons who presided at fancy tables, refresh-
ment tables, or whatever else tempted the eye
or appetite.

"There's Doctor Vane!" whispered Mrs.
Judge Cooper, eagerly, to Mrs. Sutherland,
who was her tns-ct-vis at a cake table. "I
wonder if he is coining this way ? There ! he
sees us!" bowing and smiling through the
crowd.

"Perhaps he will purchase some of those
beautiful fancy articles on Dora's table ?"
suggested Mrs. Sutherland.

"Oh, there's dear, good Doctor Quinine,
and that splendid Doctor Vane!" lisped the

A PAIR OF MITTEXS.

249

girlish (?) Margaretta Osborne, darting from
her station at a plethoric " grab bag," sta-
tioned near a spruce tree laden with tiny bags
of gauze well stuffed with confections for the
gastronomic temptation of the juveniles ; and
in another minute she had caught hold of the
"dear doctor's" arm, and was likewise ex-
pending the batteries of her languishing blue
eyes upon his companion.

" Well, well, suppose I must dive into grab
bags, buy night-caps, or do anything else
equally as nonsensical, to please the ladies !"
submitted the old doctor with a half-growl.
" Come along, Vane, and make a monkey of
yourself, too 1"

"Oh, dear doctor ! Not to please us; but
all for the good of our poor, noble, suffering
soldiers /" lisped Miss Margaretta, shaking her
cloud of flaxen ringlets the while at Vane.

" Hum ! how you women do like an excuse
to get up a fair or any other dissipation!"
growled the old gentleman, thrusting his hand
deeply into the mysterious receptacle, and
bringing forth a package, whose contents,
after sundry umvrappings, proved to be a
tiny china baby.

' ' Ugh [ ' ' growled the old doctor, with a wry
face, holding the toy aloft. " Behold a profit-
able investment for the good of the Federal sol-
diers I Vane, take your turn now, and perhaps
Miss Margaretta will dispense to you some-
thing equally as profitable."

With a little affectation of a blush, and
shaking her finger at the ' ' naughty doctor, ' '
who now retreated among the crowd of children
congregated in the vicinity, the fair Marga-
retta smilingly assisted the younger gentleman
in the mystery of " grabbing." And shortly,
to the intense delight of the juveniles, Doctor
Edward Vane extracted from his package a
u Jumping-Jack, " of uncommonly agile pro-
pensities.

"How that artful piece manages to keep
them at her side!" said Mrs. Cooper to her
friend at her table.

"Yes, I should feel dreadfully if I had a
daughter so bold!" rejoined the fair widow,
glancing up to the region where Dora, sur-
rounded by a crowd of smitten swains, was
alternating her smiles and dulcet speeches
with quick glances to the direction in the
crowd through which she now saw Doctor
Vane approaching.

An hour later, sensible that the beautiful
Dora Sutherland would have neither eyes nor

20*

ears for them during the remnant of the eve-
ning, the group around her fancy table had
thinned, leaving young Doctor Vane in his
chosen position as attache at her court.

Dora was in triumph. For the last two
months she had met him constantly at party,
concert, and at her own house ; yet never
had he been so open in his devotions, so gal-
lant in his attentions, as on this evening.
And so public as it was, too ! to retain his
place by her side, evince no desire to leave it,
and, ere the evening was half spent, to request
the pleasure of being her escort home ! She
was in splendid spirits ; and everywhere
through the hall ran the story that Doctor
Vane and Dora Sutherland were probably
engaged.

"Engaged? — hum! Everybody says so —
then it must be true!" growled old Doctor
Quinine, who had been going from table to
table, buying an astonishing variety of incon-
gruous articles, and eating cake and oysters
in a way that set all known rules of health at
defiance — and thereupon he found himself in
their vicinage.

"Well, I wonder if you've got anything
left at your table for me to buy, Miss Dora?"
he asked, looking in admiration at her fresh,
beautiful face. " Believe I shall go home now
like a pack peddler ; but it 's all for the good
of the soldiers, you know!" he chuckled fa-
cetiously.

"Why, I believe everything is sold, doc-
tor!" said Miss Sutherland, with one of her
most winning smiles. " Everybody has been
so generous to-night ! it is such a draught on
our sympathies, you know, when we think to
what a holy cause our charity is devoted —
but ah, see here, doctor ! here is something
left — just one pair of mittens, stout yarn mit-
tens ! ' ' holding them up. ' ' How funny they
would look over your driving-gloves, Doctor,
when you are visiting your patients this cold
weather ! ' ' and she laid them before him with
her most bewitching smile.

At this juncture, Dora's mother appeared
at the old doctor's side, her blooming beauty
comparing favorably with her daughter's.

' ' Oh, do take them, doctor ! It is such a
good joke!" she urged, blandly, with one of
her glances, which confirmed the story afloat
in Westfield, that the fair widow would not
prove insensible to the wealth of the old doc-
tor, if he should lay it at her feet.

The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders,

250

godey's lady's book and magazine.

and his keen black eyes twinkled through the
wry grimace he made.

" Vane, suppose you and I take the mittens
together ?" — and, severing the thread which
united the pair, he laid down a five dollar bill
in payment for the one he retained.

* ' Agreed, doctor ! ' ' replied the young man,
following his example, and promptly drawing
forth his pocket-book.

" But let me saddle our joint purchase with
one proviso," chuckled the old gentleman,
putting his mitten into his breast-pocket.
"You are a young bachelor — I am an old
widower — and the one of us who gets married
first shall make a present of his mitten to the
other. Hey ! what do you think of that,
ladies ? And, in the mean time, five dollars
isn't too much to pay for it, though other
men may sometimes be so lucky as to get it
for nothing ! ' ' And with his short, dry laugh,
he hastened away.

" How romantic it was, Dora ! and so gene-
rous, too!" said Mrs. Sutherland that night,
after reaching her own home, and chatting
over the events of the evening before a glow-
ing coal fire. "Vane was very attentive I
noticed to-night, after he got clear from that
artful Margaretta Osborne — did you notice her
hair in cu?4s ? Such an affectation of juve-
nility as she is ! I wouldn't wonder if she
should set her cap for old Doctor Quinine,
now she thinks there is no opportunity to
rival you with Vane ! ' '

It may be only a fancy, that more of per-
sonal pique than solicitude for her daughter
prompted this last sentence uttered by the
fair Widow Sutherland.

A few days after the Soldiers' Fair, old
Doctor Quinine, in his warm covered sleigh,
drove up to "The Elms," where young Vane
was sitting, in dressing-gown and slippers,
over a glowing wood fire, with the latest
novel in hand, and accosted him with —

"A pretty idle sort of life this, for a young
gentleman who has had thousands expended
on his profession ! You 've got to come out
of it, Vane ! An old fellow like me can't
afford to do all the mending and patching in
a town like Westfield, and let you, hale and
hearty, doze over German pipes and French
trash. On with your overcoat, and take a
ride with me round among my patients ! ' '

Vane obeyed with alacrity. The rough,
gusty humor of the old gentleman operated

on his somewhat indolent temperament much
as a clear northwesterly breeze upon a sleepy
lake, stirring it into life and motion.

" You need a good shaking-up, my young
friend! Too much prosperity is apt to sap
our strength. Now I 'm going to take you
round among all sorts of people — rich and
poor, nervous and really sick — and let you
get a foretaste of the life you are to lead after
I give up all my practice into your hands.
Why don't you get married, Vane, and settle
down to the steady practice of your profes-
sion?" bolted out the old gentleman.

Vane laughed. "Perhaps I shall, one of
these days, doctor ! They say a man needs a
wife to make him a useful member of society."

"Well, well, there's truth in that, young
sir! Get a wife of the right sort, and she's
better than is a loadstone to the scattered
particles of steel. But I suppose, according
to Westfield gossips, you 're fairly on the
route, eh?" and he gave a keen glance into
Vane's eyes.

"Nonsense, doctor! Don't believe ail you
hear ! ' ' laughed Vane, evasively e

' i Well, well — be sure you look before you
leap ! Have a care that the heart is as beau-
tiful as the face ! Pardon an old man for his
homely advice ; but I say to you just what I
would to my own son, if I had one," said the
old man, with good humor.

"Thank you, sir ! I appreciate your kind-
ness. To tell the truth, I am thinking, seri-
ously, of turning Benedict, after my wandering
life. I want a home; and when I find the
woman in whom I can centre my happiness,
' The Elms' will have a mistress."

"Then you aren't an engaged man yet,
despite the rumors I heard at the hail the
other night ?" asked the doctor, briskly.

"I am not," replied Vane.

"Thank Heaven for that!" muttered the
old gentleman under his breath ; adding aloud,
' ' Well, well, my young friend, ' a patient
waiter is no loser, ' you know the old proverb
says. Here we are, at my first patient's !"

To enumerate all the visits of that morning
in the old doctor's circuit, or portray the
nervous, querulous patients to whom he ad-
ministered the tonic of a sound, sensible
lecture — and the really ill, with whom he left
an admixture of one-fifth medicine and four-
fifths kindly sympathy — would require a longer
description than we have space for ; but suf-
fice it, that our young hero saw life in more

don't fret.

251

varied and serious aspects than he had done
during those last few months of idle leisure
since his return.

"Only one more visit to-day, Vane!" said
the old gentleman, jumping into his sleigh
briskly as a school-boy — " and that, over to
Aunt Dorothy Gerry's, to see her young niece,
whose case worries me more than any other
in Westfield. You see, she 's a delicate little
thing, tender as a spring violet ; and, being
left a poor orphan, took to a life that has
almost killed her — sewing, sewing, month in
and out, for a set of heartless, fashion-loving
creatures — I won't call 'em women! — who'd
work their fingers off to get up a 'Charity
Fair,' or some such 'Mrs. Jellyby' perform-
ance — but leave the sweetest young girl in
Westfield to stitch herself into a consumption.
Come in, Vane ! Here we are ! 'Twon't hurt
you to see both sides of the picture."

A half hour later, Doctor Quinine's sleigh
slipped away from Aunt Dorothy Gerry's
house, with two occupants whose personnelles
differed as widely as youth and manly vigor
can ever differ from hale, hearty old age, but
whose thoughts and reflections were not dis-
similar.

" Doctor, answer me truly ! Is that exqui-
sitely lovely young girl in a consumption?"
asked Vane, earnestly, as they rode along to
"The Elms."

"No; but she is in a low, weak state — on
the border-ground of that fatal disease to
which it needs but a few more months of
struggle with depression, loneliness, poverty,
and toil, to lead her, past hope. She broke
down over two months ago, with a fever
brought on by a cold and overwork ; and the
very last sewing she did was to make a party
dress for the belle of this village — who, for
certain reasons, shall be nameless here, and
then they ground down her price into a paltry
pittance. All this, old Aunt Dorothy told
me. God knows I have seen suffering enough,
in the course of a fifty years' practice, my
young friend ; but I never had anybody touch
my heart so closely as little Fanny Gerry!
and I have tried to comfort her a little, since
I found out her illness."

The good old gentleman did not think it
necessary to say that this "little comfort"
consisted in his assuming the entire support
of the sick girl and her aged aunt, and roughly
sending away several bundles of sewing which
sundry charitable (?) ladies of Westfield had

sent the girl when past the crisis of her fever,
' ' thinking she might find time to work a little,
now she was getting better."

Late that evening, instead of finding him-
self a welcomed visitor in Mrs. Sutherland's
elegantly-furnished parlor, which he had
much frequented of late, Edward Vane sat in
his own library at "The Elms," with the
vision of a poorly-furnished, but neat and
tasteful room, enshrining the sweetest young
face he had ever seen, rising before him.
And though, at intervals, an indignant flash
would lighten through his dark eyes, the
softened, tenderer mood predominated ; and a
very fair chateau d'Espagne it was that rose
from the glowing red embers of the hickory
fire. And, presently, his thronging thoughts
shaped themselves into a half-uttered solilo-
quy, whereof a listener might have caught
these few words —

"A face more exquisite than any that ever
smiled down upon me from Florentine or
Venetian pictures ; and eyes so blue, so deep,
and tender, that a man might find therein his
glimpse of heaven ! ' '

Later he added, decidedly aloud and ener-
getically —

" Old Doctor Quinine is right! I need a dif-
ferent life — and now, I have found my Inspir-
ation ! ' '

But little more remains to be told ; for we
know that every reader, imaginative or other-
wise, must needs divine the sequel.

Rapidly throughout Westfield circled the
report that young Doctor Vane had com-
menced the practice of his profession, and
that the old Doctor Quinine was fast relin-
quishing to him his patients. Certain it was
that one sweet, fair invalid was resigned
most willingly into the young practitioner's
care ; and neither drugs nor potions of the
apothecary's mixing ever brought the bloom
of health so rapidly as it came back to little
Fanny Gerry's cheek.

But it is no modern discovery — that sym-
pathy, tender care, and sheltering love are
better far than medicinal herb for the sensi-
tive spirit and sick heart ; and when sweet
Fanny realized that the balm and myrrh of
love was indeed shed about her lonely path-
way, and strong arms were, henceforth, to
hedge her in from all life's bitter experiences,
then came rapidly back to cheek, lip, and
eye, the splendid bloom and sunny gleam of
health and happiness.

252

godey's lady's book and magazine.

To recount the mortification of Dora Suther-
land, and the customary heart-burnings, and
envyings, and malice, ever felt by shallow or
scheming natures when a strong, kingly man
gathers to his breast the one lily-bud of his
love, were not needful here. There may
have been a few in Westfield who rejoiced for
Fanny Gerry's happiness ; but none so open,
in the face of all, with congratulatory speeches,
as plain-spoken, blunt, good old Dr. Quinine.

After the newly-married pair were well in-
stalled at "The Elms," the old gentleman's
low buggy stopped one day before the man-
sion, and, in the course of a call he drew forth
a yarn mitten from his breast-pocket, and,
with a queer smile and grimace, said: "You
remember the proviso, Vane ?"

Edward Vane replied, by going to his li-
brary, and bringing thence the mate to the
old doctor's gift and laying it by its side.

"And now it is hardly fair that this little
lady should be kept in ignorance of our freak, ' '
said the old gentleman, smilingly ; whereupon
he recited the history of the evening at the
Soldiers' Fair, and their joint purchase of the
last article on Miss Sutherland's table, with
the proviso thereunto attached.

" But suppose /, too, can now impart a bit
of information," said Mrs. Vane, with a blush
and smile. "I recognize in these," laying
her hand on the mittens, "the product of my
own fingers ; for, too weak to perform any
other work, and wishing to send something to
the Soldiers' Benefit, I knitted these, at inter-
vals, as I had strength. How strange that
they have come back to me in this manner ! ' '

' ' Strange indeed, Fanny ! ' ' cried the young
husband, kissing the white fingers that knitted
them. "And I shall always keep them, as
invested with a talismanic charm more potent
than any glove ever broidered for knight of old
by castled lady love — this pair of mittens ! ' '

DON'T FRET.

Fretting is probably productive of more
unhappiness than downright scolding. The
thunder-storm passes away, and the face of
nature seems brighter, fresher than before,
but the drizzly, lowering day usually casts a
sombre shade over the feelings of all. What
is more trying to the patient and good than
constantly striving to please those who will
not be pleased — to shed sunshine where all is

perpetual gloom, or to strew flowers knowing
they will be wantonly crushed? Alas I for
man in his best estate ; seldom will he strive
long against such apparent hopelessness ; and
the fretter is usually left to sulk it out as best
he may, with none to hold that social inter-
course — that interchange of soul which makes
companionship lovely and desirable ; none
except such as are bound to him by no other
ties but those of necessity, or interest, to aid
in sustaining the burthens which life in its
many changes imposes, and to which all are
subject.

I have noticed that fretters usually have a
very exalted opinion of themselves ; trum-
peting their own praises, and interlarding
their fault-finding with the endless "how I
do such and such things." Notwithstanding
I have been told that fretting is a low vice, the
offspring of ignorance, nursed by self-love and
ill-humor, I have found that it not only stalks
abroad in open day among the dwellings of
the poor, but in various guises, to which
shame or pride have given name, such as
nervousness, ennui, hypochondria, monoma-
nia, neuralgia, etc. ; it lurks in the houses of
the rich — haunts the retirement of the man
of science — creeps unseen beneath the blush
of beauty, and hides itself behind the dra-
pery of the sanctuary ; till, in fact, no condi-
tion of life is exempt from the baleful influence
of this prisoner of peace, this grand destroyer
of domestic felicity.

In my intercourse with society, I have been
led to make it a test of character, and have
learned that much of every person's success
in life depends upon his self-control ; a posi-
tion in which I am not only sustained by the
word of God, but by the examples of the wise
and good in every age ; and when I see a man
fretful and impatient to his clerks, journey-
men, or apprentices, I usually find that those
who are worthy of his confidence will not long
bear his temperament ; that he is obliged to
trust the wily knave or stupid dunce with his
business, that he is continually beset with
trials and difficulties, losing all confidence in
his fellow-man, growing more and more fretful,
till his peace, reputation, fortune, friends, all
are gone, and he often goes down to an early
grave, without honor or regret. And as I call
to mind the sages of the world, and remember
the frequent exhortations to "patience" con-
tained in Holy Writ, it appears to me the true
philosopher's stone — the grand secret of sue-

DON T FRET. — POETRY.

253

ce ss — the very paving to the paths of useful-
ness, is contained in two words : man ! by
all your cherished hopes ; by all you hold
dear, for yourself and those you love, for time,
and for eternity ; don' 't fret!

When I see a woman, with that beautiful
countenance which has won the heart of her
husband, darkened by a frown, constantly
fretting and making all about her uncomfort-
able because there will be " dirt somewhere,
the maid-servant is slow, and don't under-
stand her business, baby is cross, always
Grossest when much is to be done, husband is
unreasonable, didn't want me to do anything
before marriage, expects more of me now than
I can do," and so on, I am tempted to exclaim,
"Hush, dear woman, these useless, sinful
repinings ! examine yourself, perchance the
blame lies at your own door after all. There
is a talisman possessing a magic charm that
will scatter all these evils. It is cheerfulness.
The maid-servant is quickened and improved
by kind, encouraging words. The very cast
of your countenance, the tones of your voice,
are forming the temperament of that little one.

Oh ! then, let them be tones of loving kind-
ness ; let your husband see that instead of a
termagant and a fretter, his wife is gentle,
kind, uncomplaining, self-denying, shedding
peace and happiness around his hearth, and
brightening his home by the sunlight of her
smiles. A man of sense is not slow in dis-
covering the gentler virtues of his wife. The
secret of her influence over him lies here. It is
the mystic tie binding him to her, that aught
of earth, nor death itself, has power to sever.

I have looked again upon that lovely woman
when a few years of uncontrolled peevishness
and fretfulness have passed away, and won-
dered that such a change could come over
that face once so fair, but now darkened by
habitual frowns. Her husband is morose,
stern, cold, and gloomy, her little one has
become the stubborn " bad boy ;" has taken
to the streets, impatient of restraint, and
hates his home. Her beauty is departed, her
health ruined, she has grown prematurely oH,
is nervous, listless, and dispirited, and the
grave already yawns to receive her. Oh!
how earnestly, beseechingly, would I entreat
all young ladies as they prize health, beauty,
length of days — as they value the affections —
as they expect that little ones, that bud of
lovely promise, will unfold into a youth who
is gentle, kind, obedient, "easy to be en-

treated," and hope to see him respected and
useful among his associates, and a solace to
yourself in your declining years, "let patience
do its perfect work;" don't, I beseech you,
don't fret !

"Whatever you do, keep up a good heart.
Put away the fault-finding spirit, and as you
prize the love of your friends, the esteem of
your neighbors, the reputation of those who
are near and dear to you, your own peace of
mind and happiness in life, be patient, and
don't fret!

NIGHT AND MORNING.

BY PHILA EARLE HARDY.

We feel no pang when daylight fair,

Dim shadows o'er her creeping,
Goes down the golden sunset slopes

Unto her silent sleeping !
And be the night so long or dark,

We patient bide the dawning,
For well we know that light and song

Will waken in the morning ;
But when the rayless night of grief

Around us darkly closes,
We only feel the crown of thorns,

And cannot see the roses.

We think no light can ever gleam

Down through the darkness dreary,
Faith droops her head amid the hours

So hopeless and so weary.
Why, know we not that every night

Will have the darkness lifted,
That every cloud which o'er the sky

In deepest gloom has drifted,
Still has behind its shadows dark

The sunshine, light, and gladness ?
And we should wait in patient trust —

Not in despairing sadness.

That every sleep, however deep

Or dreamless, shall be broken ;
For earthland, fair and bright, of this

Gives many a blessed token ;
The sleeping day dons robes of light,

To chase away night's shadows ;
And birds of song, sweet, joyful notes

Awaken in the meadows :
All nature wakens every morn,

From darkness and dejection,
And to the earth each spring-time seems

A kind of resurrection.

Then if our loved ones go to sleep

With sweet smiles and soft breathings,
Or with cold hands o'er throbless hearts,

No smiles the pale lips wreathing,
They all will wake — some in the morn,

With, on their glad lips, laughter—
The others sleep till angel hands

Shall waken them hereafter.
Then let us meekly, patient wait,

Faith to our bosoms taking,
Though dark the night and long the sleep,

There is a morn and waking.

PEESEVEEE: OE, LIFE WITH AN AIM.

BY LULIE.

An aimless life ! I am weary of it. Just
twenty-two years old to-day ; how fondly did
I once look forward to this age as the acme of
my womanhood, when something great or
noble would be accomplished, and now, when
I look back into the intervening space, what
have I done ? what am I doing ? Certainly
nothing that can deserve so high an epithet.
I only see the same great catalogue of hopes,
fancies, and wishes before me, and feel as far
from the bright realization, as when at twelve
I viewed the far off shore.

What am I doing ? Writing silly stories
for mere amusement, at which I am often as
much disgusted as my readers might be, if I
had any. Mina Sleever, you ought to be
ashamed of yourself. And the fair, young
head drooped into one little supporting hand,
while the other passed mechanically to the
open work-box close at hand, and took from
thence a thimble just tiny enough in its pro-
portions to fit one of the tapering fingers.

"Persevere" stood out in bright, gold-
chased letters on the silver trinket. "Per-
severe ! a very good device, certainly, if one
knew how to follow it," says Mina, again, as
she places it upon her finger. "Persevere,
but in what? Making shirts, perhaps," and
there was an ugly line or two visible around
the otherwise neat mouth.

"For two consecutive days I have tried to
sit patiently, stitch, stitching at those shirts
of John's, a piece of self-denial which, to tell
the truth, I do not very often practise. I
haven't derived very much satisfaction from
it, however. Fine sewing can't be my forte.
I wish I could discover what is."

" Discover what, sis ?" asked a manly voice,
as its owner passes up to the little work-table,
and lays an affectionate hand on Miss Mina's
shoulder. Brother John, however, did not
just at that precise moment happen to be the
one that this young lady desired most of all to
see ; indeed, she neither expected nor wished to
see any one in that abstracted mood ; so, in
answer to her brother's question, she turned
her head towards the window and merely
said, "Nevermind, John."

"And why mayn't I mind, sissy? Is the
254

problem too deep for me to try and solve?
Come, Mina, tell me your difficulty."

The unfinished shirt was pulled gently from
the unresisting fingers, as John continued
with provoking perverseness : "I heard all
that you said just now, Mina, but don't be
angry with me. I know that it was very mean
and all that sort of thing to listen, but I
thought that there was some one with you to
whom you were talking. I never thought that
you were alone till I ventured to peep through
the doorway, and then I was tempted by
sheer curiosity to stop and watch you."

"I thought only women were curious,"
retorted Mina, rather pettishly, for she was
annoyed at herself for even letting brother
John into her secret of indulging the cdcoethes
scribendi ; she hit it, however, in her next ques-
tion : "Was I really talking aloud, John ?"

"Loud enough for me to hear, dear; but
never mind that. Where were your thoughts
that they were wandering after your forte ? I
thought that you had discovered yours long
ago."

" Discovered mine !" and the clear, brown
eyes gazed in undisguised amazement. * ' What
made you think so, John ?"

"Just this," replied brother John, with a
roguish twinkle in his blue eyes, as he delib-
erately pulled a magazine out of his breast
pocket, and, having opened it at a certain
page, wafted it playfully before her eyes ; she
had had merely time to read the title at the
top of the page when it was withdrawn, but
she had seen enough to assure her that there
was something there which she had seen
before, not in that magazine certainly, but
within the precincts of her own desk.

"John, what have you got there? please,
do show it to me," and, springing quickly
from her seat, she strove to snatch the dis-
puted article from her brother's hand, as he
waved it far above her head.

" Show it to you, indeed ! when you have,
in all probability, scanned it a dozen times
already. No, no, sissy," and the mirthful
eyes sparkled and laughed, as with a pro-
voking nonchalance he pocketed the magazine
and was walking off. Mina grew more wistful

PERSEVERE: OR, LIFE WITH AN AIM.

255

in consequence, and as she knew that nothing
short of coaxing would elicit from him what
she wanted to know, she laid an imploring
hand on his coat sleeve, and bringing a soft
cheek in proximity to the profusion of dark
hair which, by a strange inconsistency, had
been suffered to grow on the face of bachelor
John, she insinuated : —

' ' You will tell me where you found that,
won't you, Johnny dear ?"

This was more than John was ever proof
against, so taking both his sister's hands, and
holding her at arm's length, looked at her
blushing face with an amused air, then drew
her with him to the sofa.

' ' Will you forgive me, Mina, when I tell
you?"

"How can I promise you that till I know
what I have to forgive," was the laughing
reply. ' * Tell me first, and then the forgiveness
may follow. Nothing but curiosity could
have led you into it I am sure."

"To that I must plead guilty, for I came
in possession, of what seems to be a secret of
yours, by poking my prying fingers where, I
suppose, they had no right to be. As you say,
my curiosity was aroused by your constant
devotion to your desk, and as you gave me an
opportunity one day for gratifying this inor-
dinate propensity, by going out and leaving
your desk unlocked, I thought to avail myself
of it. This was the fruit of my search," said
he, tapping his breast pocket.

"Well, really," said Mina, laughing at the
very thought of John, above all others, taking
advantage of her carelessness by prying among
her papers. "I see that it does not answer
to be too unsuspecting ; I will be more careful
after this. But were you not afraid that I
would find you out before now ?"

"Oh, I made provision for that, by losing
your key in the first place, and providing a
substitute for your writing in the second."

" And were those shirts got for the purpose
of diverting me from my locked desk ?" asked
Mina, with an enlightened smile.

"They were, sis, and if you had been paid
for them by the hour, you could not have
worked at them more closely ; come, you shall
not put another stitch in them to-night, but
may box my ears instead."

"Which I choose not to do, you naughty
boy," and a sisterly kiss was taken instead.

"But, Mina," began John again, more
gravely, "you must tell me more of this."

" No, no, not of that, John ; I am ashamed
of it, I am indeed, and sorry that you should
have seen and chosen it."

"I am very glad, Mina, for though the
subject is not exactly what I should have
expected my wise little sister to have selected,
yet the way in which it is treated is sufficient
to show me that she possesses more talent
than I was aware of ; but, ' ' he added, as he
lifted the sweet, blushing face up to his,
' ' you must not let your imagination run
away with your common sense, sissy ; write
as much as you like, dear, only consult your
better judgment in preference to your rather
wild fancy, and I have no doubt but you shall
have fame, yes, fame, Mina, and you are not
indifferent to that, are you ?"

The answer was fully understood as it
expressed itself, not by words, but by the
clear, intelligent, brown eyes, as they sparkled
with a joyful light.

" But there, adieu ; I will try to be home a
little earlier to-night," and with a grave, fond
kiss, he passed through the hall and out oi
the house.

Mina sat where John had left her till she
heard the street door close behind him, then
passing to the window, she watched him as he
walked hurriedly along the street till he was
out of sight ; then, with a pleasant smile
hovering around eyes and mouth, the young-
girl resumed her seat and her sewing, and
while we leave her thus employed, we will
tell our readers something more of the two
whom we have already introduced to them.

John and Mina Sleever were orphans.
Both parents had died when Mina was but a
child eight years old, and John twenty ;
young as he then was, he at once assumed
the guardianship of his little sister, and from
that time she had known no other ; her young
heart had clung to him as father, mother, and
brother combined, and he had acted well in
the part of each ; indeed no mother could
have been more tender and gentle than was
John to his little orphan charge, nor no daugh-
ter more loving and dutiful than Mina to her
bachelor brother. It was something more
than even a sister's pride and affection that
was cherished, for it was no less a sisterly
than a filial love that went forth to this, her
only brother, and that brother too well knew
that, as yet, no rival had arisen for him in
that love, and prized it accordingly, by suf-
fering no other to nestle more closely to his

256

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

heart tlian did his " little sister," as lie still
fondly called her.

There had been so many strong ties uniting
to sum up this affection between the brother
and sister, and they had been left each so
dependent, the one on the other, that the
well-being of both seemed to spring from the
other's happiness.

On this night in question, a new bond of
mutual sympathy had appeared to spring up
between them, and it was with feelings of
mingled pride and pleasure that John strode
into the office and seated himself again at his
desk. Mina too was pleased at, and proud of his
approval ; and as she sat stitch, stitching at
the wristbands of one of the identical shirts,
she thought, how much better than giving
up, it would be, to appropriate and act by
the motto " Persevere;" and thinking, too,
fond fancy ! that the result might be a some-
thing dedicated to that dearly loved brother,
which would wreathe the laurel around his
brow as well as hers.

He had promised to be home early ; so, as
it was a chilly October evening, she put by
her work, and having lighted the lamp and
drawn the curtains, had a pleasant fire kindled
in the grate, the table set and arranged for
tea, and a few thin slices of toast prepared,
such as he liked. That once done, it was
eight o'clock, and as she thought he could
not be long in coming, she sat down to the
piano, thus trying to beguile the time till he
would come. Piece after piece was played
over, yet he came not ; strange that, when he
had promised ; for Mina had been taught to
regard her brother as the very essence of
punctuality. Nine o'clock struck with a dull,
ominous sound from the little time-piece on
the mantel.

Mina threw the music into the rack, and
closing the piano went to the outer door and
looked out into the darkness, but she could
discern no one there. She was growing anx-
ious ; a vague fear (not wholly a groundless
one) was creeping into her mind and twitch-
ing at her heart-strings. Once, twice, aye,
even thrice, had she of late waited and
watched for him thus, and he had come, but
near midnight, and looking so strangely dif-
ferent from his usual self that it was not till
the second time that Mina knew rightly what
the matter was, and then the truth had been
so painfully disagreeable to her that she
could scarcely assure herself of it till it had

been confirmed eren more disagreeably a
third time.

Poor little Mina! she was stunned first,
then wounded to the very quick. Had it
been any other than her steady- going ortho-
dox brother she could have believed him
guilty of it. But of him, her own dear noble
brother — Oh, it was dreadful ! and what could
she do to save him from such degradation ?
she would sacrifice almost anything, do almost
anything but speak to him, and that to her
was next to an impossibility ; she knew that
he was as much ashamed of himself as she
could be sorry for him. She was annoyed
and perplexed nevertheless. What could she
do ? What would she not do but that ?

Poor Mina ! she sunk her head into the
cushion and wept long and bitterly. But
when he would come he must not see her
thus. Perhaps, after all, her anxiety was
needless ; she would even hope so, and that
hope, faint though it was, encouraged her to
arouse herself. In stooping to mend the fire
her ear caught a sound. Yes, it was he ; but
she would not go to the door till she heard
his step. The loud and hurried ring confirmed
her suspicions.

As she opened the door, strong fumes of
wine and cigar-smoke met her even before the
highly-flavored kiss, which for once came
unwelcomed. She said nothing, gave him
not her usual joyful salutation, but suffered
him to lead her as best he could into the sit-
ting-room.

Tea that night proved a very uncomfortable
meal, for Mina at least ; as for John, he seemed
to enjoy both it and his sister's confusion
amazingly. He rallied her on her want of
appetite, and kept piling toast and dried meat
on her plate in an indiscriminate heap ; he
persisted in a determination of pouring out
tea for her, and as a natural consequence of
his zeal, spilt half on the immaculate table-
cloth. Then he wanted her to sing to him ;
but that was more than she could command
her voice to do ; she must play to him then.
So after coaxing him to lie down on the sofa
in the hope that he might soon fall asleep,
she sat down and played over "Romance"
and "Bells of the Monastery," till the hazy
eyes at length succumbed ; and Mina, having
placed another pillow beneath his head, seated
herself on the floor beside him, watching with
glistening eyes those dear features, so changed
and contracted as they were in that stupid

PERSEVERE: OR, LIFE WITH AN AIM.

257

sleep, and listening with a heavy heart to the
smothered irregular breathing, so different
from that of his healthful slumber. Oh, was
there nothing that she could do — no remon-
strance, nor reasoning she could employ ? A
new thought flashed immediately across her
mind. Why not try her pen, and use the
talent that had been given her in doing some-
thing more than gratifying a mere idle whim ?
She would try.

Resting her elbows upon her knees, and her
head upon her hands, she sat puzzling her
brain to devise a plan by which she could
warn her brother of his danger, and acquaint
him with her own great fears for his safety.
A score of ways and means presented them-
selves ; thoughts, fancies, and realities flitted
alternately before her, only to be received
and repulsed in quick succession. She had
seen but little and experienced far less of the
pernicious effects of the evil which she wished
to try to check ; indeed, it had never, from
lack of observation, appeared to her in the
light of a direct evil, until it had intruded
itself into her own home sanctum. So, if
write at all, as she resolved she would, it must
be a mere statement of facts, with here and
there perhaps a slight embellishment to ren-
der the sketch a little more acceptable in the
eyes of the one for whom it was designed.

