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GOING TO A PARTY IN WINTER.

RETURNING FROM A PARTY.

THE POSTILION GIRDLE.

(Front view.)

The girdle is made of Mark moirt, trimmed with a leather cord and leather buttons. The plastron in front
white or a bright-colored moirt. The waist is of white muslin, puffed, with a row of inserting between each j

THE POSTILION GIRDLE.

(Back view.)

This style of girdle is exceedingly pretty for an evening-dress, made of silk or velvet to suit the dress. They are aho
very fashionable.

I >

VOL. LXVIII. — 2.

DINNER-DRESS

Walnut-colored silk dress, trimmed with a fluted ruffle on the edge of the skirt. Above the ruffle is a fancx trimming,
formed of white lace insertion and black velvet. We give the enlarged pattern of the trimming, on page 24.

DINNER-DRESS.

■

An apple-green silk Iriramrd with one d^pp l-'X-plaited ruffle. Above it is a trimming farmed of ribbon or velvet, which
wf giTe in enlarged size, on page 24. The trimniin;.' vn the eonfege is oi the same tfj i>-. but r^-Juced in size.

RICH MORNING-ROBE.

A (vV" B« lait colored silk, spotted with white
gored a la Impirtdrice. The fro
rilk. The sleeves are cut with an
ribbons.

otted with white, and trimmed with bnuta ofbtac* velvet and leathe b "»"• ^•™b,

nt and every breadth is open, laid over .« revere, and lined wlth » 1. right > a n ..

d elbow, and trimmed to suit the skirt. The cap is of wh.te nmslm, tnmmcd with B»P

The robe is
red
nta

THE MADRIDIAN.

[From the establishment of G. Bbodie, 31 Canal Street, New York.

oi costume.]

Drawn by L. T. Voiot, from actual articles

Made in any preferred color ; the one furnishing our illustration is of Lin*5 ultramarine cloth. The ornament con-
sists of a black gimp embroidery and chenille fringe, arranged to simulate a sleevt, aud with silk quilted flaps at the
armbetas; these are bordered with a neat passementerie and brandebourgs.

GO
00

P
«

BRAIDING PATTERN.

DRESS FOR A GIRL OF TEN.

A black and white checked poplin dress, trimmed with a band of Azurline blue silk, finished on each edire with black
velvet. The band on the neck of the dress is braided with black velvet, and the sash is of rich blue silk, also braided with
black velvet, and the ends heavily fringed.

EilBBOIDEBY.

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BRAIDING PATTERN.

EMBEOIDERY.

CROCHET WATCHPOCKET.

This watchpoeket is of very pretty design, although made without difficulty. As most of our young lady readers are
well practised in the art of crochet, the part which is composed of that sort of work will he easily accomplished, aud the
rest is simple in the extreme. The pocket itself is made of silk, of any color that may best suit the hangings or paper
of the room in which it is to hang. Our design is of green, hut this can be varied at pleasure. The front is made with
a thin layer of cotton wadding between two pieces of the silk, those two pieces being first run together in the inside at
the top, and then quilted round. The back has in it a piece of curd-board, to keep it in the right form. This is also
covered with silk, having a layer of cotton in the inside for the watch to rest upon. This cotton-wool answers the dou-
ble purpose of dulling the sound of the ticking of the watch, which sometimes prevents persons of delicate constitutions
from sleeping, and of preserving the watch from injury. The back and front thus prepared are to be'placed together,
and stitched all round the outer edge ; after which the edge should be cut neatly round. The pocket is to be bound witii
ribbon of the same color. Then the two pieces of crochet are to be laid on, the satin ribbon strings aud hows added,
and the work completed.

TABLE NAPKIN HOLDEE.

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DESIP.X FOR WORKIXr. THE HAXD OP TABLE N'APKIX IIOLPER.

Materials. — A strip r»f canvas, 14 inches long ; beads or wool of various colors ; a strip of white leather, 14 Inches
long ; 1 yard of round silk cord ; two small metal clasps.

For children who are too old to wear bibs or feeders, this arrangement for holding the serviette in its proper place
will he fonnd moet simple, and. at the same timet, extremely cleanly. Any odds or ends of wool or beads may be used
for working the strip, the pattern for which is giyen in our small illustration. The large engxaring represents the
napkin holder when finished, and th*> way to use it. It consists of a narrow band of work lined with leather, to both
of whirh small rings are fastened, with metal clasps attached. These clasps expand by m-^ans of a spring, Whon
rhp work is finished it is lined with leather and edVed with silk cord. The rings are fastened at p-ach end between th.->
leather and canvas, and the napkin is put <m by means of the clasps, the arrangement of which will be at once se^u
from the illustration.

TRIMMING FOKMED OF LACE AND VELVET, THE SAME AS ON DINNER-DRESS, PAGE 14.

TRIMMING FORMED OF RIBBON AND VELVET, THE SAME AS ON DINNER-DRESS, PAGE 15.

VOL. LXVIII. 3

BBODEEIE FOB A CHILD'S DBESS.

Wmt m Ml muz W&m Mm 11

WRITTEN AND COMPOSED FOR THE PIANO FOR G 0 D E y's LADY'S BOOK,

By J. STARR HOLLOWAY.

AUTHOR OP "AT THE GATE," "AROUND THE FIRE," " POOR BEN THB PIPER," ETC.

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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863. by J. Starr Holloway, in the Clerk's Office of the District
Court uf the United States, in and fui the Eaotein District of l'ennpylvauia.

THERE ARE STILL SOME JOYS BEFORE US.

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What though cold, bleak winds are beating

Through the trees, of leaves forsaken,
And no bird, with cheerful greeting,

Comes, the solitude to waken ;
There are still some Joys before us,

Some joys that leave us never,
While our hearts grow closer, fonder,

With love that lives forever.

ALPHABET OF FANCY LETTEES.

GODEY'S

KiibM $ooli mrtr gjagapt

PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY, 1864.

"NOBODY TO BLAME.

BY MARIO* HAKLAXD.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S63, by Louis A. Godet, in the clerk's office of the District Conrt
of the United Slates, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.

CHAPTER I.

Mrs. Boylax was an amiable woman. Ami-
ability had befell her forte through life. By
it she had won the largest piece of pie, the
slice of cake which contained most plums,
the warm corner by the fire, and a Benjamin's
share of caresses and praises, wherever a
parental review was held of the juvenile
corps of which she was a member. It was
impossible to quarrel with her. To the
occasional rudeness of a brother or the taunt
of a sister, her only reply was a grieved look
and a flow of silent tears, whose soft eloquence
convicted the assailant in the eyes of lookers-
on, if not in his own, as a barbarian of an
aggravated type of inhumanity.

When grown into a comely maiden, this
absolute want of spirit was still the fair Eliza's
prime recommendation in the eyes of Rufus
Boylan, an enterprising young merchant, who
was conscious of having temper enough to
stock the establishment he proposed to him-
self to found, very shortly after his introduc-
tion to this paragon of feminity. "Milk and
mildness," says a distinguished writer, "are
not the best things for keeping, and when
they turn only a little sour, they may dis-
a.-rt-e seriously with young stomachs." How
many times, during each day, the undeveloped
features of the Boylan babies were literally
bathed with the maternal tears, how soon
their ears became familiarized with the plain-
tive whine, the sobbing moan, the long-drawn
sijh of their ever-suffering, yet always amia-
ble mother, it would require a "patient reck-
oner" to compote.

" What ails your mother ?" once whispered
a sympathizing little visitor to Tiny, the eldest
daughter, then about seven years of age.

Mrs. Boylan was rocking in her large,
cushioned chair, having just deposited the
sleeping form of her youngest hope or sorrow
in the cradle. Her face was buried in her
handkerchief, and from its depths there issued
at regular intervals a heart-breaking sob.

" Oh ! she is only having a good cry !" said
Tiny, carelessly. " She takes them any time.
Just see my Dolly's new shoes !"

Not that the lachrymose appeared to the
world at large to be Mrs. Boylan's normal
state. She was plump and rosy, even when a
matron of fifty. Her tears were of that harm-
less and abundant kind that leaves no furrow
upon the skin, no smarting of the eyes or
redness of the nose. On the contrary, her
complexion seemed to derive benefit, to be
freshened and enriched by this liberal irriga-
tion. If a child fell down stairs and fractured
an arm ; if a servant broke a valuable dish,
or her husband inveighed with uncommon
bitterness against her "slipshod ways," the
obedient brine streamed forth to bemoan, to
rebuke, to deprecate — above all, to relieve
her own oppressed bosom, and in five minutes
afterwards no trace of the storm was percep-
tible. Her face had resumed the "sweet
expression" so often admired when she was
the subject of remark amongst her friends,
and her voice its delicious drawl.

Mr. Boylan was a shrewd business man,
and he was not slow to make the discovery
that his speculation in amiability was an un-

GODET S LADY S BOOK AN-D MAGAZIXE.

lucky investment. As we have hinted, his
disposition was the reverse of lamb-like. He
was quick, passionate, and uncharitable in
judgment, one who needed most delicate and
judicious management to render him a desi-
rable companion for life. He tried, at the
outset of the pilgrimage matrimonial, to be
very patient and forbearing, very tender and
considerate with his young and sensitive wife
— self-control and thoughtfulness which she
never appreciated, or indeed suspected. Next,
he essayed argument. She opened her eyes
in perplexity, and as the dim consciousness
that he was finding fault with her dawned
upon her misty soul, the fogs dissolved in a
flood of tears, and the conscience-smitten
bridegroom kissed her and begged pardon.

" But he has gotten bravely over that sort
of thing!" Mrs. Boylan would say to her
third daughter ; the others never troubled
themselves to hearken to "ma's everlasting
grievances." "It is thirty-one years, next
month, since we had our first quarrel, since
he first got angry with me, I mean ; for if I do
say it that shouldn't say it, I never had so
much as a dispute with any one in my life.
!~inee that miserable morning — hardly two
months after our wedding-day ! no one knows
what I have been through. Ah, girls little
know what they are doing when they marry —
poor, blind, silly creatures!"

" Why, ma, there are some happy marriages,
I am sure, ' ' rejoined the girl cheerily. ' ' Marian
and Will are very contented together."

"Ah! your sister Marian is a wife of my
training. She understands that submission
is a woman's lot. That is a sad lesson that
you will have to learn, Maggie, if you don't
want to be miserable."

"I do not covet misery! that is certain!"
and Maggie gave an amused laugh, in which
there was the slightest tone of embarrassment.
"But all men are not tyrants. Will is very
indulgent. Between ourselves, I fancy that
Marian has her way quite as often as he does,
perhaps oftener. He thinks her a pattern of
perfection."

"That may be so. It is very likely that
she does rule him. Tiny and Marian both
take after your father. You are the only
child I have that looks a bit like me, or
resembles me in disposition. Your sister
Lizzie was my image, everybody said. Dear
little thing ! she was taken from the evil to
come. I only hope you will have an easier

time in this world than your mother has
had!"

The convenient handkerchief had wiped
away the large drops that foretold a threatening
shower, when the door flew open, and a young
lady (we call her so par complaisance') bounced
in. No other word could so aptly describe
her style of entrance.

"Just as I expected! Just exactly what I
said!"

" What is the matter, Tiny ?" inquired her
sister.

"'What is the matter?' That is a good
one ! ' ' Miss Boylan laughed scornfully.

" Oh ! it is nothing to you ! I don't doubt
that ! Here I am slaving myself to death,
preparing for your company, while you are
sitting up here, fine lady-like, gossiping with
ma ! It is just like you ! Precisely like
you !"

"I am very sorry, my dear, that your sister
did not know — " Mrs. Boylan said, tremu-
lously.

' ' Did not know ? Oh ! of course nobody
knows why the house is turned upside down
and inside out, if she does not ! For whom is
all this fuss made, I should like to inquire ?
It is not my coming-out party. I am an igno-
ramus ; but that is one thing I do profess to
know perfectly well !"

"I ask your pardon, Tiny," said Maggie,
rising and putting aside her work — a cap she
was altering for her mother. "I understood
you to say, this morning, that you would not
need me until to-morrow. I will do whatever
I can to help you. What shall I set about
first?"

"It is probable that I have time to show
you your work as well as attend to mine —
highly probable !" returned Tiny, sourly
ironical. "A child can see that there is
everything to be done, and nobody but me to
lay hand to an individual thing. And I don't
suppose that you are to be trusted to undertake
the simplest job, unless I am by to overlook
you. You bread-and-butter schoolgirls are the
most useless beings in creation ! The most
utterly useless!"

Mrs. Boylan had retired hopelessly into the
depths of her cambric before this philippic
was half through. Maggie could not count
upon her championship. If there was any
one living whom the mother feared as much,
if not more than she did her liege lord, it was
this daughter. Fancy a keen, spiteful darn-

"XOBODY TO BLAME.

ing-needle inspired with a spirit of active
hostility against an eider-down cushion, and
you have a lively image of the combats that
were hourly occurring between these two.
If the pillow were a sentient object, it would
doubtless object to the thrusts and pricks and
pokes of its opponent, yet the yielding sub-
stance closes up the wound the instant tho
point is withdrawn, and the luxurious ma>s
is whole and comfortable as before. It would
have been singular had the children of such
a woman respected her, but the contemptuous
impatience that characterized Tinv's deport-
ment towards her was indicative no less of a
want of heart than ill-breeding.

Maggie flushed up at her sister's offensive
observations, but her voice only betokened
wounded feeling as she replied, " I don't see
why you should say that, Tiny. You have
not tried me yet to see whether I am compe-
tent or not. I may not be so useless as you
suppose."

" Oh ! you are conceited enough — Goodness
knows ! You always had a sufficient quantity
of vanity. A plentiful supply ! "

"What are you hectoring the child about
now, Tiny?" asked a voice behind the shrew.
"Has she been interfering with your monopoly
of vanity?" Tiny wheeled about like a
teetotum.

"I am 'hectoring' her, as you call it, Mrs.
Ainslie, for what you are constantly upholding
and encouraging her in — her incorrigible and
selfish laziness ! Pa may well say that but
for me the house would go to wreck and ruin.
When I recollect the condition of affairs when
I first took the reins into my hands — "

"Fifteen years ago — wasn't it?" interrupted
the married sister, maliciously.

"When I was the merest child," pursued
Tiny, pretending not to hear the saucy query,
" I wonder that I have succeeded in bringing
anything like order out of the confusion. No
one ever had more unpromising subjects to
work upon. Here 's ma, who never does any-
thing but fret and hinder me — "

A piteous moan from behind the handker-
chief, and an imploring ' ' 0, Tiny ! ' ' from
Maggie.

" And Maggie, who is enough to wear one's
patience out — a yea-nay red and white doll,
with no more character than there is in a
stick of barley-sugar. ' '

"Barley-sugar is a very popular article of
confectionery," commented Mrs. Ainslie.

"And last and most provoking — my Lady
Marian, who, not satisfied with hen-pecking
her unfortunate husband, must be meddling
continually with other people's family con-
cerns. Pa is the only reasonable creature in
the whole party."

" Because he does not happen to be pre-
sent?" said Marian, interrogatively. "He
has one comfort amidst all his afflictions, there
is little danger that his model housekeeper —
the one grain of salt that preserves the rest of
us from spoiling outright — will ever be sepa-
rated from him, except by the grim enemy of
all man and womankind."

"Miss Tiny, a man from the confectioner's
wants to see you," said a servant, and Tiny
bounced out, as she had entered, drawing to
the door with a concussion that shook the
house.

Mrs. Ainslie laughed ; her mother sobbed ;
Maggie sighed.

" Oh dear ! I wish Tiny would not have these
spells!"

"Spells! do you call them, my dear? I
think it is a chronic and incurable malady.
What set her at you ? As Will says — ' What
got her back up ?' He insists upon it, that
she was a cat in a former state of existence."

"I was in fault, I suppose," said Maggie,
contritely. " It was thoughtless in me to settle
myself for a quiet chat with ma when there
was so much to be done in the way of prepa-
ration for to-morrow night. I have been away
from home so long that I am apt to forget
household duties. Yet I thought that Tiny
said she did not need my services."

"That is one of the few true things that
have passed her lips to-day. One would
suppose, to hear her talk, that she had some
call to be busy, whereas, if your party were
to-night instead of to-morrow, there would be
nothing, for even such a fussy manager as
she is, to do, but to arrange the flowers in the
parlors and dress herself. The hired waiters
will attend to everything else that remains
unfinished."

"Maggie, my dear!" said Mrs. Boylan,
languidly, " I think I will lie down for awhile.
You can take the cap down stairs or into your
chamber. And Marian is here to keep yon
company, so you will not miss me."

"Yes, ma'am — but I shall want you to try
this on pretty soon now. I cannot finish it
very well until you do."

" I am sorry, my love — but you niuv. trait

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

until I get up. I am really quite worn out,
in nerves and strength, by all that I have
borne from you children to-day."

"Now, ma! will you never be just to
Maggie and myself ?" said Marian, impatiently.
' ' Why class us with Tiny, when we are
innocent of any offence against you, or her
either, for that matter. It was not our fault
that she preceded us into the world, and that
we are blessed with better tempers than that
which has fallen to her lot. Are you afraid
that we will turn tell-tales, if you dare to say
once that she has done wrong?"

"If you have any regard for my feelings,
Marian, you will say no more of this unhappy
altercation," said Mrs. Boylan, on the verge
of another lachrymal overflow. "These mis-
understandings between you girls have been
the cause of the deepest grief to me from the
time you were born. I often wonder if other
people's children quarrel as mine do. You
commenced it by the time you could talk.
It was twenty-five years ago, last Thursday,
that Tiny flew into a passion with poor, dear
little Rufus, and pushed him over into the
fire. The scar was on his chin when he died,
two years and four months afterwards."

' ' Tiny alone was to blame in that fray, I
suppose — was she not ?" asked Marian. Your
skirts and mine are clean at any rate, Maggie.
It would not be safe to repeat that story in
her presence. Twenty-five years ago ! Think
what a fury she would be in at the inference
that she was old enough then to attempt and
nearly succeed in the murder of a younger
brother ! When she would have the public
believe that she is the junior of your humble
servant, who is not afraid to own to her
twenty- two years I"

"I don't see why you should be!" said
Mrs. Boylan, sleepily. "A married woman
need never be ashamed to tell her age. Maggie,
child, close the blinds, and get the Affghan
out of the closet there to throw over me — will
you ? My head aches. These pillows are
getting hard ! They ought to be re-stuffed.
Shut the door after you, and don't let Tiny
come up while I am asleep!"

CHAPTER II.

Maooie Boylan beheld a pleasing picture
in the drawing-room mirror, as she stood
.before it upon the evening that was to intro-

duce her to the gay world. True, her features
were not, in all respects, as regular as Marian's,
nor her waist, hands, and feet so diminutive
as Tiny's, but she had a clear skin, rosy
cheeks, large brown eyes with a loving look in
their depths, red lips, abundant and lustrous
hair, and she was just nineteen years old. She
looked like what she was — a happy, simple-
hearted, affectionate girl ; such a woman as
one always pictures to himself as ripening
with time into the fond and faithful wife, the
devoted mother, the patient, skilful nurse,
a joy in prosperity — a very sun of comfort in
sorrow.

Mrs. Ainslie was the most intellectual and
the most queenly in stature and bearing, of the
sisters. She was dark-haired and a brunette,
animated in manner, and more quick than
merciful in repartee. Still, except in retorting
upon Tiny's speeches, there was seldom any
venom in her raillery, and Will Ainslie, the
good-natured and good-looking gentleman
who was chatting with his father-in-law and
attentively inspecting the trio of full-dressed
belles, thought again within himself, as he had
done scores of times before, that he had culled
the flower of the flock.

Poor Tiny ! no one awarded to her this
distinction except her own self-conceit. Sho
was short and slight — petite she liked to be
called — with a face which parlor company
deemed passable, while those in the family,
and the many who had had a taste of her real
character, considered it actually disagreeable
by reason of the petulance and ill-nature,
thinly veiled by girlish affectations. She had
never kept a friend, although she was forever
coveting intimacies among her associates, gen-
erally selecting the latest comer into the circle
as a fit subject for experiment. The rise,
decline and fall, of the intercourse between
these newly-elected affinities might be predic-
ted with a wonderful degree of accuracy by
those who were conversant with the disposition
of one of the parties and the inexperience of
the other. If Mrs. Boylan boasted truly that she
had never quarrelled with any one, her daugh-
ter assuredly did a double and treble share of
this warm and lively work. If she troubled
her memory with such memoranda, her list of
discarded and alienated favorites must have
equalled in number the years she had spent
in this unstable world. Her temper was at
once fiery, easily aroused, and lastingly vin-
dictive, a phase of disposition that, luckily

"NOBODY TO BLAME."

for the happiness and growth of the human

race, is exo liugly rare. As the eldest born,

~ i i . ■ had been more indulged than the other
children during her earlier years, and still
retained a considerable degree of influence
over her father, partly on account of her
energetic administration of household affairs
and the consequent increase of bodily comfort
to himself, partly from the fact that while she
stood in sufficient awe of his harsh and irritable
moods, to bridle her tongue when tempted to
a direct encounter with him, she was, never-
theless, more free in her behavior towards him,
more ready to entertain him when he desired
a social chat, than was either of the deeper-
hearted and more sensitive daughters, who
had trembled before his frowns and invectives
until fear had well-nigh usurped the place of
filial love.

''It seems to me that Tiny grows more
outrageous every day," Marian had said to her
husband on her return home the previous
day.

" What possesses the girl I" he asked.

"The fact that she is no longer a girl, I
imagine, ' ' replied his wife, sagaciously. ' ' She
is crazy to catch a husband."

The truth might have been more delicately
revealed, but it was the truth. The civilized
world holds not a class of beings who are
more to be commiserated than the sisterhood
of undeniably old maids, who are such from
necessity, and not choice. To avoid this doom,
Miss Bcivlan hadstriven from twenty to twenty-
five, with anxious hope — from twenty-five to
thirty, with agonizing endeavor. Without
beauty, she craved the incense offered at the
shrine of personal loveliness ; without high
mental endowments, she thought herself en-
titled to the respectful homage due to genius ;
totally destitute of amiability, she was yet
envious of the loving admiration that followed

»her younger sister's steps.
Oh ! it is sad ! terrible ! this never-to-be-
satisfied craving for the good one has not the
ability to win, the merit to deserve, nor the
capacity to value aright ! We are apt to
imagine that that deficiency or nnworthiness
has a corresponding influence upon the desires,
whereas Nature is. in fact, seldom thus com-
passionate in her dispensations. Tiny wanted
some one to worship and maintain her every
whit as much as Marian did. If love and pro-
tection were not essentials of her existence, as
they were of Maggie's, she was yet fully

awake to the consciousness that they would
be very pleasant accompaniments of her daily
life, and she shrank with loathing from the
odium that attaches itself to single blessedness.
Yet Marian had been eagerly sought and
exultingly won within a year alter she entered
society, and must, to add insult to injury, take
a house within a stone's throw of her father's
residence, as if on purpose to tantalize her
slighted senior with the spectacle of her
wedded bliss.

And here to-night was little Maggie, " hard-
ly old enough to be out of the nursery," as
Tiny had represented to her father for two
years past, in opposition to Marian's assertions
that it was time that she was "out" — that
"little piece of nonsense and insipidity" as-
suming a woman's dress and a woman's place
in the world !

"The baby will be thinking of getting
married next, I suppose I" she said, sarcasti-
cally to Marian, whose eulogiums upon the
debutante's appearance were perhaps the more
profuse because of Tiny's annoyance.

"Of course !" Marian's eyes sparkled with
fun. " It is her manifest destiny. Such a
face and such a heart will attract wooers,
thick as the leaves in Vallambrosa. It i3 a
plain case of cause and effect."

Tiny tossed her head. "I pity the man
who becomes the possessor of your very sala-
ble bit of finery! But I have no doubt you
are correct in supposing that there will be
offers for it. Men are always taken in by
such ' sweet, pretty' articles without stopping
to examine the quality of their bargains."

"Who can blame them, my dear? You

wouldn't have them prefer shop-worn and

faded commodities, would you?" said Marian,

with the most innocent smile imaginable.

" 'Ever since the world began.

It's always been the way' —

Hasn't it, WiU ?"

"Hasnotwhat?"askedher husband , throw-
ing himself upon the sofa beside her.

' • Have not all men a propensity to love
beautiful and good women, and pass by the
less lovely ! ' '

"I should say that it depends upon the
taste of the lover. The ugliest and sourest
visaged woman I ever saw had a husband
who adored her. He thanked Providence, he
said, for the diversity of likings among man-
kind, since, but for this wise provision of
Nature, every man would want his Polly."

godey's lady's book and magazine.

They all laughed, for the little anecdote
was told during a lull in Mrs. Boylan's talk
with Maggie, and the less friendly dialogue
between the married and single sister. A
ring at the door was heard at this auspicious
moment. Mrs. Boylan arose with a sigh and
took her allotted position near the entrance,
her features subsiding into the sweet placidity
suitable to the occasion. Her husband growled
as he stood by her ; Marian sat still ; Tiny
bounced up, shook out her skirts with a
nervous twitch, settled herself anew in her
tight corsage with another twitch, cast a look
at the mirror, opened and flirted her fan, and
was ready for exhibition. The fair novice in
festal scenes maintained her stand by the pier-
glass, unaffected and therefore graceful, her
fine bloom heightened by the excitement of
anticipated pleasure.

Suspense was soon ended by the appearance
of a gentleman of middle stature, a cheerful,
frank face, whose carriage had the ease of one
used to the gay world, and in the present
circumstances the cordial familiarity of a friend
in a friend's house. Maggie uttered a joyous
exclamation, and ran forward to salute him.

"Oh, Mr. Cleveland! I am glad you came
so early ! ' '

" You see ! she has not the remotest notion
of dignity or even propriety!" sneered Tiny
aside to Mrs. Ainslie. " Any other girl would
have learned how to receive company in a
whole year of parlor-boarding. ' '

"Let us see you do the thing up brown
now, Tiny ! ' ' whispered her brother-in-law.
"There is nothing like a living example."

" Which you, as the eldest of us all, should
set for that giddy young thing," subjoined
Marian, cruelly.

During this by-play, Maggie detained Mr.
Cleveland, that she might pour out her
enthusiastic thanks for the beautiful bouquet
he had sent her that day.

" You see I have given it the post of honor, ' '
she said, holding it up in its jewelled cornu-
copia. " For this" — touching the latter bijou,
"I shall thank you by and by. I cannot say
all I would at one time. But I must tell you
now, that the entire gift was almost worthy
of the donor!"

She bowed her arch, sparkling face, in a
sweeping courtesy of mock reverence, and
stepped back to let him speak to the others.

"Bravo, Maggie!" said Mr. Ainslie, in a
subdued tone, clapping a noiseless "encore"

with his gloved hands. ' ' The witch has a style
of her own — eh, Tiny ?"

But Tiny, too, had something to say to Mr.
Cleveland, something special and private,
for he had to bend to hear it. Her breath
fluttered ; her words were low ; her manner
full of meaning. Yet the mere matter of the
sentence was commonplace enough.

' ' They are very lovely. I thank you for
them ! ' ' she said, looking down at the flowers
in her hand, as if every bud were a gem of
untold value.

Mr. Cleveland smiled. "I am satisfied if
they please you."

It was an imprudent speech in one who
ought to have known the lady thus addressed.
But it was John Cleveland's practice to say
pleasant things, when he could do so consci-
entiously. He was gratified that his gifts
were acceptable to both sisters. It was not
obligatory upon him to express the different
degrees of satisfaction with which he listened
to their acknowledgments. So he gave Tiny' s
mite of a hand a gentle squeeze, as became a
favored habitue' of the mansion, paid his re-
spects smilingly to Mr3. Ainslie, and shook
hands with her husband, who said, " How are
you now, John ?"

These gentlemen were partners in business,
and strongly attached to one another by ties
of personal friendship. When Will Ainslie
was wooing Marian, he brought John along to
keep Tiny out of the way, and to entertain
the parents while they were in the parlor.
The first six months of this intercourse were
perhaps the happiest of Tiny's life. She had
often hoped before, that she was on the high
road to Hymen's court, expectations speedily
and grievously blasted by the perfidy or
insensibility of the supposititious suitors. She
had never heard a tale of love, and had a
natural hankering after this experience. As
week after week still saw the friends steady
visitors of the Misses Boylan, Tiny dared to
be confident of the result. She was less
irascible by day, and her eyes prevented the
night-watches with waking visions of the com-
ing glory dawning upon her woful singlehood.
Then came a shock. Mr. Ainslie spoke, and
Mr. Cleveland was mute. Marian was en-
gaged with the full approbation of her family
and friends, and no one seemed more pleased
at the betrothal, excepting, of course, the
parties most nearly interested in the affair,
than did Will's partner. He came as fre-

'NOBODY TO BLAME

quently as before; talked business with Mr.
Boylan ; brought novels to the indolent moth-
er ; frolicked and studied school-books with
Maggie, a merry, winsome nymph of sixteen ;
shotted gravely or gayly with Tiny, as her
will inclined — but, alas ! never sentimental-
ly ! What ailed the man f Once a bright
idea struck her. He was faint-hearted and
dubious as to the answer he would receive
if he declared his mind. Her maidenly mod-
esty had misled him. She must be more
encouraging in her demeanor. And encourage
him, she did, to that extent that he stayed
away from the house for four whole weeks
without the pretence of an apology. After
this voluntary banishment, he gradually re-
sumed his old standing, with no show of
unusual reserve, aud the alarmed Tiny resolved
to be more cautious.