Thus thinking and resolving she fell asleep
with her head resting against the edge of the
sofa, and did not awake till next morning.
Early as it then was, the sofa was vacated,
and its occupant gone ; she felt glad that the
pain of meeting him there and then had been
avoided, though the necessity she knew had
not been removed but only shifted. She did
not forget the determination at which she had
arrived on the previous night, but somehow
it looked scarcely quite so feasible when
viewed in the cold gray light of morning. It
was not to be shaken, however ; something
was to be done, and that something was re-
solved upon. But now she was neither in a
frame of mind or body to enter upon her
task ; head and heart were both aching, and
she could only go to bed and sleep till din-
ner-time, and then it was but another painful
awaking to meet a dreaded necessity.

The meal passed off very quietly. John
was grave and silent, and Mina. as a matter
of course, the same. Before going away,
however, he came up to her, and having
stroked the hair from her forehead kissed it,

VOJL. LXV111. 21

and, looking into the pale, sweet face, mur-
mured, "Poor child, I have grieved you,"
and passed quickly out, leaving her more sad
and wretched than ever.

It was a day or two before this uncomfort-
able reserve passed off, and Mina was enabled
to carry out her resolution by entering upon
her allotted task. Very frequently had her
motto to be brought forward as a stimulative
to the work, but at length it was accomplished
with satisfaction to herself. Carefully written,
with its details set forth with a nice and deli-
cate attractiveness that a more fastidious man
than John could not fail to admire, the written
sheets lay in Mina's desk, quietly awaiting
their time. It came at length.

One evening, as the brother and sister were
seated together by the hearth, Mina took the
opportunity of introducing the subject which
for many days had lain so near her heart.

" John," she began, rather tremulously, as
she left the chair and seated herself on a low
stool near him, " do you think that the editor
of that ' Monthly' would like to hear from
me again?"

' ' I am sure of it, dear ; but why do you
ask ? Got another story for him, eh ! "

' ' Yes ; but I do not know whether or not
such an one would be apropos to such a pub-
lication."

"Will you allow me to be judge of that
first, Minar"

' ' Oh certainly ! ' ' And without the request
needing to be urged a second time, the manu-
script was brought and placed in his hands,
without her saying a word. He looked up
laughingly into the blushing face and down-
cast eyes, but both were speedily hid against
his shoulder.

He had read several pages with seemingly
absorbed interest ere he again spoke ; when
he did so, his voice was so changed from its
playful tone to one of deep and earnest seri-
ousness as to cause her to look up at him
through her tears ; his own eyes, dark and
blue, were suffused. Drawing her gently
from her position, he asked, huskily —

"Can you forgive me, Mina, all the pain
and anxiety I have caused you ?"

It was a most grateful look and smile that
answered him.

"0 John, I was afraid I had annoyed you,
made you angry ; forgive you, of course I
will, and it shall never happen again I know."

" jN'o, never, never, Mina, as long as I live,

258

godey's lady's book and magazine.

God helping me, shall I cause you the like
anxiety again. Make me angry, indeed ; it
was you, not I, who had the right to be angry.
Poor child ! you shall not suffer the like again.
You have saved me, Mina ; your talent has
"been put to some account this time, and I am
proud of my little sister."

There was no response just then, unless the
closer pressure of the arms and the hiding
again of the face might be taken for one.

John faithfully kept his promise, ratifying
it by a large and handsome writing-desk,
which came one day addressed to Mina. What
may emanate from within it is guessed only
by herself. As to probabilities, even brother
John is kept blissfully in the dark.

THE CASKET OF TEMPERANCE.

BY WILLIE E. PABOR.

(Pearl tJit Third.)
THE IVOEY GATE.
Hast read the Legend of the Gates?

One was of ivory, one of horn,
And here kept watch and ward the fates
With spells for all of mortals born.

And they who passed through either gate,
For good or evil chose their path ;

Love, joy, and peace on one did wait,
And on the other hate and wrath.

The summer sunshine crowned each gate

With all that beautifies the day ;
And they who early came or late,

Had choice of entrance either way.

But on each gate a record stood,
For all who came to read the end ;

And if for evil or for good
They knew how either way did tend.

The Ivory Gate was Temperance ;

And they who through it passed, would find
Life beautiful in every sense

That 's suited to a happy mind.

All honors that the world could give,
Were theirs to reach ; the passing hour

Was crowned with bliss to those who live
Within the circle of the power

Where Temperance, with magic wand,
Reigns over all who own her sway ;

Throwing her favors on each hand
And shedding sunshine on the way.

But they who pass the Gate of Horn,
Though fair fields meet their view at first,

Find all too soon the landscape shorn,
And all things by Intemperance curst.

And as they travel on, the days

Grow heavy with the woes that wait

Upon the steps of those whose ways
Were shaped out by a self-made fate.

The sunken cheek, the bloated eye.

The trembling lip, the senseless speech,
Were symbols of the ills that lie

Within Intemperance's reach.

And as the legend grew to life,
There was no need of fancy's power

To fix the gates where such a strife
Is re-enacted every hour.

And since we, wisely, through the Gate
Of Ivory have resolved to Walk,

If we can shape a brother's fate
By our example or our talk,

Let us reach forth the helping hand
To those who, careless of their fate,

Would gather with the drunkard's band
And fail to pass the Ivory Gate.

DOMESTIC HAPPINESS.

Domestic happiness has intrinsic worth ; it
may be realized in poverty ; it is internal ;
above the control of circumstance. Such
happiness is a flower of paradise that has
been suffered to stray beyond its walls ; and
though with us it does not bloom in original
perfection, yet its blossoms, as we may gather
them, are too lovely to leave us in doubt
whether it is worth our culture. Of all earthly
goods this is Heaven's best gift to man. Whilst
there is no other kind of joy that can com-
pensate for its absence, it may alike gild the
mud walls of the cabin, or shed vitality and
warmth over the cold state of the palace.
There is no condition of life to which it may
not add untold price. Monarchs there have
been who have heard the exulting shout of
victory, have joined it for a moment, then
inwardly sighed ; rebellious sons were a thorn
in the heart whose rankling prick was felt to
kill all joy. Merchants may have amassed
their millions ; their names may have been
honored in various parts of the globe ; but in
a moment, when success and security have
attended some favorite scheme of hazardous
enterprise, in all the bitterness of anguish the
soul has whispered, " This is but mockery to
him who would ask it to atone for the absence
of domestic love." Poets have lived whose
brows have been wreathed by a fascinated
nation, but whose spirits have loathed the
laurels, for thorns grew at home. But never
monarch, merchant, nor poet found domestic
bliss a joy too much. He who has once pos-
sessed it would not barter it for all on earth
besides.

"SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD."

BY 8. ANNIE FROST.

CHAPTER I.

"She was always different from the rest of
the girls ; there 's Miss Blanche, now, that
was her mother's darling from the hour she
was born, that 's now the pride of the house ;
far and near you won't find such a white skin
and such long, beautiful black curls, and if
Miss Beatrice is darker, she has roses on her
cheeks that make up for a few shades of
brown in her complexion, and though her
hair don't curl, it 's thick and long, and a
queen might wear the crown she makes of it.
The boys, the twins that died, you remember,
were bonny, noisy lads, with big black eyes
and curling hair, and there 's Miss Laura,
who is fair as a lily, with yellow hair, and
big blue eyes, will be as pretty as her sisters
when she gets her growth. All fine, healthy,
bright girls they are too, but this one, and
she was sickly and ailing from the first.
Never played like the others, but moped in
corners, and after she learned to read was
never without a book in her hand.' 7

"Then she's not stupid.''

"No, she's smart enough, I believe, but
weak and quiet."

"Well, she won't trouble any one long, I
guess."

"Trouble ! she was never any trouble, for
a quieter, more biddable child never lived ;
but she 's not like her sisters. With all their
proud airs and grand ways, your heart goes
out to them ; but Miss Effie aint lovable.
Nobody here cares much about her, and to
my thinking nobody ever will."

" There 's the second bell ; we can go down
together, for she 's asleep still."

The speakers, two servants of Mrs. Mar-
shall's, the nurse and chambermaid, moved
away softly from the room, leaving the only
other occupant alone, but not, poor child, not

Two large tears were coursing each other
down each pale cheek, as the cruel words
sank down deep into her poor, sore little heart.
Was it true ? Could nobody ever love her ?
Back through the past of her short life, she
looked to see if there was in that fourteen
years of sickly childhood one contradiction of

the nurse's statement, and in the retrospect
she saw, a mother's fondness lavished un-
sparingly upon the three older sisters ; a
father's proud praise given freely to them,
and one pale little face raised for a good night
kiss, given indeed, but coldly, indifferently,
with no touch of the fervor which was given
to the embrace reserved for the others. Two
weary months had she spent upon the bed
where she now rested, and the morning visit
of inquiry, with its few words of duty, pity,
were all of a mother's love that the child
could remember. Not once had her father's
step come to the bedside.

There have been from time immemorial such
instances of parental partiality, and here there
seemed some grounds for the favor shown to
the elder sisters. Mr. and Mrs. Marshall
might be described in one word, worldly.
With both, position, wealth, and fashion were
the " gods of their idolatry." Their eldest
children, the twin boys, only lived three short
years, and, dying together, left one child to
fill their place in the parents' love Blanche was
fitted for the position, for their ambition was
satisfied with her exquisite beauty and ani-
mated intelligence, and while they loved they
could feel proud of their darling. Two other
girls, rivalling this first one in beauty, came
to fill their cup of proud love, and then a
fourth child was born.

Eagerly the parents watched for the opening
beauty which had before greeted them. High
health, brilliant complexions, large eyes full
of intelligence, were nature's gifts to the elder
children, and now, in their place, the mother
found a pallid, dull face, whose only sign of
life was a fretful cry. Little by little she
ceased to watch for the missing beauty, and
the little one became more and more the
nurse's charge. What wonder that the hired
woman took her tone from that of the mother,
that, as the child grew older, she became each
day more neglected. It was a pride to the
nurse to dress the others in the costly dresses
provided for them, and take them out to be
admired in their young loveliness, but when
she found Erne's pale, sallow face defied all
her art to make it beautiful, she ceased to

259

260

godey's lady's book and magazine.

take her abroad, and so days of confinement
in the hot nursery wilted and faded the little
one more and more. Timid and reserved by
nature, her early life had heightened both
till a cold look or harsh tone became an actual
terror to the child, and she drew into her
heart all her sorrows, to shelter them and
weep over them in secrecy and silence. Too
delicate for the school where her sisters had
passed and were passing from children into
accomplished women, she had learned to read
slowly, as one or the other of the other
children was good-natured enough to teach
her, and that once accomplished she had one
source of happiness, to steal away to some
lonely corner and pore over a book. One
fixed idea had early taken possession of her
mind ; she heard daily of her ugliness, and
hourly of her inferiority to her sisters, and
was told of the impossibility of love being
bestowed upon such a puny, ugly child.
Craving, wearying, sickening for the love
that was denied her ; looking with a childish
worship to her tall, handsome father and
her beautiful mother, she one day found, in
her little story book, a tale of a child like
herself, who won love in abundance by her
superior knowledge. Here was the key to
the constant study. All her sisters' old
school books were eagerly claimed as soon as
discarded, and knotty points referred to them,
the favored ones, who were coaxed and bribed
to learn what Effie so craved to know. She
soon found that "Oh, you stupid child, I
can't be bothered," greeted a question they
were unable to answer, but, with childish
vanity, they were glad to parade their supe-
rior wisdom when they were competent to
explain the puzzling point. So, until the age
of fourteen, the little one's education was
carried forward or hindered, as illness or
ignorance presided over the latter, or her own
application urged the former. Music lessons
she shared with her sisters, as the physician
had only forbidden school, and Mrs. Marshall
said, " Sometimes these ugly girls play well.
We will give her a chance to become endurable,
at all events."

"If I had not positively forbidden mental
application, madam, I should say the child's
brain was overworked, ' ' the doctor said, when
he was called in to prescribe for " another of
Effie' s ill turns." It was the longest and
most obstinate she had had for a long time,
and she lay, after the violence of the fever had

abated, in a weak languor from which the
nurse predicted that she would never rise.

' i Nobody will love me, ever 1 ' ' the words
ran in her mind, " never ! Mother can't, I 'm
too ugly, and I never see father, hardly!
God made me so ugly, I know ; I read about
that, and if he wills it, I must be good and
patient, and try not to mind. I wonder why
mothers don't love ugly children. I love
mother dearly, and if something took away
her beautiful dark eyes and soft, pretty com-
plexion, I am sure I should love her just the
same. Mary says it 's because I am so cross
and quiet. If they knew how my head
ached and how tired I feel, they wouldn't
wonder I cried sometimes, and if I am quiet,
it is because I can't play like the others, it
gives me such a pain in my side. Oh dear !
I am so sorry God made me ugly. No, I
must not be sorry, that 's bad. Oh, if some-
body would only tell me how to be good and
make people love me."

So, over and over, the weary thoughts kept
up the same burden. Longing for love,
striving with the simple faith, learned (oh,
mother!) from books, to be content with her
lot, the little girl conned her heart lesson.
The return to health, or rather the wearing
oifof actual sickness, was very gradual, but at
last the doctor's daily visits ceased, and the
child returned to the routine of her silent life
again.

Another year passed away, and with the
rest from study her illness had forced upon
her, Effie 's mind seemed to have gained a
new vigor. The old school books were no
longer enigmas to her, and she learned that
many a hard question needed only applica-
tion and repetition to become easy to her.
Then another source of enjoyment was open.
Her second sister " came out," as the saying
is, and the nurse being discharged, Effie for
the first time had a room for herself alone.
Mrs. Marshall was fearful that the other
children might become ill if they shared the
younger child's bed, and the large nursery
was given up to Eifie's sole use. Laura was
still at school, but Blanche and Beatrice were
in the gay vortex of society, and the nursery
saw their faces but seldom.

Reading was, as before, Effie's chief plea-
sure, but now she read for amusement as well
as study. Beatrice, with her school books,
had resigned to Uer sister a large volume of
Shakspeare, Milton's works, and other vol-

"SHE HATH DOSE WHAT SHE COULD.

261

nmes of standard literature of which she had
niade use in studying elocution, and these
were Effie' s paradise. Emboldened by the
privilege of a private bedroom, she found
courage to ask her father for the library key,
and in its bookcases found more food for her
lonely hours. It was not very well stocked.
Mr. Marshall was not a reading man, and his
wife cared for no books beyond the current
novels of the day, which Blanche and Beatrice
read, and lent or tossed into the bookcases
unroad as the mood swayed them. But Effie
found some volumes of poetry, a few histories,
and many works of fiction. These were
devoured in the intervals she allowed herself
from that severe course of study which was to
win the love now denied her. She had sorted
out the school books, and portioned her time
with a rigid exactness which would have been
amusing, had not the spectacle of a child so
thrown upon herself been pitiful. So much
time she allowed herself for geography, so
much for history, arithmetic, philosophy,
chemistry, piano practice, and all the various
studies she had portioned out for the day's
work. These over, there was the delicious
poetry to dream over, or sometimes, needle in
hand, the girl sat by the window sewing and
dreaming. Fiction and poetry had opened to
her a new world, and the starved soul eagerly
made for itself a resting-place, a home in
imagination. Fancy began to tint each mo-
notonous duty, and the weary heart soared
forth to live a new life in the vivid dreams of
ideal happiness. The daily walk, before a
dreary duty, became now a source of pleasure,
for every little incident made a stepping-stone
for a new daydream, and, in weaving fictitious
tales for each passer-by the child forgot for a
time her own lonely, neglected life.

CHAPTER II.

It was Blanche's birthday, and Mrs. Mar-
shall was determined to celebrate it by one of
the most brilliant parties of the season.
Happily for her purpose, the month was one
of the winter ones, just after New Year, and
all the world of fashion was prepared for
pleasure seeking.

Effie was born in the same month, five
years later, but no one had ever taken much
notice of her birthday. On this year, however,
she was told that she was to be permitted to

21*

join the guests in the parlors, and she gladly
prepared for the occasion. A large party was
a new event in her monotonous life, and she
looked forward to it with a child's eagerness.
No thought such as filled the minds of her
sisters disturbed Effie ; the expectation of
admiration, the fear of rivalry, or the doubts
as to which color or style of dress was most
becoming, were all matters which were of
vital importance to them, while they never
occurred to her humble heart. To look on at
the moving panorama of faces, to listen to
the music, to see the enjoyments of others,
were all sufficient subjects of anticipation for
her.

As they were not yet "in society," Laura
and Effie had dresses alike prepared for them,
and while the spoiled beauty fretted over the
simplicity of the costume, her sister accepted
thankfully the white robes, stifling her sigh
as she saw how much more sallow and cloudy
than usual her complexion looked when in
contrast to its pure, untinted surface.

The evening came, the large parlors were
brilliantly lighted and decorated, and the
ladies of the family assembled to criticize or
arrange such trifling finish of dress as had
escaped the notice of maid or hairdresser.
While they are yet without guests, let me
describe my heroine and her family.

Mrs. Marshall is a tall, stately woman,
whose black velvet dress and diamonds set
off to advantage a beauty which, even yet,
is regal in its character. The rich, dark
complexion, abundant black hair, large, yet
not coarse features, and brilliant, black eyes
draw their fire from her Southern blood,
while a life of wealth and such happiness as
rises from gratified ambition have stamped
upon her carriage and graceful manners a
tinge of haughtiness which well becomes
them.

Blanche has inherited from her mother the
full dark eye and jetty hair ; and her figure,
though slight, is graceful and exquisitely pro-
portioned. Tall and straight, it has a wil-
lowy, wavy motion that makes her the best
dancer of the season, and she dresses in the
light floating materials which well become
such beauty. Her finely-chiselled features
are peculiar from the marble whiteness of her
complexion, which, while there is no tint
such as sickness brings to pallid faces, is pure
and smooth as ivory. No color tints her
cheek, and no excitement or exertion will

262

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

bring the blood to her face. Knowing well,
and fully appreciating the peculiarities of her
face and figure, the young girl adds to them a
unique style of dress, as becoming as it is dar-
ing. Upon this occasion, her full robe of a
delicate green gauze, made with a multitude
of skirts, is worn over a lustrous silk of the
same shade, and in the long black curls are
twisted long floating clusters of a ribbon-like
grass. Not a jewel breaks the pure outline
of her snowy neck and arms, but on the bosom
of her dress she wears one large pearl falling
in a drop from a tiny gold pin.

Beatrice is more like her mother, as she
inherits the dark complexion, rich color, and
straight black hair. A rich garnet-colored
silk, with black lace profusely trimming both
skirt and corsage, suits her dark beauty well,
and a full parure of carbuncles set in pearls
glistens on her throat and arms. Her rich
hair, woven into a natural tiara, is unadorned
by either flower or jewel; its heavy braids
falling, after crowning her handsome head,
in loops which form a setting for the small
ear and slender throat. Tall as her sister,
her figure is more inclined to embonpoint, and
her motions are full of proud dignity.

Laura and Effie, in their full white crape
dresses, with only white flowers for trimming,
are the others of the family group. No art
could have selected a dress more becoming to
the lovely blonde. Her tall figure, rounded
with almost childish grace, her long golden
curls, fair complexion, and large blue eyes,
are each and all heightened by the snowy
drapery, while the full arm and shoulders
suffer nothing by the proximity of the soft
shading lace ruffles. But, poor little Effie !
(Jnlike the others, she is so small that many
children of twelve years could have looked
over her head ; and not only short in stature,
but so thin that Blanche's contemptuous epi-
thet of "scraggy," though rude, was pain-
fully true. The dress, cut to leave the neck
and arms exposed, only added to the poor
child's troubles by making her dark skin and
thin figure unusually conspicuous. Her dark
brown hair, cropped closely by the physi-
cian's orders, gave no chance for a pretty
coiffure, and the heavy dark marks planted
by sickness round her eyes, do not add to
their beauty. Only two points of attraction
eould the poor child boast — a small, delicate
mouth, graced by even, pearly teeth, and large,
soft hazel eyes, shaded by long dark lashes.

Blanche pronounced her features passable,,
so we will not now comment upon them.

The rooms soon began to fill, and with the
early guests the master of the house entered.
Like all his children, excepting the youngest,
he was tall, and though he had Laura's blue
eyes, he had black hair and a heavy black
beard. Altogether he was what is generally
considered a very handsome man, though his
features were too large, and his face too broad
for classic beauty.

Perhaps in all the large assembly who soon
filled the rooms, there was not one who had
the same keen pleasure as the child, who,
from a corner near the window, half-hidden
by the heavy folds of the velvet curtains,
watched the groups who were scattered around
her. Self was entirely forgotten, and the
artist eye and generous soul were gladdened
by the beauty of her three sisters. Not one
of their numerous admirers looked with such
proud hearts upon Blanche's grace, Beatrice's
stateliness, or Laura's loveliness, as that little
despised sister, who watched them from her
obscure seat.

" Effie, Mr. Lovering has requested an in-
troduction to you."

Effie started at the sound of her father's
voice, and turned to him and his companion
with such a bewildered air, that he said, half
laughing : —

" I believe you were half-asleep," and then
walked away.

" I don't agree with Mr. Marshall," said Mr.
Lovering, in a clear, yet deep voice, which
captivated Effie instantly ; "I never saw eyes
more thoroughly awake than yours have
been for the last hour."

"Won't you sit down?" said Effie, slyly
offering half of her own long ottoman. ' ' That
is," she said, gently, "if it is me you want
to talk to. There are so many Miss Marshalls,
that perhaps father made a mistake."

Mr. Lovering looked curiously upon the
unsophisticated little face to see if there was
any lurking desire to draw a compliment from
him, but the large, innocent eyes met his
with perfectly child-like frankness, so he
accepted the seat, saying, quietly : —

"There was no mistake; I did not even
know you were Miss Marshall till after I
requested the introduction. I know all your
sisters very well, yet I think, nay, I am
certain, that I have never met you before/ '

"she hath done what she could.''

263

"Oh, I am still in the nursery," said Effie,
with a smile. "I am not very strong, and
seldom come into the parlor in the evening."

A little pang would come, as she thus
explained the seclusion which sneers and
unkindness made a matter of choice ; but
even in her own heart there was no blame
laid to her parents and sisters, only a sad
acknowledgment of her own unworthiness.
Perhaps her companion read this in the quiet
face raised to his, but he said —

" Yet I hope, now, that we shall be better
friends."

"I shall be very glad," was the honest
reply.

" And now tell me of what you have been
thinking in this quiet corner. I was watching
your face, and could see that you had more
enjoyment here than many of the more active
partakers of the occasion."

"I do enjoy it. So many happy faces, and
so much beauty. It is like a fine painting,
only that here there are life and motion. Every
face has some charm, and where, in a picture,
the colors would contrast too strongly, or
harmonize too monotonously, here the vary-
ing motion blends all together in ever new
groups of picturesque beauty. If I had an
artist's fingers I would cherish many groups I
have seen to-night to make pictures and
scenes for masterpieces. See, now, near the
door that leads into the conservatory is a
group to make a scene from Undine. Blanche
leans so gracefully on that marble pedestal,
playing with the flowers, while the fountain
is seen enough through the open door to fill
in the background. The gentleman talking
to her is surely handsome enough for the
lover-knight, though his costume must be
altered, while Laura is just near enough to be
painted in, the fair mortal who wins the woer
from his true faith, I — I beg your pardon,"
she said, abruptly, blushing deeply.

"For what?"

"I must weary you. I forgot that I was
thinking aloud."

"You do not weary me. You looked so
happy over here, that I could not resist the
temptation to come over and learn your secret.
Now, will you let me tell you a secret !"

"A secret?"

" Yes, as yet. No one knows but Blanche,
though you will all know soon."

"Blanche?"

"My Blanche. She has promised to-night

to let me call my little friend here, sister.
Will you take me for a brother, Eflie ?"

She looked up into the manly, handsome
face that bent over her. Little recked she of
the "great match" which her sister would
make ; she knew nothing of the gentle birth,
the full coffers, and the high position which
Blanche had that night won, but she saw
clear, honest eyes, a sweet, loving mouth, and
a soul-lit face, and she put her little hand in
his and said, fervently —

"Oh, I am sure Blanche is happy, dear
brother !"

It was a quaint greeting, but the man had
a heart to appreciate it, and he warmly
pressed the little hand, and then whispered —

" So I may be Undine's lover-knight ?"

" If you are faithful, as I feel sure you will
be," was the smiling answer. "Hark! what
did that man say ?"

He was not in evening dress ; he was a
rough-looking man in coarse clothes, yet he
came into the gay group with his errand, hot
and flushed, unceremonious in his haste.

"I must see Mr. Marshall; the store is on
fire!"

The words flew from mouth to mouth, till
they reached the master of the house.

Other merchants were in the room, whose
own places of business were in close proximity
to the high stone building from whose con-
tents Mr. Marshall drew his wealth, and these,
hurrying off wives and daughters, went to see
if other stores were suffering too.

The master of the house obeyed the sum-
mons, and the guests dropped off till the
crowded parlors were empty of strangers.

Then, when only the mother and daughters
were there, Mr. Lovering claimed his right to
stay until Mr. Marshall returned, or go to his
assistance, and with anxious hearts the group
waited for tidings from the scene of fire.

CHAPTER III.

It had been after two o'clock when the
summons to the store had broken up Mrs.
Marshall's party, and the gray dawn was
struggling with night, yet no tidings had
come to the family.

Mr. Lovering had remained at Blanche's
request, and his kind, manly voice, his gen-
tle tenderness made him a fit companion for
their anxious watch. There had been a fixed
ashy paleness on Mr. Marshall's face as he

264

godey's lady's book and magazine.

left the crowded parlors, and to his wife lie
had whispered: "And I am not insured!"
The store was a new one, into which his goods
had been recently stored, and he had delayed
the insurance until he was fully settled.

■'Five o'clock!" said Mr. Lovering, counting
the strokes of the mantel clock. " Let me go
now and see what news there is. How weary
you all look ! Come, cheer up, it may not be
so bad as we anticipate. I am sure your dress
and these rooms depress you. I will order a
cup of coffee to be made for Mr. Marshall, and
you will be ready by that time to sleep after
this long watch."

Slowly each withdrew to her room to change
the gala dress for a more fitting morning cos-
tume, and with a charge to the servants to
prepare an early breakfast and make the
rooms wear less the air of " banquet halls
deserted," the kind friend and lover started
for the store.

Once away from those searching eyes the
cheerfulness vanished from his face, and his
steps were hurried, his brow clouded. The
long absence of his future father-in-law trou-
bled him, and he hastened forward, keenly
anxious to get some news of the conflagration.

It was a terrible scene that met his eye as
he turned the corner of the street in which
the store stood. The fire had swept along the
square of new stores, and blackened and de-
faced walls were all that remained of their
palatial splendor. The fierce flames were
subdued, but in the place of their superb
brilliancy were smouldering cinders, thick
rolling smoke, and floods of blackened water
pouring from doorways and windows.

As he came down the street, a man, whom
he recognized as Mr. Marshall's head clerk,
was coming from the doorway of a house op-
posite the row of stores. Mr. Lovering in-
stantly accosted him.

" Where is Mr. Marshall?"

" In there ! You are" —

"I shall soon be his son-in-law," said Mr.
Lovering, hastily, for something in the man's
face told him that this was no time for cere-
mony.

"I am glad you are here," said the clerk,
respectfully. "You are best fitted for the
errand upon which I was starting."

" What has happened ?"

"He came down, sir, and was very active
in assisting to save the books ; at last all
were out but his private papers, which were

in his desk in a small tin box c He was
warned that it was too late to save these, but
he went back. The flooring above him gave
way : he staggered out and fell on the pave-
ment. It took some time to get a physician,
and they sent for me. He was dead before
they raised him from the ground,"

"Dead!"

"Yes, dead. A blow on the temple; the
only wonder is how he got out. He is in the
house now, and I was on my way to prepare
his family for his coming home ; but you are
the proper person, if you will undertake the
errand."

' ' In one moment ! I will go in ! You are
sure all has been done that could be done?"

" There are two doctors there now, but they
were too late The store was not insured,
sir, either."

In his evening-dress, with his fine linen
bearing the marks of the toil which preceded
his death, the corpse lay on a long table. No
trace of a violent death was in the placid face ;
the eyes were closed as if in sleep, and the
mouth was quietly shut, with no contortion
left by the sudden blow. They had washed
off the black marks from the crushed temple,
and the damp hair clung closely to it, con-
cealing it entirely.

Bareheaded, with an awe-struck face, the
young man stood beside the man whom he
had hoped would smile on his love tale that
very day, and with a tender hand he closed
the open shirt-front, and laid the cold hands
over the breast. Then gravely and softly he
gave his directions for carrying the corpse
home, and turned away to go before it and
prepare the family for the sudden news.

If there is courage in any heart, at any
hour of danger, there is in the heart of a man
who voluntarily undertakes such a mission
as this was. It was nothing to him, now,
that the wealth of this man lay in smoulder-
ing ashes at his feet, and that the clerk had
implied that he escaped poverty by sudden
death. He thought only of the widow and
fatherless, to whom he was carrying the tidings
of their desolation. A father was taken from
his children, a husband from the wife whose
companion he had been for long years. Deem
it not unmanly that large tears fell from the
young man's eyes as he drew near the stately
house which he had entered but a few short
hours before so full of hope, to meet joy and
festivity.

'SHE HATH DOSE WHAT SHE COULD.'

265

It was broken tenderly, this bitter news,
but the scene called for all his manliness.
Mrs. Marshall was in hysterics, the elder
girls screaming and weeping, and his betrothed
half-fainting and sobbing as she clung to him,
all her vanity and coquetry forgotten in that
hour of sorrow. He had been an indulgent
father, a kind husband, and the weary night
was ill preparation for such a morning greeting.

Only one face was calm, though the grief
there was terrible. He had not been a tender
father to the sickly child who stood with
ashy face and dilated eyes of horror listening
to the tale of grief; but she had loved him
with a sort of worship, as one too good and
grand to stoop to her inferiority, yet with a
longing hope, that at some future time she
would share the caresses bestowed upon her
sisters. Dead ! Dead with the words of love
silenced forever. Leaving no memory of
sweet words or embraces, yet tearing away
such dreams of future love, such tender
hopes, and leaving only a black despair.

Only for a few moments did the horror-
stricken, hopeless child thus stand motionless,
then self was thrust away, and with a quiet
step she came to her mother's side.

She knew no word of comfort for the heart
that had always shut her out, but she softly
stroked the dark hair, whispering, " Mother,
dear, dear mother, ' ' till overcome by weariness
and sorrow, mesmerized by the cool fingers
and gentle touch, the mother let her head fall
back on the sofa and slept.

I pass over that day, and others which fol-
lowed of alternate paroxysms of grief and the
stupor of sorrow, till the funeral of the father
and husband left the widow and children
alone.

The fact was soon known that an insurance
of some ten thousand dollars on his life was
all that the merchant prince had left for his
family, and, with so many girls to support,
Mrs. Marshall felt that some other provision
must soon be made. Blanche was sure of her
home and protector; but the wedding was
named for a year later, when she would lay
aside her mourning dress to take her place as
a bride, and in the meantime something must
be done.

CHAPTER IV.
" I wonder if Horace left any directions
about the letters ! ' ' said Blanche, as the

family assembled for the first evening in the
small house which was to be their future
home. Horace, be it known, was Mr. Lover-
ing, absent for a week on business.

The violence of sorrow had swept over the
mother and the older daughters, leaving them
paler and saddened ; but, as is often the case
with such demonstrative sorrow, still looking
forward to much pleasure in life, when their
black dresses should be doffed. Efiie had
crept back to her old place in the family,
nursing her sorrowing disappointment, as she
had nursed all her other emotions, in solitude.
Always pale and grave, there was no outward
traces to a careless observer of the grief she
shut up so closely in her heart, yet a loving
eye would have traced a deeper woe in her
dark eye, an unwonted tremor in her sensitive
lip whenever her father's name was mentioned,
but there was no one to heed these mute signs.
Horace was a gentle, tender brother to his
little sister ; but Blanche was an exacting
mistress, and there had been beside many
business cares of which he cheerfully under-
took to relieve his mother-in-law.

The family were assembled, I have said, in
the parlor of their new home. Mrs. Marshall
was near the fire reading ; Blanche was sewing
on a ruffle, of which Beatrice held the other
end, twisting it in her idle fingers, despite
her sister's half- angry remonstrance ; Laura
was fretting over a lesson, and far away, in a
corner, Effie was dreamily watching the fire-
light and communing with her own sad
thoughts. The heavy black dresses, the dim
shaded light, the small room and quiet sad-
ness suited her mood better than any of the
former gay meetings of the family would have
done ; yet she longed unutterably to creep to
her mother's feet, and there sob forth her
heart's sorrow. Sometimes a wild thought
would tempt her to claim her share of the
confidence and sympathy which came unsoli-
cited to her sisters, but the natural timidity
and terror of being reprimanded kept her still
far away in her new trouble.

Blanche's question was hardly asked, when
a letter was brought into the parlor directed
to Mrs. Marshall. She glanced at the signi-
ture, and her face brightened. "Turn up
the gas, Beatrice ; it is from your Uncle
Charles."

"Our Uncle Charles !" said all the girls, in
an inquiring tone.

u Yes, you never knew him, but your dear

266

godey's lady's BOOK AND magazine.

father was his nephew. He is immensely
wealthy, but very eccentric ; he quarrelled
with your father years ago, because he would
not join him in bachelordom, and they never
became reconciled. I don't know that it was
an actual quarrel, but at any rate, it was a
coolness that never was healed. Your father
was a proud man, and I naturally resented
his interfering with my marriage."

"But why did he object to father's mar-
riage ?"