Marian was married, and Maggie sent down
to the' city to " finish her education" at a
famous institute, where young ladies were
varnished in the most approved fashion and
at the highest prices, and the phase of things
at home underwent some alteration. Mr.
Cleveland met Miss Boylan oftener at her
brother-in-law's than in her father's house ;
yet while there was less to feed her forlorn
hope, there was nothing in particular to dam-
pen it, unles3 it were his continued and
inexplicable silence upon the one topic. It is
astonishing how obstinately a woman will, in
such circumstances, cling to the ghost of a
chance of finally securing the game she is
pursuing. Mr. Cleveland was, as Tiny knew —
but trusted that he did not — two years younger
than herself, popular and respected ; with a
warm heart, a clear head, and sunny temper,
in many, in most respects, her antipodes. He
would not be likely to meet rejection from
any youthful and pretty woman whose affec-
tions were not previously engaged. Why, if
marriage were an object with him, should he
be spending the best years of his manhood in
a slow courtship of one so little charming as
herself ?

Once or twice, Marian, in revolving this
question, and seeing, with her usual penetra-
tion, the futility of her sister's dreams, had,
in genuine kindness, tried to open the latter's
eyes to the truth. A tempestuous scene was,
in each case, the consequence of her well
meant interference, terminated by a request
from Tiny that Mrs. Ainslie would, for the
future, confine her attention to her own affairs

and leave those of others alone. Mr. Cleve-
land was a favorite with Marian, and she
would have regretted, for his sake, his entan-
glement with Tiny. She had long since ceased
to fear this ; still, she thought him unnecessa-
rily polite to her, and frequently found herself
wishing that the panther-temper would fly out
and end the apparent intimacy. This had never
occurred. Tiny's amiability before his face
was both amusing and pitiable to behold,
when one saw how ineffectual her sacrifices
would eventually prove. She kept him by
her now, by rapid questions and direct appeals
for opinion and information, until the rooms
were nearly filled.

The Boylans lived in one of the country
towns inhabited by city people that line the
Hudson for many miles above New York.
Most of their guests on this occasion were
from the last-named place, and all the ap-
pointments of the entertainment were equally
removed from rustic incompleteness. By
dint of keeping a close watch upon opportunity,
Mr. Cleveland at length effected his escape
from the immediate neighborhood of his fair
adorer, and crossed over to where the Ainslies
stood, still together, and conversing as con-
tentedly as though they had never promised
openly to "cleave to one another." John
was no interruption to their lively talk.

"I am advising my wife to undertake the
compilation of the next Directory," said Mr.
Ainslie. " Without being unkind, her running
commentary upon arrivals is instructive and
amusing."

That is because you never trouble yourself
to remember people's names and histories,"
returned his wife. "Mr. Cleveland will set
me down as a regular scandal-monger, whereas
I only tell you whose children, uncles, aunts,
and cousins some of these friends are."

" I am not sure that a veritable pedigree of
their families would not be the greatest insult
yon could offer to many members of our most
fashionable assemblies," said John. "Few
men, in our democratic country, can afford
the luxury of a grandfather."

"Fie! who is the satirist, now?" replied
Marian, reprovingly. " I assure you that
every person here is, to the best of my know-
ledge, eminently respectable."

"Oh! no doubt of it! certainly!" Mr.
Cleveland assented mechanically.

His regards were fixed upon a group that
formed an animated tableau in the centre »f

GODEY S LADY S BOOE AND MAGAZINE.

the apartment. A tall, dashing girl, dressed
in the height of the mode, held Maggie by
both hands in the seeming rapture of greeting.
Her eyes were very black, her cheeks very
red, her teeth very white, and she showed
them a great deal. She had entered upon the
arm of a young man, who stood now by her,
and directly in front of Maggie. He was
handsome, so far as features and coloring went,
irreproachable in dress, yet there was that in
his expression and bearing that impressed
John with the idea that he was not a gentleman,
according to his estimate of true breeding and
character. This idea may have been suggested
by the slight and habitual curl of the upper
lip, not the curve of pride, but that more
objectionable and peculiar one that seems
always sniffing at some unpleasant odor, which
the olfactories are doomed to perceive contin-
ually. Or it may have been that his steady
gaze down into the eyes of the maiden hostess
displeased the looker-on. True, he had him-
self looked into these same hazel orbs half an
hour before, longer than was actually required
by the circumstances of their meeting, and
found the operation decidedly pleasant, but the
like act was daring, positively rude, in a
stranger, such as this fellow must be. John
could not have told why he did not satisfy his
curiosity upon this head, by a question con-
cerning the presumptuous cavalier. He asked,
instead : —

"Do you know, Mrs. Ainslie, who that
lady is?"

"It is Marie Dupont — Maggie's most inti-
mate friend at school. Have you never seen
her before ?"

" I think not. Is she French ?"

"Her father was. Her mother is a widow
now ; they live in an elegant villa, about three
miles below, a little back from the river."

" She is handsome."

"Yes, and very stylish. She is hardly the
sort of girl whom one would expect our little
Maggie to affiliate with, yet I dare say that
she is very good in her way. All school-girls
cultivate these deathless friendships."

' ' Average longevity, six weeks ! ' ' said John,
smiling.

He was struggling to surmount his ridiculous
reluctance to allude to Miss Dupont's escort,
when Mr. Ainslie spared him the effort.

"Is that her brother with her ?"

" Oh, no ! it is a Mr. Lorraine — an admirer, I
suspect, although Maggie is very prudent in

her revelations on this subject — as in honor
bound. He drove Miss Dupont up here, once
last year. They, at least, are, to all appear-
ance, a well-matched pair."

" Both ' fast' — hey ?" said her husband.

"Rather!" was the reply, as Mrs. Ainslie
turned away to mingle with her sisters' guests.

It was not long before Mr. Cleveland pre-
sented himself at Maggie's side. She was still
with Miss Dupont and her attendant, but
looked up with a bright, sweet smile, at
John's approach.

"You anticipate my errand, I perceive,"
he said, offering his hand. "The band is
calling us to the floor. You remember your
promise to immortalize me by giving me the
first set."

Maggie's color deepened, then faded with
surprise and consternation.

" Did I ?" she stammered. " I forgot !"

"My memory is more faithful, or the subject
is of more importance to me than to you. The
engagement is two months old. It was made
the very day I learned that this party was a
fixed fact."

He spoke gayly, more to reassure her than
from the lightness of his own spirits.

"I am very sorry! I have just told Mr.
Lorraine that I would dance with him. Mr.
Lorraine — Mr. Cleveland !"

The gentlemen bowed stiffly enough.

"It was very careless — very forgetful —
inexcusable in me, Mr. Cleveland," Maggie
went on. "If you gentlemen will excuse me,
I had rather not dance at all this set. Then,
nobody can feel slighted."

"Nonsense !" exclaimed Miss Dupont, in a
high, loud key, that set John's teeth on edge.
"Not open the ball when you make your
debut '. My child ! who ever heard of such a
shocking thing ! ' '

"I am to understand, then, that you have
made an engagement that conflicts with my
happiness?" said Mr. Cleveland, so calmly
and kindly that Maggie's fluttering sensibly
abated.

" Permit me, sir !" Mr. Lorraine interposed.
"Miss Boylan has done me the infinite honor
to promise me her hand for the set now about
to form. If priority of claim is the question
to be disposed of, I believe that my right
cannot be disputed. Four months since — four
months and four days ; I like to be exact, you
see — Miss Boylan was passing the Sabbath
with her friend, Miss Dupont. The subject

"NOBODY TO BLAM1

Bf this festal occasion was introduced. It was
ii "i as the Indispensable of school-life,
and the prelade to freedom and social enjoy- ■
ments. Upon the spot 1 solioited the boon,
hat granting of which lias created this Utile
discussion. Miss Dupont will substantiate my

statement, if necessary."
His pompons affectation and complacent air

continued John in the prejudice he had con-
ceived against him at sight.

"A tale BO succinct and probable needs no
corroboration, sir," he said, rather haughtily.
'"Nor was it my intention to discuss the
matter at all. The simple expression of Miss
Boylan's wishes was all that I sought."

With a bow in which there was no perceptible
mingling of wounded pride, he left them, and
the triumphant Lorraine led out his blushing
partner. Blushing, but not with pleasure.
There was a troubled look upon her brow that
accorded neither with the ruling spirit of the
hour, nor the fancy of her attendant.

" I shall regret my declaration of rights if
it has interfered with your inclination," he
said, bending towards Maggie's ear.

Her glance was eager and truthful. "You
know better than that! I am only sorry that
Mr. Cleveland is disappointed — perhaps of-
fended."

"He has no right to be — at any rate you
have done nothing that should make him
angry. You really forget that you had prom-
Ued to dance with him."

"The only doubt is — " said Maggie, hesi-
tatingly, "whether it was right — I would say
best — to bring forward a prior engagement — "

"Which never existed?" Lorraine com-
pleted the sentence. "The spirit, if not the
letter of the compact was not a fiction. I
have a distinct recollection of a vow I regis-
tered that most delightful of all Sabbath
evenings, that mine should be the nearest
place to you in this very scene. While you
and Marie were chanting the praises of liberty,
I was holding out my hands — figuratively
speaking — for the fetters Cupid was prepar-
ing."

The dance began, and several minutes
elapsed ere Lorraine secured an opportunity to
conclude.

"Granting that I invented the story entire,
does not the good Book say that the end sanc-
tifies the means ,'"

"Not that lever read!" laughed Maggie,

VOL. LXVIU. — 1

and they were again separated by the figure
of the set.

The tempter was satisfied that his sophistry,
however shallow, had fallen, like delicious
music, upon her heart, and — not that he was
forgiven, for she would never have dreamed
of charging him of wrong-doing, but that her
conscience was quieted.

A want of courage in speaking, even more
than in action was Maggie Boylan's weakest
point. The original texture of her moral con-
stitution, although firmer than was her mo-
ther's, yet bore sufficient resemblance to it to
call for great watchfulness and healthful toning
on the part of those to whom her training was
intrusted. It would be hard to decide who
had most to do with making this latent canker
palpable and chronic, the silly mother, the
harsh father, or the petulant sister. All had
their share in the work together, and did it
so thoroughly that they blamed one another
for having, as Mr. Boylan phrased it, "taken
from the girl's disposition the little baok-bono
Nature gave it." She shrank from contention
and avoided its causes. A difference of opin-
ion angered her father and worried Tiny —
therefore Maggie suppressed her sentiments,
and seemed to adopt theirs. They were reso-
lute in holding to their own way; she meekly
followed where they led until she almost forgot
how to walk alone. Marian fought against
the like subjugation in her case, and, thanks
to her paternal inheritance of intellect ami
will, succeeded in maintaining her individu-
ality. But even she unintentionally increased
Maggie's dependence by taking up the gauntlet
in her behalf, whenever her pet was assailed
in her presence.

This passivity tinder a prompt or plausible
decision on the part of others had caused
Maggie to acquiesce in Lorraine's ready false-
hood, quite as much as had her preference for
this one of the rival claimants for her hand.
A feeling of responsibility was an unknown
sensation to her. She was wax in any strong
grasp, a delicate and pure material, very plea-
sant to the touch and beautiful to the eye —
but only wax, after all.

It was easier to put aside her scruples con-
cerning her tacit assent to the invention that
had gained Lorraine the victory, than to reply
without faltering to Mrs. Ai-islie's inquiry, as
she encountered her some time later in the
evening.

godey's lady's book and magazine.

" I thought Mr. Cleveland told me that you
were engaged to him for the first set, Maggie.
I never was more surprised in my life than
when I saw him dancing with Tiny instead."

" I had forgotten a promise to Mr. Lorraine,"
answered Maggie, her lip trembling like a
child's. " I have been so unhappy — " and the
brown eyes were overcast.

"Never mind!" Marian laid her hand ca-
ressingly upon her shoulder. ' ' Nothing must
make you sad to-night. Was John dis-
pleased ?"

"I am afraid so!" Maggie fingered her
bouquet in perturbation, that, for certain rea-
sons of her own, was very pleasing to Mrs.
Ainslie.

"That was very silly in him. He must not
be so easily huffed. I will speak to him and
make it all right."

"Oh! if you only would!" exclaimed Mag-
gie, with real joy, for the idea of being at
variance with her old friend was very painful,
whenever she allowed herself to dwell upon it.
" You are the best sister in the world !"

Mrs. Ainslie set off upon her embassage of
peace, meditating, with amused gratification,
upon the guileless transparency of character
that thus suffered the workings of the deepest
feelings to be revealed.

(To bo continued.)

A SCRAP.
"Joys are our wings, sorrows our spurs."
The former lighten the load destiny has placed
on our shoulders to one-tenth of its usual
weight, and transplant us on the wings of
fancy to angels' abodes ; while they remain,
our hearts seem Edenised, and flowers of a
pure and lovely growth spring up, flourish,
and ripen, nourished by a cream-like moisture,
or dew of sparkling and enticing richness ;
thus the flowers, which are our hopes, are
well watered by the dew, which is our strong
faith, till sorrows of a heart-breaking nature
dispel the bright dreams in which we had
indulged ; their intenseness causes our faith
to waver, and we should fall into the depths
of despair did they not spur us on to inward
perusal of that profusely-written book — the
human heart — to carefully weed it of obnox-
ious plants, which are gradually taking root
there ; and to pray earnestly and truthfully
for strength to endure the sorrows, and that
We may take the joys as they are given to us,

as interludes, or glimpses into the abode of the
blissful regions of everlasting happiness.

THE KING IS DEAD. LONG LIVE THE
KING.

A SONG FOE NEW YEAR'S.
BY REV. H. HASTINGS WELD.

There is a monarch, weird and old.
Whose magic touch all men must feel ;

None but he may his sceptre hold,
None but he may set his seal :

Over every laud and clime

Swayeth the sceptre of Old King Time.

There is a monarch, young and fair,
Jocund and merry, and blithe to see;

Hone, with him, may in youth compare,
Strong with the strongest, who but he?

Over every land and clime

Swayeth the sceptre of Young King Time.

Up to the gate of the closing year
Croepeth the monarch, gray and old;

Out, in an instant, with hearty eheei .
Cometh the monarch young and bold :

And the bells from a thousand steeples ring.

The king is dead — Long live the king !

This monarch a double budget bears:

Half is filled with reverend lore,
The tale of the ancient fears aud cares,

The map of the road he has travell'd o'er.
To men of every land and clime
Shows he this record, Old King Time.

The other half of his double pack

Is filled with youth, aud love, and hope,

That the wise man never trust may lack,
With all the ills of life to cope.