"Why, indeed; because he had been en-
gaged himself to a beauty who jilted him.
The story was this. Your uncle was born to
riches, and educated in a fashionable way,
early brought into society, and very much
courted there. He studied medicine, and, I
have heard, rather distinguished himself in
college ; but he had no need to practise, as his
income was very large. He was very young
when he engaged himself to the reigning belle
of the season whose income was a match for
his own, and whose beauty is reported to have
been wonderful. They had been engaged
some few weeks, when the bank in which all
his property was placed failed, and he was
suddenly left a poor man. One of his old
friends offered him a situation in a Chinese
port. I don't know exactly what it was, but
the salary was very good, and there were op-
portunities for making money. He accepted
the place, and his marriage was postponed
until he should get fairly started. He had
been gone only a few months when his fair
Jiancee, like a sensible woman, accepted the
offer of a wealthy banker's son, and was
married. Your father says that your uncle
took a vow to make himself a richer man
than his rival, and then return to triumph
over her. He fulfilled his word. Money
seemed to flow in at his call, and in ten
years he came home a man of immense
wealth. His intended triumph was lost, for
his former lady-love was dead. From that
time he shut himself up in a house he owns
in the country, somewhere in the interior of
the State, I believe, and has turned cynic,
misanthropist, and woman-hater, report says.
He was very good friends with your father,
but when he heard that he was about to
marry a fashionable woman, he discarded him.

"What can he write for now ?" said Blanche.

" We will see," and she began to read —

" 'Madam : Hearing that my nephew had
wasted all his property in a fashionable life,

and left his family in want, I write to make
you a proposition. I wish to have a young
life near mine, and I know of no better place
to look for a child to adopt than in your
family. I should have preferred a boy ? but
as that is impossible I will take one of your
girls. I do not want, I will not have, a
beauty, nor a woman of fashionable accom-
plishments, yet I won't take a fool; a girl
with her head full of romantic ideas about a
husband will not suit, for she will meet no
lover here. Do not understand that I am
looking for an heiress, for I shall leave her
nothing beyond a mere support. While I live
she shall share my house ; but on my death
she need expect no wealth, or she will be
disappointed.' "

"He had better have a woman made to
order!" said Laura, pettishly.

" 'If — read Mrs. Marshall — 'you send me
one of your children, she must be mine en-
tirely. You must prepare for an entire sepa-
ration, as I shall never let her again venture
into fashionable precincts. On the condition
I have named, I will settle upon you for life
two thousand dollars per annum. If you
prefer your children to this income I have no
more to write. Should you send me the child

let her leave by the line, on Thursday

morning at live o'clock, sto]3 in G all

night, and I will send my carriage for her
early on Friday morning to the "Stars and
Stripes," the only hotel.

Charles Marshall.'

"This is a strange proposition," said Mrs.
Marshall, half angrily, half musingly.

"You had better send Effie," said Laura,
laughing. " Her beauty will not stand in the
way."

" Nor her fashionable accomplishments,"
said Blanche.

"I don't think her lovers will trouble the
old fellow, either," continued Laura.

"Effie," said Mrs. Marshall.

" no, mother, don't send me away to
that cold, hard man. mother, let me stay
with you. I will" — here her sobs choked the
poor child, and she threw herself literally at
her mother's feet, weeping bitterly e

"Don't be sentimental," said her mother,
though not harshly; "nobody is going to
banish you. There, sit up and listen to me.
We are very poor, and your uncle offers me
an income, on condition that I let him adopt
one of my children, to whom he promises a
support on his death. If I refuse his offer,
you will all have to work. Your sisters will
be obliged to teach, or stand in stores, or sew
their lives away, while a little sense on your
part will make us all comfortable. If you are

SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD.

26]

selfish enough to stand in their light, I shall
not force you to go."

" Nonsense, mother; who else can go?"
said Blanche. " My engagement will prevent
me, and you cannot live without Beatrice un-
til Laura grows up. Besides, they will not
wish to live old maids, but anybody can see
that Effie is cut out for a single life, little
moping chit."

How would Horace Lovering have relished
this generous speech from the woman who had
such soft loving words of her poor, delicate
sister for his ear ?

1 1 Give me till to-morrow. Only one night, ' '
pleaded poor Effie.

"Well, think it over to-night."

Think it over. All the long weary night
the child thought ; now sickening with dread
at the thought of a new unloving heart, then
reproaching herself that any sacrifice could
be too great to place her mother and sisters
in comfort. The thought of working herself
brought no fear ; but that her beautiful deli-
cate sisters should toil was terrible to her
loving bruised heart. It was no common
sacrifice the child was called upon to make.
True she was a neglected, coldly treated mem-
ber of the family, yet this was her home. All
the study of her life had been to win love
there, and since her father's death, the long-
ing had grown doubly intense to win her
mother's heart. Here, they had become ac-
customed to her want of beauty, her moping
habits, but this cold, morose man who wrote
so chillingly must be struck with her want of
attraction instantly, and shut her out from
his affection forever. No hope of a new love
there comforted her, no bright spot gilded the
gloomy picture her mind drew of this offered
home. Yet would not her refusal steel the
hearts at home more sternly than ever. How
could she hope for love where her selfishness
brought poverty upon them all ? how endure
to see the daily toil her hand might avert ?

Think it over ! mother, how bitterly, in
her lonely, uncomforted night watch the child
thought.

"I will go!"

This was her morning greeting ; and when
her mother, touched for once by the pale face
and generous offer, drew her into her arms
and kissed her tenderly, Effie choked back her
tears to smile hopefully, as she returned the
unwonted caress.

Thursday found her starting on her journey.

One of her father's old friends was going to

G , and he took charge of the little girl

and her baggage, and leaving a loving message
for Horace, and smiling through her tears,
lest they should reproach themselves with
driving her away unwillingly, the young girl
left her home.

It was night when the cars shot into the
depot at G . The gentleman compan-
ion of her ride had slept and read, and made
one or two faint efforts to converse with Effie,
but the poor little heart was too sore now to
talk. Away from all eyes that could reproach
her, the pent up sorrow must have vent, and
drawing down her veil she wept the long day
away.

The lonely night in a hotel, which she had
so much dreaded, was spent in a long, ex-
hausted sleep. Weary with grief, and the
unaccustomed fatigue of travel, she threw
herself upon the bed and fell into a sweet
slumber, unbroken until, in the morning, the
chambermaid knocked at her door.

"The gentleman you came with is going,
miss, and he sent me to say that your uncle's
carriage is at the door," said the girl.

She was soon down, and her companion saw
that she looked better than she had on the
previous night. It was a lovely winter's day,
and having insisted upon seeing her make a
good breakfast, he packed her carefully into
the carriage and bade her a cheerful good-by.

" How far is it ?" he asked of the coachman.

"It is about five miles beyond Mill's Ferry,
sir, at Mr. Marshall's place ; he calls it the
'Den,' but the neighbors call it 4 Haresdale."

" And how far is Mill's Ferry ?"

" Over twenty miles, sir."

"A long ridet Good-by, Miss Effie," and
she drove off.

(To be continued.)

A true woman will be a true friend, and
those are the best and truest friendships that
have been born in adversity and nurtured by
trial.

Passion, and more particularly ill-regulated
passion, too frequently perishes from its very
vehemence, till there is nothing left for it but
to die. True love creates its own refreshment
in the simple act of loving, and by its very
constancy is a beautiful example of that Scrip-
ture which saith, " It is more blessed to give
than to receive."

268

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE:

WIDOWS : PART VIII.

widows' sons.

Hom» they brought her warrior dead ;

She nor swooned, nor uttered cry ;
All her maidens, watching, said,

"She must weep, or she will die."

Then they praised him, soft and low,
Called him worthy to be loved,

Truest friend and noblest foe ;
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior crept,

Took the face-cloth from the face ;
Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee ;

Like summer tempest came her tears,
"Sweet, my child, I live for thee."

Be patient ! Oh be patient ! go and watch the wheat-ears

grow !
So imperceptibly, that you can mark nor change nor throe ;
Day after day, day after day, till the ear is fully grown,
And then again, day after day, till the ripened field is

brown. K. C. Trench.

Alas for the widows, if it were always true
that "the boy is father of the man." They
might well fold their hands in utter despair,
if their sons in their manhood were to be such
as they are in their youth.

It is in the growing family of the widow
that natural character is fairly and fully de-
veloped. No wholesome restraint suppresses
the peculiarities, and rounds off the harsh,
jagged outlines of unformed boyhood. Con-
ceit runs riot. With no wise, stern father,
commanding respect as well by what he is, as
by his position, the young sprig of manhood
so pinks and plumes himself upon his sex
that he often fairly convinces his mother of
his superiority, and bends her will to his. If
lie be a bully by nature, he actually terrifies
her by his awful threats of what he will do in
his wrath ; and as for the younger children,
they live in a state of craven subjection. He
studies, or does not study, as suits his whim,
and is in all respects the exponent and exem-
plification of his favorite theories. Fortu-
nately, his opinions on all subjects are not
permanently fixed. Just as his mother is in
despair at his energetic carrying out of some
of his preposterous notions, the wind "chops,"
and he appears in a new character. Who but
a mother could love on, through this time of
tormenting absurdities ? Who but a mother
could have patience with the poor, shapeless,

ignorant cub who thinks he understands all
mysteries, and is ready to teach the whole
French nation the polite art of dancing !

Is this boy the father of the man he is to
be ! No ! no ! no ! we say. He is simply
the boy without a father, with no prompt,
compelling arm of the law to make him ap-
pear better than he is, and be decent out-
wardly for the comfort of society. Like the
rough crag by the river, he seems to jut out
his harsh sides, but to vex and fret the stream
that flows at his base. Yet that silent stream
will glide perseveringly on till his roughness
is worn away, and she leaves for all time the
record of her power on the stern, strong stuff
of which he is made.

Be patient, widowed mother ! Be loving,
be firm, yet gentle ; be cheerful, yet dignified ;
be true to yourself and your Christian vows,
and you shall surely have your day of tri-
umph. Your boy is really no worse than
others of his age. He is but like the sapling
released from the firm hold which forced it
from its natural position ; now it swings
wildly upward and seems to quiver in defiance.
That same wayward bough will yet fill its fair
place in the perfect tree, and yield its share
of golden fruit. Your ceaseless prayers, your
self-denying labors, will not be in vain. Your
present difficulties but prove the wise order-
ing of Him who is the founder of all the fami-
lies of the earth. He blended judgment and
mercy, the elements of successful government,
in the persons of father and mother. What
wonder that the tender minister of mercy,
alone, should find it hard to cope with the
young delinquents and win penitence without
punishment.

Boys want the strength of a man's hand to
let them know that they have a physical
superior to subdue their lower nature, if
needs be. They want the power of a man's
eye to tell them of a will stronger than theirs, .
a will guided by reason and justice, and un-
flinching reverence for right. There is in the
boy's heart a rebellion against the govern-
ment of a woman. He knows that kind of
dominion must have its end. He is the young
lion, guarded and ruled for the time by the
child, but he knows and feels that he is a lion
still, and will some day prove his royal birth.

Your little boy may rebel against you, good
mother ; but let him once grow so as to look
you eye to eye on a level, and some of the
fierceness will have gone out of him. As liia

WIDOWS.

269

broad shoulders rise higher and higher, he,
in a manner, bears you upward upon them,
till he raises you at last to the sacred position
of some statued goddess of old. Your words
become to him the sayings of an oracle ; your
pure counsel is reckoned just next to inspira-
tion ; your prayers are his talisman and your
praise his most coveted reward. The very
work of your hands has for him an increasing
charm. His own wife cannot mend or bake
for him, as you have done (if so be you
have stooped to such old-fashioned offices) ; no
meal has for him the relish of "mother's
dinners."

Who have been the great men, the wise,
the good of earth? Widows' sons! They
who have had to struggle and force their way
upward. They who have early lent an arm
to sustain a bowed and weeping mother, and
grown manly, through the only wish to be a
man for her sake.

Show me the roll of fame, gilded with names
written in glowing letters, and I will bid you
read there the record of what widows' sons
have been, and yet may be.

"Ah!" says the sorrowing mother, as she
hides her unbidden tears. " Ah, my son has
no such future in store for him. He is a lost
and wandering prodigal, hopelessly sunk in
sin." The son of the widow of Nain was
fairly clasped in the icy hands of death, yet
to her the Saviour said, "Weep not!" He
touched the bier. He raised the dead, and
gave him unto his mother, more precious than
when the boy was first born in her arms.
"He had compassion on her." So read the
precious words. That Divine fount of tender
pity wells unceasingly, you need but press
forward to share the blessing. Your son may
yet be "given to you." Pray as expecting
the free granting of your petitions. Your son
is not lost, he is but as a sheep gone astray,
to be returned unto the Great Bishop and
Shepherd of souls.

We have spoken only of widows' sons, yet
her daughters must not be forgotten. Who
has not loved the sister, daughter, ready to
stand, in loving innocence, 'twixt her dear
mother and the unkindly world ? How she
shares her mother's griefs, and grows womanly
before her time by her knowledge of care and
sorrow ! How true, and unselfish, and beau-
tiful is her affection.

Widows' daughters! Purest, loveliest of
their sex, bearing the yoke in their youth, to
vol. lxviii. — 22

find all burdens light as they go on in life's
pathway ! How we love to see such a dear
girl taken proudly to an honest man's home !
How we enjoy her pretty wonder at being so
guarded, and defended, and made precious !
How strange it seems to her to be cared-for,
and shielded, and watched over ! Ah ! It is
pure joy to a widowed mother to see her
devoted daughter prized as she so richly
deserves. She lives over her own wedded
life in the joy of that daughter, and finds new
cheerfulness in the new home of her child.

For the widow's old age there is a fount of
gladness, a fresh spring of pleasure. Her
sorrow fairly dies out as her grand-children
sit on her knees. Their smiles find a full
reflection in her fond face. She has done with
care and responsibility, and discipline, and
training. Father and mother may rebuke
and command, and exile offenders ; but grand-
mother's arms are ever open to receive the
little ones. She may wipe away their tears,
without too strictly inquiring their cause, she
may whisper comfort without compromising
anybody's dignity.

Beautiful indeed is that pure, free relation,
which links life in its freshness with life in its
decline. The evening and the morning meet
together, the sunset shadows are tinted with
the rosy hues of dawn. The aged widow, in
the midst of her children's children, owns her
hoary head crowned with blessings, and her
robes of mourning changed to l ' garments of
praise."

DEAD.

BY CHARLES STEWART.

dream ! change ! Mate of my summer time,

Where art thou now — where art thou now ? Alas !

Naught but the insect answers from the grass ;
Alas ! the kind, bright stars in pity shine,
Like eyes that flash with sorrow at my grief.

Would I were with them in yon depths serene,

Where all my joy hath flown. Oh that the dream
Of iEris, in his cave, so bright, so brief,
Of deathless life and everlasting love,

Were a true law of God ! But no, hast fled ;

The child of Love, of Genius, Hope, and Truth ;
So bright, so loved, so beautiful — she is dead !

Gone in the glorious promise of her youth ;
Yet common things live on ; earth's mighty heart

Still throbs : Creation lifts its solemn voice
In sea and air, and in the world's great mart

Dwell music, life, and motion — all rejoice:

But she hath flown, like vision of the dawn,
Robed in the sunshine's glorious beams, hast gone ! hast
gone!

HADYN VAUGHN'S DAUGHTER.

BY DAISY HOWARD.

"My dear uncle, I am delighted to be at
home again. What splendid easy times we
will have, and egad ! what dinners ! Uncle,
I will tell yon (under the rose) it don't pay
to go ' abroad ;' but mum 's the word, though,
for it 's fashionable, you know. But on my
honor as a Trevanion, I was almost poisoned
on frogs and things. I met the Leightons,
and Esterbrooks, and all the first families in
Paris, though. Like myself, they were ' doing'
Europe for the fame of the thing."

Tom Trevanion sat in his uncle's study,
with his feet on the marble mantle, and a
costly meerschaum in his mouth from whence
issued a delicious perfume, for Tom was a
connoisseur in the weed. "Hand me that
dressing-gown, old boy, and I '11 make a
regular night of it, and forget Paris and
Louise Villiers."

"Old boy, indeed! Tom, you have grown
disrespectful since you left home. Get your
dressing-gown yourself, sir."

"Forgive me, Uncle Hal, I am mad with
joy at being at home again, and mistook you
for Pomp."

" Humph ! who is Louise Villiers, Tom ?"

"Oh, a charming little French girl, uncle.
I thought some of making her Mrs. Trevanion,
only women-folks are so very troublesome,
tagging round after a fellow all the time.
But, uncle, she is divine ; there is nothing in
America to match her."

"Humph!" Uncle Hal's favorite word.
"There has been an addition to our family,
Tom, since you left. I did not mention it in
my letters, because I thought it best you
should finish your travels. Hadyn Vaughn,
my old college chum, died in India, and left
his daughter to my care. She has been here
a year."

"The deuce she has! Is she handsome,
uncle?"

"The girl is entirely without friends. I
pitied her loneliness, and I — I — In fact we are
to be married in the spring."

"Married in the spring ?"

"Tom, you must not speak so loud. I
thought I heard some one at the door a little
270

while ago, when you were talking about
women being so troublesome."

A rich, clear voice humming " La ci darem,"
and the click of a solitary boot-heel along the
hall, and Tom pricked up his ears. "What
is that, uncle ? It sounds like some lame
opera singer."

1 1 Humph ! I '11 risk my life on the lameness.
It 's Hadyn Vaughn's daughter."

The door was flung open with a bang, and
a crimson-lipped, black-haired, saucy-looking
girl entered, carrying her gaiter-boot in one
hand and a tack-hammer in the other.

"Guardy, you are heathenish ? Here I 've
been limping up that interminable flight of
stairs with only a silk stocking between my
foot and the cold oil-cloth. There 's a peg in
my shoe, and my heel is bruised to a jelly
with it, I tried to poke it out with this tack-
hammer, but it won't move."

No more notice of Tom than if he had been
a part of the furniture, though she saw him,
for her black eyes rested contemptuously
upon the patent leather boots resting on the
marble mantle.

" If that is your game, my dear, I am with
you," was Tom's thought as he noticed her
utter indifference. He settled his boots more
firmly, and puffed wickedly at his pipe.

A few desperate "pokes" and the refrac-
tory peg came out.

"Where are you going through this rain,
Bell?"

" To Maillard's, for some candy ; this is real
candy weather, guardy."

"I wouldn't go out in such weather, Bell."

"I would!"

She seated herself on a little stool, and
coolly putting on her boot, began lacing it up
before Tom's very eyes. Then she looped up
her dress through an elastic, exposing a red
ribbed balmoral and a dainty ankle, and tying
a crimson hood under her chin, turned to the
door.

"Good-by, guardy; good-by, Mr. Boots."

Tom laughed uproariously, while Mr. Tre-
vanion said : —

"Why, bless my soul, boy, I forgot to pre-
sent you to Bell."

HADYN VAUGHN'S DAUGHTER.

" Never mind, uncle, only don't forget it at
dinner."

Tom Trevanion took unusual pains with his
toilet that night, and Tom was a very hand-
some man. His thick, glossy, brown hair,
and long heavy beard, were subjected to a
merciless brushing ; and a magnificent black
neck-tie embroidered with white silk was
arranged as killingly as possible. Bell, in
a crimson merino, and her shining, Indian-
black hair, coiled in a loose knot at the
back of her head, was superb and indifferent.
Around the fair throat was a tiny collar of
the softest and finest lace, fastened by a small
diamond star.

"Tom, this is Hadyn Vaughn's daughter.
Isabel, my nephew, Tom Trevanion."

Isabel inclined her stately head, while the
handsome Tom bowed low before her.

"lam happy to find such a valuable addi-
tion to my uncle's family, Miss Isabel. I
had feared this old house would be lonely."

" I am very glad, sir ; it quite relieves my
mind. Some young gentlemen think women
folks about a house are so troublesome."
The black eyes looked saucily into his.

" Confound the girl ! she is laughing at me.
I believe she heard what I said about Louise
Villiers. I wish she was not so confoundedly
handsome."

As time passed on, Tom found himself very
faint about the region of the heart. If Bell
Vaughn was splendid at night in crimson me-
rino she was divine in a rose-colored wrapper
in the morning. Tom forgot all about Louise
Villiers, and fell in love with his uncle's pro-
mised bride — that is how it was. He wisely
kept his secret hid, though, for the wicked
black eyes had a way of hurling lightning
glances at him that was most exasperating.

"If she only cared a speck for a fellow,
I 'd — I 'd — but no, that would be dishonor.
Brave old Uncle Hal, I would not step be-
tween you and happiness if I could."

As the weeks wore on, Tom saw plainly
that Isabel did not love his uncle, though she
did not know it yet herself. She had never
known any other love but that she had borne
her father, and when Mr. Trevanion asked
her to be his wife she, feeling lonely and
desolate, gave h,'m her promise, knowing
nothing of that "other self" who, somewhere
in the length and breadth of the land, was
waiting for her.

It had been a dismal day. A kind of driz-

zling rain had fallen sullenly all day long,
and a kind of dirge-like wind keeping it com-
pany. For once Bell Vaughn was sad, though
if she had thought any one noticed it the red
lips would have been smiling in a trice. She
had been strangely silent all the afternoon,
and Tom thought he saw her lips quiver once
or twice. He crossed over to where she was
sitting, hoping her sad mood would make her
more comeatable.

1 ' What a dismal day, Bell ! It gives me
the heartache."

"What is that ?" — voice and eye both firm,
though Tom could have sworn he saw her lip
quiver.

"If you don't know I shall not enlighten
you."

Tom was exasperated. He almost thought
she had no heart. Bell went to looking
dreamily out of the window, and by and by
sighed a little quivering sigh. This time he
saw the proud, red lip quiver. Tom Trevan-
ion was a noble-hearted fellow, and he pitied
the poor motherless, sisterless girl — pitied the
proud young heart, that, ache as it might,
would never let it be known. He had watched
her closely, and knew that underneath her elfin
ways a warm, passionate heart was throbbing.

One night he saw by her eyes she had been
weeping, and as he stood by her side, he ven-
tured to lay his hand on her shining hair.
She looked up quickly into his handsome face,
as if she would read what was written thereon.
It was a manly face, strong and tender.

"Bell, you have been weeping ; it grieves
me to see it." Eyes and voice were burdened
with tenderness, but she would not see it.

"I am going down town, Bell. Can I do
anything for you ?" The voice had still that
indescribable tenderness which deep feeling
always gives.

"Yes ; if you are going by Taylor's, bring
me some ginger-snaps."

He sprang to his feet, and a muttered im-
precation burst from his lips. Pulling his
hat down over his eyes, he strode fiercely
down Broadway, causing the passers-by to
look after him wonderingly. He met some
boon companions, but his gloomy brow gave
them no encouragement to tarry.

"What 's to pay, now?" said Ned Sterling
to his friend Lennox. "Trevanion looks as
fierce as a Bengal tiger."

" Got in debt, I reckon. Come, Ned, let us
go down to Niblo's."

272

godey's lady's book and magazine

Poor Tom knew to his cost what was to pay.
Louise VillierS) the insipid, tame little Parisian,
was, to use Tom's vocabulary, " nowhere !"
She had been cast into the shade by this bril-
liant, fascinating, tantalizing Bell Vaughn.
Tom's thoughts were something after this
fashion : "I love this brilliant Bell ; her rich,
tropical nature intones with my own. She
may school lip and eye, but I can read both.
She is unhappy ; there was anguish in her
eyes when she asked for those abominable
ginger-snaps. I saw it brooding dumbly
through all her acting. That girl is wretched ;
she does not love my uncle ; she cannot, and
yet there is but one short month between this
and her wedding-day ! woman ! woman I
man's blessing and his curse ! I will leave
New York to-morrow ; it is all that I can do. ' '

He returned from Ms mad walk silent and
moody. His uncle sat reading the Herald, and
Bell, without a vestige of color in cheek or lip,
sat with her dainty little feet on the fender,
and the last number of ' * Godey' ' in her hand.
She did not look round as Tom closed the
door, though, she knew his footsteps.

" Fluted trimming is still worn, guardy.
I think I will have my new dress trimmed so.
Ah, Tom ! are you back ? Where 's the
ginger-snaps ?"

Tom left the room with, never a word of
answer.

4 ' Tom is getting to be an insufferable puppy,
with, bis moody brow and tragic airs."

1 ' An insufferable puppy, ' ' echoed Bell ;
but her lip quivered.

Mr. Trevanion laid down bis paper, and
went over to where Bell was sitting with her
eyes fixed on the fire. He laid his hand
kindly on the bowed head ; but she sprang
suddenly to her feet and the small hand
hanging by her side now clenched fiercely.

"What is the matter, I say?"

" My head aches, sir ; and if you will excuse
me, I will go to my room."

She almost flew up the broad staircase, and
her white face was a perfect revelation. Tom
Trevanion, pacing up and down the study
floor, saw it as she passed, and shivered.
Reaching her own room the despairing girl
flung herself, face downwards, on the floor.
She neither fainted or wept, she did not even
moan ; if she had unclosed the firm-set lips for
a single instant she would have shrieked.
Her dumb anguish was a thousand times
worse than tears, more than a river of tears.

She had promised to be Mr Trevanion's wife
through gratitude ; because she was lonely
and desolate, as he had said, and knew not till
too late that life would bring any other love.
That she had learned to love this handsome
Tom Trevanion, was a fixed fact. How, or
when the love crept into her heart she could
not have told ; but she knew, to her sorrow,
that it was there. She had thought to put it
away from her, to forget the manly, tender
face ; but she found her own heart a rebel,
all she could do was to keep the sad secret
from the eyes of Tom and his uncle. She
never entered the study now, so they met
only at meals-

She went down one night in the twilight, to
the almost unused library. The street lamps
were lighting, and she stood with her face
pressed against the window pane, watching
the little lame boy as he went his rounds. It
was a wan, pitiful face, and Tom Trevanion
coming up softly behind her, looked upon it
and longed to gather it to his breast. "Oh
if it was any one but brave old Uncle Hal
that loved her, he would — he would — but this
was dishonor." The closed eyes saw nothing
but a heart-picture she was looking at, so
Tom could gaze his fill at the sad face. The
tired eyes unclosed suddenly, and she looked
up to see that splendid face bending over her
with an expression she could not misunder-
stand.

There was perfect silence for many minutes.
Tom stood with folded arms and tight shut
lips. What could he say that would not be
dishonor ? Bell made a movement as though
she were going to leave the rootm

" Bell, I am going away to-morrow. I leave
on Monday for Europe."

She trembled so that he put his arm around
her, and then, as though wholly unable to
resist it, he drew the beautiful head to his
breast. She just let it lie there for she knew
it was for the last time ; that dreary last
time !

"My darling! mine in this sad hour, if
never again. I love you, Isabel, with a holy,
tender love, and I am leaving you because of
that love. I ought not to have told you this,
but you know it, Isabel, and it seems some
consolation to put it into words. It would be
dishonor in me to try to win you from kind
Uncle Hal, and dishonor in you to be so won,
for he has set his heart on you, little Isabel.
We must part, though, it rend our hearts in

HADYN VAUGHN'S DAUGHTER.

273

twain, and now, for I hear uncle's voice, and
I have no further strength left."

He led her to a chair, and pressing one kiss
upon her pale lips, staggered almost blindly
from the room. It was a fearful storm of
feeling, requiring all his love for his brave
old uncle, all his honorable feelings to prevent
him rushing back and claiming Isabel. That
he had no right to do so he knew, save by the
passionate love he bore her. Two hours later,
he entered his uncle's study. The old man
sat smoking with closed eyes.

"Get your pipe, Tom, and let us have a
good time."

" I cannot, uncle ; I am not well to-night.
Uncle Halbert, I sail for Europe on Monday,
and have come to say good-by to-night. I
must go to Norwich to-morrow."

1 ' Is the boy mad ? What in the name of
common sense would take you off again ?
Why, Tom, you are ill ! What is it, boy ?"

" No matter, uncle."

" Tom, I am the only father you have ever
known. I command you, by a father's right,
to tell me what this means. Are you in debt,
my boy ? If so, speak it out ; if it is one
thousand dollars I will pay it, anything rather
than have you leave me."

" Uncle, don't press me; just let me go
quietly. I give you my word, the word of a
Trevanion, which never was broken, that it is
nothing of debt or difficulty of that kind. It
is only a private matter of my own."

"I must know it, Tom."

"Uncle, it will grieve you."

"No matter, boy." The old man rose and
put his arm affectionately on Tom's shoulder.
"Come, boy, out with it."

"Uncle, I love Isabel Vaughn. It is because
of her I am leaving America. It is all I can
do. I fought against it long, uncle ; but, God
help me, my love was stronger than my will. ' '

"Does Isabel love you ?"

"I have never asked her, uncle."

1 i Sit down here a minute, Tom, while I go
to my chamber. You must have funds to go
to Europe on."

Tom folded his arms upon the table, and
laid his head upon them. " The worst is over
now. I have parted with Isabel, and told my
uncle all."

Mr. Trevanion went straight to Isabel's
room. He knocked softly.

"Isabel, I want to speak to you, just one
moment."

22*

She came to the door, surprised at this un-
usual proceeding, but too wretched to care
much.

"Isabel, would you just as leave marry
Tom as me ?"

It was a startling question. Isabel would
have fallen had not her guardian caught her
in his arms.

"You see, Isabel, the foolish fellow has
fallen in love with you, and as he is too
honorable to try to steal you away from me,
he is determined to be off to Europe again.
Tom is my only sister's child, and if you could
love him, Isabel, I — "

The old, saucy look came back to Isabel's
eyes.

1 ' I will try, guardy . ' '

" Then come with me."

He led her, excitedly, along the hall, and
entering the study said: "Here, Tom, I'll
forego my claim if you can make it all right
with Isabel. I could not see you go, my
boy." He closed the door, and with a rare
delicacy left the lovers alone.

Over that interview we will draw a veil.

By mutual consent, the knowledge of their
mutual love was kept from Uncle Halbert, and
he thinks to this day that Isabel married Tom
to please him.

Isabel and Tom have been married five
happy years. Isabel is little like the Isabel
of this story, save in form and feature. She
is gentle and quiet ; and has given over all
her mad moods, subdued by the power of
love, and Tom likes her best so. Sometimes,
when in the fulness of her young life, she
would flash out some of these same old mad
moods, Tom would put his arm tenderly
around her, and say: "Don't, Isabel, dar-
ling. I love you best in your new mood.
The saucy, defiant Isabel Vaughn has passed
away, and in her stead I hold to my heart my
loving, tender Isabel Trevanion."

Dear reader, good-night.

The Venom of "They Say."— "They" will
say anything and everything. "They" have
said everything mean and despicable. ' ' They' '
say things that break up families, crush
hearts, blight hopes, and smother worthy
aspirations. Whenever a man circulates a
slander, and gives "They" as his authority,
turn your back upon him. He is no good.

ADVENTUEES OF A BACHELOE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "MISS SLIMMENS^' "THE RASHER FAMILY," ETC,

(Concluded from page 179.)

Stanley Oliver Griggs, junior, did not want
S. Oliver Griggs, senior, to leave Roseville
just yet. He knew that lie should have to
follow soon, and, as yet, he was too much in-
fatuated with his own new bliss to think of
tearing himself from the blue eyes and golden
ringlets of the earthly angel who had promised
to be his. The proposition to leave in the
midnight train did not meet with his appro-
bation. He did not wish to oppose it too
openly ; so he suggested to his uncle to take
a couple of hours' sleep, while he thought the
matter over, promising to be sure and wake
him up in time to reach the depot for the train,
if he did not, in the meantime, think of some
effectual plan for shaking off Miss Brier.

It was full midnight when Mr. Griggs awoke
out of the sleep into which he had fallen ; he
was snoring in apparent opposition to the
whistle of the locomotive, which bore the
train he wished for out of reach, when Stanley
came lightly into his room, after a rather
lengthy consultation with Emily in the parlor
below.

"I didn't wake you up, uncle, for I was
certain that it would be more dangerous for
you, in your present health, to encounter the
night-air than to brave the terrors of Miss
Brier's love. I don't suppose she '11 be after
you before eleven or twelve to-morrow, and
by that time I hav'n't the least doubt but we
can do something. So good-night, and don't
let your dreams be disturbed by witches,
young or old."

This was rather indefinite comfort ; but Mr.
274

Griggs was too sleepy to weigh it in the bal-
ance ; he muttered a vague good-night, and
in another moment had relapsed into oblivion.
Stanley, with his night-lamp in his hand,
paused to admire the benign aspect of the
kind and benevolent person who, even in his
sleep, had a peculiarly open countenance, and
the very gurgle and gush of whose snoring
had a music of its own. Now it would boil
and bubble in his short little nose like seeth-
ing tallow in a deep cauldron — anon it would
whistle, fine and thin, like a small wind
blowing through a key-hole ; again, it would
break forth, fierce and spirited, like the snort-
ing of a war-horse, mingled with the distant
rumbling of cannon ; then it would change to
an indescribable gasping and splashing, con-
veying the idea of a drowning fellow-being,
from which it would gradually subside into
two or three notes of the golden trombone,
six of the flute, one of the bass-viol, and so
over again.

The affectionate nephew remained for some
time listening to this remarkable performance
of the dear uncle who was musical even in his
sleep, and whose vanity on the subject of his
singing had just got him into trouble. There
may have been something inspiring in the
snoring, for while he remained, holding the
night-lamp, so that Mr. Griggs' nose made a
strange shadow on the wall, a thought oc-
curred to Stanley which seemed so good that
he whispered, with an inward chuckle —

"That 's it ! If she doesn't resign all right
and title to Uncle Oliver, without making a
fuss, I'll do it, without fail," and tenderly
adjusting that uncle's flannel cap, which had
nearly slipped off, exposing him to additional
danger from taking cold in the top of his head,
he retired to his own room.

The next morning Mr. Griggs, who felt
himself too weak to master his present over-
whelming difficulties, at his request resigned
the whole matter to Stanley, who advised him
to "lie low and keep quiet" — whatever that
means ; we do not understand the slang so
common among even well-bred young people
of the present day, and so cannot translate it

ADVENTURES OF A BACHELOR.

275

We only know that when Uncle Oliver said
he was afraid "she would be too much for
him, ' ' his nephew carelessly responded that
"he didn't see it." Both gentlemen confined
themselves to the house, and as nothing
occurred before dinner, which was an excel-
lent one — for Mrs. Perkins was a good house-
keeper and meant her daughter should be
the same — Mr. Griggs' spirits began to rise,
and he was just indulging in a game of back-
gammon with Emily in the parlor, while Stan-
ley was examining some new artificial flies for
fishing, when the sound of the front gate
closing caused the little party to look out the
window.

"It's Miss Brier," exclaimed Stanley;
' run, Uncle Oliver ! ' '

" Where ?" gasped the persecuted man.

" Up-stairs to your room, and lock the door.
Hurry, uncle, she 's pulling the bell already."

In the confusion of his ideas, consequent
upon his flight, Mr. Griggs dodged his head,
first into the library, then into the dining-
room, and in his haste, caused by these de-
lays, fell full-length over an ottoman. Here
he struggled hopelessly for a few seconds,
until Stanley came to his assistance, and got
him started in the right direction. By this
time the servant-girl had responded to the
summons of the bell.

"What was that?" inquired the lady who
entered, sharply, as something whisked round
the baluster at the head of the stairs.

"What was what ?" asked Bridget, saucily
— she knew the visitor, and didn't like her.

The fact is, it was Griggs' coat-tail, and the
lady suspected it, but she smothered her
suspicions and walked smilingly into the par-
lor, where she was met by Mr. Griggs, junior,
who shook hands with her, and inquired after
her health with affecting earnestness. Emily
had made her exit into the library, in obedi-
ence to a hint from her lover ; and I am sorry
to say that during the whole of the ensuing
interview she remained conveniently near to
the half-closed door.

"How's your uncle, my dear Stanley ?"
began the caller ; " I suppose I may call you
Stanley, now that we are so soon to assume a
near relation. I feel very uneasy about him. Is
he ill ? I am sure that he must be, or he
would have kept his engagement to visit me
this morning. Nothing but sickness, I 'm
sure, could be sufficient to keep him from me
at a time like this, a time so full of interest

to both of us. Has he informed you ? but, of
course he must have done so. Of course our
present relations make it highly proper for
me to call upon him if anything is the matter
with him. Do not conceal it from one who
has more interest in him than any other ; but
let me go at once to his room, and again have
the privilege of cooling the fever which I feel
is burning that precious brow."

"Take a chair, Miss Brier, pray do. My
uncle is very well, I thank you. Your fears
are without foundation. But I believe he is
very busy this afternoon — said he could not
receive any visitors. He is thinking of leav-
ing town in a day or two, and has some
packing to do. Please excuse him."

"But he will see we," said Miss Brier,
decidedly.

" He gave strict orders not to call him down
upon any account. And in fact, Miss Brier,"
said the young gentleman, drawing his chair
near to the lady's, and speaking in a confi-
dential tone, "My uncle has requested me to
inform you that you misunderstood him,
entirely, in the construction you put upon
his conversation yesterday. He is not a
marrying man, and not even your great
attractions, madam," with a bow and frank
smile, "as the most highly accomplished
woman in Roseville, and the daughter of its
most honored physician, can induce him to
forego the habits and resolutions of years.
He regrets, sincerely, that you should have
put a false construction upon anything which
transpired yesterday, and begs leave, through
me, to close the acquaintance at once, with
his deepest respect and regard."

" That 's cool, to say the least," replied the
lady, sitting up very straight, and beginning
to get as red in the face as was consistent
with her complexion, her anger burning hotly
through, like fire through brimstone ; " but
there happens to be a law for the redress of
unprotected females. I'll take the law of
him, sir!"

" How high will you set your damages ?"
asked the young gentleman, quietly.

"Five thousand dollars!" was the crisp,
biting, and exasperated answer.

" I think my uncle would rather pay it than
to marry ! ' ' reflectively.

"I don't want the money, I want him!"
said Miss Brier, sinking into a sudden revul-
sion of feeling, as she remembered what she
was losing. "He's treated me shamefully,

276

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Mr. Stanley, shamefully 1 I 've sacrificed
everything to him — going to the hotel in the
way I did, taking him out riding in broad
daylight — and everybody knowing of our
engagement, for I 've told at least twelve
persons this morning. I shall never get over
it ; not only will my affections be trampled in
the dust, but I '11 be the laughing-stock of
Roseville."

"You shouldn't have told of your good
luck so quickly, Miss Brier« You very well
know that you rigmaroled my uncle into the
affair."

" I rigmaroled ! must I have insult added to
injury ! Just ask your uncle to come down,
Mr. Stanley, ask him to come down a moment,
and see if he '11 say that to my face."

" 1 'm afraid he wouldn't, Miss Brier, he 's
naturally a coward, especially when the fair
. sex is concerned. I wouldn't like to ask him
to come down, for fear you 'd get the advan-
tage of him again."

" Did you ever !" burst forth the lady — her
wrath kept in her utterance as a cork restrains
a beer-bottle from foaming over. She rose,
and was darting through the door, intent upon
an instant suit for breach of promise, when
Stanley laid his hand coaxingly upon her arm.

"Stay, Miss Brier, a little while," he said,
in his most persuasive accents ; it may be that
I can make a proposition to you which will
mitigate the severity of your j udgment. Why
can't we effect a compromise ?"

" What do you mean ?" inquired Miss Brier,
allowing him to force her gently back into
her chair, when he seated himself beside her.

"My uncle," said he, "is not a marrying
man ; but / am. ' '

It is needless to state that his companion
grew all attention ; she leaned forward grace-
fully, gazing into his face with a smile.

" I have not yet chosen my profession ; my
uncle wishes me to make a choice immedi-
ately. Now I have thought seriously of
becoming a physician."

' ' Exactly, delightful, the very idea, ' ' mur-
mured his listener.

"If I decide upon it, I had as soon, or
rather, carry on my studies in this village,
under the tutelage of your distinguished father,
if he could be induced to accept a pupil — "

1 i He could — he would ! ' '

" And it is well known that the first thing
a young doctor must secure in order to obtain
practice, is a wife .'"

"There would be no difficulty about that.' 5
said Miss Araminta, eagerly.

" Would you be willing to pledge yourself,
in case I studied under your father, to do
your best to secure me a female partner as
soon as I am ready to begin practice for
myself?"

1 i I would, unhesitatingly* But why wait
until you have finished your studies ? If you
had a home secured to you, and occupied the
position of a son to some good physician, into
whose extensive practice you could step im-
mediately, your fortune, as you might say,
would be made."

"Capital! what an excellent adviser you
are, dear Miss — may I say, Araminta ? Such
a woman would be invaluable to an inexperi-
enced young man. And now, I ask you only
to wait until I consult my uncle. If he
consents to my plan, I will call upon Dr.
Brier to-morrow, and arrange for a beginning."

Emily, peeping through a crack of the li-
brary door, nearly betrayed herself by laugh-
ing at the irresistible and devoted air with
which Stanley bent over the hand of the
smiling Miss Brier, as he escorted her to the
door.

"But," said that lady, turning upon him
shortly, with a suspicious look, as she was
about passing into the hall, " I supposed you
were engaged to Miss Perkins, Mr. Griggs t"

"Engaged to that child ! Is it possible you
have so poor an opinion of my judgment ? To
be sure, my uncle has endeavored to make a
match ( ' ' Oh, has he I " breathed Emily to her-
self) between us, but I won't be forced to
marry a person I don't like, not if I lose every
cent he intends tc bestow on me."

" What a heart you have, Mr, Griggs ! Such
impassioned feelings, such high principles
are — what 's that ?"

"I didn't hear anything."

"I thought I heard Emily Perkins giggle.
Quite likely ; she 's none too dignified to be
eaves-dropping. Give her my compliments,
Mr. Griggs — and be sure to come round to-
morrow. And, Oh dear ! to-morrow afternoon
our Fair and Festival comes off. It would be
a great disappointment to the managers if
your uncle should leave before that. Pray,
persuade him to stay. We don't usually have
our fair until September, and we 've put it
forward two months in your honor."

"It is an honor which we are deeply sensi-
ble of, I assure you (and shall pay dearly for,"

ADVENTURES OF A BACHELOR.

277

sotto voce). "Good-by, Miss Brier, good-by."
We do not deny that it was very wicked for
Mr. Stanley to bow out the old maid with an
air which said everything — love, adoration,
marriage, respect, reverence, were in that
bow ; it was the language of silence, more
expressive than any words. He shouldn't
have done it— he really shouldn't! but he
did ! And considering the imminent peril
from which his beloved uncle was to be res-
cued, we must almost forgive him. So sensi-
tive, so modest, so chivalrously honorable
was Uncle Oliver, that there is little doubt he
would have married Miss Brier rather than
submit to be called, in open court, to defend
a suit for breach-of-promise. Otherwise, he
would have settled the affair, at the expense
of half his fortune, if necessary ; and as Stan-
ley did not think that he ought to suffer to
that extent for unwittingly consenting to sing
" How shall I woo?" he exerted himself to
defend that respected uncle to the last.

" Stanley, what a naughty boy you are !"
cried Emily, coming out of her retreat. " How
could you ! Oh dear ! Mr. Griggs, Mr. Oliver
Griggs, senior, do come down here and con-
gratulate your nephew."

Hearing himself summoned, Mr. Griggs, who
had seen, from behind his window-curtain,
the departure of Miss Brier, cautiously ven-
tured down, after a second glance to see that
she was really outside the gate, and after
locking the front door, to guard against sur-
prises, went into the parlor to learn whether
he was to meet Miss Brier with pistols, at
six the next morning, prepare for a suit at
law, or " skedaddle" (that's the word his
nephew used) by the next train.

When he learned the present state of affairs,
he went up stairs again, in high spirits, to
put on his favorite waistcoat, and get a fresh
pair of gloves, to make that long-deferred
call. Mr. Stanley went along. Emily wanted
him to take up her attention, so that Uncle
Oliver would be at full liberty to make him-
self as agreeable to Selina as he chose.

Miss Series was at home. We will only
say that she looked as well as a sparkling
brunette, in gay spirits, with a red dress, is
apt to look ; that she played the piano and
sang duets with Mr. Griggs for over an hour,
that their voices seemed made for singing
duets together, and that when the visitors
returned home to tea, Mr. Griggs, in his ab-
sence of mind, put salt in his raspberries, and

said, " Black, with red ribbons," when Mrs.
Perkins asked him how he 'd take his tea.

The next day Stanley, who really had some
idea of studying medicine (for the purpose of
remaining in the same place with Emily)
called on Dr. Brier, but without coming to
any definite agreement, which he was not
quite ready to enter into. Miss Brier, in an-
ticipation of the festival, was content to let
him off with a brief call. "But do come
early ; come in the afternoon. We shall have
supper at the fair," she said.

When Mr. Griggs was ready for the festi-
val, he examined his pocket-book. Taking
out ten fives he gave them to Stanley, with
the precept that if he wished to do his duty
as a benevolent man and a supporter of our
most glorious institutions, to accept no change.
As for himself, he doubled the allowance. He
knew that the ladies had taken advantage of
there being two liberal strangers of easy means
visiting Roseville to hurry forward their fair,
in order to reap the advantage of this increase
to their floating population ; and he was too
tender-hearted to disappoint them. A hun-
dred and fifty dollars, he believed, would no
more than reward them for their trouble in
hurrying it up.

Mr. Griggs, so generous and susceptible,
with so excellent a heart, was just the man to
be popular at a fair. He was the lion of the
occasion. Not Stanley himself received so
much attention. And the good man was
happy. He liked to do good. Selina Series
was there, presiding over a little table, at
which he bought many things. Miss Brier
was kind and dignified ; she appeared to have
forgiven him. He paid ten dollars for a doll,
which he gave to a little girl whom he had
never before seen ; he took forty shares in
the ring-cake, and got the ring, which he gave
to Miss Selina ; he purchased a pincushion,
which he gave to Miss Brier, along with a pair
of ottoman covers. He likewise bought a
cradle-quilt, and looked around for a baby to
give it to ; but there were no babies present,
and not knowing what else to do with it, he
asked Emily if she wouldn't take it and give
it to some of her matron friends. By the
time that tea was over, and supper, and the
hall had reached its most brilliant and crowded
state, his allowance began to run so low that
he regretted having limited himself to so
inadequate a sum.

Of course there was a post-office ; and to

278

godey's lady's book and magazine.

that fact must be ascribed another misfortune
which befell Mr. Griggs. He received, in the
course of the evening, some thirty-five letters,
for which he paid a quarter a piece. There
was a table, with paper, pens, and ink, for
those who wished to contribute to the office ;
a happy thought seized him, as he saw others
writing at the table. Why would not this be
the occasion of all occasions for making Miss
Selina acquainted with his feelings towards
her ? It would. Since the catastrophe which
resulted from his offering himself in person to
Miss Perkins, he had felt that he should never
summon courage to pass through the ordeal
with another. Yes, he would write. Then,
if she refused him, he could go away and bear
it in silence. If she accepted, she had but to
give him the hint, and he would be by her
side in a moment. Propitious thought ! He
looked over to where she stood, so beautiful,
so artless, so full of animation — she met his
eye and smiled — enough ! He sat down, and
in five minutes had composed and written the
following brief but explicit epistle : —

Dearest Selina : If this seems sudden or
audacious, excuse it. I can no longer sur-
vive the fire of those eyes. For three days I
have wished to speak, but had not the courage.
It is because I adore you so deeply that I
am too timid to address you personally. In
short, I love you ; and herewith make you an
offer of my heart and hand. They are con-
signed to you, and I herewith send you the
invoice. Please allow them storage, and send
me word of your acceptance or rejection this
evening. To prove that I am in earnest, and
yours entirely, I sign my full name.

S. Oliver Griggs.

He folded the note, placed it in an envelope,
and was holding the pen in his hand, when
Mrs. Bell, the widow of whom we have spoken,
approached him. and laughingly dared him to
tell her who he was writing to. Whereupon,
the guilty man blushed, and the vivacious
widow, who had laid aside mourning, and was
looking very well in side-curls and a blue silk
dress, began to coquet with him to the utmost
of her full-blown powers, and so flattered,
teazed him, and turned his head, and kept
him so long from directing the letter, that
when she finally passed by, and he went on
with his delicious task — a sad accident oc-
curred. Always absent-minded, Mr. Griggs
was now confused by the double image of
Selina in his heart and Mrs. Bell before his
eyes ; so that, quite unconscious of the fatal

mistake, he directed the epistle to ' ' Mrs.
Bell."

No mistake could have been mere likely tc
occur and none mere disastrous in its con-
sequences. However ; for the present, the
doomed man was unsuspicious of the truth \
within half an hour he received a little note,
which he retired to the most deserted corner
to peruse. He dared not open it where curi-
ous eyes were upon him, for he was conscious
that he should betray his emotions in his face.
Who shall paint that effulgent countenance
as it bent above the brief but exquisite assu-
rance of his happiness ?

Dear Mr. Griggs ; The goods are received,
and I assure you that I gladly acknowledge
the receipt. How strange that we should both
have been thinking of each other at the same
time ! Yet I feared that you did not admire
me as much as I have you, since we first met.
I shall be, after ten o'clock, in the little room
where the coffee is made. Au revoir.

Selina*

Mr. Griggs drew out his watch, it was five
minutes past ten : yet there sat the bewitch-
ing Selina, at her little table selling bouquets,
and looking as perfectly unconscious of having
received and accepted an offer as anybody in
the room. He could not but admire the
perfect self-possession with which she hid her
excitement from others. Except that the
heat of the room had flushed her cheeks, and
the pleasant nature of her duties had given a
bright sparkle to her black eyes, there was
nothing in her look or manner to betray what
had transpired. Mr. Griggs gazed at her
with silent adoration, admiring every smile
and movement, with the fond admiration we
bestow upon anything which is our own ; but
he began to wonder why she did not direct
her steps to the coffee-room ; finally resolving
to go there himself, thinking that she might
be waiting for him to set the example. Upon
entering the room he found no one there but
two or three ladies on duty, among whom was
the Widow Bell. Several cups of coffee were
immediately pressed upon him, of which he
could accept but one. As he stood, sipping
it, making an occasional remark to the ladies,
and uneasily watching the door, the blooming
widow managed to get very close to him, and
as she pretended to be waiting upon him to a
sandwich, whispered: —

"Dear Mr. Griggs, you can't think how
much you surprised me!"

ADVENTURES OF A BACHELOR.

279

"Did I?" said he. " Bless me! I had no
idea of it ! how?"

" Why, you know how, of course. Oh, you
want to pretend before all these people. But
we can have a cosy chat at any time to-
morrow you choose to say. I suppose you
want to attend to invoicing those goods ; he !
he! what an idea, Mr. Griggs. So funny!"
and the widow shook her fan at him while she
gave him a melting glance.

' ' Do they invoice the things at a fancy
fair?" inquired her companion, quite in the
dark as to her meaning ; but wondering how
she should have said something so very near
like what he was thinking about.

A bevy of young gentlemen coming in for
their sixth cup of coffee, released Mr. Griggs
from the trap he was in ; despairing of Selina's
keeping her appointment, he resolved to make
his way to her table. Doubtless it was her
bashfulness kept her away, thought the joyous
lover as he approached her, expecting to see
the tell-tale blush break forth in the presence
of all ; but a gay laugh and a saucy speech was
what he received, at which he was almost
equally pained and delighted. He admired
her wit, but he was afraid she was coquetting
with him. However, he took up his stand by
her side, and there he stayed until she was
ready to go home, when he gave her his arm,
while Stanley went with Emily. As the girls
came out of the ante-room, the Widow Bell,
with her shawl and ' ' cloud' ' on, looked out
after them, giving a strange and doubting
look, as the two gentlemen passed out with
them to the street.

Uncle Oliver asked the engaged couple to
wait on the porch for him, until he saw Miss
Selina safely to her mother's door, which they
promised to do. Under other circumstances
they might have found the time rather long,
for it was a full hour before he had accom-
plished that important undertaking ; but as
it was, they could not have told whether or
not it had been over ten minutes.

Mr. Griggs returned in a dream of bliss.
Not even after he had got into Stanley's bed
instead of his own, with his stockings on and
his nightcap off, and had closed his eyes,
steadied his whirling brain, and tried to think
of it calmly, could he realize the full splendor
of his happiness. He snapped his fingers in
the darkness, in utter scorn of the mitten
which he had received not a week ago ; that
was evidently a master-stroke of fortune to

place him at the height of his present bliss.
For he was actually engaged. Actually. He
had sealed the engagement on a pair of cherry
lips. Selina, though at first confused, and
acting curiously when he referred to the note
he had written, had finally acknowledged that
she thought she could be happy as his wife,
and that he might come to-morrow and ask
mamma how soon it should be. That night
the brain of the sleeper was a gorgeous kalei-
doscope in which revolved glittering phantoms
of rings, and wreaths, and sparkling eyes.

A week of unalloyed felicity ensued. Se-
lina's mamma had given her consent to a
marriage in September ; and Uncle Oliver, in
the fulness of his own overrunning cup of bliss,
had declared that his nephew should be mar-
ried at the same time, and study his profession
afterwards. In the meantime the negotiation
with Dr. Brier was kept open, for the purpose
of allaying any irritation of Miss Brier's sensi-
bilities.

The Griggses still remained the guests of
Judge Perkins. Just a week after the fes-
tival they were all, one day, gathered in the
parlor, to examine the magnificent presents
which Mr. Griggs, senior, had ordered from
New York for his affianced. Selina was also
there. As the casket of jewels was opened,
revealing a costly necklace, brooch, ear-rings,
and bracelet, set with pearls and a few dia-
monds, Selina felt that she had not sacrificed
too much, in giving up her ideal, with the
melancholy eyes and the black moustache.
She gazed, through smiles and tears, with
real fondness upon the dear, good man, whose
own face shone like the sun at sight of her
satisfaction.

At the moment of this happy family re-union
it was that a visitor was announced, followed
by the entrance of the Widow Bell.

' 'Mr. Griggs," said she, as soon as she was
seated, turning to our unconscious friend, "I
have sought you here, in the midst of your
friends, to see what explanation you have to
offer for your ungentlemanly conduct."

" Explanations to offer for my conduct ?"

"Yes, sir. Has it been your practise, in
the course of your travels, after having got a
footing in community by your understood
respectability, to play upon the feelings of
females ?"

" Play upon the feelings of females ?"

"I wish you wouldn't repeat me so, Mr.
Griggs," cried the widow, bursting into tears.

280

GODEY'S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

" You've used me awfully, and you know
it! ,,

The sight of those tears quite unmanned
their innocent author. He sank into a chair,
the sweat breaking out on his round forehead,
his nose crimson, and he looking ready to cry
for company.

"For heaven's sake, my dear lady," he
gasped, "what have I done?"

"Didn't you write to me, the night of the
festival, that you adored me, plainly asking
me to marry you? and after I'd given my
written promise that I would, here you 've
never come near me this whole blessed week ;
but kept me looking out the window after you
while you were making yourself agreeable to
other women ! ' '

"No, bless me! I never did any such
thing!"

"Oh, sir, then it was youV asked the
widow, wiping her eyes, and turning to
Stanley in a mixed mood, ready to be governed
by what he had to say, hope and fear alter-
nating in her look.

" It was impossible that I should have done
such a thing, madam ; I have been engaged
some time to the young lady you see by my
side ; and, not even in sport, would I have
written to any one else."

" Well, there 's one thing certain ; said the
widow, resolutely. "I'm engaged to one of
these gentlemen, I don't know which. I
supposed it was the elder. Here 's the letter
to prove it. Will you have the face to deny
it, when it 's written here in white and black ?
Look for yourself, judge ; you 're a lawyer, and
know how much that letter is worth. Its
signed S. Oliver Griggs plain enough, which
ever one of the two it may be."

"Why, uncle, this is your handwriting,
sure enough," cried Stanley, looking at the
envelope. He and the judge opened the let-
ter and read it together, both looking puzzled
and grave.

"Why, bless me, I recollect now! bless
me ! let me look at the envelope ! Yes, that 's
it. Oh, what a fool I was ! ' ' groaned the
perplexed bachelor. "Mrs. Bell, can it be
possible that your name, too, is Selina?"

11 It is — as you seem to have very well
known, sir."

"No, I didn't know it, no more than the
man in the moon. How could I dream that
there were two Selinas ? For me, there is but
one ! Mrs. Bell, I beg your pardon — I do

most humbly beg your pardon. That letter
which you received was intended for another.
You remember, that when I was writing it,
you came along and spoke to me. I must
have misdirected the letter. Oh dear ! Yes, I
assure you that was it. It was never meant
for you. I never would have presumed to
address you upon so brief an acquaintance.
I 've always been absent-minded — but this is
the most mortifying evidence of it which has
over occurred. I sincerely beg your pardon ;
I do, indeed I" and his eyes watered.

"I don't believe a word of your story. It
don't sound reasonable. Mistake, indeed!
and this is all the satisfaction I am to have \
But, fortunately, if I am a lonely widow, I 've
a brother large enough to punish such trifling.
You may expect to hear from him ! ' '

She was fairly pale with anger when she
left the room. Mr. Griggs walked up and
down very much disconcerted by the awkward
mistake he had committed — on the widow's
account, not his own. Selina was ready to
cry from fright ; she assured her lover that
Mrs. Bell's brother was the greatest fighter in
the village, a savage, burly fellow, who al-
ways knocked a man down who gave him the
least offence. Mr. Griggs was visibly affected
by this information ; he grew pale and thought-
ful, walking the room reflectively, while Selina
sat, secretly admiring her bridal jewels and
thinking how horrible it would be if her lover
should get a black eye, and perhaps have to
have the wedding delayed on account of it —
for she was sure she could never bring herself
to have the ceremony performed should the
bridegroom have a bunged eye or a swelled
face.

"Never mind," said the judge, good-na-
turedly, seeing the silent tribulation in which
his excellent guest was involved, " if we hear
any more of the matter, I '11 speak to the fel-
low myself, explain matters, and apologize.
I 'm certain that I '11 make it all right."

"Thank you!" exclaimed his visitor,
squeezing his hand gratefully, " and tell him
that I 've always been absent-minded, ever
since I can recollect. Tell him that once I
mortally offended a middle-aged maiden lady
by asking her how her children were — that
I 'm always committing blunders — that I 'm
sorry, extremely sorry — that sometimes I
retire in my dress coat and go to breakfast
in my nightcap," continued the poor man,
clinging to the judge's hand in the ardor of

ADVENTURES OF A BACHELOR.

281

his regret and the eagerness of his excuses,
forgetting that he wished to conceal the un-
poetical fact of his wearing a cap at night.

"And in the meantime, uncle, you shall
have me for body-guard whenever you walk
abroad. I 'm not afraid of this ' big brother.'
If he attempts to injure you, my dear uncle,
it '11 be the worse for him."

Here there was a great excitement again ;
Miss Emily didn't want her beau to be run-
ning any risks, assuring him that Mrs. Bell's
relative was as ferocious as a tiger and
powerful as two Heenans ; but Stanley had
learned boxing on the college grounds ; he
had plenty of nerve and sinew, if he was rather
slender, and as for his courage, it was suffi-
cient to awaken the admiration of the softer
sex. He avowed his determination to watch
aver and protect his guardian, at any peril to
himself. After this the little party regained
its equanimity, all but Mr. Griggs, who, ab-
sent-minded as he was, could not wholly
banish the idea of the " big brother." It was
not that he was lacking in mental or moral
courage ; these rose to the sublimest pitch,
as he contemplated the difficulty, but a man,
short of stature and of breath, fat, and totally
unacquainted with the arts of self-defence,
might well be deficient in that physical cou-
rage necessary to meet calmly such an emer-
gency.

Well, several days slipped along. Uncle
Oliver did not dare to venture any distance,
unless accompanied by his nephew ; in fact,
he was not even free to traverse the brief
journey between Mrs. Perkins and the house
of his betrothed, without some thrills of fear.
He always paused at the gate and carefully
reconnoitred the street, before venturing upon
the walk — if he saw no one of suspicious
appearance, he stepped out and walked briskly
over, flourishing his gold-headed cane in an
apparently careless manner ; while, if any
large man, with whose countenance he was
not familiar, was visible in any direction, he
lingered on the lawn, pretending to be en-
grossed in the shrubbery, until the stranger
passed out of sight.

During these days there was a change going
on in the public sentiment of Roseville. Mrs.
Bell's brother had gone about, talking largely
at the street-corners — report even said that
he was known to constantly carry a horse-
whip — the mention of which before tbe Griggses
made the elder turn pale, and the yonnger one
vol. lxviii. — 23

red. Mrs. Bell had displayed the letter to a
host of sympathizing friends ; hearing which,
and not liking the turn the medical student
was taking, Miss Brier came forth with the
tale of her grievances. Yes ! it was very ap-
parent that the good people of Roseville had
been harboring a viper in their hospitable
bosom. Not even the handsome amount by
which Mr. Griggs had swelled the annual sum
produced by the festival, could save him from
universal condemnation. There were no more
parties made for the distinguished strangers ;
nobody asked them to tea ; and prudent
mothers wondered what Mrs. Perkins and
Mrs. Series could be thinking of! Those la-
dies were almost snubbed, as they went shop-
ping, or came out of church, by the mammas
of the disappointed maidens who had gone to
the expense of parties in vain.

" To be so ready to snap up strangers, whom
they know nothing about ! Just wait ! they 'd
get bitten in return — only wait!" thus to-
tally ignoring the fact that Mr. Griggs' ante-
cedents were well known to all, and his re-
spectability perfectly unimpeachable.

"To engage himself to three different ladies
in less 'n ten days!" Appearances were,
indeed, very much against the man. who
would have perished in single-blessedness,
before he would have been guilty of such
conduct.

Emily and Selina, making up their hand-
some wedding-clothes, didn't care much for
this ; Stanley laughed at it as a good joke ;
but Uncle Oliver, despite bis overflowing hap-
piness, was sometimes oppressed with a pre-
sentiment of evil.

This presentiment was fated to be verified.
Going, one afternoon, with a new piece of
music across the street, to practise with his
betrothed, a man stepped suddenly out from
behind the trunk of a large tree on the oppo-
site side of the way, and laid hold of Mr. Griggs 7
coat-collar, before he had time to be astonished.
With a superhuman effort the victim of this
cowardly attack broke away, and flew as fast
as his feet would carry him towards Mrs.
Series' door ; but just as he reached the
step — while the haven of safety seemed already
to open to him — his savage pursuer overtook
him, and with a dexterous movement of his
foot threw him down, as he was ascending the
step. Mr. Griggs could never have arisen in
the world, with the foot of his adversary
planted in the small of his back. The horse-

282

godey's lady's book and magazine.

whip was already flourishing in air ; his fate
would have been humiliating and dreadful to
the last degree, had not Selina, who had seen
the whole affair from the window, hastened
to his rescue. Catching up an umbrella which
stood in the hall, she flung open the door, and
zealously thrust the sharp end of the weapon
into the face of the fellow, with so much force,
and such danger to his eyes, that he inconti-
nently let go his hold and drew back, which
fortunate moment Mr. Griggs improved, by
scrambling on all fours into the hall, when
Selina closed and locked the door.

Having now conquered the enemy, she took
an observation of her lover, screaming with
alarm when she perceived him covered with
blood ; but he calmed her by assuring her it was
nothing but the nose-blood which had re-
sulted from that organ coming in contact with
the door-sill, when he was tripped up. A
basin of water and a napkin soon set his face
to rights, except that his nose was enormously
swollen; but the duet had to be resigned
for that day ; and as soon as he was positive,
by keeping watch, that his assailant had
retreated far down the village street, he
returned home to change his soiled waistcoat
and linen.

When Stanley, seeing him return in this
plight, got an explanation of the matter, he
immediately buttoned up his coat and went
down town, in spite of the remonstrances of
the uncle. He returned, in about an hour,
looking pale and tired, but in excellent spirits.
The family soon learned, through others, that
he had given Mrs. Bell's big brother a drub-
bing that would keep him in bed a week.

The end of the whole matter was, that the
affair raised a great hue and cry in the village ;
and that Mrs. Series, being a weak-minded
woman, unable to resist the storm of public
sentiment, told Selina she must not marry
Mr. Griggs, and that her dutiful daughter,
sobbing tragically over the jewels and other
fine presents which honor obliged her to
return, did them all up in a package, and
returned them by proxy, with a little note of
dismissal, to her astonished lover.

The next day Mr. Griggs shook off the dust
of Roseville from his feet. He was so utterly
cast down by this last disappointment, that
Stanley felt it to be his duty to abandon
Emily for the present, and accompany him,
until he was settled in some comfortable
summer-retreat.

"I'll go back to Mrs. Boardman's," said
Mr. Griggs, despondingly, "and never leave
there again. I '11 avoid women after this, as
I would the yellow fever. There 's no making
anything of them. You can't help getting
engaged to those you don't want to, and you
can't get engaged to those you do." And
leaning back in his seat in the cars, with r,
deep sigh, the warm weather, and the steady
rumble of the wheels, soon caused him to
forget his grief and mortification in sleep.

"LONG AGO."

Br m. w. G.

I 've been dreaming of my childhood,

And my happy cottage home —
Of the streamlet and the wildwood

Where my footsteps loved to roam ;
And the schoolhouse by the wayside,

Beneath the walnut tree,
Where every day at noontide

I played so full of glee.
And though vain regrets are banished,

Yet the tears unbidden flow,
For my childhood years have vanished

In the far oif " long ago."

And now my dreams are laden

With a vision fair to see,
I am dreaming of the maiden

Whose love was given to me ;
To her my troth was plighted

In youthful love and pride,
But soon my bliss was blighted —

My darling Mary died ;
So now I 'm old and lonely,

My step is sad and slow,
For I still love Mary only

As I loved her " long ago."

And thus an old man's dreaming

With grief is overcast,
For his thoughts are ever teeming

With memories of the past ;
If this be found repining,

The sin may God forgive —
His mercy on me shining,

I still can wait and live ;
For I know that "time is fleeting,"

And will, in its ceaseless flow,
Bear me onward to the meeting

With the friends of " long ago."

— We spend the present in lamenting the
lost happiness of the past, and while we do
so the present becomes the past, to be in its
turn lamented.

— The smallest and most contemptible ob-
ject that is near us obscures the most noble
which lies beyond.

THE FAMILY DRAWING-MASTER.

253

THE FAMILY DRAWING MASTER.*

IN A SERIES OP FAMILIAR CONVERSATIONS.

[The following article is the first of a series
on the elements of drawing, which, simple
and unpretending as they seem, are excellent
on many accounts. The principles of draw-
ing are correctly and scientifically taught, and
by simplifying and repeating* the instruction,
they are indelibly impressed on the memory.
We know persons who call themselves artists,
and actually get money for their drawings,
who, from ignorance of the principles taught
in these lessons, are perpetually making the
most disgraceful blunders in perspective.
Parents may rest assured that what their
children learn, from practising the lessons of
our " Family Drawing-Master, " will be sound
and correct. — Editor.]

Ion. Papa, will } r ou please to tell me some
of the uses of Drawing ?

P. Yes, Ion. Suppose I had just invented
the steam-engine, and wanted to give you an
idea of all the machinery inside. Weil ! If I
could not draw, I must sit down and write a
long account of every little part.

Ion. And then, perhaps, I should not un-
derstand it.

P. But if I had drawn each part by itself on
a piece of paper, and then had drawn the
whole of it ?

Ion. Then I should have understood it much
better, for I should have seen it with my
eyes.

W. Yes, he would have seen it with the eye
in his body, but from your "description," he
would have to see with the eye of his mind —
his mind's eye.

L. He would make an image in his mind —
that is called " imagination, " I suppose.

P. And if I had wanted to send my descrip-
tion of this wonderful thing to all the nations
in the world, I should have to write it in
French, German, Persian, Sanscrit, Chinese,
and many other languages ; but, the draw-
ing-
Jon. It would be understood by all people,
Krithout being translated.

L. I could never remember the position or
size of countries, without a map of the world.
If I learn about countries ' ' out of book, ' ' I

* Published in the Lady's Book, in 1857. Since that
time we have been repeatedly requested to issue it in book
form. We republish it in the Lady's Book, as the only
pray in which it can reach our many new readers.

forget them ; but when I see the places on
the map, I can remember them easily.