To men of every land and clime

QWeth he courage, Young King Time.

In the lore of the old let us wisdom choose,
In the life of the new let our nerves be strung.

That we may the double blessings use
Of this weird monarch, old aud young:

"While the bells from a thousand steeples ring,

The king is dead — Long live the king !

LOOK ON THE SEA !
(Translated from the German of Geibel.)

BY GEORGE W. BIRDSEYE.

Look on the sea ! 'Neath the grand sun, its breast

Glows warm aud bright ;
But, in its depths, where pale the cold pearls rest,

Is darkest night !

I am the sea! And on the proud wave rides

My wild desire ;
And on me gleams my songs, as on the tides

The sun's broad fire.

They glisten oft with love and joyous jest —

Each bears a part ;
Yet silent bleeds, deep hiddeu in my breast,

A mourning heart 1

GOING TO THE PRESIDENT'S LEYEE :-HOAY I WENT.

'SOYEZ TRANQril.LE.

"At seven o'clock, then, Monsieur Cavalier ;
you will be sure to he punctual."

" Si, si. Madame, a sept heures sans faute —
a sept heures. soyez tranquille."

How could we help believing a hairdresser
so emphatic, so penetre ?"

With lightened hearts mamma and I drove
home, having accomplished the last of all the
weighty preparations for the great event of
to-morrow, my appearance, namely, at the
reception at the White House, an event not
only to prove my patriotism, but signalize my
attainment of that delightful position in so-
ciety, a "come out" young lady. (Win- is
there no genuine word to express the meaning
of that doubtful, scarcely grammatical sen-
tence ?)

" I do not take Laura to the levees," said our
worthy friend Mrs. .Saveall, really,

now-a-days there is such a mixture that, as
dear Mrs. Tiptop says. •' one is afraid of meet-
ing one's coachman's wife.' "

Mamma, I am thankful to say, had no such

fears, and held, that this evening struck from
our list, was to skim off with ruthless hand
all the cream from our Washington winter.

Now that the time had come, that that great
responsibility, my dress, lay in awful silence
in its gigantic home, the "carton," my heart
began to misgive me. Could I conceal from
myself that, after the fiftieth rehearsal before
the glass, of my courtesy, I still trod on the
skirt of my gown, and thereby pinning myself
to the ground, was unable to rise without
aoch exertion as partook more of the muscular
than of the graceful ? Did not visions of utter
discomfiture in the crowded assembly cast
their prophetic shadows on the next day's
future ?

" Fais ce qne tu dois ; adVienna que pour-
ra." That noble old motto! Mentally I pinned
it to my shield, and rose from the afternoon
nap which mamma insisted upon my taking
on The Day, with what courage its words
could inspire.

"Above all things," said Frank, with old

godey's lady's book and magazine.

visions of West Point punctuality — "above
all things, be in good time." Frank, in his
lieutenant's uniform, was to be our escort. So,
as we were to be at the White House at nine,
and my coiffeur to come at seven, I got up from
a feverish nap at four, and remained in a state
of preparation quite indescribable, and which
rendered me indifferent to all matters uncon-
nected with hairpins.

The household being in that state of over-
excitement which accompanies any great fe-
male movement — was to be found on the stairs
in a general state of running up and down.
At sis o'clock I heard Frank ask sarcastically
whether the cook also was going to the levee,
or whether he was to have any dinner. I
myself was too much "wound up" to think
of eating or drinking.

Seven o'clock struck — half past — no hair-
dresser. Why did the door-bell ring in that
frantic way every two minutes ? Is there a
demon that belongs to door-bells ? Who was

it that was always walking up-stairs, past my
door, with creaking boots ?

Eight o'clock ! — no Mons. Cavalier. A vio-
lent rustling next door betrayed the state of
mamma's toilette. Was I going mad? or
what was it that rang in my brain at every
sound of that dreadful bell ? I will go myself
for a coiffeur ! I will commit suicide ! I will
do my hair myself! Just as I was seizing the
comb to fulfil this despairing, this desperate
resolve, the door opened. A curly, shining
being glided in (not an angel), stuck a comb
into his glossy locks, filled his mouth with
hairpins, and began that mesmeric and incom-
prehensible operation that terminated in a
triumphant wreath on the top of my head, and
two lovely puffs low on the neck.

It was just half past eight when I issued
fully equipped from my room. A glass of port
and a wing of chicken restored me after the
fatigue and agitation of carrying all those
flounces past the nails and corners in the stair-

IT S NOT "THE GETTING IN.

case. The admiring household pronounced its
astonishment. Down the file drawn up in
open mouthed astonishment in the hall, we
passed to the carriage. There we got in.

What small words to express so great a feat !
It has since struck me that, of all the arrange-
ments in the ceremony of presenting a ile'hu-
tante to society, there is none so perfect as

GOING TO THE PRESIDENTS LEVEE:— nOW I WENT.

that which, previous to her great ordeal, sulv-
Jeeta hei to the minor one of passing, under
the gaze of the domestic and neighboring
critics, a large and observing throng of specta-
t r<. while herself in a state of forced quies-
cence. It is a baptism of fire. Gratifying,
doubtless, was the appreciation of all the
neighbor's servants clustered on the pave-
ment, but it was insignificant compared to the
• of the boy who. from the commanding
lamp-post on which he was perched, pro-
Bonnoed that in all his vast experi.no- "hB
never did!" After that compliment to my
personal appearance, I felt so completely re-
assured that the supercilious eyeglasses ler-
elled at me in the entrance hall fell innoxious
on my nerves.

It was charming, the perspective of bouquets
and grand hammer-cloths on the carriages
tiling along in front of ours. An old lady
was next to us. and her rouge and pearl pow-
der gazed candidly from under her mouse-skin

eyebrows. The red-haired girls behind her
will be much happier at her age. Their
doubtful complexions and scraggy figures in
evening costume cause them evident uneasi-

Only two weeks ago I was in one of the
1 streets of New York, and there,
while our progress was stopped by a conglo-
meration of cabs, omnibuses, and carts, I
looked at the wonderful assembly of heads
and bonnets, and formed, not only for the
two-legged, but also for the four-legged of my
fellow-creatures, a fate and a past history
according to their appearance. To-day. in
this string of carriages, moving slowly in the
throne, I had the same opportunity of seeing
a vast mixed multitude, and I tried to realize
how that these flounced and jewelled beings
were fellows to those in the omnibuses — cast
in one mould, made of one flesh and blood.
The very carriages, that so widely differed to
the outward eye, proceeding from the same

BCT IT S THE "GETTIXO OCT.'

ori>rinal materials ! Plunging into the deepest
metaphysical and abstract views of the human
r I -. I insensibly wandered to a speculative
calculation as to the amount of tulle in the

dress of a "human being" in blue, and won-
dering whether that pearl wreath came from
Foster's.

Ah, one must get out : How I envied the

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Queen of Spain I She has "no legs!" How
great a variety must pass before that liveried
lacquey at the door. We shuddered along
the wide, cold entrance hall, and stood wait-
ing impatiently in the dense throng. Getting
a seat in the church of a popular preacher on
a hot day is bad enough, but trying for a seat
in the hall is worse. One cannot even tip the
pew-opener, and one has, in fact, to find
space for two gowns instead of one.

The tests by which one is here tried are
very sore. The poor, dear dowagers, their
diamonds obscured by the press ; the girls,
standing evidently on their "second leg,"
knowing that the next five minutes will tint
their noses with the roseate hue that is leaving
their cheeks, and here and there a hapless
man conscious of tight patent leather boots
and splitting kids. They look like poles for
standard roses, in a flower-garden, these poor
men. Suddenly a movement in the throng
announces the admission of part of the victims
to a different phase of torture — an active
phase.

There can be no truer patriot, no more loyal
American than myself. The White House
was sacred in my eyes, vested with all the
romance that the memory of great deeds could
throw over it, and my heart throbbed high, as
I found myself in the reception room.

I was still breathless with the rush that
carried us in, when I found myself jammed
tightly between two other ladies moving, or
being moved, towards an open doorway, be-
yond which instinct told me my fate awaited
me. No time to collect my courage, to smooth
my ruffled plumes (literally ruffled). Push-
ing as only fine ladies can push, frowning and
dragging as only dowagers can, were all around
me. Defiling in an opposite direction from
us, through the same room in which we were,
I saw those happy ones whose trial was over,
and who were going to some paradise beyond
where courtesies were unknown. One push
more, and I was launched alone on the floor.
Dim consciousness of great boots on either
side of me, a sense of rustling and sweeping
of my skirts behind me, something in front of
me — no hope of rescue, no possibility of flight — •
I moved onward. A voice uttered my name.
A gracious hand clasped mine, a kind voice
said a few words of greeting ; to this moment
I believe it to have been my gown that made
the courtesy, not myself. I, who had intended
to have looked, not only at the lion, but the

lionness, saw nothing but a pair of polished
boots and the hem of a silk robe. I retreated
to meet mamma who, paying her respects in
passing, was smiling in dignified composure,
and beyond her the released, having passed
the dread ordeal, were sauntering about in
groups, and chatting, flirting, and enjoying
themselves generally.

Pest, and be thankful 1 One could breathe
now ; and how one's courage rose when the
battle was over. On the soft seats we sank
down, and before us passed the groups who
had preceded us, and those, that, following
us, had just left the President. Waxen-faced
girls in white, the debutantes, with excited,
shy faces ; haughtily confident beauties in
every tint of flounce and flower ; brides in
their wedding finery ; and such astonishing
old ladies ! What blazing jewels ! what rust-
ling silks ! A dressmaker would die of it "in
aromatic pain." Such dignified old generals !
Here a Spanish attache", olive-tinted, with long
black moustache ; there a squat yellow figure
grinning hideously ; a bronze face, in scarlet
and gold, next a smooth-faced lieutenant in
new uniform ; a young lady with red arms,
from the country, beside a warrior so fierce
that he can only be a volunteer. They dawdle
here, and gossip, and look out for notabilities,
and criticize a little, and talk a little scandal,
and groups form. Gentlemen saunter about
gallant and pleasant, or with severe criticism
drawl out the startling fact that "You never
do see a pretty face now-a-days!" Possibly
it is in the hope of some day seeing one that
they stare so. One more crush through the
crowded hall, and then the lovely gowns and
their fond wearers step into the carriages, and
the levee is over.

How elated, how satisfied, how superior I
felt when we reached home : how I, ensconced
in my arm-chair with a cup of tea and a novel,
fought all my battles over again, need not be
told. I have " seen the elephant," made my
courtesy, and Mons. Cavalier is forgiven.

Punctuality. — If you desire to enjoy life,
avoid unpunctual people. They impede busi-
ness and poison pleasure. Make it your own
rule not only to be punctual, but a little be-
forehand. Such a habit secures a composure,
which is essential to happiness. For want of
it, many people live in a constant fever, and
put all about them into a fever too.

POETRY.

THE CASKET OF TEMPERANCE.

BT VTILL1K E. P A B 0 K .

(pr,iri the i

"MOKE THAN THI-i "

' More are drowned iu the wine-cup than in the ocean."

The pictures, faded on the wall ;

Tin- Bmlighl cast a fitful ray

Of I-; ' ed .i way,

Like early hopes, b.-youd recall.

Books, whose familiar faces kept
Their m-v ■ r m, were lost

la sha.l.iw, when their presi U0S fflOaf

Migln ^li.-t thoughts thai *\v..'pt

Through all the aha l-rain,

Until, a- in a dream, 1 stood
And watched the ocean's mighty flood

Of water ebb and flow again.

This ebb and flow had been, for years,
A- constant onto Nature's laws
fleet to proper cause
Through all the motions of the spheres.

But lo! a mighty change was here;

The tub* went out and — can

Vpou u> old, accustomed track
As it bad done, year following year.

Ami all the wealth that in the embrace
Of oo< a Long concealed,

Was in a moment all revealed
With all ii-

Here lay the wrecks of sunken ships,
And here the bones of those who slept
Where none above itieir graves had wept;

Whose very names were iu eclipse.

All human love, all human hope
Lay burled here ; the silent hands,
The lips thai uttered no commands,

The eyes that nevermore would ope,

The hearts that nevermore WOttld beat
With rapture, lay amid ill'? sands,
■ red from far and foreign lands,
Whose coining none would ever greet.

All these were here, and as the eye
Traced all t&eas t.>k< us of the dead,
I seemed to hear a voice thai said,

"Count all these that before you lie

*'In ocean drowned, yet more than these
Ar<- in tin- wine-cup lost, who all
Have sunk -., [0w, that iu tli.-ir fall
Their lips have sipped life's bitterest lees."

What, more than these? I said. Oh no!

Here, millions upon millions sleep;

The cup has not a lower deep,
Wine cannot bring a weightier wo!

"Go, seek the homes'- — in answer came —
"Where vacant chairs abonnd ; see thrre
The wrecks of all things bright and fair,
That loved or loving ones could claim ;

"The eyes whose sadness knows no cure ;
The hearts wbu-e achings never end ;
The feet that daily d-wnward tend,
As if to make their ruin sure.

"The ChUdlafa lips, whose sileno- - 1
With greater force than ^wrii-. oi all

The sad surrounding's <•( their fail ;

Mutt- qneetlonlnge tK.it daily seek
"The problems of a life t<< solve
All vainly | these are greater far

Than all the wneks of ocean are,

Or will be, while ti,<- >■ are n volve."
And as the voice died on the air,

Behold, the ii back

Upon its old, accustomed track,
And ocean was serene and fair.

But looking nut across the sea.

The solemn memories of years

Came iu ii|i<>ii a tide "i bears
With thoughts of all that yet might be;
For nature, feeble at the best

Trmptaliou t>> Withstand, rniL'ht y t

The lesson of the hour forget,
And add one more wreck to the rest
All through the highways of the land,

And in the obscure walks of life,

Is going on this tireless strii.-
Where Love and Hate in conflict l
And Beauty, Innocence, and Truth

Fall victims daily to the foe,

Whose sword is sharp aud sure, though tlow,
And strikes at age, nor stays for youth.
The songs of sorrow never end ;•

Nor tears of trial <■■ ■.!-■■ t.> ft ■ . w

Amid the ranks that daily go

To roads that unto ruin tend.

And if the ocean's bosom bears

Less secrets than the wine-cup holds,
Alas for those its depths enfolds —

Those who the drunkard's ruin shares.

The True Gentleman. — The following sketch
was found in an old manor house in Gloucester-
shire, written and framed, and hung over the
mantelpiece of a tapestried sitting-room: "The
true gentleman is God's servant, the world's
master, and his oicn man; virtue his business,
study his recreation, contentment his rest,
and happiness his reward; God is his father,
the Church is his mother, the saints his breth-
ren, all that need him his friends ; devotion is
liis chaplain, chastity his chamberlain, sobri-
ety his butler, temperance his cook, hospitality
his housekeeper, Providence his steward, cha-
rity his treasurer, pity his mistress of the
house, and discretion his porter, to let in or
out, as most fit. This is his whole family,
made up of virtues, and he is the true master
of the house. He is necessitated to take the
world on his way to heaven ; but he walks
through it as fast as he can, and all his busi-
ness by the way is to make himself and others
happy. Take him in two words — a man and
a Christian."