W. So drawing helps your memory.

P. And then, again, if I wanted the people
at Brussels to make me a carpet, exactly the
pattern of this one, I should write and say,
"Make me a very curly scroll, with two flow-
ers sticking out on the right side, one growing
from the middle, and half a dozen sprigs at
the end."

Ion. Oh, of course ! They could not under-
stand : they must have a pattern.

P. No, they could not imagine it correctly.
You will find, as you proceed, that drawing
and painting have even higher uses. We will
begin to-day with a lesson on lines.

LINES.

P. What is the difference between these
two lines ?

W. One is straight, and the other is bent.

P. You should say curved — not bent. We
shall first talk about straight lines ; they may
differ in many ways. Look at these.

W. I see a difference : one is long, and the
other is short.

P. Lines, then, may differ in length. What
difference do you observe in these ?

Ion. One is broader than the other — they
differ in breadth.

P. Look at these two lines.

L. They are of the same length and breadth.

W. I see. One is darker than the other.
They differ in "shade."

P. Here are two lines exactly alike, and
yet they differ.

W. How can that be ? They are of the
some length, breadth, and shade.

L. There is no difference in the lines them-
selves, but they have different directions.

284

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Ion. Then we will say that they differ in
directions.

P. Can yon tell me a difference in the three
dark lines in this drawing of a shed ? They

M

have the same length, breadth, shade, and
direction.

L. I can. Their direction is the same, but

No. 1. No. 2. No

they are in different parts of the picture. One
is near the top, the other is in the middle
(no, nearly so), and the other at the bottom.
They differ m their position.

W. What a number of differences ! I will
say them. Lines may differ (1) in length,
(2) in breadth, (3) in shade, (4) in direction,
and (5) in position.

P. Let us see, now, how necessary it is to
attend to these things. In order to make you
understand their importance, I have made five
little drawings.

In No. 1, all the lines are correct. The

3. No. 4. No. ».

house is drawn with light lines, because it is
further off than the shed ; or, as an artist
would say, in the ' ' background. ' '

L. And I suppose that the shed and palings
are drawn with dark lines, because they are
nearer — in the front-ground.

P. Yes. But if you want to use an artist's
word, say "foreground." What is the matter
with No. 2 ?

W. The lines are of the wrong length. Oh,
look at the house 1 How much taller it has
grown, and the poor shed is too thin — too
narrow, I mean.

P. And in No. 3 ?

Ion. The lines are not of the right shade.
They are all alike, and the house appears to
be quite as near as the shed.

P. Look at No. 4 ?

L. The lines are not right in breadth. The
background lines are too broad, and the
house appears to be nearer than the shed.

P. And in No. 5 ?

W. They are all wrong together ; they are
falling in the wrong direction.

P. Now let us say the lesson.

LESSON NO. 1.— Lines.

In making a line, we must be careful that
it has the right length, breadth, shade, direc-
tion, and position.

W. And that is a great deal to remember.
How very slowly I shall make my lines ! I
shall have to ask each one five questions.

P. That will be quite right, Willie. In
drawing, if you want to improve quickly, you
must work slowly ; and it is so with every-
thing else.

SERVANTS.

BY AUGUSTA H. WORTHEX.

When, in the process of making morning
calls, several ladies, not intimately known to
each other, chance to meet at the house of a
mutual friend, it sometimes happens that
there is not a ready and easy flow of conver-
sation. There may be in each lady's mind
some subject in which she is herself interested,
but not feeling quite sure of the sympathy of
the others, she hesitates about mentioning it,
and so after the first ordinary greetings are
over, an awkward, uncomfortable constraint
rests upon all. In this emergency, what do
you suppose the hostess sometimes does ?
Knowing well, that in doing it, she is sure to
interest the majority, if not the whole of hor
guests, she proceeds to introduce her servant
girl for their entertainment. You are sur-
prised at this statement ; you doubt the truth
of it, or at least you would like to know what
can possibly be the nature of the entertain-
ment which an ignorant, low-bred girl, can
offer to well-educated ladies. Your mind
reverts, perhaps, to the Oriental custom of
introducing dancing girls for the amusement

SERVANTS.

285

of guests ; but surely, in this country, work-
ing girls are not expected thus uselessly and
absurdly to display their agility; of course
not, still, the entertainment I speak of is
none the less agreeable. It is more than that,
it is exciting, for no sooner is the servant
introduced, than the conversation flows like
a river. All the ladies become animated.
Even the dullest have something to say.
Indeed, I have sometimes thought that the
last mentioned are the very persons who, on
these occasions, seem the most deeply inter-
ested. Such as in ordinary conversation are
not especially gifted ; who having but a small
stock of ideas on hand are not in haste to
dispose of them, or even to exchange them
for others of a newer pattern ; such, I say, are
the very persons who, under the stimulus of
this excitement, will soonest lay aside all
reserve, and become fluent talkers. Nor are
they satisfied with being partakers merely, of
the general amusement ; they must be pro-
moters also. For if the servant who is first
introduced becomes exhausted, so that no
more entertainment can be got out of her, and
they are obliged to let her rest, another and
then another lady will summon hither her
own, and so the diversion goes on. Very
seldom are the creatures dismissed till it is
time for the mistresses to utter their parting
compliments to each other.

But who, meantime, has been cooking the
dinner ? Well, I suppose that each lady's
servant is ready to say that she has been
doing it. She will also be likely to aflirm
that she has been doing no other thing ; and
she thinks she tells the truth. The fact is,
she is entirely unaware of the double life she
leads. She is a sort of unconscious clair-
voyant, and when summoned to the parlor, for
the entertainment of her mistress's guests,
she enters upon her " superior condition," of
which she, in her normal state among the
flesh pots, knows nothing. She thinks she is
hired merely to perform the kitchen drudgery,
and never once suspects the higher and nobler
use she is daily put to. Those richly dressed,
gay looking ladies, whose ring at the door-
bell she answered in such hot haste, how can
she imagine that they should be so hard
pressed for entertainment that they would be
made happy by a rehearsal of her own insig-
nificant misdoings and short-comings ? The
smooth- voiced inquiry, " Have you good help ?"
was of course delayed till she was out of

23*

hearing, and she did not see the solemn shake
of the head, the dismal lengthening of feature,
the martyr-like look, with which her mistress
preluded her response. If she had been thus
privileged, if she had heard the tale of griev-
ances which followed, I am inclined to think
that she, in her ignorant unconsciousness of
any evil intent, would have failed to recog-
nize herself in the picture thus maliciously
drawn. Why should she suppose that the
mistress whom she serves to the best of her
awkward ability, can find any pleasure in
holding her up to general reprobation ? Living,
moving, and, as far as her own consciousness
can warrant her in affirming it, having her
being among the steams and scents of that
kitchen, how can she imagine that she is at
the same time an object of such especially
malignant interest to her betters in the parlor ?
That her blunders are laughed at, her failings
magnified and multiplied, till her poor liomelv
virtues are quite lost sight of !

What seems very remarkable is, that
although the ladies so seldom find anything
to commend, they never seem to grow weary
of criticizing a servant. They turn her round
and round, and look at her in all sorts of cross
lights, so that if there be spot or blemish in
her they never fail to discern it, and give
each other the benefit of their discoveries.
Thus the joy of one becomes the joy of all.
But, ladies, if you feel that, without this
stimulus, female gatherings would be flat,
tame affairs, if you cannot possibly forego the
privilege of slandering your servants, if you
will thus make them serve a double purpose,
ought you not, in common honesty, to give
them double pay ?

Perhaps some lady may seek to justify her-
self by saying that since the servant is kept
in ignorance of the severe criticism her actions
undergo, her sensibilities (if it be conceded
that she have any) are not wounded, and so
no harm is done. There is always harm in
evil speaking. Even if it be not the result of
"malice aforethought," it seldom fails to
produce in the speaker a feeling of increased
hostility toward the object of her uncharitable
strictures ; and this feeling will certainly show
itself in her intercourse with her. Half blinded
by selfishness though the mistress may be,
she has yet a dim perception that there is
a degree of meanness in thus exposing the
errors of one who has no opportunity to defend
herself; but in her attempts at self-justifica-

godey's lady's book and magazine.

tion slie is scarcely conscious how zealously
and diligently she seeks for proof of the exist-
ence of faults which she, upon mere supposi-
tion, has laid to her charge.

I wonder much that ladies of taste and
education can find no better occupation than
this ; I wonder more, that women who seem
to be good, affectionate wives, and tender
mothers, can speak so unkindly of those who
eat of their bread, and drink of their cup, and
dwell beneath their roof. Perhaps the ladies
may urge in defence that they speak thus
freely, not from any evil intent toward the
servants, but that they may obtain from each
other the consolation of sympathy under their
manifold trials. But when their own children,
whose errors must surely grieve them much
more, when they go astray, do they take every
opportunity to make it known to any who
have patience to hear ? On the contrary, do
they not willingly deny themselves the con-
solations of sympathy for the sake of hiding
the faults of those they love ?

It has been asserted, and I do not know
that the contrary has ever been proved, to
the satisfaction of the other sex, that all
women have a propensity to scandal. Is not
this evil speaking of servants a safe and con-
venient way of gratifying this propensity?
We can never wholly and heartily enjoy
ourselves while traducing our equals and
neighbors ; the operation is always attended
with more or less of fear, lest the powerful
friend whose regard we do not really wish to
forfeit, or whose resentment we would not
willingly incur, may hear of our indiscretion,
and cause us to suffer for it. But when
engaged in speaking ill of our servants, we
experience a freedom, a fulness of enjoyment,
which is never felt when we select a victim
from any other class. No lingering doubt of
our own safety remains to put a check upon
our imaginations, or clip the wings of our
rhetoric. There is not the slightest danger
of our being called to account for what we say.
Among all the transgressions which these
obnoxious persons are ever guilty of, I have
observed that there is none which causes
such general distress among mistresses, as a
failure on the part of the servant to "know
her place." A little negligence, or incapa-
city, or even a few wilful errors the lady can
tolerate, but any forgetfulness of the vast
difference between her own position and that
of her handmaid, not at all. So strenuously

does she insist on her right to respect on
account of her position, so jealous is she of
prerogative, that like the ill-advised Charles I.
of England, she seems resolved to maintain it
though she lose her head for it. Her sensi-
tiveness on this point leaves her completely
at the mercy of her servant, who, if she possess
a common degree of shrewdness, will not be
slow to understand that she has it in her
power to drive her mistress half distracted
any day of her life. Why is the lady thus
irritated and mortified at a lack of respect
from her subordinate ? Does something whis-
per to her, that, if she is not respected in her
superior position, she certainly could not be
out of it, and therefore there is in herself a
want of those qualities which under all cir-
cumstances command respect ? Is not her
very jealousy a humiliating acknowledgment
that in her position Iks her only claim to
respect ? Such a woman, in society, as well
as in her own household, is neither more nor
less than what is termed in geometry "a
point," which "has neither length, breadth,
nor thickness, but position only."

The mistress who is greatly pleased with
the appearance of extreme submissiveness on
the part of a servant, is not wise. Cringing,
fawning servility, never accompanies real
capability and trustworthiness, though some-
times craftily offered, and foolishly accepted
instead of it. Since one servant in a family
has power to cause so much disquietude, we
might naturally conclude that two or three,
or half a dozen, would produce such a state of
things that the mistress might as well abdi-
cate at once, or die. In actual life, however,
the reverse of this occurs ; for it is noticeable
that ladies at the head of a large establish-
ment seldom have any complaints to make.
This, however, does not destroy, but rather
strengthens my conviction that the weaker,
as well as the stronger sex, love power, and
love the manifestations of it. In the case of
the last mentioned class, the certainty and
reality of dominion being already made man-
ifest by the established fact of possessing so
large an empire, the ladies do not feel com-
pelled to be constantly on the alert, to con-
vince themselves and others that they have
any authority. Perhaps, also, from having
an opportunity to compare two or three
together, and perceiving a difference, at least
in degrees of depravity, they sensibly conclude
that servants are not, merely from a necessity

SERVANTS.

287

of their condition as servants, wholly and
absolutely bad.

Some ladies, either because they fear they
shall not sleep well unless they have done a
little mischief, or because they are determined
their husbands shall know the full extent of
their trials, are wont to rehearse at the tea
table the story of the servant's misdoings
through the day. On such occasions, I have
sometimes watched the husband, and though
he is cautiously non-committal in reply, I
fancy I have interpreted him aright. He
knows, to his sorrow, that his wife is some-
times a little hard to please, and his conscience
tells him he owes a debt of gratitude and
sympathy to the humble personage who,
during so many hours of the day, stands
between himself and her irritability. But he
seldom ventures upon any attempt at pallia-
tion of the conduct of the offender. He has
tried that experiment a few times, and found
it unsafe. Yet he is, in truth, tired of these
ever recurring complaints, and he longs, Oh
how earnestly, for that famed " lodge" in the
wilderness, which so many different lodgers
have Oh'd for, that it seems the proprietor
will never get a responsible tenant. Yes,
even in his own handsome, comfortable apart-
ment, there rises up before his mind's eye a
pleasant picture of a snow hut, far up in the
icy North. He sees Mr. Esquimaux coming
home bringing his piece of slaughtered seal,
and notes the cheerful alacrity with which
Mrs. Esquimaux whisks it into the dinner pot,
and then lights the lamp beneath it. She,
having no servant to quarrel with, or to
quarrel about, is always pleasant and com-
panionable. I wonder if any lady expects to
raise herself in the estimation of her husband
by constantly impressing upon him the fact of
her inability to govern her household ; for
certainly these complaints amount to a con-
fession of incompetency. If a body of soldiers
show a lack of discipline, who is censured but
the commanding officer ? Ladies, if you have
failed to make your households what you
wish, do not spoil your credit by going about
to proclaim your defeats. Your task may be
difficult ; you may have a tough subject to
work upon ; your material may be intrinsically
originally poor, or it may have been made
poor by mismanagement ; but see first that
no part of the difficulty is owing to your want
of self-control. Remember that servants,
equally with yourself, are objects of God's

protecting love and care ; that in dealing
with them, as well as your rich neighbor, you
must obey the precept, * ' All things whatsoever
ye would that men should do to you, do ye
even so to them."

LOVE AND BE HAPPY.

It is the easiest thing in the world to be
happy, if men and women could only think
so. Happiness is only another name for love,
for where love exists in a household there
happiness must also exist, even though it has
poverty for its close companion ; where love
exists not, even though it be in a palace,
happiness can never come. He was a cold
and selfish being who originated the saying
that "when poverty comes in at the door,
love flies out at the window," and his asser-
tion proves conclusively that he had no know-
ledge of love, for unquestionably the reverse
of the axiom quoted is nearer the truth. When
poverty comes in at the door, love — true
l ove — i s more than ever inclined to tarry, and
do battle with the enemy. Let those who
imagine themselves miserable, before they
find fault with their surroundings, search in
their hearts for the cause. A few kind words,
a little forbearance, or a kiss, will often open
the way to a flood of sunshine in a house
darkened by the clouds of discord and una-
miability.

THOU ART GOING.

BY NETTIE.

Thou art going, and leave no parting token-;

Fast my burning tear-drops flow ;
One farewell word, though coldly spoken,

Would break this torturing chain of woe.

No longer with chill silence grieve me,
Speak once again, kindly and low ;

In thoughts of anger do not leave me,
Speak kindly to me ere you go.

If with thoughtless words I grieve thee,
Think not my love for thee is o'er ;

Friend of my heart, Oh do not leave me
Till, whispering, you forgive once more.

Coldly from my gaze thou 'rt turning,
To eyes that brighter beam in thine ;

But her soul's worship is not burning
With the fond idolatry of mine.

Going, forever, without knowing
This torturing pain I cannot tell,

Going, O grief— forever going,
Without one word, one kind farewell !

NOVELTIES FOR MAECH.

PALETOTS, WRAPS, HEADDRESSES, COLLARS, SLEEVES, APRONS, ETC. ETC.
Fig. 1.

Fig. 1. — Paletot for a little girl. It is made
of light cloth, trimmed with a bright blue bias
silk.

Fig. 2.

Fig. 2. — The lone wrap. Fancy silk wrap,
suitable for a miss. The yoke is trimmed
with rows of fancy braid.

288

NOVELTIES FOE MARCH.

289

Fig. 9.

Figs. 3 and 4. — The lone paletot. {Front and back view.) Suitable for a yo

Fig, 4.

ung lady. It is made of either cloth or silk, and braided with black braid.

290

GODEY 7 S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Fig. 5.

Fig. 6.

Fig. 5. — The Clarissa coiffure. The hair is
rolled off the face in front, and the ends
braided. The back hair is arranged in a large
bow, very low on the neck, and covered with
a net. The ornaments are peacock feathers.

Fig. 6. — The Moray headdress. The hair

Fig. 7.

is rolled over a cushion in front, and arranged
in a waterfall at the back, round which is
twisted a heavy plait. The comb is of black
velvet and gilt. The coiffure is composed of
a black barbe and lilies of the valley.

Figs. 7, 8, and 9. — Morning collar, with two

Fig. 8.

styles of sleeves suitable to wear with it. They
are made of linen, ornamented with thick em-
broidery.

Fig. 10. — Latest style of morning sleeve.
The cuff is of linen, embroidered and caught
together with three fancy buttons.

NOVELTIES FOR MARCH.

291

Fig. 9.

Fig. 10.

Fig. 11. — Fancy apron. This apron is com-
posed of very rich black silk, trimmed with
narrow ruffles of pinked black silk. It then

Fig. 11.

has an insertion of black lace laid over white
silk. This is edged with three more pinked
ruffles, and the bottom of the apron is finished
by a rich thread lace.

Fig. 12. — Fancy sack for an invalid. It is
made of fine muslin, ornamented with rows
of insertion.

Fig. 13.— Little Red Riding Hood.

292

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Fig. 13.

Fig. 14.

Fig. 14. — Fancy girdle.

WOKK DEPARTMENT.

293

Fig. 15.

Fig. 15. — Epaulet to match, the girdle.

THE ART OF MAKING FEATHER FLOWERS.

A very simple, cheap, yet beautiful art may
"be described a follows : —

Take of geese and duck feathers, the finest
and smoothest, and those which have small
stems, either long and slender or short, both
sizes are required. With a very fine-pointed
pair of sharp scissors cut out leaves of any de-
sired shape, and notch the edges, notch one
side first, then the leaf, and do the other side,
commencing always at the lower part of the
leaf. Cut the petals of any flower desired
according to nature. Select the most delicate
feathers to make curled flowers, which, are
never painted. They are curled by drawing
the scissors quickly under the wrong side of
the leaf from the lower part to the tip.

To paint the leaves, procure dry paint of
any hue of green desired. Paris green is
mostly used. Take a small quantity of bal-
sam of fir, and mix your paint in it tho-
roughly, then thin with a little alcohol. Take
one of the stiffest of the feathers, or a very
small bristle brush, and holding the leaf by
the stem, paint it and lay it on paper to dry
where there is no wind nor dust, laying it
down in such a manner that the paint will
not adhere to the paper. When perfectly dry,
take fine, soft wire for the stems, cutting off
the most of the feather stem. Insert the wire
at the lower part of the leaf, winding it finely.
Then select green tissue paper to suit the
color of the paint, and wrap the wire stem in
the same manner as for wax flowers.
vol. lxviii. — 24

Prepare all the colors used for painting in
the same manner as the green, with fir and
alcohol. The colors must all be fine, dry
paint, and are : Rose madder, for pink ; for
blue, ultramarine ; for yellow, gamboge ; for
scarlet, carmine. Taste might govern the
choice of colors.

The stamens can be made of feathers, but
the process is troublesome and tedious. It is
more profitable to purchase those used for
wax flowers.

To form the flowers, take a piece of beeswax,
and bending the end of a wire of suitable size,
soften it and place it on the bent end. Take
the stamens first and press them with the
finger into the wax, next the smallest of the
petals in the same manner, then the next
larger size, and so on until all are pressed
into shape. Then take the tissue paper and
wrap firmly in the same manner as the leaves.

When all the flowers and leaves are wrapped,
proceed to arrange them, and secure them as
desired by twisting each wire around one
supporting wire which has been previously
wrapped for the purpose. Small wreaths and
bouquets for children's hats and bonnets can
be made by ladies in the country. The brown
and gray duck feathers mingled with others
and unpainted, are very pretty for this pur-
pose, especially when curled.

Sprays can be mingled with the flowers, by
cutting off the edges of long, slender feathers
and tearing off a fibre, painting it and twist-
ing it in the fingers previous to drying.

This style of work is better adapted to the
imitation of French artificials, than to natural
flowers, as any color can be used, natural or
otherwise. They are also adapted to the
decoration of baskets, bird-cages, etc.

INITIAL MONOGBAM.

294

godey's lady's book and magazine.

BROWN HOLLAND SHOE BAG.

MateHals. — A small piece of fine brown Holland ; three
yards of scarlet worsted braid, one inch wide ; a skein of
scarlet crewel ; two yards of narrow scarlet braid for the
strings.

Bags of this description are extremely neat

ed at the end. The embroidery is worked
with scarlet crewel in coral stitch, and the
word "Shoes" in the same manner. When
the embroidery is finished, the two sides
should be run neatly together, and orna-
mented with the broad scarlet braid neatly

to use when travelling for holding boots and
shoes, and in the materials we have given
will wash very nicely. It is always necessary
in packing to wrap up boots or shoes, as they
are apt to soil anything they come in contact
with. The bag is made in fine brown Hol-
land, a trifle longer than the boots, and round-

plaited. Two pieces of braid are run in the
hem to draw the bag at the top, which are
afterwards tied in knots at each end. Besides
being useful for travelling purposes, these
little bags form very neat appendages to a
lady's wardrobe, and may either be kept in
the shoe drawer or hung on pegs.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

295

PENWIPER.

The penwiper is so useful an article, both
for the service of the gentleman as well as the
lady, forming a present so easily made and so
generally acceptable, that pretty varieties are

well. In working a number of these pen-
wipers for a bazaar, different colors both of
cloth and velvet may be employed, and the
color of the beads may also be varied, only
taking care to avoid using those of a make
that renders them liable to be easily broken.

always in demand. That which we are now
supplying is very simple, and a number of
them, made in different colors of cloth or
velvet, form a very suitable contribution for
a charitable bazaar, in which portable articles
are usually found very desirable ; not as
superseding those of greater beauty and im-
portance, but as giving opportunities to those
purchasers who, while they are happy to
invest small sums, might not think it desirable
to expend large ones. The little articles we
are now giving may be made in cloth or
velvet of any color. The large beads which
form the centre and the border are the white
satin beads, which are not so liable to break
as the pearl ; and each of these is surrounded
with a ring of the smallest steel beads that
can be procured. The wreath which appears
round the rosette in the centre has the best
effect in either the steel or gold beads ; but
very small, clear white also look extremely

Thus, cut glass beads of any color may be
taken for the centre and the border ; and the
small ones may be gold, steel, white, opaque,
or clear green, amber, or turquoise. Three
or four rounds of the same size as this orna-
mented top must be cut in black cloth, pinked
at their edges, laid on another round of the
same color as the top, and the whole fastened
together with any slight ornament stitched
on through the centre of the penwiper.

INITIAL LETTER FOR MARKING.

296

godey's lady's book and magazine.

LEAF IMPRESSIONS.

Cover a sheet of white paper with a thin
coating of grease, and then smoke it on the
same side with lamp black. Lay the leaf on

the sheet, and fold it so that the smoked paper
will press it on both sides. Then remove the
leaf, lay it on a clean sheet, fold the paper

over, and press it heavily between the leaves
of a book. When the leaf is removed the

impression of both sides of the leaf will re-
main on the paper, and can scarcely be dis-
tinguished from a finished pencil drawing.

BAND TO LOOP UP A DRESS IN FESTOONS.
These bands are sewed round the edge of

the skirt, and buttoned on to buttons sewed
half way up the skirt.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

297

A NOVELTY IN BRODERIE A LA MINUTE,

TO BE WORKED ON ANY DOUBLE MATERIAL.

The very simple style of embroidery known
by the name of " Broderie a la Minute" is
worked either in thick flat cotton, wool, or

silk. A great variety of patterns may be pro-
duced by it, and the material on which it is
worked should always be put double.

Our pattern is intended for a
pair of slippers, to be worked on
very fine cloth, or French merino,
with colored floss silk or twist,
and consists of a small design in
the shape of stars. To make each
division of the star, first insert
the needle at the back, so as to
bring it out in front in the centre
of the star ; then form an oval
loop with the silk, keep it flat
under the thumb, insert the needle
in the same place as before, and
make one long stitch, at the back,
so as to bring out the needle at the
top of the loop, in which place
work one small stitch, to keep the
loop firm. Repeat the same pro-
cess for each of the 8 stars. The
material chosen for the ground should be black,
drab, or gray, and the flowers worked in any
bright-colored floss silk or twist.

EMBROIDERY.

INITIAL LETTERS FOR NETTING.

24*

298

godey's lady's book and magazine.

GX

M)

GENTLEMAN'S SHIRT FRONT IN EMBROIDERY,

£ to

ALPHABET OF FANCY LETTERS.

fe

LO

JSl

fTl ^

RECEIPTS.

299

$leteigis, $t.

DIRECTIONS FOR FRYING.

Frying is often a convenient mode of cookery ; it may
be performed by a fire which will not do for roasting or
boiling ; and by the introduction of the pan between the
meat and the fire, things get more equally dressed.

A frying-pan should be about four inches deep, with a
perfectly flat and thin bottom, twelve inches long and
nine broad, with perpendicular sides, and must be half
filled with fat: good frying is, in fact, boiling in fat. To
make sure that the pan is quite clean, rub a little fat over
It, and then make it warm, and wipe it out with a clean
cloth.

Be very particular in frying never to use any oil, but-
ter, lard, or drippings, but what is quite clean, fresh, and
free from salt. Anything dirty spoils the look ; anything
bad-tasted or stale spoils the flavor ; and salt prevents its
browning.

Fine olive oil is the most delicate for frying ; but the
best oil is expensive, and bad oil spoils everything that is
dressed with it.

For general purposes, and especially for fish, clean fresh
lard is not near so expensive as oil or clarified butter, and
does almost as well. Butter often burns before you are
aware of it ; and what you fry will get a dark and dirty
appearance.

Cooks in large kitchens, where there is a great deal of
frying, commonly use mutton or beef suet clarified: if
from the kidney, all the better.

Dripping, if nicely clean and fresh, is almost as good
as anything ; if not clean, it may be easily clarified.
Whatever fat you use, after you have done frying, let it
remain in the pan for a few minutes, and then pour it
through a sieve into a clean basin ; it will do three or four
times as well as it did at first, that is, if it has not burned :
but the fat you have fried fish in must not be used for any
other purpose.

To know when the fat is of a proper heat, according to
what you are to fry, is the great secret in frying.

To fry fish, parsley, potatoes, or anything that is watery,
your fire must be very clear, and the fat quite hot ; which
you may be pretty sure of, when it has done hissing, and
is still. We cannot insist too strongly on this point : if
the fat is not very hot, you cannot fry fish either to a good
color, or firm and crisp.

To be quite certain, throw a little bit of bread into the
pan ; if it fries crisp, the fat is ready ; if it burns the bread,
it is too hot.

The fire under the pan must be clear and sharp, other-
wise the fat is so long before it becomes ready, and de-
mands such attendance to prevent the accident of its catch-
ing fire, that the patience of cooks is exhausted, and they
frequently, from ignorance or impatience, throw in what
they are going to fry before the fat is half hot enough.
Whatever is so fried will be pale and sodden, and offend
the palate and stomach not less than the eye.

Have a good light to fry by, that you may see when
you have got the right color.

After all, if you do not thoroughly drain the fat from
what you have fried, especially from those things that are
full dressed in bread crums, or biscuit powder, etc., your
cooking will do you no credit.

The dryness of fish depends much upon its having been
fried in fat of a due degree of heat ; it is then crisp and
iry in a few minutes after It is taken out of the pan:

when it is not, lay it on a soft cloth before the fire, turn-
ing it occasionally till it is. This will sometimes take
fifteen minutes ; therefore, always fry fish as long as this
before you want them, for fear you may find this neces-
sary.

Frying, though one of the most common of culinary
operations, is one that is least commonly performed per-
fectly welL

MISCELLANEOUS COOKING.

To Stew a Breast of Veal. — Cut a breast, or a portion,
in pieces ; fry them with a little butter, an onion, and a
cabbage-lettuce shred small ; when browned, add a little
flour, shake it well together ; then add a small quantity
of broth or water ; let it stew gently. When the veal is
three parts done, take a quart of peas, put them in water,
and handle them with a little butter, so that they adhere
together ; take away nearly all the gravy from the veal,
and put in the peas. When both are done add pepper,
salt, and a little pounded sugar ; thicken the peas with
flour and butter, dish up the veal, and pour the peas over.
There should be very little sauce with the peas.

To Broil Pigeons. — Cut the pigeon down the back,
flatten and truss it as a fowl for broiling. Egg it on both
sides ; season With pepper and salt ; dip it in chopped
sweet herbs and bread-crums ; warm a little butter,
sprinkle it over, and then dip the pigeon again in the
crums. Broil it a light brown. Serve with the following
sauce : Chop fine a few shalots, boil them in a table-
spoonful of vinegar, then add gravy, thicken with flour
and butter, scald the liver, mince it, throw it into the
sauce ; add pepper, salt, and a little ketehup, and two or
three mushrooms chopped.

An excellent way of Preparing Tongues to eat
cold. — Season with common salt and saltpetre, brown
sugar, a little bay-salt, pepper, cloves, mace, and allspice,
in fine powder, for a fortnight ; then take away the pickle,
put the tongue into a small pan, and lay some butter on
it ; cover it with brown crust, and bake it slowly till so
tender that a straw will go through it ; put it into a tin
mould, and press it well, laying in as much of the fat as
possible.

The thin part of tongues, if hung up to dry, grates like
hung beef, and also makes a fine addition to the flavor of
omelets.

Beep Olives. — Cut some handsome steaks, flatten them
with a roller, dredge them with a small quantity of white
pepper and salt, have some forcemeat made with the fat
and lean of veal mixed together, a small bit of lean ham
or bacon, parsley, and sweet herbs, with a few bread-
crums, all beaten in a mortar, and mixed with an egg ;
lay a little over each steak, and roll it up tightly, fasten-
ing with a skewer ; dip them in the yolk of an egg, then,
in crums of bread, and fry them of a pale brown ; dish
them with brown sauce, in which put a glass of white
wine, with some strong gravy, seasoned with cayenne.

Mutton-Chops. — Should be taken from the loin, from
one-half to three-quarters of an inch thick. They should
not be put on the gridiron until everything else is ready
to be served ; have a clear cinder fire to broil them ; if
the fat falling from them should cause a blaze, remove
the gridiron for a moment, and strew a handful of salt
over the fire. They should be kept continually turned ;
the greater part of the chine-bones should be chopped off ;
cut off a good deal of the fat, but do not pepper or flour
the chops ; and serve them one at a time, immediately
they are done.

300

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

To Dress a Leg of Mutton* with Oysters. — Part "boil
some well-fed oysters; take off the beards and horny
parts ; put to them some parsley, minced onion, and
sweet herbs, boiled and chopped fine, and the yolks of
two or three hard-boiled eggs. Mix all together, and cut
five or six holes m the fleshy part of a leg of mutton, and
put in the mixture ; and dress it in either of the following
ways : Tie it up in a cloth and let it boil gently two and
a half or three hours, according to the size.

Or : Braise it, and serve with a pungent brown sauce.

Veal rolls are cut from any cold j oint, or prepared in
the same manner from the raw meat. Cut thin slices, and
spread on them a fine seasoning of a very few crums, a
little chopped or scraped bacon, parsley and shalot, some
fresh mushrooms stewed and minced, pepper, salt, and a
small piece of pounded mace. This stuffing may either
fill up the roll like a sausage, or be rolled with the meat
In either case tie it up very tight, and stew very slowly
in a gravy and a glass of sherry. Serve it when tender,
after skimming it nicely.

Potato-Loaves. — Are very nice when eaten with roast
beef or mutton, and are made of any portion of the mashed
roots, prepared without milk, by mixing with them a
good quantity of very finely minced raw shalot, powdered
with pepper and salt ; then beating up the whole with a
little butter to bind it, and dividing it into small loaves
of a conical form, and placing them under the meat to
brown, that is, when it is so nearly done as to impart
some of the gravy along with the fat.

Potato Omelette. — May be made with a mashed
potato, or two ounces of potato-flour and four eggs, and
seasoned with pepper, salt, and a little nutmeg. It should
be made thick ; and, being rather substantial, a squeeze
of lemon will improve it. Fry a light brown.

Carrots and Parsnips. — When young, wipe off the
skin after they are boiled by drawing them through a
cloth dipped in hot water; when old, scrape them first,
and boil them with the salt meat. They require to be
well done.

They are a constant accompaniment to corned beef, and
are excellent when both are eaten together cold. They
frequently also form part of stews and hashes, and make
admirable soup when boiled down to a puree, in making
which it should be observed that only the outer or scarlet
rind of the carrot is to be used ; the inner part should not,
however, be lost, as it may be cut into email pieces and
stewed.

Buttered Cabbage. — Boil the cabbage with a quantity
of onions, then chop them together, season with pepper
and salt, and fry them in butter. It is a rather homely,
but savory dish, and frequently used either with fried
sausages laid over it or as an accompaniment to roast beef,
and forms part of bubble and squeak.

To Dress Spinach in the French Fashion.— This vege-
table is at present in season ; procure that which is young
and fresh, wash it in several waters, and pick it carefully,
leaf by leaf, from the stems, and let it drain upon a sieve.
Fill a large saucepan with water, throw in some salt,
boil up the water, and then add the spinach ; let it boil
until it is tender ; it will take from ten to fifteen minutes ;
drain and press thoroughly all the water out of it. Chop
it extremely fine upon a trencher and put it into a stew-
pan with a quarter of a pound of butter, and stir it over
the fire for about ten minutes. Add to it, by degrees, two
tablespoonfuls of boiling cream. Let all stew together
until the liquid cream is absorbed into the spinach, and
it is tolerably dry, when serve hot.

FISH SAUCES.

Lobster Sauce. — Take a large fresh lobster, carefully
pick out the berries and all the inside ; cut it small ; make
a sauce with a lump of flour and butter, a little milk or
cream, a very small quantity of essence of anchovy, a
very rittie mace beat fine, and Cayenne , then pull the
rest of the lobster to pieces with two forks : add the sauce
by degrees to the berries, and put in the lobster. Give it
a boil, stirring all the time, and it is ready to serve.

Brown Sauce for Fish. — Melt some butter in cream
(instead of flour aad water) with as much wamut Ketchup
boiled in i*. as wvil make it of a nice light brown.

White Sapce for Fish — Boil seme cream, thicken it
with flour and butter, then let it simmer till smooth ; add
a teaspoonful of essence of anchovy to a tureenful, and,
if it is liked, a little walnut or mushroom ketchup. For
cod sauce, omit the anchovy and ketchup, and add a little
ginger. If cream is scarce, use milk and the yolk of an
egg'

Fish Sauce without Butter. — Simmer very gently a
quarter ot a pint of vinegar, and half a pint of water
(which must not be hard), and then add an onion, some
horseradish, and the following spices lightly bruised :
four cloves, two blades of mace, and half a teaspoonful
of black pepper. When the onion is quite tender, chop
it small with two anchovies, and set the whole on the fire
to boil for a few minutes, with a spoonful of ketchup.
In the mean time, have ready and well beaten the yolka
of three fresh eggs ; strain them, mix the liquor oy degrees
with them, and when well mixed, set the saucepan over
a gentle fire, keeping a basin in one hand, into which
toss tne sauce to and fro ; and snake the saucepan over
the fire that the eggs may not curdle. Do not boil them,
only let the sauce be hot enough to give it the thickness
of melted butter.

CAKES : PUDDINGS, ETC.

Cream Cakes.— Four cups of flour, three of sugar, two
of butter, one of cream, five eggs, one teaspoonful essence
lemon, one of saleratus dissolved in a little milk ; beat
well, bake in a quick oven.

Tea Cake. — One cup of sugar, one egg, a lump of butter
as large as half an egg, one cup of sweet milk, one pint
flour, one teaspoonful cream tartar, half teaspoonful soda.
By using sour milk the cream of tartar may be omitted.

Batter Pudding.— -Four eggs, well beaten and strained ;
four tablespoonfuls of flour, beaten up with the eggs ; a
pint of milk added, and aii well beaten together. Fill a
basin, tie buttered paper over the top, then a cloth, put
it in a saucepan of boiling water only large enough to
hold it— care must be taken that the water does not stop
boiling when the pudding is put in Let it boil rapidly
for an hour. Serve with butter melted in thickened and
sweetened milk in the dish, and send cold butter and
sugar to eat with it.

Fountain Puddings. — Grate the rind of a lemon into
half a pint of cream, boil and strain it , or else put in the
peel of a lemon and boil it in the cream and take it out
when cold. Add to this four eggs well beaten, sweeten to
taste with loaf sugar, pour it into cups and set it in cold
water, taking care that the cold water does not get into
the cream, and let it simmer for twenty minutes. Turn
them out in a dish and ornament them with currant jelly,
or melt currant jelly and cover the bottom of the dish
and turn the puddings out upon it. They are excellent,
either hot or cold.

EECEIPTS.

301

Roxbury Cake. — Two pounds or four coffee cups of
flour, one and three-quarters pound or threo coffee cups
of sugar, three-quarters pound or one coffee cup of butter,
two pounds of currants, one pint of milk, six eggs, one
teaspoonful saleratus.

German Squares. — Rasp the crust well of a loaf, cut the
erum into pieces about an inch thick and three inches
square ; soak these well in custard for about two hours,
turning them occasionally ; then roll them in the rasped
crust and fry in a pan with lard. Serve with the follow-
ing sauce in a separato boat : Beat the yolks and whites
of two eggs on the fire, pouring in all the time very gently
half a pint of white wine and sugar to taste. It should
be served the moment it is finished, as being all in a froth
it will spoil if it stands.

To Make Clotted Cream.— When the milk comes from
the cow, put it in a tin can, and place the can in a sauce-
pan of boiling water, so that the latter comes nearly to
the neck of the can, or at any rate above the milk it con-
tains. Let the water boil till the milk would scald the
finger on touching it, then pour the milk into a milk pan.
Let it remain in a cold place for forty-eight hours (when,
if the vessels have been well scalded, the milk will be
sweet), then skim the cream off in a mass, which will be
almost thick enough to cut with a knife.

Mountain Cake. — One cup of sugar, two eggs, half cup
butter, half cup of milk or water, two cups flour, one tea-
apoonful cream tartar, half teaspoonful soda, nutmeg.

Breakfast Cake, No. 1. — One pint of milk, three eggs,
half cup melted butter; stir in flour sufficient to make
a thin batter. Bake in cups. This will rise a great deal,
and the cups should be less than half full when put into
the oven.

Blancmange. — Break one ounce of isinglass in very
small pieces and wash well; pour on a pint of boiling
water ; next morning add a quart of milk, and boil until
the isinglass is dissolved, and strain it. Put in two ounces
of blanched almonds pounded, sweeten with loaf sugar,
and turn it into the mould. Stick thin slips of almonds
all over the blancmange, and dress around with syllabub
or whip cream.

Apple Pudding. — Take one quart of stewed apples, a
quarter of a pound of butter, four eggs, some grated
bread, a nutmeg, a little rose-water. Sweeten to taste,
and bake in puff-pans.

The Surprise Pudding.— To eight ounces of fine flour
add six ounces of currants and six ounces of suet chopped
fine. Make these into a crust with a little water, and line
a mould or pudding-bowl with it. Then take four ounces
of loaf-sugar pounded, the juice and rind of two lemons,
and add to these five eggs well beaten. Beat all these
ingredients well together, and pour the mixture into the
lined mould and boil it for an hour and a half.

MISCELLANEOUS.

Celery Flavoring.— Soak for a fortnight half an ounce
of the seeds of celery in one pint of brandy. A few drops
of this will flavor a pint of soup very nearly as well as
if a head of celery was stewed in it.

Hard brushes should be used as little as possible in
cleaning clothes ; if wet and dirty, the spots should be
rubbed out with the hands and a slight application of the
brush afterwards.

Take care of the liquor in which poultry or meat has
been boiled, as an addition of peas, herbs, &c, will con-
vert it into a nourishing soup.

The Glasses for a Magic Lantern. — The glasses for a
magic lantern are painted in oil with carmine, lake, Prus-
sian blue, and other transparent eolors ; they are laid on
as thickly and clearly as possible, and in their use require
no other directions than such as are familiar to all persons
acquainted with drawing. Should change of motion be
required, two glasses must be employed ; on the front
glass should be painted the correct design that is first to
be exhibited, with blank spaces left upon it for the arms,
legs, or head, in which the alteration is to take place : on
the back glass, which should slide in a groove, must be
delineated these parts only, with outlines or dots, which
may be necessary to prevent the appearance of both at
the same time. For instance, if a figure be wished to
appear on a column, pyramid, or tomb, either of these
should be painted on the front glass, with sufficient room
left for the display of the statue ; this is to be depicted on
the back glass, and the space on which it is to be shown
must also be darkened as directed, before it is permitted
to appear.

Scarlet Berlin wool, with white feathers, tied at inter-
vals amongst the threads, and fastened from point to point
of the twigs of gooseberry, currant and cherry-trees, pre-
vents the birds from attacking the buds in their search
after insects.

If you are troubled to get soft water for washing, fill a
tub or barrel half full of wood-ashes, and fill it up with
water, so that you may have lye whenever you want it;
a gallon of strong lye, put into a kettle of hard water,
will make it as soft as rain-water ; some people use pearl-
ash, or potash, but this costs something, and is very apt .
to injure the texture of the cloth.

Balsam for Chapped Lips.— Take two spoonfuls of
clarified honey, with a few drops of lavender water, or
any other perfume. Mix, and anoint the lips frequently.

Cheap Soap. — Six pounds sal soda, four pounds lime,
four gallons water; mix thoroughly; heat, but not to
boiling, until the soda is dissolved ; then, after the undis-
solved portion of the lime has settled, draw off the clear
liquid ; to seven and a half pounds of grease, previously
heated to melting, add the liquid by degrees, bringing to
a boil upon the first addition, continue the boiling for one
and three-quarters of an hour, then add half a pint of
common salt and boil fifteen minutes ; set aside to harden.
For complete success with the above, great care must be
observed in drawing off the water from the undissolved
lime, as the slightest quantity of lime in the soap will
render it liable to crumble.

Cheeses should be kept in a room where there is a good
circulation of air ; and they should be turned frequently.
The room should be kept very clean, by sweeping, to
prevent the access of insects.

To Remove Oil Stains From Boards.— Pipeclay and
water mixed to a thick paste, and laid on to the place,
removes the grease in a very short time. If there is very
much grease, more pipeclay may be applied when the
first has become saturated with it.

Another Receipt. — Cover the spot with dry fuller's
earth, and let it lay on it for some hours ; if put on at
night, it will probably have disappeared in the morning.

The secret of bottling wine with success consists in the
simple exercise of care and cleanliness. The bottles
should all be sound, clean, and dry, and perfectly free
from the least mustiness or other odor ; the corks should
be of the best quality, and before being placed in the
bottles should be compressed by means of a "cork-
squezeer."

Him' ffiafch*

OPPOPwTUNITIES AND DUTIES.

Stern daughter of the voice of God !

Duty ! if that name thou love,
Who art a light to guide, a rod

To check the erring and reprove ;
Give unto me, made lonely wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice ! Wordsworth.

Life has no resting-place on earth. Each stage of our
progress is the time of preparation for a new task. No
sentence of Holy Writ is more sure and significant than
our Saviour's declaration that, "for them to whom much
is given, of them shall much be required."

These truths should be deeply considered, because great
changes are not only coming on the world, but are even
now upon us. We allude, particularly, to the new and
enlarged opportunities of education, and new advantages
of using their powers of mind which are opening for our
American women, and that must test not only their own
abilities and character, but also influence, in a great
degree, the destiny of the nation.

We have before us three pamphlets* relating to what
maybe styled "Home missionary work." Each one of
these records, written by men of large experience, en-
lightened views, and earnest faith in God's Word, bears
witness to the beneficial aid that Christian ladies can give
in reaching the hearts of the working classes, men, as well
as women and children, many of whom have never been
brought up in the way they should go, nor instructed in
the ways of peace and righteousness.

One Report says: "The mothers' meeting referred to
by the Bishop gives promise of being the most valuable
lay-agency that the church has availed of since the
introduction of Sunday Schools. Indeed, it is the comple-
ment of the system — for the Sunday School reaches the
homes of the scholars very imperfectly, while these
meetings and the visits of Christian women to the mothers
of scholars, change the characters of their homes."
********
"The ladies who conduct the association first draw
around them a few respectable women, who learn to
prize Christian fellowship and to profit by practical sug-
gestions themselves, and then to help to extend the benefit
to others. Gradually the circle is enlarged, until the very
poor, and even the depraved, are drawn in and encour-
aged to strive against sin with newborn hopefulness.
Self-respect is promoted and self-help induced, until the
weak become strong, and are taught to provide for their
households by a thrift that they never before knew how
to practise."

LETTERS OX HOME MISSIONARY WORK.

In the interesting letter on "Lay co-operation," etc.,
the writer says : —

"If our blessed Saviour needed, or even availed of the
ministration of holy women, can we expect His full bless-
ing upon our efforts to raise aud sustain the fallen, unless
we avail of the means that He has thus sanctified?"
********
" Last Thursday night, on visiting the ' Mothers' Meet-
ing,' I saw one hundred women industriously sewing ;
and at the close of the evening, they attentively listened
to Gospel truth, simplified, until it evidently reached their
apprehension ; then they reverently joined in prayer and

* " Lay co-operation of St. Mark's Church, Frankford,
Philadelphia." "The Churches' Mission to Working
Men," etc. " Letters on the Home Missionary work of the
Protestant Episcopal Church :" All published in Philadel-
phia, and deserving to be studied by philanthropists every-
where

302

praise. We cannot over-estimate the value of living
Christianity thus cultivated ; for it is taken home to one
hundred husbands, and more than three hundred children
Can our Sunday Schools be very effective, till parents are
taught to fulfil their trust? Our church must adopt this
or some other means to reach the masses , for with homes
of profanity and debauchery, we cannot reasonably
anticipate a large blessing on our Sunday teaching to
little ones who spend all but two or three hours each
week under these blighting influences. Our long-neglected
women have a high appreciation of tne Christian sym-
pathy evinced by the members of the committee , and this
feeling is the more intense from the unlooked-for evidence
that ladies of cultivation have so much in common with
them, and are equally dependent on the grace of our Lord
Jesus Christ. The poor women are thus helped to tell out
their story of trials and troubles to those whom they uoav
feel to be real friends, and not mere teachers It can
readily be understood why husbands sanction these meet-
ings, and enable their wives to attend, by taking care of
the children ; for in some cases a gossiping, thriftless
slattern has become a domestic, thrifty, and tidy wife ; the
faces of the children and every article of clothing testifying
to the change.' 1

********
Here is a glimpse of the good influences women can use
in their Bible teachings of the other sex. The writer
acknowledges that "the spiritual condition of women
is superior to that of men in the same class ;'•• aud after-
wards observes r —

"Those of our sex who have repelled the approaches of
clergymen, and resisted the appeals of men, yet bow
instinctively to the influence of a refined and godly woman.
With boys, especially, they are, if properly skilled and
experienced, all-powerful ; and here, we believe, is a vast
fund of power which needs but to be drawn out and tho-
roughly organized. Men will, in good time, be induced to
follow their example ; and, instead of bungling and un-
successful effort, we shall have that which is most efficient ;
and, instead of a few to help the clergy in their arduous
work, we shall, with God"s blessing, rejoice in multi-
tudes."

We see, by these examples, that Christian men, learned
scholars, and guiding minds in the churches and in
society, are comprehending tne need of woman s aid, not
only in the moral renovation of social life, but in the
religious character and training of the Christian commu-
nity.

As these men open before om sex better opportunities
for improvement, and higher encouragements in duty, we
would implore our young countrywomen to turn their
thoughts earnestly to these ways of doing good. Deeds
of kindness, and lessons of Bible instruction 10 the igno-
rant and poor whom they can reacn and benefit should oe
their pleasure, because it is not only making those whom
they assist better but increasing tneir own happiness.
The true greatness of humanity is only true goodness, or
love which prompts 10 good works, Decause these shew
our hearts are true to Christ and His precepts. What
glory for women that there is no other way for her sex to
rise in greatness but by, or through duty which, to use
the words of Lord Bacon, "aspires to a similitude of
God's goodness or love.'' Or, to give the beautiful pas-
sage: —

" In aspiring to the throne of power, the angels trans-
gressed and fell ; in presuming to come, within the oracle
of knowledge, man transgressed and fell ; but in pursuit
towards the similitude of God's goodness or love (which
is one thing, for love is nothing else but goodness put io
motion or applied) neither man nor spirit nathever trans-
gressed, or shall transgress.' 1

editors' table.

303

WALTER SCOTT AND HIS LITTLE PET MARJORIE.*
The kinship of genius, and the joy and mirth of gifted
minds when under this instinctive sympathy together, are
among the wonderful mysteries of human nature. Differ-
ences of sex, age, experience, education, seem no obstacle
to this sympathy, or they were not in the loving and
genial intercourse of Walter Scott, the strong man of forty,
overflowing with worldly knowledge, and the little,
delicate girl in her seventh year, Margaret Fleming;
better known as Pet Marjorie, or " Maidie."

It was in the winter of 1810, when Walter Scott was just
beginning to feel the matchless power of his wonderful
imagination, which makes his novels even now seem
living creations of genius, that we have the first picture
of these two friends. He had been trying to resuscitate
his manuscript of Waverley ; but could make nothing of
it ; so, throwing work aside, he hurried to Mrs. Keith's,
and brought home Marjorie in his own shepherd's plaid,
for the day was stormy. Then, snugly settled in his own
room, began the mirth and enjoyment of the scene. He
had first to recite to her some child's "melody" of the
Mother Goose order, which he had before studied with
her. This done repeatedly till she was pleased, she gave
him his new lesson, gravely and slowly, timing it upon
her small fingers — he saying it after her —

"Wonery, twoeiy, tickery, seven;
Alibi, crackaby, ten, and eleven ;
Pin, pan, musky, dan ;
Tweedle-um, twoddle-um,
Twenty -wan ; eerie, orie, ourie,
You, are, out."

He pretended to great difficulty, and she rebuked him
With most comical gravity, treating him as a child. He
used to say that when he came to Alibi, Crackaby he
broke down, ar.d Pin-Pan, Musky Dan, Tweedle-um
Twoddle-um made him roar with laughter. He said
Musky- Dan especially was beyond endurance, bringing
up an Irishman and his hat fresh from the Spice Islands,
and odoriferous Ind ; she getting quite bitter in her
displeasure at his ill behavior and stupidness.

Then he would read ballads to her in his own glorious
way, the two getting wild with excitement over Gil
Morrice, or, tlie Baron of Smailholm : and he would take
her on his knee, and make her repeat Constance's speeches
in King John, till he swayed to and fro, sobbing his fill.

Scott used to say that he was amazed at her power over
him, saying to Mrs. Keith, "She 's the most extraordinary
creature I ever met with, and her repeating of Shakspeare
overpowers me as nothing else does."

This wonderful child, who died when about eight years
old, left a diary, several novels in manuscript, and
numerous letters to her mother, her sister, and other
friends. One extract from her diary will show her Bible
lore ; she had been reading the Book of Esther.

" It was a dreadful thing that Haman was hanged on the
very gallows he had prepared for Mordecai to hang him
and his ten sons thereon, and it was very wrong and
cruel to hang his sons, for they did not commit the crime ;
but then Jesus was not then come to teach us to be mer-
ciful." This is wise and beautiful, has upon it the very
dew of youth and holiness. Out of the mouths of babes
and sucklings He perfects his praise.

One more scene with these loving friends.

" The year before Marjorie died, when in Edinburgh, she
was to go to a Twelfth Night supper at Scott's in Castle
Street. The company had all come; all but Marjorie.
Scott's familiars, whom we all know, were there — all were
come but Marjorie; and all were dull because Scott was
dull. 'Where's that bairn? What can have come over her?
I '11 go myself and see.' And he was getting up and

* Pet Marj orie : A Story of Child Life fift v years ago.
Edinburgh.

would have gone ; when the bell rang, and in eai»e
Duncan Roy and his henchman Tougald, with the sedaa
chair, which was brought right into the lobby, and its top
raised. And there, in its darkness and dingy old cloth
sat Maidie in white, her eyes gleaming, and Scott bending
over her in ecstasy — 'hung over her enamored.' 'Sit
ye there, my dautie, till they all see you;' and forthwith
he brought them all. You can fancy the scene. And ho
lifted her up, and marched to his seat with her on hia
stout shoulder, and set her down beside him: and then
began the night, and such a night ! Those who knew
Scott best said, that night was never equalled ; Maidi«
and he were the stars ; and she gave them Constance's
speeches and Helvellyn, the ballad then much in vogue —
and all her repertoire — Scott showing her off, and being
ofttimes rebuked by her for his intentional blunders.

" But this dainty, bright thing is about to flee, to come
'quick to confusion.' The measles seized her, and she
died on the 19th of December, 1811. The day before her
death, Sunday, she sat up in bed, worn and thin, her eye
gleaming as with the light of a coming world, and with a
tremulous, old voice repeated the following lines by
Burns — heavy with the shadow of death and lit with the
fantasy of the judgment-seat — the publican's prayer in
paraphrase : —

'Why am I loath to leave this earthly scene?
Have I so found it full of pleasing charms?
Some drops of joy, with draughts of ill between,
Some gleams of sunshine mid renewing storms.' *'

THE BROTHERS*

That our sons may be as plants grown up in their
youth. — Psalm cxliv. 12.

As plants, that claim a pai'ent root,

Are formed and strengthened by each other ;

So human minds bear richer fruit
When brother leans on brother:

Life's purest joys must come xmbought,

The pearls of love, the gems of thought,

The soul's best earthly treasure shines,

Uncounted, in our household mines.

And thine has been that happy part,

The prop and guide of one depending ;
A precious plant by culture's art

In holy fruitage ending ;
Like palms, whose clasping arms arise
And bear their offerings toward the skies,
Till scarce it seems the plants had birth
In the poor, arid sands of earth.

And was it strange the soul thus taught

In earth's divinest nurture,
Was early to perfection brought

And reached the heavenward stature ;
When Christ in pitying love looks down,
And, by His grace, prepares the crown,
To give his own, their trials o'er,
Celestial glory evermore !

As latent heat, from earth's control,
* Set free in air is flame ascending ;
Thus love, God's image in the soul,

Is ever upward tending :
But, once sin's flinty barrier broke,
It springs, like lightning from the stroke,
And seeks, with fervent zeal, its bliss,
Found only where the Saviour is.

Faith feels all this — and yet their home
Seems to his sorrowing sisters saddened,

The form beloved can never come,
The voice, the smile that gladdened

Are gone ; and oh, the hopes that fall,

When one, who was the hope of all,

Their dearest joy and tenderest care,

Hath passed beyond their love and prayer!

As when the moon's disk hides the sun,
Its lustrous noon-day beams concealing ;

Look up ! the black eclipse is gone,
A glorious light revealing !

Thus Faith — a moment dark — will rise,

Above the sun, above the skies ;

Till in the wondrous vision given,

It sees the precious " plant grown up" in heaven !
Sarah Josepha Hale.

* Inscribed to Francis De Haes Janvier, on the death of
his only brother, Albert Wilson Janvier.

304

godey's lady's book and magazine.

PHOTOGRAPHY AND ITS ALBUM.

Blest be the art that caD immortalize,
The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim
To quench it.

And while the wings of fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft,
Thyself removed the power to soothe me left.

Cowper.

These well-known verses, illustrating a slow and ex-
pensive process, are, at present, doubly just applied to
the photographic art. At a trifling expense we can have
the pictures of all those we love, all we esteem, and all
we admire and revere of our own family, of great men, of
good men ; the hero, the patriot, the sage, the divine.
But then, if we would have these interesting portraits in
orderly array, and at hand for inspection, we require a
fitting receptacle. And thus photograph albums have
become not only a luxury for the rich, but a necessity for
the people. The American family would be poor indeed
who could not afford a photograph album. This demand
has introduced new manufactures, elegant inventions of
form and finish, and artistic designs of great beauty. It is
really wonderful to see the perfection this art of house-
hold egoism (is not the photograph a representation of the
ego /) has attained in our land. As it is an art that all
can enjoy, and the pleasure seems innocent and perhaps
improving, we say to the friends who ask our counsel,
follow this fashion. But the kind of album is a matter of
taste and individual judgment we could not decide. Some
of the most perfect and beautiful we have seen, from the
largest size down to the pretty "Fairy Album," were from
the establishment of J. E. Tilton & Co., Boston. The
Messrs. Martiens, Philadelphia, are noted for their splen-
did albums.

Cheap Literature in England. — We are glad to learn
that the tone of English literature is improving with its
wonderfully increasing circulation. This result is, as
we think, in a great degree the result of woman's par-
ticipation in literary pursuits, and the influence of her
moral taste in the character of books which must now be
accessible to the household. It is a very beneficial change
for the nation. A writer in the American Literary
Gazette says: —

" Contrary to fears entertained on the subject, the cheap-
ening of books, periodicals, and newspapers has in no
perceptible degree deteriorated literature. On this sub-
ject, Ave offer the following statement, the result of care-
ful inquiry into the cheap periodical trade in 1859 — 1860:
Religious* but not sectarian periodicals, at %d., Id.,
and 1 *4d. each, 20 in number, aggregate issue per month,
1,436,500. Two periodicals of the Religious Tract Society,
o'f London, one sold at Id., and the other at l%d., ag-
gregate issue per month, 804,000. Temperance, at y 2 d.
and Id. each, 9 in number, aggregate issue per month,
203,000. Useful, educational, and entertaining literature
at Id., l]4d., and 2d. each, 7 in number, aggregate
issue per month, 2,400,000. Novels, stories, ballads,
etc., at Id. each, 6 in number, aggregate issue per month,
3.200,000, Romances and tales to excite the sentiments
of wonder and horror, mostly at Id. each, 60 in number ;
the issue of these could not be ascertained, but it is
believed to reach the monthly aggregate of 1,500,000.
Stories and memoirs of an immoral nature at Id. each, 4
in number, aggregate issue per month, 52,500. Free-
thinking aud irreligious, 2 in number, with, it is believed,
a comparatively limited circulation. According to this
view, the cheap* periodical literature may be classed and
summed up in amount as follows : 1. Works of an im-
proving tendency, circulation per month, 843,500. 2.
Works of an exciting nature, but not positively immoral,
circulation per month, 1,500,000. 3. Works immoral, and
opposed to the religion of the country, circulation per
month, probably under 80,000.

" The classes of books and periodicals, which a number
of years ago consisted of coarsely offensive attacks on the
government, church, laws, etc., have entirely disappeared,
and at no time in its whole history has the book-trade of
Great Britain been on a more healthy footing than it is at
present."

The Importance of Marriage Registry.— In New Jer-
sey and other States, the statute on the subject requires

al] ministers and justices of the peace to register in the
County Clerk's office each and every mamage solemnised
by them, within three months after such marriage, under
a penalty of $50. to De recovered in an action of debt, to-
gether with the costs. This is rendered all the more im-
portant at the present time ; as in tne case of the death oi
a soldier, the widcw must have a certificate of marriage
from the clerk before she can receive a pension. Upon
searching tne records within the past year for marriages*
nearly half of the unfortunate widows have been turned
away with the remark " The clergyman performing the
ceremony has neglected to comply w.Uh the law.'

A Learned Frenchwoman —The ladies of France have
no need to complain of their being denied the honors of
academic distinction The Eyons journals state that
among tne candidates for tne degree of Bacnelor of Letters
during the present academical session in that city, is a
young lady who> Deing compelled by a reverse of fortune
to become a governess, has had the perseverance to carry
her studies much further than usual for her sex. She
passed through the first examination with great credit,
and there is every probability that she will be the first
bacheliere admitted by the University of France.

English Ladies in Literature. — Miss Agnes Strickland
is contributing to a London religious magazine " Lives of
the Seven Bishops in the Tower. 1 '

Miss Yonge is writing for the "Churchman's Family
Magazine 1 ' a new novel, entitled "The Clever Woman of
the Family. •>

Miss Jane Ingeloxo. The poems of this young lady
have passed into a fourth edition ; she is the most popular
poetical writer now in England.

American Ladies in the Medical Profession.— The late
Mrs. Waterhouse of Cambridge, widow of Dr Benjamin
Waterhouse, former Professor in the Harvard Medical
College, gave to the New England Female Medical College,
in 1857. the sum of $1000, as the commencement of the
endowment of a Professor of Anatomy, By her will, made
in the same year, and recently presented for probate, she
has given the purposed addition of $9000 to complete the
endowment. The College has now two Professorships
provided for and there are four more to be founded.

Hints for the Nursery: cr, The Young Mother's
Guide* The American Literary Gazette has a very just
notice of this useful and well-written work the reviewer
says of the authoress ; " Her instructions are conveyed in
the simplest and most direct form, and tney relate to the
every-day matters of physical and mental training in the
nursery, The book is full of good sound sense, and can-
not fail to benefit the reader. "

HINTS ABOUT HEALTH.
Music as Medicine. — If " mirth does good as medicine,"
why should not music have a salutary influence ? Laugh-
ing and singing are natural expression of ioy, and this
feeling of mind contributes to the healthy tone of the body.
So we welcome this pleasant curative to our Book, and
commend its use to all who read it.

"Music refines the taste, purifies the heart, and elevates
our nature. It does more, it soothes in sorrow, tranquil-
izes in passion, and wears away the irritabilities of life.

* By Mrs. C. A. Hopkinson Boston. See Book Notices,
page 307

LITERARY NOTICES.

305

It intensifies love, it fires patriotism, and makes the altar
of our devotion burn with a purer, holier flame. Not
only man, but the brutes themselves have been restrained
and charmed by the bewitching power which it possesses.
And in the still twilight hour, when sweet, sad memories
go back upon the distant past, and hover lovingly about
the places Where we played and the persons whom we
loved, but now gone, in their youth and beauty and pa-
rity, to return no more, who does not know that the soul
drinks more deeply in of the saddening sweetness when it
breaks out in the soft, low notes of song, or the fingers in-
stinctively sweep through diapasons absolutely ravish-
ing? And when tedious disease has dampened the fires
of life, lias removed its gilding and written 'vanity' on
all things earthly ; when wealth, and fame, and worldly
honor are felt to be nothing ; when the aims, and ambi-
tions, and aspirations which were wont to rouse up all
the energies of nature towards their accomplishment fail
of their accustomed power, music renders the burden of
sickness light, and makes us all oblivious of pain and
suffering. For these reasons, that parent has largely ne-
glected a religious duty, has been strangely forgetful of
one of the highest of all obligations, who fails to afford
his children, while yet young, all the facilities in his
power for fostering and cultivating whatever taste for
music they possess, whether vocal or instrumental ; for
in after-life, and through all its vicissitudes, those who
practise it, in the love of it, when young, will find in its
exercise a happy escapade in seasons of boisterous mirth,
and thus increase the joy; in times of despondency, its
expression will give encouragement ; when difficulties
oppose, it will inspire strength to overcome them, and
when clouds of trouble gather around and above, hedging
up the future, shutting out the blue sky of life, music can
penetrate even Egyptian darkness, and let in upon the
almost broken heart the sunshine of hope, of gladness,
and of joy." — HalVs Journal of Health.

To our Correspondents. — The following articles are
accepted : "An English Governess" — " Smoke" — " To my
Wife on the nineteenth Anniversary of our Wedding" —
"Asphodel Flowers" — "Bachelor's Hall" — "Geodes" —
"An Arctic Landscape" — and "Love vs. Fancy."

These articles are declined. For the present we have
not room for many new writers, as our old friends furnish
more than we can use. "Love's Selfishness" — "Aunt
Jee-mimy Favors"—" Imagination" — "Christmas Gifts"
(the season was over before the article came to hand) —
"Our Dead"— " Song"— "Poetic Etchings"— " My Early
Home"— " Wissahickon"— " The Little Bird in Califor-
nia"— "A Mental Picture"—" The Snow-Birds" — " Nina
Lee"— "The Lost Rose" — " Sketch of the Life of a Flirt"
— "Winter Scenes" — "It might have been" — "Love" —
"One in Despair" — "To Ben in Heaven" — "May Morn-
ing" — "To the Pottawattamie Tribe of Indians" — "Gar-
rison More's first and last Love" (we have not time to write
letters of criticism — the writer will learn best by prac-
tice) — and "Silent Love."

Writers are requested to insert, in the letter accompa-
nying each article, the title of the same.

Inclose a stamped envelope, if an answer is requested.
Then wait patiently, and a reply will be sent as. soon as
we have time to reply.

Jiterarg fUtins.

From Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia: —
POEMS. By Henry Peterson. We are grateful to the
author for this copy of his poems — poems which, while
they may create no sudden sensation and enthusiasm in
the literary world, will yet be admired and appreciated
for their beauty of sentiment and depth of feeling. Mr.
Peterson is far from being unknown, his connection with
the Saturday Evening Post having made his name almost
VOL. LXVIII. — 25

a household word throughout the country ; and his book
will find welcome wherever it goes.

HELD IN BONDAGE ; or, Granville de Vigne. A Tak
of the Day. By "Ouida." In two volumes. We wish
the author of this novel had written it entirely in French,
instead of a considerable portion of it, as he has done ; as
our Gallic friends might consider it a valuable addition to
their literature, while we cannot look upon it as such to
our own. The argument of the book is against the sacred-
ness of the marriage institution, and against early mar-
riages in particular. Its characters are wealthy young
men in the Life-Guards, gamblers, libertines, almost
drunkards, skeptics, villifiers of women, and scoffers at all
that is good and pure ; yet, according to the author's idea,
noble and model specimens of manhood and in every
way suitable, when their youth is passed, and tkey are
blazt, to become the husbands of young and innocent
girls.

From Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia : —

THE LAWYER'S SECRET. By Miss M. E. Braddon,
author of "Aurora Floyd," etc. This book is composed
of two of Miss Braddon's shorter stories, from the longer
of which it takes its name. They are well written, inge-
nious, and full of interest.

THE LIFE AND SERVICES AS A SOLDIER OF MA-
JOR GENERAL GRANT. This is a brief sketch of Major
General Grant's early life, followed by an outline of his
services in Mexico, and his heroic exploits in the West
since the breaking out of the rebellion.

WEBSTER AND H AYNE'S SPEECHES. This is a thick
pamphlet of 116 pages, containing the famous speeches of
these intellectual giants in intellect, Webster and Hayne,
on the resolution of Mr. Foote. The work is well prmted,
and will form a cheap and useful volume of reference to
the great debate which, in its day, so agitated the country
and its legislation.

From Schermerhorn, Bancroft, & Co. , New York and
Philadelphia : —

HAND-BOOK OF CALISTHENICS AND GYMNAS-
TICS. A Complete Drill-book for Schools, Families, and
Gymnasiums ; with Music to accompany the Exercises*
Illustrated from original designs. By J. Madison Wat-
son. We have examined this book with great care, and
are happy to give it our unqualified approval. It seems
to us the completest work of its character we have seen,
and is all that the student can desire to aid him in de-
veloping his or her muscular system to its fullest extent.
The introductory elocutionary exercises, which embrace
nearly one-third of the book, will be found of vast benefit
to the careful reader ; while the excellent poetical selec-
tions which form the conclusion of these, and the music
from the best composers introduced at intervals through
the Calisthenics, are no small attraction of the work.