A NEW YEAE'S STOEY.

3 Y ONE WHO WAS IN IT.

uncle chaelie's riddle.

I love the country ; not in the spring-time
only, and the summer, but all the year round.
People talk of the sombre air of autumn, and
the sad thoughts it brings ; when the fallen
leaves strew the ground, and the trees, glori-
ously beautiful in their decay, stand ready to
rain down more leafy showers of many hues.
And they tell you of the dreary winter, when
the husset of the dried leaves and grass min-
gles with the snow, and the bare trees stand
like spectres.

But there is more of sadness, and quite as
much to suggest melancholy thought in the
long rows of houses in a city street. You
have a sort of companionship with the trees,
and feel at home with them ; and the quiet
life of the farm yard seems to offer you the
freedom of the place. But the stately city
walls, the endless rows of bricks, the closed
or closely-draped windows, the doors, inviting,
yet repelling entrance, create a feeling of soli-
tude among living thousands, deeper than one
knows, in the free air of the country-side.
"With every man you meet, whether you know
him or not, you have, in the green lanes, a
nod, or passing word. Even the kine, and
the sober country horses, as they graze, look
up at you with a silent " Good speed !" But,
in the crowded town, each man is too earnest
^ in the battle of life ; each woman too busy
with her own thoughts to give a stranger
even a look, to say nothing of a gesture which
might indicate a wish for any acquaintance,
or the betrayal of the slightest interest in you.
There is no loneliness like the solitude of a
stranger among the busy thousands in the
crowded town.

So felt Charles Merrill — Uncle Charlie — as
he threaded his way through the city on New
Year's day, many years ago, to pay his inva-
riable visit at his brother's house. Uncle
Charlie loves the country as dearly as I do.
He was, at the time of which I write, a country
gentleman, well to do, with all the refinement
of education, and the true polish of Christian
courtesy. You would know him anywhere
for a man who could be trusted. In a crowd
44

he was the man whom you would single out,
if you wished to ask a question. And still he
was just the person whom an impostor would
avoid. Nobody tried him with tales of feigned
distress. Nobody offered him gilt watches as
gold, with which the owner was compelled to
part. No "confidence-man" approached him,
for there was something in his clear gray eye
which told you that he could see through the
arch device, conceal it never so wisely. The
honest applicant, in real need, never failed to
address him, and was seldom disappointed ;
for Uncle Charlie had that species of free-ma-
sonry which honesty establishes among honest
people.

So it was no wonder that a little girl, scan-
tily clad, but very neat, timidly approached
him, and touched his arm. She had been
repulsed many times on that New Year's morn-
ing ; sometimes by those who rudely scolded
or curtly answered her, sometimes by others
who tendered her small money to escape her
importunity. She held a handful of small
coin, as if she really did not know what to do
with it, how she came by it, or why people
gave it to her. Uncle Charlie looked intently
at her face, and then at her blue arms and
fingers, which trembled with the cold, as in
one hand she held her money, and with the
other drew her thin shawl about her.

"Why, child," he said, with a smile the
least shade satirical, "you should hide that
money in your pocket, before you ask for
more. There is more in your hand already
than ' two or three pennies to buy a loaf of
bread.' Poor child!" he added, in a kinder
tone, "perhaps, as you have little use for a
pocket, you indulge in no unnecessary luxu-
ries."

" I did not ask you for money," said the
girl. " And I did not ask those who gave me
this. My mother did not send me out to beg,
and we have a loaf of bread for to-day, and
one for to-morrow."

"Well, then, what is it?"

" I wish somebody in all this great city to
go and see my mother, for she told me to-day
that she had not a friend in the world !"

' ' And you could not find a friend in all this

A NEW YEAR S STOUT.

great city, and so have taken me who come
tum a stranger. Why, little one, you don't
l . i ink to take i/« im — me, a right sharp man,

just from the Jerseys*"

"Oh, sir. don't tease me. please. Don't
joke with me, for I am quite ri y. I

knew v"u are a kind hearted man, whatever
you may pretend."

Uncle Charlie's lir.-t thought was to shake
haz off. He read the newspapers, and knew
all about the tricks which are played in the
cities upon innocent travellers. The little girl
still stood shivering by his side. She waited
his decision without saying another word : hut
her eager eyes furtively scanned the passing
crowd, as if looking for some one else whom
she might accost. Uncle Charlie put his hand
in his pocket —

•■ Now don't do that, for I will not take your
money.''

"Well, you are a strange" — beggar, he was
going to say, but he thought better of it.
on, and I will follow.''

And so they went, Uncle Charlie all the
while thinking that he would not figure in the
'•local columns" of the newspapers, even if
he lost his watch and pocket-book. He would
suffer and be silent, and no alderman's office
should hear the story of his wrongs. But his
ut opinion of himself assured him that
nobody could impose upon him ! No, indeed !
The child, as she hurried along, looked less
and less like a little rogue. Uncle Charlie
began to think that she was pretty, and as he
iued her appearance he noticed that her
garm< nts, though scanty, were the well-saved
witnesses of better days. She turned down a
court, and Uncle Charlie, following, soon found
himself suddenly ushered into a room where
he was little expected. The single inmate
was as much surprised as he.

"Mother," said the child, "you said you

had not a friend in the world. I have brought

you one." And the curious child looked

round complacently, as if she really thought

• she had dene a clever thing.

The mother's face expressed bewildered
inishment. But in a moment, though un-
used to mirth, an involuntary smile succeeded.
•• I could he angry with you," she said, "you
strangest of all children. But I know you
think yon have done right. And I must tell
you, sir, that whatever my little girl has said
to you was of her own motion, and not of mine.
I seat her of an errand, hours ago, and had

begun to be frightened at her absence. What
is that you have in your hand, Edith f"

"I did not ask for it," said Edith, as she
put the money on the table. " They would
give it to me, and there it is. I said 1 was no
beggar."

The mother sank in a chair, overcome with
mortification, and hid her face in her hands.
The discomfited child leaned against the wall,
and steadily looked at the floor. Uncle Charlie
hi Iped himself, uninvited, to a seat, and feel-
ing that his watch and purse were still safe,
determined to see the adventure out. "Pretty
clever acting, if it is acting," he thought. He
took in the whole situation with his keen
eyes, and failed to find anything suspicious.
The apartment bespoke need, not absolute
poverty. All he saw only exhibited that un-
happily common case, the falling into neces-
sity, of those who have known better days.
And Uncle Charlie could sympathize with
that ; for there were those near and dear to
him who had met the like misfortune.

"If I can be of any service to you," he
began. But he did not finish, for the mo-
ther's eyes were fixed on hint, and only respect
for his evident good intentions prevented the
flash of defiant anger from them. They were
splendid eyes, as Uncle Charlie has said many
a time since, ami is ready to say still.

"This is very awkward.'' she said, at length.
" I could cry, but it is better to laugh. You
must be aware that I cannot, under such
peculiar circumstances, make a confidant of a
stranger. And I can mean no disrespect to
one whom I never saw before, if I say that I
cannot become indebted to you, sir, for any-
thing. I hope I am still entitled to think
myself a lady" — .

"Every inch a lady," thought Uncle Charlie.

"And I must therefore thank you for the
kindness you intended" — .

"Poor and proud," thought Uncle Charlie.

"And bid you good-morning."

' ' Done like a queen, ' ' thought Uncle Charlie,
as he rose, and found his watch and money
still safe. " I have two requests to make "t
you," he said, " since you will receive nothing
of me."

"I am ready to hear," she said. That
much, she thought, is due to your good in-
tentions, if you had them, and you really do
not look like a bad man.

Uncle Charlie looked like anything else.
He said : —

lady's book and magazine.

"One is that you shall not reprimand or
punish my little enigma for bringing me
here. ' '

"Granted."

" The other that you will allow Hie to call
again."

The lady shook her head.

" With my sister, this afternoon."

The lady considered a moment. "I am
very much embarrassed," she said, at this
remarkable interview. But you may call ; it
will not do to suspect everybody, though
Heaven knows I have reason enough." A
shade of deep sadness came over her face.

"You are certainly very handsome,"
thought Uncle Charlie, as he took his leave,
"and more interesting. It is quite a New
Year's adventure." He did not feel for his
watch and purse till he was clear of the court.
Still finding the integrity of his pockets pre-
served, he walked briskly away, full of curi-
osity and determined to satisfy it, if possible.

It is an agreeable amusement as you walk
along the streets, to speculate upon the in-
habitants of houses, and to people them with
folks of your own fancying ; to imagine who
ought to live in this house, and who in that,
to preserve the unities. Uncle Charlie would
no doubt have indulged in such day-dreams,
if his head had not been full of the wonderful
place he had just left ; wonderful, for its very
simplicity, as a fairy bower ; with its remark-
able child, and the quiet, lady-like, self-pos-
sessed mother. The tenement had to a Phila-
delphian nothing noticeable about it. It was
one of those small houses peculiar to the
Quaker City, with the street door opening
directly into the best room, with a very nar-
row front and not much depth. But it was
one house, a whole house, though small for
one family ; such a tenement as a widow could
have all to herself at small cost, or a clerk or
other man of modest means might occupy,
and not be forced into a mixed residence with
other people.

And the furniture had evidently been re-
moved here from a place more commodious.
The piano took up more than its fair share of
one side of the room ; and other articles said,
as plainly as they could speak, that they
were never purchased for their present quar-
ters. These things were not the puzzle of the
place to Uncle Charlie. What did that child
mean by taking him home with her? And
what did the mother mean by saying that she

had no friends ? If she had only entertained
him with a plausible story, he would have
understood at once that the whole thing was
palpably a trap.

While Uncle Charlie walks and wonders,
we will slip on before him to the house where
he would have been long before, if the little
enigma had not beguiled him out of his way.

II.

HOW THE KIDDLE WAS SOLVED. NEW SURPRISES.

Here too were the evidences that the inmates
had seen more cheerful days. But none of
the thousands who passed the modest mansion,
scrupulously neat, could have guessed that
anything but prosperity was within. The
well-washed marble steps, were kept so by a
compromise with the single woman of all
work. That functionary took a turn at street
sweeping, window-washing, and passenger
gazing, while her mistress supplied, for a
'time, her place within doors. And thus the
house was managed, as many such are, in the
"Quaker City."

It is a paradise for people of limited income,
and for the poor and respectable, where by
decent fictions in housekeeping, and laudable
hypocrisy, a good appearance may still be
made ; and honest self-respect may be pre-
served, after the wealth which once made all
things easy has slipped away.

In that house, a cheerful voice had broken
everybody's slumbers betimes, with " Happy
New Year ! Happy New Year !" Of course it
was a child's voice. Children are the last to
learn that it is proper and sensible to mar
our present by regrets over the past. And it
was a boy's voice ; for little girls, like our
strange friend Edith, will sometimes acquire
a precocious and unchild-like knowledge of
the world's cares and perplexities. Girls are
more discerning in many things — more wise,
more prudent, than boys. They are admitted
behind the scenes in the little drama of do-
mestic acting, in which the family " weep as
though they wept not." Boys know less than
girls. And so do men than women, / think.
But then I am a woman. *

Uncle Charlie called this little boy his
mother's "sunshine." And so he was. All
children, in some degree, deserve the name,
but it was little Geordie's pre-eminently. God,
in his wisdom, has made these little ones

A NEW YEAR'S STOKY.

angels in the house. They will see only the
bright side. Little sorrows afflict them, but
their tears pass over like April showers, and
thev will not be defrauded of the happiness

that is left, and are willing to be pleased still,
after all reverses and disappointments.

If little Geordie was "sunshine" to his
uncle, Dnole Charlie was the whole solar
system to his nephew. The boy lived in his
uncle's light. His mother was dear to him,
very dear. But then mother was with him
always, and Uncle Charlie came in like the
•wonder in a fairy story, just when he was
most wanted and most welcome. Mother was
pad, and often perplexed, and though always
kind, sometimes slow to answer the thousand
questions of childhood. But Uncle I
was always light and cheery. He never
looked perplexed, for nothing could puzzle
him. Oh no ! And as to questions, he always
answered them, even the most difficult, though
candor compels the confession that his replies
would not always bear verification under oath
or affirmation.

Mother. Geordie was compelled to believe,
was somewhat helpless, like himself, l.ut
Uncle Charlie could do everything. Geordie
had only to hint his wishes, and if his uncle
could not quite accomplish them, he could
st something else which he maintained,
and the child believed, was a great deal better.
Geordie longed, Oh how much, for a live pony.
Uncle Charlie bought him a rocking horse,
which would neither kick nor run away.
Besides, it would eat nothing, and Geordie was
easily convinced that the wooden pony's mod-
erate appetite was a great recommendation.
He could make believe feed it, you know, and
a horse that only makes believe eat, is a very
profitable animal.

"Will Uncle Charlie come to-day?"

The mother sighed, as she said, "I hope so,
Geordie.''

"O, mother, I know he will, for he always
came on New Year's, when father was at
home."

Mrs. Merrill could no longer stay her tears.
It was a sad New Year's day to her; for she
had no assurance — scarce a hope — that the
husband and father, who, a year ago, was the
light of the household, was longer among the
living. Early in the year just closed he bad
left her for El Dorado, the wonderful land
which once carried away all our restless popu-
lation ; the land fruitful in gold to few, in

anxieties and tears to all the friends who
were left behind. Months had passed, and
no tidings were received from him. It was a
sad wintry day to the hearts of those who
for the absent. And yet the streets
were full of promenaders, people of light
heart and cheerful demeanor, who passed the
window where the deserted wife and mother
sat. The thought was forced upon her,
Whether through the year just opened, she
should strive to keep together her husband's
home comforts; or whether she must not
relinquish all, andthus confess that she hoped
no more for his return.

She had almost forgotten Uncle Charlie,
when she caught a glimpse of his familiar
face.

" I knew he would come ! I knew he would
come ! ' ' shouted little Geordie, and before his
mother could reach the door, the happy boy
was tugging at the latch. We need not
describe with what joy Uncle Charlie was
welcomed ; or how before his pleasant smile —
pleasant though sad, for he could feel — the
gloomy thoughts of Mrs. Merrill gave her
respite. Wonderful were the stores of toys
and bon-bons which came out of Uncle Char-
lie's pockets for his little nephew. Deep was
the blush with which Mrs. Merrill received a
sealed envelope, which Uncle Charlie bade
her to put in her pocket and to hold her peace.

" Charles, you are robbing yourself."