From Frederick Letpoldt, Philadelphia: —
MOTHER GOOSE FROM GERMANY. Illustrated from
designs by Ludwig Richter and others. A book very
neatly printed on hot-pressed paper, with fine illustra-
tions. The rhymes are instructive, amusing, and comical
in turn.

From Fisher & Brother, Philadelphia :—
THE NEW HISTORICAL GAME on Subjects Mytho-
logical, Classical, and Historical. By a Lady.
MR. AND MRS. JOLLYBOY'S PICNIC. These ara

306

godey's lady's book and magazine.

two amusing games, the former instructive as well, for
the benefit of the young folks.

From the Author, Philadelphia : —

THE ART OF MAKING AND COLORING IVORY-
TYPES, PHOTOGRAPHS, TALBOTYPES, AND MINIA-
TURE PAINTING ON IVORY, ETC. Together with
Valuable Receipts never before published. By P. F.
Cooper, Miniature, Portrait, Pastil, and Equestrian Painter
and Photographer. A useful book for professionals or
amateurs. A model demonstrating the true principles of
coloring accompanies every copy.

From Harper & Brothers, New York, through Peter-
son & Brothers, and Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia : —

VERY HARD CASH. A Novel. By Charles Reade,
author of " Love me Little, Love me Long," " Never too
Late to Mend," etc. The readers of " Love me Little, Love
me Long" will be equally surprised and delighted to find
this novel a sort of sequel to that, inasmuch as the hero
and heroine of the former figure prominently in the latter,
not as a youthful pair of lovers, but as staid pater et mater
familias. Poor David Dodd has a world of trouble with
his "very hard cash," and the perils he escapes, and the
misfortunes he encounters, by land and sea, go far toward
filling a large, closely-printed volume. Reade is delight-
fully original in style, and depicts character to the life ;
and among the three or four rivals, in our own mind, as
writers of English romance, we are yet undecided whether
or no to give him pre-eminence.

SCIENCE FOR THE SCHOOL AND FAMILY. Part II.
Chemistry. By Worthington Hooker, M. D., author of
"Natural History," etc. Illustrated by numerous en-
gravings. Dr. Hooker's exceedingly plain and simple
style is especially calculated to render his work a popular
one. Though arranged principally for the needs of the
school and lecture-room, its information is so abundant
and complete that it is equally valuable as a reference
book. Its plan, and the manner in which it is executed,
render this publication superior to any of its class.

JOHN MARCHMONT'S LEGACY. A Novel. By M. E.
Braddon, author of "Aurora Floyd," "Eleanor's Vic-
tory," etc. We know of no writer who has taken such
bold and rapid steps from mediocrity to excellence, as
this lady. Every new novel from her pen surprises us at
its superiority over that which preceded it ; and the author
who, but a year or two ago promised to produce only works
sensational in kind and ephemeral in character, to-day
bids fair to rival the best of English novelists, if she but
continues for a short space in the path she is now tread-
ing. "John Marchmont's Legacy" is as much the supe-
rior of "Aurora Floyd" as the study of a master excels
the first rough sketch of an untutored genius. We have
here neither bigamy nor murder, but a well-designed
plot, finely delineated characters, and a succession of in-
cidents, artistically and dramatically managed, while the
whole book bears evidence of genius of a high order, and
a mind informed on all subjects pertaining to literature
and art, far beyond what we usually find in woman.

FIVE YEARS OF PRAYER, WITH THE ANSWERS.
By Samuel Irenseus Prime, author of "Power of Prayer,"
etc. This book takes for its basis the results attending
the Fulton Street prayer meeting, in New York, the sixth
anniversary of which has just been celebrated ; and gives
multitudes of facts which have come to his knowledge of
direct and indirect answers to prayer. He does not con-
fine himself to New York or to this country, however, but
narrates accounts of wonderful revivals in England, Scot-

land, France, and Germany, and in missionary fields, oc-
curring in answer to earnest prayer.

THE BOYHOOD OF MARTIN LUTHER; or, the Suf-
ferings of tlie Heroic Little Beggar Boy who afterwards
became the great German Reformer. By Henry Mayhew,
author of ' ' Benj amin Franklin,' ' etc. This little volume,
intended more especially for youth, will not be slighted
by those of larger growth into whose hands it may fall.
It is not, as is almost invariably the case with books of
its character, a compilation from, and abridgment of
larger works, but has been the result of travel to the seve-
ral scenes of Martin Luther's early life, and a consulta-
tion of old chronicles and parish documents. The author
has been sedulous in his attempts to produce a reliable as
well as interesting narrative of the childhood and youth
of the man who was destined to be the prime mover in the
great church reformation.

MR. WIND AND MADAM RAIN. By Paul de Mus-
set. Translated, with permission of the author, by Emily
Makepeace. With illustrations by Charles Bennet. An
amusing little story for children.

DICKENS' NEW CHRISTMAS STORY. Mrs. Lirriper's
Lodgings. Every one looks for Dickens' Christmas story
with impatience, and of course most of our readers have
seen the one for the last holidays. Those who have not
have missed a rich treat.

From Dick & Fitzgerald, New York, through Peter-
son & Brothers, Philadelphia : —

THREE TIMES DEAD ; or, The Secret of the Heath.
By Miss M. E. Braddon, author of "Eleanor's Victory,"
etc. Since Vidocq and Wilkie Collins have set the ex-
ample of detective stories, they have become very popu-
lar, until almost every author tries his or her hand at it.
This is a sensational story of the most exciting kind, in
which murders and suicides are almost as frequent as the
chapters. The hero, who makes three false demises be-
fore his actual and final one, is a masterly character in his
way— a perfect villain without a redeeming trait. A deaf
and dumb detective is a prominent figure; perhaps the
best drawn in the book. Varying greatly from her other
romances, this is more absorbing than any of them, and
will be extensively read.

From D. Appleton & Co., New York, through Ashmead
& Evans, successors to W. P. Hazard, Philadelphia : —

A HISTORY OF THE WORLD, from the Earliest Re-
cords to the Present Time. By Philip Smith, B. A., one of
the Principal Contributors to the Dictionaries of Greek
and Roman Antiquities, Biography, and Geography. In
monthly parts and half-yearly volumes. We have re-
ceived part first of this work, which promises at least to
be an extensive one. It is hardly possible in a work of
this character to judge from the initial number what the
whole will be like. When complete it will form eight
volumes in demy octavo. The first two volumes will be
devoted to ancient history from the creation to A. D.
476. The next two will comprise medieval history, civil
and ecclesiastical, bringing the reader down to the period,
A. D. 1453. Modern history will be included in four
volumes. The part before us leaves the reader engrossed
in Egyptian antiquities.

ORLEAN LAMAR, and Other Poems. By Sarah E.
Knowles. The reader of these poems will scarcely be-
lieve that they have been penned by one who is no more
than a girl in years, so little do they display the usual
crudeness of the young writer. In future she may write
better, and possibly give to the world something that shall

LITEBARY NOTICES.

307

cause it to remember her ; but she will never write so
well that she need feel ashamed of this her first literary
venture. These poems breathe tender and womanly sen-
timents, patriotism, and religion, and their rhythm is soft
and musical.

From M. W. Dodd, New York, through H. H. Hender-
son & Co., Philadelphia:—

CHRONICLES OF THE SCHONBERG-COTTA FAMILY.
By Two of Themselves. This book is an endeavor to give
a picture of the times before the breaking out of the great
church reformation, in a form more attractive and less
stilted than history. It is in the form of diaries or chron-
icles by different members of the Schonberg-Cotta family,
detailing the religious events and sentiments of the day,
and presenting Martin Luther familiarly to the reader
from the time when he first appeared a young beggar in
Eisenach, and kind Ursula Cotta took a fancy to him, up
to the period when he is a learned doctor of divinity, and
the successful leader in the Protestant movement. Fritz
and Eva enter convents, and the glimpses of convent life
given in their journals will engage the reader's attention.
We are not prepared to say how strictly the author has
confined himself to history. At all events, it is an in-
teresting, a suggestive, and a thoughtful work.

AMY CARR; or, The Fortune- Teller. By Caroline
Chesebro. A pretty story for girls, with an excellent
moral, showing the difference between the fortune-telling
of the gypsy and that of the Bible.

From G. P. Putnam, New York, through Lippincott &
Co., Philadelphia: —

LYRICS OF LOYALTY. Arranged and Edited by Frank
Moore. " The purpose of this collection," says its editor,
" is to preserve some of the best specimens of the lyrical
writings which the present rebellion has called forth."
That this collection has been most judiciously and admi-
rably made, will be the decision of every one who turns
over the leaves of the book. The poems are from the
pens of a multitude of authors, many of them well known
to fame, and are expressive of every shade of patriotic
sentiment, from the call to arms to the grief of the widow
at the news of her husband fallen in battle. This volume
is the first of " The Red, White, and Blue series."

From Robert Carter & Brothers, New York : —
THE OLD HELMET. By the authoress of < ' Wide, Wide
World." Two volumes. Miss Warner has already a
world-wide reputation, which this new work will bright-
en if it cannot extend. "The Old Helmet" is better
written than any of her previous works, and while the
literary oharacter is thus improved, the tone of sincere
piety, which always pervades her writings, is sustained
with more cheerful faith; and the excellent Christian
lessons will be not only useful but deeply interesting to
the young. The descriptions of natural scenes are very
fresh and pleasing ; some of the characters win at once on
our affections : Aunt Caxton and little Julia— childhood
and age— both actuated by pious feeling and sanctified by
Christian grace ; the noble-hearted missionary, Rowland
Rhys, is an example of the good that may be effected
by an earnest self-sacrificing man among the benighted
heathen, which is very beautifully portrayed. We think
these volumes will have a "wide, wide" circulation.

CLAUDE THE COLPORTEUR. By the author of " Mary
Powell." We have here a very valuable contribution to
Sabbath school literature. The story of this Bible-distri-
butor, a Swiss, of fervent faith like the old Geneva Chris-

tians, is deeply interesting. The writer has succeeded in
developing character and life in accordance with the popu-
lar feeling of what a true Christian should be and should
teach.

THE SALE OF CRUMMIE ; and other Stories. Also
THE BURIED BIBLE, and other Stories ; making seven-
teen tales in the book, each one with special interest.
Children will love this book.

THE MAN OF GOD ; or, Spiritual Religion. By Oc-
tavius Winslow, D. D. The author is too widely known
and highly esteemed to require a commendation for his
work ; in every Christian family it will be a gem of price.
The object is to portray the man of God — the true be-
liever — in some of the essential and prominent features of
his character. Each of the twenty-two chapters has a dis-
tinctive characteristic, while the consistency of spiritual
unity in the portrait is shown as only the Bible scholar,
feeling the truth of inspiration in his own soul, can portray
the real Christian.

From Leonard Scott & Co., New York : —
THE BRITISH REVIEWS : London, Edinburgh, North
British, and Westminster Quarterlies ; also Blackwood's
Magazine. These five publications, unrivalled of their
kind, deserve a wide circulation in our country. The
varied, useful, interesting, and important information they
contain makes these Reviews necessary for an intelligent
people ; then the popular taste is improved by the surpas-
sing excellence of literary culture always found in their
pages. Send to the publishers, 38 Walker Street, New
York, for a circular.

From J. E. Tilton & Co., Boston: —

DREAMTHORP. Essays written in the Country. By
Alexander Smith, author of "A Life Drama," "City
Poems," etc. The author of this beautiful volume has
long been known to the reading public as a poet of celeb-
rity. In this country as well as in his native England,
his "City Poems," and "Life Dramas" have established
his claims to rank high in the literary polity. The adage
that " poets write the best prose" is in his case fully jus-
tified. We have rarely seen a book that more perfectly
embodied our ideal of essay writing. The contents are
twelve essays; the first, also called "Dreamthorp," de-
scribes the country village in which the writer has taken
up his abode, and from which he has given to the great
outer world this result of a year's musing and observa-
tion. His style is almost faultless ; and many of his
thoughts are so deep and true, and withal so original, as
to insure him a place in the memory of all lovers of books,
when the fine-spun platitudes of sentimental theorists on
"country life" will have sunk into oblivion.

From Little, Brown, & Co., Boston: —

HINTS FOR THE NURSERY ; or, The Young mother's
Guide. Pp. 169. By Mrs. C. A. Hopkinson. Every mo-
ther, whether young or in mature life, will find many
valuable suggestions in this new manual. It has origi-
nality of thought and clearness of expression, is interest-
ing as well as instructive. The loving sympathy of the
mother is felt in every page the authoress has given us,
and her good sense, careful observation, and judicious
counsel will make many a nursery happier where her
thoughts are present in this dainty little volume.

From Ticknor & Fields, Boston, through Peterson &
Brothers, Philadelphia : —

LITTLE ANNA. A Story for Pleasant Little Children.
By A. Stein. Translated from the German. A neat little

308

godey's lady's book and magazine.

"book in blue and gold, with numerous illustrations, telling
how Anna played with her doll, and amused herself, and
behaved very much like other little children.

From Losing, Boston, through Lippincott & Co., Phi-
ladelphia : —

SUNSET STORIES. Helen Rothsay : A Book for Boys
and Girls. No. 1. This is the first of the stories which
grandmamma tells to a little circle of hearers, to pass
away the sunset hour. It is an excellent one in its way,
and we have no doubt the larger circle of little readers
will wait impatiently for those which are to follow.

From the Author, San Francisco, California : —
SOMETHING ABOUT COINS. By E. J. Barra. This
little pamphlet gives brief histories and descriptions of
various American and foreign coins, and embraces a list
of the coins in the author's own collection.

THE HISTORY OF THE CIVIL WAR IN AMERICA.
Containing a full and impartial account of the Origin and
Progress of the Rebellion ; of the various Naval and Mili-
tary Engagements ; of the Heroic Deeds performed by
Armies and Individuals ; and of Touching Scenes in the
Field, the Camp, the Hospital, and the Cabin. By John
S. C. Abbott. Illustrated with Maps, Diagrams, and nu-
merous Steel engravings of Battle Scenes, and portraits of
distinguished men. From original designs by Darley,
and other eminent artists. Vol. I. Sold only by distri-
buting agents, and published by Henry Bill, New York.
We have given the whole title of the above work, and
any one who wants an excellent history, with various
engravings, had better subscribe for this book.

dohg's <|rm-Cj}air.

MARCH, 1864.

As the year progresses, we try to make our Book more
and more interesting. The spring fashions will be found
in this number— a portion of them ; we still have more
for April. We want particularly to call the attention of
our subscribers to the beautiful steel engraving, "Want
of Confidence." It needs no explanation from us. It is a
beautiful and truthful picture.

Our colored Fashion-plate contains six beautiful figures,
true exponents of spring dresses.

"Great Expectations" — not by Dickens, more in the
Dogberry style — is a very good picture, designed and en-
graved expressly for us.

"The Housekeeper's Chatelaine" is an article that will
be found very useful to many ladies who are not house-
keepers. There is a place for everything, and everything
in its place.

Our wood engravings of the very latest fashions will be
found useful for those who make their own dresses, and
for those who make dresses for others.

The literary matter in this number will compare with
that of any other magazine in the States. We have au-
thors to write for us that no others have ; and whatever
appears in the Lady's Book may be read aloud in the
family circle.

Agricultural Premiums. — We believe that the Lady's
Book is the only magazine used for a premium at agricul-
tural lairs.

Freight on Letters or Premiums on Drafts. — We want
our subscribers distinctly to understand that, when they
send their letters by express companies, they must pay the
expense. We receive a letter containing $10, upon wnich.
there is $1 freight ; of course we cannot suffer that dis-
count. We undertake and promise to send six copies of the
Lady's Book for $10 ; but $9 is not $10, and in all such
cases we will not send the Lady's Book to the six subscri-
bers unless we receive the balance we have to pay for
freight, be that $1, 75 cents, or 50 cents. And now about
drafts. We advise our subscribers to procure drafts—
they are the only safe way of remitting. The premium
on a draft must be defrayed by the subscribers. It must
not fall on us. For instance, we have received several
drafts, lately, for $9 75, purporting to represent $10, tnis
will not do ; twenty-five cents distributed amongst six
subscribers is a small amount each, but when we have to
suffer the loss of twenty-five cents upon about a thousand
$10 drafts, the aggregate is a large amount. Instead of
paying 20 cents for registering a letter, you had better
pay 20 cents for a draft. It is infinitely more certain.

A gentleman informed us, a few days since, that he nad
just returned from a travel over the far West, and the
only magazine he found, at the various places he visited,
was Godey's Lady's Book.

Our Needles. — New subscribers are informed that we
furnish 100 of the best needles of all sizes for 30 cents, and
a three cent stamp to pay return postage. We have sold
millions of these needles, and they have given great satis-
faction. They are the diamond drilled-eyed needles, and
of the best English manufacture.

Hollow ay's Musical Monthly. — We see that the March
number of this favorite periodical contains, among other
music, Brinley Richards' magnificent arrangement of the
Soldier's Chorus from Gounod's grand opera of Faust.
This splendid composition should bring the March number
of the Musical Monthly in demand. See the musical
column of our Musical Editor.

A Sensible Letter: —

Inclosed find $10. Send Lady's Book to the following
six name*. E. B.

There is a letter that can be understood, and easily at-
tended to, which is a great thing, when you are in re-
ceipt of over 500 letters a day ; and such has been our
receipt for the last six weeks.

A lady who sent a club complains that her letter was
not answered. We cannot answer 500 letters a day. We
can now only reply to those letters that positively require
it. The receipt of the first numbers is evidence that the
money has been received.

Unprecedented. — We are sending off as fast as we can,
but our increase this year is about twofold any previous
year ; we ask the patience of our subscribers. We do all
that human ingenuity can do to send to them in time, but
what can we do with such an increase of subscription ?

Missing Numbers. — Subscribers, take notice! When
you miss a number, write at once for it. We are not
bound to supply numbers when you renew your sub-
scriptions—numbers that you have lost by lending or
otherwise. You say to us that you did not receive them.
Well, then, send for them at once, when you miss them,
and we shall be better satisfied in supplying them.

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

309

Music Received. — We have received the following from
Horace Waters, 481 Broadway, New York, and 0. Ditson
& Co., 277 Washington Street, Boston, Mass. : —

Beauties of Terpsichore. A collection of dance music.

I can't Forget, A song. Music by Mrs. Parkhurst.

Bread and Cheese Kisses. A comic song.

Was my Brother in the Battle? By James Bellak.

The Union Medley. Ballads, songs, solos, etc.

Mary Fay. Sang by the Tremaine Brothers.

The first number of the "Musical Host" has been re-
ceived. Published by Jas. W. Fortune, New York.

The Whig of '76, says :-—

"We have received Godey's Lady's Book. It is a
desirable work as being the nearest perfection of anything
in the art of printing. It is the most perfect and beautiful
work of art in America. Every lady should have a copy. ' '

We kindly thank the Whig, and also the Alma Jour-
nal for the following : —

"Godey's is the best Lady's Book published. If you
don't believe it, take it a year — but we confidentially
advise you not to lend a single number, as when bound
together they make a splendid volume — and you will come
to the same conclusion. Any one in comfortable circum-
stances can afford to subscribe for it."

Two Irishmen were travelling along the plank road that
leads from the city of pale bricks to Watertown, and be-
coming weary, one of them proposed to his companion that
they should rest on a large stone that lay at the base of a
mile board. His companion threw as much severity in his
countenance as possible, and answered : ' ' What, will ye
desecrate hallowed ground! The dead lies here. His
age was 37, and his name was Miles T.' Watertown !"

Another "son of Erin," at work on the same plank
road, was eating his dinner, which consisted partly of
boiled eggs, from the invariable tin pail. A passer by,
observing that he ate the shells, as well as the inside,
asked him why he did so. "Now faith, mon," was his
reply, "and isn't the shell as strong as the egg ?"

YotrNO Ladies' Seminary for Boarding and Day
P7PlL!«r*-*MTt. Gertrude J. Cary, Principal, South-east
corner Sixteenth and Spruce Streets, Philadelphia, Pa.
The nineteenth session of this school commenced Septem-
ber 14th, 1863.

The course of study pursued embraces the fundamen-
tal and higher branches of a thorough English education.
Particular attention is given to the acquisition of the
French language, and a resident French Teacher fur-
nishes every facility for making it the medium of daily
intercourse. Mrs. Cary gives personal attention to the
instruction of her pupils, aided by experienced lady
teachers, and the best professional talent in the city. It
is her constant endeavor to secure an equal development
of body, mind, and heart, and the formation of habits of
neatness and industry.

Mrs. S. J. Hale, Rev. H. A. Boardman, D. D., Rev. J.
Jenkins, D. D., Rev. M. A. De Wolfe Howe, D. D., Louis
A. Godey, Esq., Philadelphia ; Rev. J. N. Candee, D. D.,
Galesburg, 111. ; Louis H. Jenkins, Jacksonville, 111. ;
Rev. George Duflleld, Jr., Adrian, Mich.

Circulars sent on application.

We venture our reputation in saying there is, next to a
beautiful copy of the Holy Scriptures, no more appropriate
New Year's gift from a father to a son, from a brother to a
sister, if he has one, or somebody's else if he has not,
than Godey's Lady's Book. — Cornet, Owen Sound.

The Double Fashion-plate.— Let it be remembered that
Godey originated the double fashion-plate, as he has
originated everything that is valuable in magazine em-
bellishment.

25*

OUR MUSICAL COLUMN.

Holloioay , s Musical Monthly. — The March number of
our now well-established periodical is ready for delivery,
containing one dollar's worth of sheet music, with four
beautifully engraved title-pages, the whole put up in
colored covers, and furnished to subscribers for the small
sum of 25 cents. In this number is given another of the
gems of Gounod's remarkable opera of Fau$t, which has
created so marked a sensation in Paris, London, and
Philadelphia. This is the Soldiers' Chorus, a beautiful
composition made doubly brilliant and effective by the
master at whose hands the transcription was made,
Brinley Richards. It will be remembered that we have
already given three of Brinley Richards' new pieces in
our new volume. In the March number we also publish
an exquisite new ballad by Blumenthal, and a new and
attractive Polka Schottische ; the whole of which are
furnished in our beautiful periodical at a less price than a
single piece would cost purchased separately.

The terms of the Monthly are $3 00 per annum, or four
copies for $10 00. We have also determined, for the
present, to sell four months'' numbers for $1 00, free of
postage, in order that all our friends may see how cheap
and beautiful a periodical we are publishing. It will be
remembered that Holloway's Musical Monthly contains
features that no other musical periodical has ever attempt-
ed. All others are printed from type, while this is printed
from engraved plates, as sheet music is printed. It is also
published on extra heavy sheet music paper, and not on
ordinary news-paper, while its beautiful and numerous
costly engraved title-pages form a feature prominent and
distinctive, and above all rivalry. Let all our friends
inclose $3 00 for a year's subscription, or $1 00 for four
month's numbers, and address J. Starr Holloway, Pub-
lisher Musical Monthly, Box Post Office, Philadelphia.
In no other way can the monthly be procured, as we have
no agents, neither can it be obtained at any music store.

New Sheet Music— The following new and beautiful
pieces are published by O. Ditson & Co. , Boston. Shadow
Song Polka Redowa, from Meyerbeer's brilliant opera of
Dinorah, 25 cents. Maj. Gen. U. S. Grant's Grand March,
by Gung'l, with handsome lithographic title, 35. Hurrah
Galop, in honor of Gen'l Grant's victories, 50. Gems
from Petrella's charming opera of lone, varied by Baum-
bach, 50. Beautiful variations of the popular air, Who
will Care for Mother now, 50 ; this is one of Baumbach's
most effective arrangements.

Also the following songs and ballads, each 25 cents.
The King of Thule\ from Gounod's grand opera of Faust.
Canti chi vuole, Sing ye who will, the celebrated tenor
aria in Petrella's charming opera of lone. Good Morrow,
Love, Good Morrow, by Blumenthal. Thy Mother will
Rock Thee to Sleep, a sweet and simple melody. Tarry
not Long, beautiful song by F. Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
Wert thou in the Chilly Blast, with German and English
words. Courtship, comic duet, by Glover. Cousin Jede-
diah, comic song and chorus by the popular author of Annie
Lisle. I 'm lonely since my Mother died, by same author.

S. T. Gordon, New York, publishes two beautiful trans-
lations from the German, Remembrance, and What
Will'st Thou, Heart, each 30 cents. Tell Mother I Die
Happy, touching song and chorus, 20. Come, Gracious
Spirit, adapted from the favorite melody, The Maiden's
Prayer, 30. Rally Round the Flag, Boys, a patriotic song
and chorus, 25. Also Un RGve (A dream), a brilliant and
effective melody for advanced players, by Ravina, 50.

All orders filled if addressed as above to

J. Starr Holloway.

310

godey's lady's book and magazine.

PARIS CORRESPONDENCE.

The Duke de Mouchy 's grand /e£e at his superb domain
of Mouchy Noailles, came off on Saturday with all the
eclat and magnificence which was to he expected from his
exquisite taste and large fortune. Two special trains
were organized, one of which brought forty guests to
dinner at five o'clock, and the other arrived at seven with
the rest of the company. At the Heilles-Mouchy Station,
the visitors found the Duke's carriages and four, and
postilions in powdered wigs waiting to take them to the
chateau.

At half-past nine private theatricals commenced. The
theatre was improvised in a temporary building adjoining
the orange conservatory, at a little distance from the
house. All the ladies were conveyed thither in bath
chairs, called vinaigrettes. The gardens were brilliantly
illuminated. The performances were VHistoire cVun Sou
and an occasional piece called Les cascades de Mouchy,
written by the Marquis de Massa. All the performers
were Princes, Dukes, Marquises or Counts.

The " Fairy of the Cascades" was represented with
great success by the Countess de Pourtales ; the Marquis
de Galidet played a vivandiere, and sang several couplets
with the Duke de Mouchy.

After the play, the ladies being taken back to the house
in their rolling chairs, there waited first supper. This
over, dancing began, and at two o'clock there was an
animated cotillon. The first return train took away a
great many ladies at three o'clock, but enough of the party
remained to keep up dancing all night. There was a
second supper at four o'clock, and it was not until half-
past seven A. M. that the lights were put out, and the last
train left for Paris.

The fete was worthy of the most brilliant days of
Louis XV., and will never be forgotten. Bouquets were
presented to all the ladies, and also fans of white silk, on
which were written in red letters the names of the noble
performers in the theatrical entertainment. The follow-
ing is a list of some of the company, besides those above
named : The Prince and Princess de Metternich, the Prin-
cess de Sagan, the Count de Saint Roman, M. and Madame
de Ganay, M. and Madame de Courval, M. and Madame
Alphonse de Rothschild, M. and Madame Gustave de
Rothschild, Madame de Cazes and her sister, M. and
Madame Contas Desfontaines, Madame de Belleyme, M.
Fould, the Prefect or the Oise, Baron Finot, MM. de Saint
Pries, de Merlemont, Reiset, Lupin, de L'Aigle, Auguste
de Belleyme, de Balleroy, Talleyrand de Perigord, Ponia-
towski, de Miramon, Hottingeur, de Belbeuf, de Montreuil,
etc.

The Empress gave a grand fite at St. Cloud, on the
evening of the 14th, for which no less than one thousand
invitations were, it is said, issued. The charming gardens
and grounds of the chateau, as well as its magnificent
orangery, were lighted up with myriads of lights and
Chinese lanterns, and the newly-constructed yacht, com-
manded to be built for her Majesty, which had arrived at
St. Cloud only a few days previously, played an impor-
tant part in the programme of the evening's amusements,
and was brilliantly lighted and hung with gay flags to
the mast-head. It was remarked that on the occasion of
her flying visit to Vichy, the Empress used on her walk-
ing expeditions a very handsome gold-headed cane, which
a lady about her Majesty's person had previously told me
was her constant habit at Biarritz. But there the Empress
Eugenie is supposed to live completely without ceremo-
nial of any kind, and eonfines her suite to a very small
xiumber of chosen and intimate friends. Now thai, this

gold-headed cane has made its appearance in so public a
place as Vichy, we shall, no doubt, have canes and
walking sticks added to the number of feminine superflui-
ties already introduced by this charming, but most ex-
travagant of rulers. In excuse for this eccentric whim, it
is recalled that in the days of Louis XV., the same fashion
prevailed, and that walking canes grew to be of the
richest and most expensive description.

A correspondent of a provincial journal gives the fol-
lowing account of Marie Antoinette's shoe, now preserved
in the Museum of Sovereigns at the Louvre. On the 16th
October, 1793, when Sanson descended from the scaffold
after executing the unfortunate Queen, he saw one of the
soldiers on duty endeavoring to arrest two boys who had
concealed themselves under the guillotine during the
execution. One of them had dipped a handkerchief in the
royal blood, and the other held a shoe which had fallen
from the platform. The boy with the handkerchief was
taken, and was only saved from the guillotine by his
tender age. The other boy got off with the shoe, which
he and his son kept as a relic till 1S60, when the latter
carried it in a velvet bag to Count Horace de Viel-Castle,
conservator of the Museum of Sovereigns, by whom, of
course, it was gladly accepted. The shoe is small, con-
sidering that she was a tall woman.

That which strikes terror into the heart of every parent
in Paris, is the daily increasing cost of life. All popular
tastes are expensive ; the bare necessities of existence are
double the price they were ten years ago, and the univer-
sal race is after gold— aye, at almost any cost. A lady
wears a mechanic's income on her back. Some of our
good old-fashioned country housewives would start with
horror could they see the milliners' bills of clerks' wives.
The fifth story — any where so that the roof does not slant —
will do for the home, so that the bonnet and the flotmces
are of the newest. The fever is catching the very poor, to
add to their straits. The snow-white cap of other days is
being put aside for the cheap bonnet. The trim, clean,
economical blouse is cast away as the mark of labor (as
though there were not honor in labor) for the square-cut
suit of shoddy cloth. The reckless expenditure on dress
is a pestilence that sinks deep. It is reaching the very
poorest of the Paris poor, to the destruction of the comfort
that was in their old, picturesque, and rational attire.
The Parisians have always ridiculed the appearance of
the working and very poor population of London in
castors and bonnets, hideous caricatures of the goods of
Lincoln and Bennet, and the late Miss Jane Clarke ; but
Paris is not now free from extravagant imitations among
the working population of the art-manufactures of Madame
Laure and M. Dusantoy. The Docks de la Toilette, the
Pauvre Diable, and the Belle Jardiniere, find their
customers not only among the shabby-genteel, but also
among classes who never sported broadcloth until the
sweating system and shoddy made their appearance in
Paris. French writers squib the worshippers of the
golden calf, and laugh at the poor folks who don cheap
imitations of the worshippers' splendid vestments ; but
the fever of extravagance never abates, and the genteel
poor groan under the sacrifices they are compelled to
make.

Several books have lately been received at our post-
office addressed to Mrs. Hale ; some with $1 09 and others
$1 25 and $1 36 postage on them. They have not been
taken from the post-office. Some were done up inclosed
at both ends, and others with letters inclosed, which sub-
jects them to letter postage.

godey's arm-chair.

311

Noted Characters. From an Old Letter : —

" I saw a good many celebrities — chiefly political, and
a few literary, also some foreigners of more or less dis-
tinction. There was there, with her mother, a Madrid

beauty, Mdlle. de M o. [The present empress of

France, then Mdlle. Montisso.] She is fair, with golden
hair and dark eyes, and, though not (to my taste) beauti-
ful, has an air of distinction, coupled with a degree of
melancholy, in her expression, that irresistibly attracts
your attention. There is something about her manner,
too, that is very peculiar and very difficult to describe — a
.sort of little, quiet, half-indifferent, half-pensive air, as if
she knew she were charming, but cared little about the
matter, still less about making those around her think so.
This struck me particularly, because it was so strongly
opposed to the manners of the Frenchwomen around her.
She has a charming bust and hands."

And here is Madame Dudevant:-

"We dined to-day at Madame E. de G-

-n's, and

met more wonderful people. First, there was Madame
G. Sand. Cover her eyes, and nowhere and nohow else
shall you find in her, in one interview, at all events, any
evidence of the genius — more especially the order of
genius — that distinguishes her. She is short and stout,
with a large face, the lower part of which is very coarse,
and it is but the eyes that are handsome and expressive.
I noted her hands, which are remarkably small, and,
oddly enough, are only wanting in flesh to make them
handsome. She speaks little, and what she says is much
more characteristic of plain, strong common sense than
of fancy or brilliancy ; while her manners are perfectly
quiet and free from affectation — indeed, from any pecu-
liarity."

For another specimen, here is Dumas: —

"Alexander Dumas was there; very amusing, but I
should say capable of being extremely overpowering. He
talks incessantly, very loud, and with frantic gesticula-
tions; he knows and loves (!) everybody, and (!) seems
utterly deficient in the tact that should teach him whom
he may or may not be familiar and demonstrative with,
or what subjects are permitted or inadmissible in general
conversation. He is exactly like a huge, boisterous, good-
humored Newfoundland puppy let into a drawing-room
to display his intelligence and accomplishments ; these,
no doubt, are remarkable and highly amusing ; but the
result is, you feel that the witnessing the expenditure of
this amount of animal life and superfluous energy pro-
duces a sensation of fatigue nearly as great as if you had
been going through the exhibition yourself."

Directions for Writing Letters. — If you write on
business, and about anything for the book, write on sepa-
rate sheets, so that they maybe separated, and each portion
handed to the persons to whose departments the subjects
may belong. Frequently poetry is sent us in letters
ordering Lady's Book, commenced on the back of the busi-
ness page. We have not time to copy it, and therefore it
is filed away with business letters, and no notice taken
of it. So photographs and Lady's Books are often mixed
up. Write on each subject on separate sheets. Two
sheets of paper will only cost three cents postage.