"Me! and I a bachelor, without wife, or
chick, or child. Besides, it 's all charged, and
will be paid when your husband comes home."

Mrs. Merrill sadly sh"ek her head. Uncle
Charlie knew her forebodings. Perhaps he
shared them. But Uncle Charlie was always
a child. In the darkest day he could see sun-
light. If he had been a broker, he could
have carried the most forlorn stock, and when
forced to give way, drop his load, and rejoice
that he was released from a burthen. The
man's confidence was as adamant, and his
spirits as a perennial fountain. He was
determined to believe that his brother would
return, and if the absent never came back, so
much the more was he bound to keep up, for
the happiness of his widow and child.

"Why, Uncle Charlie!" said George, as he
surveyed his presents, "you did not bring me
one book !"

"No more I did," said Uncle Charlie.
" But I will give you all my books when you
are a man, and you shall be a lawyer like me.

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

You might look at Jack the Giant Killer,
which I gave you last year, if you had not
torn it all to pieces '."

"Oh I haven't, you naughty uncle," said
the child, as he produced in triumph the well
kept classic.

".By the way, sister," said Uncle Charlie,
whose thoughts now reverted to his morning's
adventure, "I want you to shock all the
proprieties, and frighten Mrs. Grundy out of
her wits, this afternoon."

Little Geordie looked up, wondering what
kind of a New Year's game this might portend.

"I met a little witch, this morning."

Geordie's eyes were ready to hurst from his
head, and his mother divided her smiles
between the lively uncle and the astonished
nephew.

"And I wish you to call and see her with
me."

"Oh, I should so like to see a witch !" cried
Geordie. " Is it in the menagerie ?"

" Never you mind, Geordie. You'll see the
witch soou enough."

[So he did ; but I must not get before my
story. He is looking at her now, over the top
of his everlasting newspaper.]

Mrs. Merrill was not hard to persuade to
accompany her brother. She was accustomed
to his erratic movements, and never thwarted
them ; for whatever conventional rules might
be laughingly broken, the man was always
right, for his heart was kind, and his head
was sound. So little Geordie was left, with
Jack the Giant Killer, in charge of the house,
and Uncle Charlie took his sister with him to
keep his appointment with the little enigma
and her mother.

We need not go with him on his second call,
for the result of the interview will develop
itself. When Uncle Charlie and his sister
returned, a new tableau met their eyes in the
parlor. A stranger, with huge moustache and
beard to give an upholsterer an outfit, was
sitting in the best and coziest chair ; and
Geordie, on the stranger's knees, was com-
paring his hirsute visage with that of Jack of
high renown. Uncle Charlie stopped a second
in the door. Mrs. Merrill rushed past him,
with a scream of delight, and in a moment
more Geordie was rolling on the carpet, with
the force of the concussion, Mrs. Merrill's head
was lost in the forest on the stranger's face,
and Uncle Charlie was giving three cheers and
a tiger. In this little Geordie vociferously

joined while he nibbed his knees ; concluding,
like a sensible boy, that to shout was better
than to whine.

All forthwith began to talk at once ; and
we cannot undertake to tell half they said.
Of chief interest to our tale is the explanation
which Mrs. Merrill gave of her absence ; how
she went to see Mrs. Oliver, whose husband
went to California —

" And died there," interrupted Mr. Merrill.

"She knows that, poor soul," said Uncle
Charlie. (I don't think uncle was half as
sorry for that death as he pretended.)

"But she don't know," said Mr. Merrill,
"that her husband left her fifty thousand
dollars. He was my partner, and we were very
fortunate. I wish he could have lived to
return with me. But he died full of love for
his wife and child, and charged me with many
messages to them. I closed his eyes ; and
from that day set my face homeward."

" Why did you not write ?"

" So I did, a dozen times. But where is
Charles fled ? I have not so much as shaken
hands with him yet."

"I guess he's gone to see the witch," cried
little Geordie.

" Or the witch's mother," said Mrs. Merrill.

Uncle Charles soon returned, and confessed
the fact, that he thought it his duty to break
the intelligence to the widow. And his duty
has been very much blended with hers ever
since. Her fortune she settled upon Edith —
her hand, at proper time, she gave to Uncle
Charlie, and she never has said, since that
New Year's morning, that she had not a friend
in the world.

III.

THE AUTHOR'S CONFESSION.

I am putting the finishing words to my nar-
rative on this 31st day of December, A. D.
1862. I am sitting in my husband's "den,"
as he persists in calling the most inviting
room in the house, especially inviting to me
when he is in it. I sometimes enter when he
is away ; but confess that then the dead smell
of tobacco-smoke is not so agreeable. I would,
in his absence, put his room in order, and
have once or twice attempted it, hut have
received anything but thanks for my officious
service.

I am— or rather was— little Edith. Another

A NEW TEAR'S STORY.

little Edith is just now gone to bed, and the
four corners of her crib are hung with stock-
ings. The grand New Year's demonstration
is, however, in the back parlor, the second
edition of a huge Christmas tree. George
(no longer little Geordie) will spoil the child,
and I tell hirn so.

George's father and mother, and my father
and mother (for Uncle Charlie is my father
now), will dine with us to-morrow. We dined
with him on Christmas day, as we always
have since we were married.

George sits now on the other side of his big
library light, a wasteful gas consumer. I
can't make him content with a blaze of proper
size ; and so am forced to turn down the
parlor gas, and sit up here for economy's
sake, when there is nobody in the house but
ourselves. How easy it is to find excellent
reasons for what you wish to do ! But then
I know if I did not come and sit with him, he
would carry his awful pipe —

["Get away, George! Yon hateful man!
Your whiskers and moustache are worse than
a Turk'.< : and your meerschaum breath is
intolerable ! Take that ! and that ! " ]

I do not know whether I hare hurt him or
not, fur his pachydermatous skin is tougher
(han a rhinoceros. My own fingers smart and
ache so that I can scarce resume my pen.
Hut, hear! hear! George Merrill, Esq., Coun-
sellor and Attorney at Law, has struck an
attitude, and is going to make a speech.

"What is the use of this V holding up his
smoking cap, an ante-nuptial present from
me. " what is the use of this, if under it, as
a helmet, I am not to smoke ? And of this t"
thrusting out the meerschaum, which I blush
to say I gave him in my maiden folly.
" What is the use of this, if I am not to smoke ?
All honor to the German Father Land, which
has released us from the costly tyranny of the
cigar, and gives us comfort in the celestial
olay, which our sweethearts and wives present
to us !

" You women are the heralds of prudence.
You have lectured me on the extravagance of
little Edith's presents, though yon know in
your heart that you enjoy them more than
she. What is the use of children ?"

[I trembled a little here. For when Edith
fought me this morning in the bath-tub, I
asked myself this question. But I never told
ileorge.]

"What is the use," he continued, "of
vol. lxviii. — 5

children ? Listen, Light of my Eyes, purveyor
of my pipes and smoking caps, and, thus,
inferentially of my Lynchburg, and I will tell
you. It is a blessing that children come
along in relays, to mark the post-houses in
the journey of life. But for the children,
there never would be any anniversaries. After
thirty, the women, and after forty, the men
would forget that ever they were born, if our
children did not keep our birthdays.

" Christmas would be nothing without the
children. And as to New Year's, that has
but a bilious look ; and without the children,
would be intolerable. Everybody is forced
upon some committee of ways and means, and
stationers advertise new blank books, as if
the old were not blank enough, and all the
blanker for their entries.

"But for the children we could be glad to
forget that there is such a thing as a New
Year, that there was such a thing as an old.
But they lighten us along the road of life, and
make the holidays jubilant. Christmas and
New Year's are delightful for their presents,
and for the many other things we buy and do
to please the children ! Why, there 's that
duck of a what-do-you-call-it, you've just
been embroidering for Edith ; where could we
find excuse for such pretty things, except for
the children ? And where, without Godey,
could you get the patterns ? New Year's is
the time to kiss your babies, pay your bills,
and subscribe for the Lady's Book : the first
and the last make a pleasant sandwich for the
mustard of the duns between. And now I
will set down, amid great applause."

The applause came in loud screams from
Edith's cradle. Exit Author.

SONNET.

BT KRC.VA.

Bleak wintry winds had bared the shivering toes,
And whirled their brown dead leaves to snow-filled

graves ;
All summer's treasures locked in secret caves,

I mourning said, and nothing left to please

But winter's ruthless grasp must sternly seize —
tVhen lo! beneath a sheltered bank there waves,.
Sweetly unconscious of the storm it braves,

One crimson-lidded daisy — a heart's-ease,.

Green-leaved at root, and with a double bloom
Of fair twin flow'rets, to the daisy smiled —
Sweet flowers, ye shall no longer brave the wild,

But sheltered safe with me breathe sweet perfume.
So oft doth God to his dear children say,
"Long have you smiled through storms — come, bloom
with me alway "

ALICE B. HAVEN".

" A perfect woman, nobly planned."

In a recent number of the Lady's Book, the
death of Alice B. Haven — better known to
some of our readers as Alice B. Neal — was
announced. In addition to the true and beau-
tiful eulogy uttered then by one who knew
how to appreciate not only her genius, but
her rare Christian character, it is believed
that a brief history of her life w^ll be welcome
to the readers of this magazine, who for so
many years knew her in connection with its
pages. To very many of them, doubtless, the
announcement of this death was a shock of
grief as well as surprise ; for we know that
she was held dear, for the sake of her pure,
womanly writings, in hearts that knew no-
thing of her otherwise. For such as these we
write, believing that the lesson of a life so
rich in all good words and works, will be
gladly received, and can hardly fail to be
fruitful for good.

"Being dead, she yet speaketh" — oh, how
clearly and with what solemn utterance ! in
the memories of those who beheld her daily
life and conversation, and can bear witness
how entirely both were consecrated to the ser-
vice of the Master she "delighted to honor."
It is but fitting that through these memories
she should "yet speak" to a wider circle than
could be reached by her direct personal influ-
ence, far-extended and nobly exercised as
that was.

The story of her early marriage and widow-
hood is an old story, perhaps, to many, and
yet to many more it may be new. In either
case it deserves mention in any sketch of her
life, for the secret of much that she accom-
plished in after years may be traced to the
sharp discipline that moulded her character
in that period of trial.

Its origin was in a playful assertion of her
powers when a young girl at boarding-school.
Her companions were familiar with her fancy
for authorship, which had found various out-
lets already, and challenged her to test her
ability by sending a story to Neal's Gazette,
in those days a literary journal of recognized
authority. She did not dream — full of wild
and romantic dreams as her girlish fancy
might have been— what strange consequences
50

were to follow this half careless, half earnest
venture of her youthful ambition. Nor did
any shadow of the future darken her pride
and delight in the reception, flattering beyond
all her hopes, which was awarded to her
graceful little story. For Mr. Neal's quick
and delicate perception recognized at once the
genius of the young aspirant, and by his
genuine admiration and warm encouragement
stimulated her to new and greater efforts.

She became a frequent contributor to the
Gazette, and a personal correspondence with
Mr. Neal followed. This was carried on in
the assumed name of ^1/i'ce Lee, and her com-
positions appeared under the same ; so that
Mr. Neal believed it to be her own, and did
not discover for some time her lawful title to
the very different appellation of Emily Brad-
ley. The name of "Alice" had become too
much endeared to him by this time for him to
be willing to exchange it for any other, even
the one that belonged to her by familiar
household use ; and when the correspondence
ripened from friendship to love, and ended
finally in his seeking the young girl in her
quiet home and winning her for his wife, he
chose to adopt it entirely. She had assumed
it at first from a mere fancy, never dreaming
that she was destined to wear it henceforth,
to the utter forgetfulness and disuse of her
household name. But there was a harmony
between it and her that made the graceful
title her own by a higher authority than family
use or baptismal registers. The mingled
strength and sweetness of her character were
far better expressed by "that silvery sound,"
"true omen," indeed, to her, "of a life's long
melody." For linked with it, "as words to
music," are, oh how many memories ! of ten-
der, patient love, of silent self-abnegation, of
brave and hopeful effort, of sweet and ever-
ready sympathy, of the "pure religion" that
is recognized as "undefiled before God and
the Father," of gentle wisdom and graceful
wit — all the sweet chords that go to make np
life's divinest melody !

It was in December, 1S46, that the marriage
with Mr. Neal took place, and she left her
home in Hudson for his in Philadelphia. Up

ALICE B. HAVEN".

to this time she had been, as it were, in '

•'---." carefully guarded and guided by

others : but her ability to stand alone was put
to the test very soon. Mr. Neal'a health,
which had not been strong for years, began to
fail rapidly. A distressing malady, affecting
mind and body alike, gained ground; and the
young wife found her married life, from which
so much bad beeu anticipated, clouded with
heavy care and anxiety almost from the be-
ginning. She did not fail under it. inexpe-
rienced and unprepared as she was : her
courage rose to meet the emergency, and her
unselfish devotion soothed and comforted in
untold ways, though it could not avert the
final calamity.

Mr. N'eal died suddenly in July, lfi47. leav-
ing this widowed girl defenceless, and thrown
upon her own resources, at the age of nine-
teen. It was the beginning of a story of toil,
self-sacrifice, and endurance, which has few if
any equals. Young as she was, she decided
at once to assume her husband's editorial du-
ties, and fill his place as far as possible to bis
widowed mother, who resided with them. The
•ice she had already rendered him in
bis literary labors, and his kind and careful
direction of her own powers, made her in
spite of her youth competent to undertake the
responsible position, as her faithful and con-
scientious fulfilment of all its requirements
fully proved.

But it was nevertheless a heavy burden for
those fair young shoulders to bear. The fra-
gile constitution and keenly sensitive tem-
perament, combined with an unusual personal
loveliness, seemed ill-adapted for resistance
or endurance ; yet those who looked to see her
faint and fail beneath accumulated difficulties,
saw instead the resolute opposition to every
encroachment of despair, the steadfast deter-
mination— based on her simple reliance in the
Source of all strength and courage — to "en-
dure unto the end," and accomplish the work
that was given her to do.

Few. even of those who knew her private
life intimately, comprehended the trials and
struggles, the privations and temptations that
she met and overcame. For the natural ten-
dency of her temperament was ease-loving and
self-indulgent. She had a keen enjoyment of
all beautiful and luxurious things, a taste for
social pleasures, and a perfectly natural con-
fess of the admiration which her own
and vivacity never failed to elicit. Yet

with all this to tempt her away from the path
of self-denial and sacrifice whi.-h she had
chosen, the instances in which she swerved
from it are few and far between. ^Yhile they
come in troops — the records of self-forgetting
labors for others. That one and another might
be supplied with needed comforts, she denied
herself everything but the simplest necessa-
ries, and much that would have been con-
sidered indispensable by a majority of judges.
Her dress, her table, the furnishing of ner
house, every personal surrounding, evinced
the same principle of economy in opposition
to natural tastes ; for in spite of the rigid
simplicity enforced, there was about all an
air of grace and refinement which was per-
fectly inseparable from her. and with which
everything she touched was at once invested.
This subtle attribute was one of her chief
charms : those who knew her sufficiently to
appreciate the delicate shades of her character
will recognize it readily, and remember how
all-pervading it was.

But the self-denial which was at first a mat-
ter of necessity, soon grew to be a deep and
abiding principle. The task of winning sub-
sistence for herself, and others dependent
upon her labors, became easier in time, as her
unceasing industry met a more fitting recog-
nition and reward. New opportunities opened
to her : her growing merit as an author was
acknowledged, her contributions sought after,
and her work well remunerated. But instead
of resting from her labors, or considering, as
many would have done, that she had won the
right to personal indulgence, increased means
with her became only increased occasion for
usefulness. The gratification of taste was as
resolutely resisted, the daily economies as
persistently practised ; for always present with
her was the remembrance of the "fatherless
children, and widows, and all who are deso-
late and oppressed," to be defended and pro-
vided for.

It would be difficult to enumerate these
labors of love, performed so silently and un-
ostentatiously, and rendered possible only by
a perpetual renunciation of her own plea-
sures. Day by day the little fair hands toiled
in concert with the active brain ; through
weakness, and weariness, and physical pain
oftentimes, that would have been abundant
reason for idleness with any one else, yet
neverwas such with her while she had strength
to wield her pen. .And the pecuniary returns

GODEY S LAUYS BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

far her toil were portioned out and divided
with conscientious care, each to do its ap-
pointed work, and all to be accounted for dili-
gently as not her own, but held in stewardship
at the Master's will. Any sum appropriated
in her own mind to a certain purpose, was
considered as spent already ; and though it
might lie in her hands for months, no tempta-
tion or emergency would induce her to touch
it until it went upon its own peculiar mis-
sion.

This delicate conscientiousness prevailed in
everything, in the use of time as well as of
money. The old proverb of "a place for
everything and everything in its place," was
illustrated in its deepest meaning throughout
her life. She could never have accomplished,
otherwise, one-half of what she was enabled
to do ; but by adhering to it faithfully, an
amount of work was done that seemed incredi-
ble sometimes, when one remembered the
frail health and slender physical strength that
she had always to bear up against. For she
was never robust, even in her early youth.
Her childhood, from her first remembrance,
was a period of physical suffering : the little
life was hidden in darkness at intervals,
through a disease of the eyes that caused total
blindness for weeks and months together ;
and as she grew older, the natural delicacy of
her constitution found its outlets of suffering
in prostrating headaches. She could never
remember any time when she had been what
we call " in perfect health ;" and it is easy to
imagine the effort it must have cost her, from
this cause alone, to keep up always to her
own standard.

That she did so " was not of herself, but the
gift of God," she would have said. And truly
it was only " the gift of God" that could have
sustained her as she was sustained, through
all things, and crowned her patient, perse-
vering efforts with the blessing that she most
desired. "The work of her hands was pros-
pered," in wonderful ways oftentimes. She
seldom failed to accomplish what she under-
took ; for she undertook nothing without
thoughtful consideration and earnest prayer.
"In all her ways she acknowledged Him,"
and with a child's simplicity and confidence,
believed in and sought for the promised di-
rection of her actions.

••I eanuot afford to make mistakes," she
said once. " So much depends on my judg-
ment, that I must decide for the best. Aud

I cannot do it of myself, so I ask God to lead
me, and show me exactly what to do."

" But that is such an intangible, far-away
leading," was objected. "How can one ever
be sure of it ?"

"He leads me like the blind, sometimes, by
a way that I knew not," she said. "But
when I have given up my own will in the
matter entirely to His, I know that I shall
not be left without help. And something
always happens to make it plain. I never
asked for guidance in vain, and the result in
the end always verifies my dependence. ' '

"That is because you have so much faith.
There are not many who are gifted in the
same way.''

" But every one might be," was the answer.
"Even Abraham's faith was not of himself,
but the gift of God ; and I dare say he had to
ask for it."

The sweet, arch smile that gave significance
to her words, brightens before us still, as we
recall them. It is hard to remember that all
smiles are faded now ; loving lips and tender
eyes sealed forever ; large heart and busy
brain at rest from all their labor. But God be
thanked, faith is no longer with her "the
substance of things hoped for but not seen."
Its full fruition we may faintly imagine —

" For if Thy work on earth be sweet,
What must Thy glory be !"

TVe are tempted to dwell at too great length
upon the beauty unfolded in a life like this.
Words seem so weak, that we long to repeat
instances and recall occasions that will more
fitly illustrate the character we seek to portray.
But the limits of our sketch forbid such details,
and we must hasten to complete the mere
outline which is all that may be attempted.

Her widowhood lasted for nearly six years,
during which time she resided constantly in
Philadelphia, and was a regular contributor
to tliis Magazine, whose publisher was one of
her earliest, and never ceased to be one of
her warmest aud kindest friends. His gener-
ous sympathy and encouragement gave her
strength in many hours of trial and despond-
ency, and was never wanting in any vicissitude
of her after life. There were others also,
whose names we forbear to mention, but who
know well in what grateful remembrance she
always held them, and how to the last the
friendship was prized, which had been so tried
and proved in the hour of need.

ALICE B. HAVEN.

In January, ]S!>3, she was married to Mr.
Samuel It. Haven, and exchanged her home
in l'hiladelphia for one in New York. This
again was exchanged, a year or two after,
for a residence at Mamaroneck, Westchester
County j and here she continued to dwell
until her death.

This second marriage was the beginning of
a new, and in many respects a very different
life for her. She found in it a happiness and
a satisfaction which had been wanting in the
first, in spite of girlish romance and the tender
affection with which she had been cherished.
The sweet duties of maternity came to her
now, for the first time, and childish voices
made still more glad the home that had been
rich in love and thankfulness before. Her
wifehood and motherhood crowned her with a
new grace and dignity, and year by year
developed new beauty and excellence in a
character that was forever progressing in
intellectual and spiritual attainment.

The duties and cares of her married and
social life, however, did not prevent her from
nsing her pen as diligently as before. The
same conscientious appropriation of time which
had enabled her to accomplish so much in other
circumstances, gave her power to do still more
now. Books, stories, poems, editorials, flowed
from her facile pen as constantly as if she had
no other cares to occupy her. Yet neither
household nor social duties were ever defrauded
of their proper interest and attention. Her
pretty house was kept always in delicate order
and neatness ; and her husband's evening
home-coming welcomed unfailingly by chil-
dren, whose sweet faces and clean dresses
tempted kisses, and a wife, about whom no
"blue-stocking" suspicion could ever linger.

We cannot refrain from making a brief
comment here — sacred and delicate as the
subject is — upon her estimate of wifely duty
and responsibility, and her fulfilment of them.
The marriage vow of " love, honor, and obe-
dience," was to her no mere form of words,
but a binding law enduring as life, strong as
death. How entirely, with what sweet sub-
mission, and gentle pride, and outflowing,
unfailing tenderness, she fulfilled its every
requirement, " the heart of her husband, ' ' that
"safely trusted in her," can make answer.
And others, less happy, or less faithful in
such relationship, can bear witness, also, in
loving remembrance of the gentle counsels
as well as the sweet example by which she

strove to recommend her own practice. We
know of more than one instance in which her
influence in this respect has been exerted to
good purpose ; and it seems only due that
this mention should be made of a principle ol
conduct which is too lightly estimated in these
days, we fear, and which was productive of so
much benefit to others as well as happiness in
her own home.

This, however, was but one of many ways
in which her influence was exercup>d for the
good of others. She held that also as a gift of
God, a talent to be diligently improved, and
account of it rendered ; and she never suffered
opportunities of its use to pass unnoticed.
Innumerable instances might be given, and
there are many more of which the only record
is in loving, grateful hearts. Fornoone ever
sought sympathy or counsel of her in vain ;
she was never too engrossed by her own cares
and occupations, multiplied and absorbing as
they were, to withhold interest from anybody's
troubles, or perplexities, or necessities. " All
who were afflicted in mind, body, or estate. ' '
had claim upon her, so fully recognized and
responded to, that the very guiding principle
of her life, its theory and its practice, seemed
to be explained in the text, " Bear ye one
another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of
Christ."

She did bear these burdens to the last, even
when bowed down by burdens of her own
that many would have thought insupportable.
For the hard saying that " whom He loveth
He chasteneth" was verified through her
experience in manifold, oft repeated ways.
Mingled with the many joys of her married
life was many a sharp and bitter trial of her
faith, many a cup of anguish which she was
forced to drain to its dregs, for all her pleading
cry, " If it be possible, let it pass from me."

Amongst these was the terrible shadow of
death and loss, that once more hung threat-
eningly above her. Her husband's ill-health
had excited anxious apprehension for a long
time ; and her worst fears were verified in the'
winter of I860, by a violent hemorrhage which
brought him to the very verge of death. It
was not God's will, however, that she should
be left desolate, and Mr. Haven's health was
sufficiently restored to enable him to make a
journey to Florida, accompanied by her. They
spent the winter and early spring there, and
he returned greatly invigorated. But the
shadow of fear and apprehension hovered

GODEY 3 LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

always about her, growing more distinct and
tangible again as the second winter approached,
and it became apparent that he must leave
home once more. It was not practicable for
them to go together at this time, and he sailed
alone for St. Croix, leaving her to follow him
a month after. This voyage, which she under-
took in midwinter, entirely unaccompanied,
and in a small, uncomfortable sailing vessel,
may give some idea of her courage and unself-
ish devotion. A stranger amongst strangers,
a delicate* woman going unprotected to an
utterly unknown land to meet — she knew not
what dreadful possibility on her arrival ! We
can comprehend in some measure the physical
discomfort and weariness, but hardly the
hidden apprehension and dread that haunted
her in a thousand forms during that tedious
voyage ; still less the unspeakable joy and
relief of the meeting that took place at its end.
But the gain in health and strength for her
husband repaid her for all. The winter in
Santa Croix benefited him so much that they
returned full of hope ; and for a time the
shadow seemed to be lifted from their heart,
and home. It came back before long, only
now it was the wife, not the husband, for
whom the still, small voice was calling. The
frail form grew frailer that summer, the little
white hands more slender ; and the (lush that
brightened her cheek was belied by the weary
look in her eyes. Still it was nothing, she
said, and heart and hands intermitted none of
their usual labor.

That summer was finished "her beloved
life-work, 'The Good Report ;' " a book upon
which she had been engaged for more than
four years, and into which was compressed
the best fruit of all she had learned and
attained in her life-long spiritual training. It
is unpublished yet, for though the actual
work was completed at that time, she kept it
by her to revise and remodel, as new ideas
suggested themselves ; and had always, we
think, a certain prescience that it would not
be given to the world until after her death.
Its name will have a deeper significance now
than she meant it to have ; for the book will
truly be "a good report" of the pure and
beautiful soul which gave it being.

Various other literary works were accom-
plished during that year, and more than one
"labor of love" whose very remembrance is
fruitful still for blessing. One we must chro-
nicle, though, by some strange providence, it

seemed suffered to fail of its intended pur-
pose. For years, during her residence in
Philadelphia, she was a teacher in the Sun-
day-school of St. Peter's church. Her marriage
and removal to New York separated her from
her class, but she never forgot, or ceased to
take a loving interest in each member of it.
On every subsequent visit to Philadelphia,
she would seek out her old pupils, as far as
practicable ; renewing her old teachings, if
only the opportunity for a few words was ob-
tained, with new earnestness and tenderness.
And every Sunday afternoon she made a habit
of praying for each one of them by name.

In the fall of this year the impulse came to
write to each one of them — a simple, affection-
ate letter of warning and appeal, urging them
if they had not already done so, to make up
their minds to be truly Christian men and
women. Inclosed in each letter was a copy
of a prayer, marked "For my Sunday-school
class, to put in their Bibles," and written
especially for them in the simple and beautiful
language which she knew so well how to use.
These letters were directed with such know-
ledge as she could obtain of the different
whereabouts of the class, and sent, as we can
well Relieve, with an earnest prayer for God's
blessing upon them. But none of them,, we
believe, reached their destination at all. A
number, at least, were returned a long time
after, through the dead-letter office, to their
writer ; and were rescued by the writer of
this from a»waste-paper basket some weeks
ago. Reading them over now, lingering upon
the lines traced as we know in weakness and
pain, yet so filled with the very spirit of
Christ in their fervent and tender appeals, we
wonder why it was that some heavenly mes-
senger was not charged to speed them on their
errand of love. But God's ways are not as
our ways, and the work that He meant them
to do will be accomplished in His own good
time, we must believe.

In the winter following this fall came the
first actual breaking-down, the first acknow-
ledgment that her physical strength was no
longer equal to the strain of nerve and brain.
An attack of fever, and "pleurisy," so called,
prostrated her utterly for a time, and was fol-
lowed, after a period of partial recovery, by a
hemorrhage of the lungs. Life and death
trembled in the balance, for a space of unut-
terable anguish and dread. But her life-work
was not yet completed, and "a little longer"

ALICE B. HAVEN.

was granted to "the earth-love, growing
r" as -,'..• f. It her slipping away from
our clinging hold. A milder climate was or-
dered, and three months in the Bahama Is-
lands worked a seeming miracle. She rami'
hack so changed from the frail, spirit-like
creature that had departed, that Bhe seemed
almost robusl ; and hope blossomed into new
life in the hearts that were so ready to seize
upon hope.

Throughout the summer following her re-
turn— the summer of 1862 — she interested
herself chiefly in hospital service, visiting and
relieving the sick -"Micrs quartered at David's
Island, near New Rochelle. She had been
compelled t" discontinue her literary labors
since the previous winter, and it was not ill
her nature to lie inactive while there was any-
thing that her hands could lind to do. In the
summer of 1661, She and other ladies of Ma-
maroneck had provided ami made up with
their own hands a large quantity of hospital
garments for the benefit of sick and wounded
soldiers. This summer, in co-operation with
on.- <>r two dear friends, like-minded with
herself, she went to minister to them person-
ally ; and the BWeet face, and soft voice, and
gentle hands, were watched and waited for
through those weary summer days, by many
a poor sufferer to whom her mere presence
was balm and healing, as it were, in itself.