Cl«b Rates with other Magazines.— Godey's Lady's
Book and Harper's Magazine, one year, $4 50. Godey's
Lady's Book and Arthur's Magazine, one year, $3 50.
Godey's Lady's Book, Harper's Magazine, and Arthur's
Magazine, one year, $6. No cheaper club than this
can be offered. Godey's Lady's Book and Holloway's
Musical Monthly, one year, $5. For Canada terms, see
cover.

At a village a short distance from Dover, the child of a
poor woman was lying at the point of death, when a
gentle tap was heard at the door. The visitor turned out to
be the sexton's wife, who asked whether it was likely the
child would be long dying, as her husband wanted to go
out, but would delay his departure if it was thought death
would shortly take place !

Identity Ascertained. — The identity of the dead soldier
who was found on the bloody field of Gettysburg, with the
picture of his three pretty little children tightly clasped in
his hands, has been ascertained within a day or two. The
wide publicity given to the touching circumstances through
the medium of the press produced the desired result. The
name of the deceased was Hummiston, and his widow
and three children reside atPortville, Cattaraugus County,
New York. Large numbers of photographic copies of the
picture upon which the dying eyes of the warrior-father
closed have been sold, and the profits realized from their
sale will be appropriated to the benefit of the children.
It is hoped that a sufficient sum may be realized in this
way, and by future sales, to aid materially in the educa-
tion of the little ones who were made orphans at Gettys-
burg.

New York.
Dear Mr. Godet : For some time past I have thought
I would write and tell you something about our exhibi-
tion. (Now if you are busy don't mind reading this just
now, for I don't come either to beg, borrow, or ask you to
publish for me, so my letter can wait.) You must know
that a few weeks ago, I went to visit a friend of mine in a
pleasant country place, and there she and I "got up" this
"exhibition ;" we called it so, because we did not know
any other inoffensive name for it ; to have called it a
theatre, would have horrified the people in these parts.
It was for the benefit of the Ladies' Soldiers' Aid Society ;
and was a great success. We cleared nearly $25 00, and
should have had a great deal more, but our house was
very small, and our admision fee only twenty cents, and
children half price. Everybody that ' could get in was
dolighted, and the house was literally jammed. Now,
what I want to say is, that for this success, I want to
thank you and Miss Marian Douglas, her for writing, and
you for publishing, "The Comedy of an Evening" in the
July, and "The Village with one Gentleman" in the
September number of your magazine ; they are both ex-
cellent pieces, and with four tableaux, a charade I wrote
for the occasion, and some singing, comprised the whole
entertainment. It was funny that " The Village with one
Gentleman" described pretty nearly the condition of this
one. Oh ! such a time as we had to get gentlemen enough
for the two plays — excuse me, I mean pieces. As it was,
one gentleman had to take both "Mr. Leroy," and "Dr.
Henningway ;" we had only two more, and one of them
was married ; we had plenty of girls, and they all acted
exceedingly well. There is one part of that " Comedy of
an Evening" which must be seen to be appreciated ; the
audience laughed at it till they almost shook the house.
I refer to the scene where the ladies all go to sleep. If I
knew Miss Douglas' address, I would write and thank her,
as I now do you, for the way in which you have indi-
rectly helped the soldiers. If you have an opportunity,
won't you please to tell her that we all wish she would
write something more. Yours truly, M. M. McB.

Crinolines Abroad. — An African negress having been
presented with a crinoline, caused no little amusement to
the English, etc., at Acra, by wearing it the wrong way
up, i. e., with the waistband round the ankles and what
should have been the bottom hoop suspended from the
neck by cords. In this guise she strutted about as proud
as a peacock.

Missing Numbers. — If any subscriber fails to receive
a copy of Harper or Arthur, they must write to the pub-
lisher of the magazine not received — Harper in New York,
Arthur in Philadelphia. We pay the money over as soon
as received, to the publisher of the magazine ordered, and
the numbers are sent from their respective offices.

Mrs. Hale is fully supplied with " Sketches of American
Life" and "Traits of American Character."

Agencies. — We have no agents, and no persons solicit
ing subscribers for us. Let this be remembered.

312

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Women and Street Cabs. — A Cincinnati paper published
an item the other day to the effect that the editor heard a
lady on a street car thank a gentleman who gave np his
seat to her. A correspondent appears to doubt the state-
ment. He says: "I have no desire to question your
veracity, Mr. Editor, but did not your ears deceive you?
The story you tell is incredible. I have rode on street
cars daily — several times a day— ever since they were
established in this city, yet never have I witnessed such
an occurrence as you relate. I have been in crowded
cars when men have left their seats to stand on the plat-
form in the rain, that women might be comfortably seated,
and never did I hear the faintest syllable of thanks fall
from their lips. They drop into the proffered seat as
though it was a reserved throne for which they had no
one to thank, sometimes scowling at the man sitting beside
them because he don't stand up and afford them still
greater space in which to spread themselves. No, no, Mr.
Editor, you were joking, or else your ears have played
you an antic trick."

To Poets. — Having so much poetry at present on hand,
we must be allowed this year to use some of it ; therefore,
during 1864, we cannot send the Lady's Book in payment
for poetical contributions.

Postage on the Lady's Book, according to the late law
passed last winter.

Section 36. — Postage on Godey's Lady's Book, 24 cents
a year, payable yearly, semi-yearly, or quarterly in ad-
vance, at the Post-office where the Book is received.

News dealers may receive their packages at the same
rates, that is, 2 cents for each copy of the magazine, and
may pay separately for each package as received.

Unbonneting the Ladies. — At the Urania Theatre,
Berlin, all ladies are required to take off their bonnets,
before entering the theatre to take their places. This
provision has been found necessary, since, owing to the
present fashion prevailing in that article of female attire,
it is almost impossible for persons sitting behind a lady
with her bonnet on, to see what is going forward on the
stage. At a theatre in Paris, the same end has been
attained by placing printed bills about the theatre, con-
taining the following announcement: "All young and
handsome ladies are politely requested to take off their
bonnets. All others may keep them on." We wish our
American theatres would adopt this plan.

We would like our correspondents, ladies particularly,
if they have any godd jokes, to send them to us — about
servants, or anything else. There are many, and each
one of our subscribers can contribute one. So let us have
them. Wa would like a joke department; no old Joe
Miller's. We have an original copy of that venerable
joker, but don't use him.

"Putting your Foot in it." — This term, it seems, is of
legitimate origin. According to the " Asiatic Researches,"
a very curious mode of trying the title to land is practised
in Hindostan. Two holes are dug in the disputed spot, in
each of which the lawyers on either side put one of their
legs, and there remain until one of them is tired, or com-
plains of being stung by insects — in which case his client
is defeated. In this country it is generally the client, and
not the lawyer, who " puts his foot in it."

Photograph of Mrs. Alice B. Haven. — We have added
to our extensive collection a photograph of this much
lamented lady.

Borrowers.

Dear Sir: I send you a club of subscribers. The
Book is so popular that I shall now attempt to get up a
club among my borrowing neighbors. If you can suggest
some method of converting borrowers into subscribers, I
should be greatly obliged to you. A. D., Ohio.

We cannot ; they are hardened.

I again have the pleasure of sending you a club for your
Book. We cannot do without it. If any one is afraid
that the winter evenings will be dull, let them send for
Godey's Lady Book. Miss R., Indiana.

For the last year your Lady's Book has been a welcome
visitor. I have been taking various other magazines, but
find yours far superior to all others, and I send you a
club of ten subscribers. Mrs. C, Iowa.

We prefer Godey to all others, for its high moral tone
and literary superiority. The fashions also are infinitely
superior to all others. The receipts are invaluable. My
wife took one receipt from your book for making a
certain kind of cake, which she says will pay in real
service for a whole year's subscription. Without multiply-
ing words, we are determined to have the Lady's Book,
and I therefore inclose $15 for my club. G. E. M., Ohio.

Mr. A employed a number of hands, in a cabinet-
shop, all of whom were fond of bivalves. Consequently,
there was great exertion to get the oysters on to some one

of the number. On one occasion, Mr. A entered the

shop with a particularly long face, which, as intended,
soon attracted the attention of the employees, when one
after another inquired the cause of his troubled looks.
After a sufficient time had elapsed for them to acquire a

thoughtful mood, Mr. A began questioning his

foreman, Mr. R (who, by the way, was a great

joker), had he ever known, or heard, of a person's heart
taming to stone ? Mr. R , of course, was very much
surprised. Had never heard of such a thing. Could such
a thing be? etc. etc. "Yes," said Mr. A , "I sup-
pose it must be so. We have just had this intelligence of

Mrs. a 's sister." This elicited many inquiries,

and much sympathy from Mr. R. , who communi-
cated the fact to the men in the room, and went again to

Mr. A to learn other particulars. At length, when the

curiosity of all hands was at the highest pitch, Mr. A

quietly informed them that Mrs. A 's sister had

married a gentleman by the name of Stone. Mr. R—
furnished oysters.

Godets Fashions are the only correct ones given in the
United States. Others give colored figures, not caring
whether they are the fashions or not. We appeal to
every lady acquainted with the fashions, milliners and
others, whether we are not correct in our assertion ?

The following singular announcement appeared fca the

New York Herald :■—

" Six bridesmaids and groomsmen wanted, by a couple
about to be married, who have but a few friends in this
city, and wish to be handsomely united. To respectable
parties a fair compensation will be given. Address, ' ' etc.

How to Color the Photograph.— Messrs. J. E. Til-
ton & Co., Boston, have just published a little manual
on the art of painting the photograph, which is for sale
at the bookstores, or will be sent by them, post-paid,
for 10 cents.

In 1861 there were in the workhouses in England, a
half-pay ofiicer, a clergyman, 10 solicitors, 15 surgeons,
an author, 38 schoolmasters, and 79 schoolmistresses.

GODEY S ARM-CHAIR.

313

JUVENILE DEPARTMENT.

We print something new for our young friends, always
Laving a special eye to their amusement, as we have to
the improvement of their elders.

FLOWERS FROM FRUIT.

Required — Oranges, Almonds, hunches of Raisins,
pieces of Whale-hone (or cane).

Directions. — A Flower. Steep almonds in water for a
short time. Cut the skin carefully all round, except at

the thinnest ends. Spread the skin out gently on each
side of the Almonds, and suspend them from raisin stalks.

Another Flower. Take a few raisins on a long branchy
stalk, and here and there fasten small pieces of orange-
peel. The effect will be very pleasing.

Tumps. — From the stalk-ends of orangas loosen the peel
in. wide leaf-shaped slips, nearly to the bottom, but do
not take them off. Open the orange at the top, as though
you intended to quarter it; but open it only about half
way down. Stick the lower part on a piece of whalebone
(or cane), which you can almost cover with leaves made
of slips of orange-peel.

Sunflower. — Proceed as for the tulip, making the
leaves fewer, and, of course, much wider ; open them
widely. Do not separate the parts of the orange. Secure
it (as you did the tulip), to a piece of whalebone or cane.

Victoria Regia. — Required — An Orange.

Directions. — Cut off the top part of the orange-peel,
about as large a piece as would cover a penny. Pass the
blade of the fruit-knife between the peel and the fruit, so
that you can turn down the peel. Open the orange from
the top, in the same way as for the tulip, but much wider
apart. Between the parts you can put slips of orange-
peel for leaves.

A Bouquet. — Having made as many different flowers as
you can, place them together in a small j ug or vase. You
can fill it in with your cuttings, which will also serve to
keep the flowers where you wish them to be.

A ltttle girl who had not behaved properly at church,
criticized, on her return, the dress of a lady who was there,
saying that it had a tuck very near the hem, when her
mother said reprovingly: "I should think you would
have been s« much ashamed of your bad conduct, that
you could not have raised your eyes from the floor." " So
I was, ma," was the ready answer, "and having my
eyes cast down caused me to observe the bottom of Mrs.
R.'s dress."

MOTHER GOOSE TABLEAUX.

{Continued from February number.)

tableau xxi.

" If I'd as much money as I could spend,
I never would cry old chairs to mend,
Old chairs to meud, old chairs to mend,
I never would cry old chairs to mend.

" If I'd as much money as I could tell,
I never would cry old rags to sell,
Old rags to sell, old rags to sell,
I never would cry old rags to sell."

Let the curtain rise on a stage perfectly
empty. From, one side, behind the scenes,
comes the cry, "Old chairs to mend! Old
chairs to mend!" From the other side the
cry is, " Old rags to soil ! Old rags to sell !"

The merchants must wear old ragged
dresses, overcoats, and gloves without fingers,
" shocking bad hats," and gaping boots. One
carries on his head a pile of chairs, the other
shoulders an immense rag bag. After the cry
off the stage (repeated alternately), the per-
formers come on the stage from opposite
sides, each crying their wares. Meeting in
the centre of the" foreground they stop, eye
each other, and bow. Then the rag man sings
sarcastically the first verse of the song, with
a strong accent on the personal pronoun.
After he finishes the chair man walks deliber-
ately round him, and then in a contemptuous
manner, also emphasizing the I, sings the
second verse. At its conclusion, with every
gesture of contempt, the merchants turn their
backs upon each other, and go out at the side
opposite to the one at which they entered,
each, in a loud, defiant tone, crying their
"Old chairs to mend!" and "Old rags to
sell!"

TABLEAU XXII, XXIII.

"Simple Simon met a pieman

Going to the fair ;
Said simple Simon to the pieman,

Let me taste your ware.
Said the pieman to simple Simon,

Show me first your penny.
Said simple Simon to the pieman,

Indeed I have not any."

In the centre of stage stands the pieman, with a white
apron and baker's cap on. Upon his arm is a large square
basket covered with a white cloth. In one hand he holds
out a small pie, while the other is extended open for a
ponny. The boy, who takes the part of Simon, must be
capable of putting on a perfectly vacant stare. He is
standing left of pieman, facing audience, staring eagerly
at the pie, his pockets turned inside out, and his hands
feeling them for the missing penny.

** Simple Simon went a fishing
For to catch a whale ;

All the water he could get
Was in his mother's pail."

In the centre of foreground stands the pail of water.
In the centre of foreground, exactly facing the pail, simple
Simon is seated upon a chair placed upon a table. He
has a long fishing pole, the line from which falls into the
pail, and his eyes are fixed with eagerness upon the hook.
The best dress for simple Simon is a pair of summer
pants, too short and too tight (a fat boy is best for the
part), a long gingham apron with sleeves, a hat without
a brim, low shoes and colored cotton stockings. All his
clothes should appear to be outgrown.

TABLEAU XXIV.

"Pat a cake, pat a cake, baker's man,
So I will, master, as fast as I can,
Pat it, and prick it, and mark it with B,
And toss it in the oven for baby and me."

In the centre of the stage have a table, upon which is
the kneading trough. Behind the table facing audience is
the "baker's man," with his white apron and cap, pat-
ting a piece of dough. In the foreground stands the
master, with the baby on his arm. Crying babies are
best for tableaux, as, if broken, they are not quite so im-
portant as "mamma's darling."

314

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Mother Goose is such an inexhaustible old woman,
that these tableaux for little folks might be varied for
several nights and still have some left for a new perform-
ance. Mother Hubbard's dog (by an amateur), might be
made to perform all his famous feats, and the more absurd
the dog, the greater the fun. Lord Bateman's adventures
too would furnish tableaux for a whole evening. Little
Bo-peep, Tommy Tucker, the pretty maid whose face was
her fortune, and hosts of other famous characters in the
nursery history, might be made to perform for the evening.
And so, trusting that in her series of tableaux, the au-
thoress will suggest pleasant evenings for her young
readers, she takes farewell of them.

The Use of Eyes. — 'An Italian bishop struggled against
the greatest difficulties without manifesting the slightest
impatience, without uttering the smallest complaint.
" What is your secret for being so tranquil in the midst
of so many contrarieties ?" one of his most intimate friends
asked him. "My secret is very simple," replied the old
man ; " I know how to make a good use of my eyes ; that
is all." "How so? "said the friend; " explain yourself. "
"Very willingly," answered the bishop. "First of all I
raise my eyes: I look at heaven, and I remember that
there is the dwelling to which I must aspire with all my
strength. I direct my eyes afterwards to the earth, and I
think of the small place which I shall there one day occupy.
Then I look at the world, and I perceive there an infinite
number of persons much more unhappy than I, It is then
that I comprehend the true end of life— in what true
felicity consists, and how wrong I should be to complain
and murmur."

Messrs. J. E. Tilton <fc Co., Boston, have for sale all
materials for the different styles of Painting and Draw-
ing taught in their book, Art Recreations. They will
send a price list, if requested, and answer necessary
questions, and will furnish, postpaid, the book for $2 00.
It teaches Pencil and Crayon Drawing, Oil Painting of
every kind, Wax-work, Leather-work, Water Color
Painting, and hundreds of fancy kinds of drawing,
painting, etc. etc.

The following is from an English paper, no one in this
eountry has yet heard of it: —

" Have you heard, too, of the new American invention
— musical telegraphy ? By means of it dulcet strains are
to be laid on, like water or gas, at so much per annum
for each house ! A pianoforte is to be connected by means
of electric wires with any number of instruments, and on
being played, the sympathetic vibration will cause a
regular stream of harmony to permeate every room in
communication with the central depot. A distinguished
professor is to be kept playing, and subscribers are to turn
on music at will by means of a small tap. If this sounds
a little mad, I can only assure you that it is a scheme
gravely propounded by Mr. Hackenberg, an American
gentleman, who states his plans to be matured, and that
he is ready to supply music at a given rate per annum to
all the world. Fancy the * sympathetic vibration' between
two kindred souls separated by an adverse fate, but who
agree to enjoy the same sentimental strain at the same
hour ! It sounds like a leaf out of the ' Arabian Nights ;'
but I am assured on scientific authority that the scheme
is practicable, and that, with a proper number of sub-
scribers guaranteed, it is perfectly feasible that the very
best musical skill may be brought within the reach of all
householders willing to pay a small additional rate. Does
not Goldsmith's Citizen of the World ask at a ball why
the ladies and gentleman go through all that hard work
themselves, instead of paying servants to do it for them ?
The labor of ' practising' at the piano will, if this scheme
succeed, be at an end ; for what young lady would have
the heart to pound away at her 'Battle of Prague' when
a professional player is competing with her in the same
room, and when the superior strains of such player are
to be constantly heard by the simple process of turning
on a tap ? Let* me suggest Shakspeare's line,

'Where should this music be? i' the air, or the earth ?'
as an appropriate motto for Mr. Hackenberg's invention."

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

No order attended to unless the cash accompanies it.

All persons requiring answers by mail must send a
post-office stamp ; and for all articles that are to be sent
by mail, stamps must be sent to pay return postage.

Be particular, when writing, to mention the town,
county, and State you reside in. Nothing can be made
out of post-marks.

Mrs. L. A. G. — Sent box by express December 21st,

E. s.— Sent hair and fancy combs by express 21st,

Mrs. J. L. M.— Sent articles by express 23d.

Mrs. S. G.— Sent articles 22d.

Mrs. M. B.— Sent cigar-case 22d.

M. S. — Sent cloak pattern 22d.

j. \y. A.— Sent hair watch chain 22d.

Mrs. W. P. T. — Sent articles by express 22d.

Mrs. E. P. H.—Sent ring 23d.

Miss L. M. — Sent crimson wool by express 24th.

M. A. W.— Sent hair chain by mail 24th.

Mrs. G. H.—Sent pattern 24th.

Mrs. M. H. C— Sent embroidery thread 24th.

W. N. D.— Sent box of embroidery 30th.

Mrs. W. W. W.— Sent dress elevator 31st.

Mrs. J. S. G.— Sent hair chain 31st.

S. E. K. — Sent box of articles by express 31st.

Mrs. T. P. T.— Sent box of articles by express 31st=

Mrs. S. 0. A. — Sent hair rings January 2d.

Mrs. S. K. S. — Sent cloak pattern 2d.

Mrs. E. B. J.— Sent two hair rings 5th.

Mrs. L. R. — Sent hair ring 5th.

Mrs. M. M. McC— Sent box 7th.

Mrs. L. R. — Sent slippers 7th.

Mrs. W. H. W. — Sent pattern by express 9th.

S. C. B. — Sent one pair sleeve buttons 12th.

Mrs. A. L.— Sent hair ring 12th.

Mrs. S. E. B.— Sent hood pattern 14th.

Mrs. J. McC— Sent seal and hair-work 14th.

Mrs. R. A. McK. — Sent hair crimpers by express 14th.

Mrs. E. Y. K. — Sent patterns by express 14th.

Mrs. F. M. — Sent pattern 14th.

E. L. D. — It is not proper to call a gentleman by his
Christian name on so short an acquaintance.

S. P. R. — The gentleman responds.

Miss D. S. — We are not a physician. Ask your medical
adviser. Let this answer do for all who ask us medical
questions.

Miss S. H.— If you have been introduced, and you want
the acquaintance of the gentlemen after, bow to him first.
He has no right to claim the acquaintance, it rests with
you. A bow or smile, anything to indicate that you have
not forgotten him.

Miss H. S. A.—" Echoes" will not answer.

W. j. p._" Reveries of a Bachelor," $1 25. "My Farm
at Edgewood," $1 50. T. B. Peterson & Bro. can furnish
them. We don't send books by mail.

Miss E. H. P.— The engaged ring should be worn on the
fourth finger of the right hand (counting the thumb as a
finger) ; the wedding ring is worn on the fourth finger of
the left hand. Whether people introduced to each other
should shake hands, depends entirely on circumstances.

j. y. — in a dinner d, la Russe, the dishes are not cut up
on table, but on a sideboard, by the servants, and are
handed round to the guests. Each guest should be pro-
vided with a bill of fare, and the table laid out with
flowers.

P. V. W. — We cannot answer all club letters received ;
500 a day is beyond our capacity. Send a stamp, if you
want an answer.

FASHIONS.

315

£\u\h\xs.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Having had frequent applications for the purchase of
jewelry, millinery, etc, by ladies living at a distance, the
Editress of the Fashion Department will hereafter execute
commissions for any who may desire it, with the charge of
a small percentage for the time and research required.
Spring and autumn bonnets, materials for dresses, jewelry,
envelops, hair-work, worsteds, children's wardrobes, man-
tillas, and mantelets, will be chosen with a view to econo-
my, as well as taste ; and boxes or packages forwarded
by express to any part of the country. For the last,
distinct directions must be given.

Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed expen-
diture, to be addressed to tfie care of L. A. Godey, Esq.

No order will be attended to unless the money is frst
received. Neither Vie Editor nor Publisher unll be account-
able for losses that may occur in remitting.

The Publisher of the Lady's Book has no interest in
this department, and knows nothing of the transactions ;
and whether the person sending the order is or is not a
subscriber to the Lady's Book, the Fashion editor does
not know.

Instructions to be as minute as is possible, accompanied
by a note of the height, complexion, and general style of
the person, on which much depends in choice. Dress
goods from Evans & Co.'s ; mourning goods from Besson
& Son ; dry goods of any kind from Messrs. A. T. Stewart
& Co., New York; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, from
Brodie's, 51 Canal Street, New York ; bonuets from the
most celebrated establishments ; jewelry from Wriggens
& Warden, or Caldwell's, Philadelphia.

When goods are ordered, the fashions that prevail here
govern the purchase; therefore, no articles will be taken
back. When the goods are sent, the transaction must be
considered final.

DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR
MARCH.

Fig. 1.— Gray figured silk poplin, trimmed with a box-
plaited ruffle on the edge of the skirt, and black braid
arranged in a pyramidal form on the front and sides of
the skirt. The sleeves are trimmed with braid to match.
The small camail is finished with a row of heavy chenille
fringe. The bonnet is of apple-green silk, trimmed with
green feathers, and the cape is of white cr'pe covered with
black lace.

Fig. 2. — Dress of rich Napoleon purple silk, richly
trimmed with black velvet edged with guipure lace. The
corsage is made with a very deep square jockey, trimmed
with chenille, velvet, and lace. Fancy cap, trimmed
with scarlet roses and long white streamers edged with
black lace.

Fig. 3.— Dress of a golden oak silk, with long jockey
at the back. The dress is fancifully trimmed with che-
nille tassels and black silk braid. White silk bonnet,
trimmed with scarlet velvet. The inside trimming is of
fancy straw and scarlet velvet.

Fig. 4.— Sea-green silk dress, trimmed with graduated
bands of black velvet, finished with buttons on the edge
of the skirt. Long circle of heavy black silk, richly em-
broidered with chenille and black beads. White cr'pe
bonnet, crossed with crystal beads, and trimmed with
leaves and scarlet berries.

Fig. 5. — Blue alpaca dress, trimmed with black velvet
armuged in linked diamonds on the skirt. Paletot of
light smoke gray cloth, slashed at the sides, and laced
with black cords and tassels. Fancy pockets, cuffs, and
collar, trimmed with a narrow black velvet. White
drawn silk bonnet, trimmed with blue ribbon.

Fig 6. — Child's dress of a cherry silk. Sack of a bright
cuir-colored cloth, edged with rows of narrow velvet.
White straw hat, trimmed with scarlet velvet and fancy
grasses.

CHILDREN'S FASHIONS.
(See engraving, page 232.)

Fig. 1. — Dress of pearl-colored poplin, trimmed with
bands of sea-green silk. Fancy jacket, faced and turned
back with green silk. Vest of green silk. White straw
hat, with a black velvet ribbon tied at the back.

Fig. 2. — Blue silk dress, and paletot of black silk edged
with a narrow fluting of velvet.

Fig. 3. — White piquk dress,, richly braided with Magen-
ta. White Leghorn hat, trimmed with Magenta feathers.

Fig. 4. — White pique" dress, braided with a bright blue
braid.

Fig. 5. — White alpaca dress, trimmed with bands of
bias blue silk. Straw hat, trimmed with field flowers and
black velvet.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA
FASHIONS FOR MARCH.
Cold blustering March brings with it few novelties.
The general character of the month forbids our casting
aside winter habiliments.

Yet in her reign of blast and storm
Smiles many a long, bright sunny day.
When the changed winds are soft and -warm,
And heaven puts on the blue of May.

And therefore some change must be made. It is rather
early to say with certainty what will be accepted or re-
jected in the way of fashions. The first thing to be done,
however, is to lay aside furs. As the neck requires some
little protection, we would suggest to the fair Penelopes
(who, at this present day, are as great adepts with the
crochet as the sewing needle) the bright little Roman
scarfs now so much in vogue for ladies and children.
They are made of split zephyr, about one yard and a
quarter long including the fringe. They should be worked
with rather a fine needle, and can be made in shells on
the single long crochet. Twenty-five stitches is a good
width, and they can be made of any or all colors. But
as some of our readers have never seen these little affairs,
we will give the colors of a very pretty one we have
lately seen. It was made of scarlet, green, purple, and
corn-color, three rows of each, and separated by a row of
black, two of white, and another of black. The fringe
was formed of strands of all the colors in the scarf.

If something richer is required, scarfs and half hand-
kerchiefs of silk, plush and velvet, in the gayest of plaids,
now line the shop windows. Muslin half handkerchiefs
now come for the neck, scalloped round with white or
colors, having an embroidered bunch in the point at the
back. As a protection for a camel's-hair shawl, nothing
can be nicer. For as the hair is still worn very low on
the neck, if the shawl is white, or of a light color, it is
almost impossible not to soil it, unless something is worn
quite high round the throat, and the shawl allowed to
fall slightly.

At Brodie's, in Canal Street, the heavier cloaks are being
laM a3ide, and all the clans from Loch Lomond to John
O'Groat's house are represented in wraps of various
styles, principally of the talma shape, trimmed with very
deep and heavy chenille fringe, variegated to suit the
colors of the plaid. As the Empress of the French and the
Duchess de Morny have adopted the Tartan, our ladies
must certainly follow suit.

The black and white plaids are not yet discarded. They
are trimmed with a woollen chenille fringe, either to
match, or of gay colors. Many are cut with a seam down
the back, and in this case the plaids must match, or the
effect will be shocking. Others are loose in front, but are

316

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

sloped somewhat to the figure at the sides and hack, and
have a small square cape just reaching to the shoulders.
The pockets are cut lengthways.

In opera cloaks there is much variety. Some are made
with three folds carried slanting across the front and back,
and ornamented with heavy cords and tassels. A very
elegant cloak was of white plush bordered with scarlet
chenille fringe, over which was a network of white
beads and bugles forming a lace. The hood was also
edged with this bugle fringe, which had a most charming
effect when it was drawn over the head. Another very
original wrap was of white silk embroidered with white
chenille. The hood was of white cr'pe, covered with rows
of blonde lace, which was exquisitely light and graceful.

We are constantly hearing of new follies, but the pret-
tiest folly of the day, is the Folly waist, intended to super-
sede the Spanish waist. We will endeavor to describe it;
though it is rather a difficult thing to give a correct idea
of it by description.

Well, then, suppose it is to be made of silk. Take five
pieces about ten inches long, somewhat of the hour-glass
shape, measuring three and a half inches across the ends,
which are pointed, and two inches at the narrowest part,
which is rather below the centre. These pieces are sewed
together for the space of about six inches. The rest hangs
in little points round the waist. Five more pieces of about
the same size are taken for the back, having the tops
rounded instead of pointed. These are sewed together
the same as the front. The side pieces of both back and
front require to be rather shorter in order to fit nicely
under the arm. Bones are put down every seam, and the
waist is laced under the arm. The trimming can be of
velvet, leather, or bead gimp, edged on each side with a
lace. It is placed down each seam, round all the points,
and down the centre of each division. If our readers
cannot understand our description and wish for more
exact information, we think they cannot do better than
to send to our Fashion Editress for a pattern. It is cer-
tainly the prettiest waist we have seen, decidedly new,
and will be fashionable all summer.

We cannot forbear mentioning two very pretty sashes
which we saw at Mme. Demorest's, intended for dinner or
evening wear. Both had a sort of bodice attached ; one
cut in turrets in front, the other pointed both back and
front. One had very long and wide ends with bow behind,
while the other had long rounded medallions, which ex-
tended half way down the skirts. These styles are very
effective made of velvet and embroidered in gold, or
trimmed with illusion ruches. The first mentioned is
called the "La Favorita," and the other "the lone."

In this demi-season, when there is a perfect stagnation
of fashion, and when milliners and dressmakers lament
that there is positively nothing new, we find at Mme. N.
Tilman's, of Ninth Street, a choice lot of new importations.

Among the bonnets was a very peculiar one of black
tulle, with scarlet velvet front, and the crown was formed
of one large scarlet velvet carnation pink. The inside
trimming was of scarlet carnations, and the strings of
scarlet and black striped ribbon, quite Scotch-like, and a
novelty ; for until now plain ribbons alone have been
tolerated for bonnet strings. The length of the strings
should be one yard and three-quarters. Another very
exquisite bonnet was of felt-colored velvet trimmed with
an aigrette of blonde lace and a heron plume. Inside
more Scotch flowers, consisting of tufts of scarlet, green,
and blue berries with gold spikes, interwoven with
golden veined ivy. The tout ensemble of this bonnet was
charming.

In headdresses we saw many exquisite novelties. The
coronet is still the prevailing style, but a pretty variation
of it was a double wreath. The first rather more than a
quarter of a yard in circumference, the other still smaller
and linked in it. It was formed of an exquisite bunch of
roses and buds, which was to be placed just over the fore-
head between the puffs, and the rest was of small buds
and leaves. A large rose in the second wreath was in-
tended to ornament the top of the waterfall coiffure.

Another headdress was of very large pansies of purple,
scarlet, and blue velvet, with mother-of-pearl centres,
painted to resemble the originals. It was very elegant.
Mother-of-pearl is the great novelty in the late head-
dresses. Large aigrettes in the Scotch style formed of a
very elegantly polished snail-shell, from which dart out
three long feather-shaped shells, are introduced into many
of the wreaths and headdresses.

A most exquisite wreath, a veritable Undine, was of
water lilies, with tiny shells clinging to the leaves of
flowers. Another headdress was of pink roses and forget-
me-nots, profusely sprinkled with large crystal rain-drops.

The rage for birds and insects is not yet over. Indeed,
it is on the increase, and reptiles are now being intro-
duced. Every time we visit the rooms of Mme. Tilman
we are shown something still more peculiar.

Among the very latest novelties are snails, large cater-
pillars, such as we see on grape-vines, and as long and
thick as a lady's little finger, butterflies made of the most
transparent materials, others of mother-of-pearl, beauti-
fully colored, dragonflies and snakes. Yes, dear readers,
actually snakes, fully a quarter of a yard long. All
these reptiles so closely imitate nature that you really
feel reluctant to take them up and examine them. We
think this mania rather carried to excess. But what is to
be done. The ladies are never satisfied, novelties must
be had. Like Oliver Twist, they still ask for more.

Artificial flowers are in great demand, and are exqui-
sitely perfect ; and when arranged with the taste peculiar
to Mme. Tilman, nothing can be more beautiful.

The Greek coiffure is one of the favorite styles, either a
large bunch of curls thrown over a comb, or the more
artistic style of a roll with the curls falling from the
centre of it.

The most suitable style of headdress for this coiffure
is a bandeau of velvet starred with brilliants. Another
style is a small diadem advancing in a point upon the
forehead, and studded with shells, crescents or other
fancy ornaments. A comb should be made to match this
headdress either of shells and velvet, or velvet and
whatever ornaments are on the bandeau.

Fancy combs are still the rage, and very economical
ones may be made by cutting a fancy design out of card-
board, such as knots, bows, linked rings, etc., and cover-
ing them with gilt, steel, or jet beads and fastening them
on a small plain comb.

Plaid scarfs passed from the left shoulder to the right
side and knotted below the waist are much worn by
young ladies over their airy white ball dresses. It is also
one of the prettiest styles for children.

We are questioned as to the plaiting of dresses. 'Hiat
is rather a difllcult question to answer, as most every
dressmaker seems to have a style of her own. We see
large box plaits, one large plait and three small ones,
also French gathers.

Presses are still faced with leather, and in New York,
Which is considered the Paris of America, hoops are not
discarded nor are they worn so small as in some of her
sister cities. Fashion.