An article called "One Day," published in
l/itrj>n's Magazine that autumn, was a simple
record of what might be seen and done in one
day's hospital experience. It thrilled the
hearts of all who read it, especially of far-
away soldiers, grouped around camp-fires,
reading it aloud to one another, and shedding
irrepressible manly tears over its simple,
graphic details, so full of vivid interest to
men who might at any moment be candidates
for similar offices. Many were the testimo-
nials from different quarters of such effects
produced by it, and how it stimulated other
good and true women to lend their aid and
interest to the same object. But it was the
instrument of accomplishing a still higher and
holier work ; for by means of the sum accru-
ing from its publication, she was enabled to
print for gratuitous distribution a little tract,
which she also wrote that summer, called
.■ In the Hospital." Simple, tender, and
earnest, without any dry arguments, or harsh,
repelling doctrines, this tiny book was just
fitted to reach the attention and touch the

hearts of the weary, suffering men who lay in
hospital wards, longing for home, and needing
just such comforting, helping words. We
oan imagine how many grateful hearts blessed
the unknown author who brought to them
this "cup of cold water;" and she. perhaps,
ere this, has won her reward ill the know-
ledge that it was as "drops of healing" to
some of those neglected "little ones."

In November of this year, 18o"2, she left her
country-home to spend tho winter in town
with her husband and children. For various
reasons it was not considered advisable that
she should go to the islands again ; and by
careful avoidance of exposure it was thought
that she could spend the winter in N'ew York
to better advantage. For a time her health
seemed to improve, and her Christmas and
New Year holidays were brightened with hope
and happiness. The first of January, 1863,
was the tenth anniversary of her marriage,
and, as she said, "the sweetest and happiest
of all." They did not, would not believe it
could be the last.

But she began to fail very soon after this.
There was no further hemorrhage, but a most
painful and distressing affection of the throat
took place ; and from this time until death
brought release, she had seldom a brief space
that was free from suffering. Often acute and
extreme, always wearing and wasting — it
wrung with anguish the loving hearts that
would have died for her, and yet none could
bring relief.

In May they returned to their own pleasant
home at Mamaroneck — "The Willows." It
had been newly repaired and refurnished, and
everything was made fresh and beautiful for
her. In the house the graceful and luxurious
things that she had denied herself all her life,
were gathered together for her enjoyment by
her husband's tender love ; and without, the
lovely grounds seemed lovelier than ever in
their exquisite spring garniture. In a letter
written in June, she says : — ■

"All my life long I have loved beautiful
and dainty things, and have never had an
opportunity to indulge the taste ; indeed, I
had entirely given up the thought, or longing
I might call it, till this summer every one
conspires to indulge me. The house outside
and in, my lovely room, the out-of-door beauty
everywhere — I cannot tell you what delight
and enjoyment I take in them all."

She did indeed gather much enjoyment out

godey's lady's book and magazine.

of that summer, albeit so full of pain and
suffering, and destined to be the last summer
of her exquisite earth-life.

On the 21st of July her baby-girl was born ;
and after that it was hoped that her disease
would be arrested and health restored. But
the little fair child thrived and grew strong,
while the mother drooped and failed. There
was a brief rallying, the last flashing upward
of the wasting flame, when the baby was a
few weeks old. But the false hope was too
quickly dashed, and a few weeks more found
the little new-comer motherless, the house-
hold desolate, and life robbed of what seems
now its sole treasure, to one who

** Will miss her and go mourning
All his solitary days."

On Wednesday, August 19th, she had been
lifted from her bed to a large easy-chair, in
which she was accustomed to sit for a little
while every day. Resting amongst the soft
pillows, wrapped in a Shetland shawl, and her
exquisite hands folded across her prayer-book,
open at the Litany, she never had looked love-
lier, it seemed to those who lingered beside
her. Her eyes were full of tender light, her
cheeks flushed with the hectic that wears such
a fatal beauty, and the rich masses of her hair
shading her wasted temples, all combined to
make up a picture of such exceeding loveli-
ness as will never fade from the memories of
those who gazed upon it.

Its sweet repose lasted but for a very brief
space. A fit of coughing, or rather an attempt
to cough, resulted in a suffocating spasm of
the throat ; and for a time which none mea-
sured— its duration seemed ages rather than
moments— the very pangs of death were suf-
fered, in their sharpest form. Wasted and
weakened by her long suffering, the physical
agony seemed almost to overpower even her
faith ; and the despairing cry, "I am dying,
oh pray that it may be short ! 0 my God, let
it be short!" was too full of anguish to be
remembered calmly.

Thank God ! the prayers were heard : relief
was granted, and for a little while she was
given back to the love that clung to her so
desperately. Through the night following
she lay awake much of the time, murmuring
repeatedly words of prayer and grateful ac-
knowledgment for the deliverance that had
been sent her.

" It was all needed," she said once, " every
pang. But I was so weak, I thought I could

not bear it. God was better than I deserved.
He has spared my life."

Another time she asked, in a half-wander-
ing way. waking from a brief sleep —

"Do you believe there is really a God, who
is our Father 1 who loves us, and cares about
us always ?"

" I do not believe, I know," was the answer.
"And so do you, Alice. No one knows it so
well as you."

"Oh, yes, surely!" she exclaimed, with a
lovely smile, consciousness and memory flash-
ing hack. " The everlasting arms — they are
bearing me upward now I"

Bending over her at another time, in the
darkness, one who watched heard her whisper,
" I thank thee, 0 my Heavenly Father, for
all Thy dear love. I thank Thee for my
precious husband and my dear children ; /
thank- Thee for all my agonizing suffering."

Three days more were all that remained of
life or suffering to her, and of the latter it
pleased God to spare her much. She slept,
or was unconscious a great deal of the time,
mind and body growing weaker together, as
her feet drew nearer the brink of the Dark
River. On Saturday, towards nightfall, the
Death angel made his presence felt in the
shadowy room. But he came gently, not
with pain or terror. The anguish of that
extreme hour was all for those who watched
the failing breath and fading eyes, not for her
in whom the awful change was taking place
in such serene silence. No further agony of
the wasted frame and weary spirit was allowed ;
and hour after hour stole softly by, while the
calm sweetness of her rest was undisturbed
by any passing pain. The murmured words
that dropped from lips half unconscious, told
only of love and happiness ; and while the
solemn shadow of that unseen Mystery brooded
above, the heavenly light of "the peace that
passeth all understanding," made her face
"as it were the face of an angel."

None of those who stood by that death-bed
will ever forget its holy serenity, least of all
the ineffable beauty of that supreme moment
which marked —

' ' The passing of the sweetest sonl

That ever looked with huinnii eyes."

No words could picture the sudden rapture
that illuminated the whole countenance, flash-"
ed out from eyes we had thought closed in
slumber, gleamed across lips that seemed
sealed from smiling forever more. It was as

ALICE B. HAVEN.

though the realization of what " eye hath not
seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into
the heart oi man to conceive," was revealed
in one unutterable virion. The tear-blinded
eyes fixed upon hers, might not behold what
she beheld, but they saw its glory reflected
for one brief moment, never to be forgotten
till the veil of this mortality is withdrawn,
and we also behold ' ' The King in His beauty. ' '

One word more we must claim, for a passing
glimpse at the funeral services, rendered with
beauty and harmony rarely witnessed. In
the simple village church, before the altar
where she had knelt for so many years, they
laid the polished eaaket that held all that re-
mained of a jewel too precious for our keeping.
Rare flowers — only less exquisite than the
face they circled, the hands in which they
were clasped — were heaped about it in lavish
loveliness ; for friends and neighbors had
vied with one another to adorn her death,
even as they had done to gladden her life,
with these sweet tokens Of their reverent love.
One fair hand held Bprigs of heliotrope and
violets, placed there by the little fingers of
her ehildr.-n, but the other clasped, lying
upon her breast, a cross of snow-white, fra-
grant roses. All her life long she had clung
"simply to Thy cross;" it was fitting that
she should hold the frail emblem in death, as
all felt when that sweetest of hymns, "Rock
of ages, oleft for me," swelled through the
church in its soft, heavenly minors.

Seldom, at any fa- :al. have been gathered
so many, brought together by one sincere
impulse of love and sympathy. .In the throng
of earnest faces, not one careless or indifferent
gazer could be seen ; young and old, rich and
poor, met together in a common sorrow, for
all in the parish counted her as a friend. And
the tears that rained from so many eyes, the
sobs that shook even manly breasts, as they
drew near for one last look at the placid face,
bore witness to the universal love and rever-
ence she had inspired.

The pastor who had baptized her children,
one after another, and broken the "bread of
life" to her, kneeling at those same chancel
rails by which her coffin stood, read now
the solemn, beautiful burial-service above
her head. And one who had a still nearer
and dearer right to share in this sacred office,
spoke the fitting and expressive eulogy, which
will be remembered long, for its eloquence

and unutterable tenderness, as well as its
deep truthfulness to her character, by all who
were present.

We are fain to linger over this closing scene,
beautiful beyond any idea that our poor words
have given; inasmuch as it was in perfect
harmony with a life whose beauty has been
rarely equalled. But our loving task must be
brought to a close, imperfectly, faintly fulfilled
as it has been.

We have said little concerning her writings,
but that was scarcely needed, for those who
through so many years were familiar with her
varied powers as a story-teller. Any one who
has read "Margaret's Home," " Incompati-
bility of Temper, " "Carriage Friends," "Rent-
ing a Furnished House," and numberless
others that have enriched the pages of the
Lady's Book, will need no elaborate criticism
to make him understand the grace and spirit,
as will as the rare fidelity to human nature,
and sympathy with human feeling, that all
her writings display. Few have written so
well who have written so much, and on such
varied themes. But she did nothing carelessly,
or simply for its pecuniary recompense. She
wrote rapidly, but conscientiously always ;
with an honest purpose to do justice to her
own talents, intellectually as well as morally
and spiritually.

Her books for children are amongst the very
best that our literature can produce, and will
bear comparison with the standard works of
English juvenile writers. Her "Home Books,"
a series of seven or eight volumes, published
by the Appletons, under proverbial titles, are
all admirable ; full of graphic and natural
incident, and teaching the purest moral les-
sons. Oue of them, "Patient Waiting no
Loss, "is one of the sweetest books for children
we have ever read ; full of the truest pathos
and fidelity to childish nature. Yet charming
as it is, it was written in a space of three weeks,
during a visit in Virginia, and under varied
disadvantages that any author could appre-
ciate. It has been reprinted in England, to-
gether, we believe, with others of the series.

The "Helen Morton" books, in three vo-
lumes, published by the "Church Book So-
ciety," are equally lovely. They have also
published "Pictures from the Bible," and
"Charlie Hope."

"Margaret's Home" and "The Coopers,"
are books for older readers ; and combine with
graphic incident and a ready, graphic wit,

godey's lady's book and magazine.

which was a prominent characteristic, the
earnest teachings that she always strove to
infuse in everything she wrote. Her contri-
butions to various periodicals, in the shape of
poems, sketches, and stories, are too nume-
rous to mention. It is intended to collect
some of these into volumes ; a preservation of
which they are well worthy. Her poems es-
pecially, spirited and tender, full of thought as
well as of graceful expression, deserve a more
permanent and general appreciation than they
have obtained, scattered as they have been
here and there, unclaimed and uncredited in
many instances.

The task of collecting and arranging such
memorials will be shared by various loving
hands, that will find a sad satisfaction in per-
forming this last service for one so deeply
loved and mourned. An extended biography
is also in contemplation, which will contain
extracts from her abundant letters and jour-
nals, that illustrate even more fully than her
published writings the breadth and richness
of her mind and character.

In concluding this incomplete sketch, we
can enforce in no better way what seems to us
to have been the lesson of the life of Alice B.
Haven, than by repeating the words so often
nttered by her own lips, and graven now upon
the pure marble cross that rises above her
grave : —

" Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fuljil
the law of Christ."

DIARIES.
Having for many years kept a diary, and
having found it useful in more ways than one,
we are induced to recommend the practice to
those who have never tried it. Its use as a
remembrancer is obvious. A good memory is
not everybody's property, but a diary, which
is often an efficient substitute, is within the
reach of all, and if regularly written up each
evening or morning demands but little time or
trouble. The entry in a diary is authorita-
tive, where a mere recollection might be dis-
puted; and we believe it is admitted as evidence
in law, as we sometimes read of cases in which
an appeal is made to its pages. When some
years have passed, with the changes that time
never fails to bring, there is a peculiar plea-
sure in looking over the leaves of an old diary,
recalling scenes and incidents which had
nearly passed from the memory, but which

spring again into being as we glance over the
record. However slender the outline, it serves
to recall the events, and memory finds then
little difficulty in filling up the sketch. It may
be, indeed, that there is something sad in
many of these resuscitations ; but it is un-
doubtedly true that there is a pleasure in sad-
ness where the cause is remote, where the
degree is slight, and where it can be dismissed
from the mind if desired. But, besides being
a record of events useful for reference and
interesting to look back upon, we have often
thought that one benefit of keeping a diary is
the influence it exercises over one's daily
doings. If it faithfully records, as it should,
whatever we do, it is sometimes a salutary
check upon our actions to remember that they
must be set down that evening in black and
white ; and the sense of waste of time is rarely
stronger than when, pen in hand, we can re-
call nothing worthy of record among the occu-
pations of the day. There is a feeling akin to
that of the emperor of old, when he exclaimed :
"I have lost a day." It impresses one with
the want of results when the doings of many
hours will not fill a few lines, while it is a
real source of satisfaction when we note the
successful accomplishment of some useful
object, or some worthy project pushed on
nearer to its end.

LOVE WITHIN.

BY CLARA AUGUSTA.

Without, the world is white with enow,

And polar quiet reigns ;
Ice crusts the gaunt and leafless trees,

And glitters on the plains ;
The river glides on still and slow,

Bridged o'er by piers of pearl ;
And upward from the intervals

The fleecy frost-wreaths curl.

The mooa gleams out, a frozen lamp,

Hung grandly up on high ;
There is a thrill of vague unrest

About the solemn sky ;
The stars look down — pale, far away,

In misty doubt they seem — .
Like the gold gleams that sometimes light

The vagaries of a dream,

'Tis cold without, but warm within,

Here by the hearth's red glow ;
With home and love we little care

For cold, and ice, and snow ;
So long as dear hauds clasp our own,

And royal love is ours —
Though winter holds his court without,

Within are summer's flowers.

THE YOUNG ARTIST: A TABLEAU PICTURE.

17 S. ANNIE FROST.

(See Steel Plate.)

It lies before me now, this story of a man's
trials and a woman's love, in a confused mass
of papers, letters; pages from journals, with
sometimes a break where hearts were too sad
to write the record, and there my memory
most tell from its own collection of odds and
ends, the story as it lay before me. First,
then, from my pile of papers I draw some
loose leaves from Margaretta's diary. Let
our noble artist cousin tell her own story :

/•.',. IS, IS—.
Too wakeful for even a pretence of sleep, I
leave my bed to come to you, my old friend
and confidant. I have neglected you shame-
fully, dear journal, in my dream of happiness,
my busy labor of love, that has filled the past
months, but now-, when my cup of }oy seems
full, and my heart trembles over its own con-
tent, let me write the record of the blank

! --'■-■

Turning the leaves one after another to
r the date of my last entry, I find each
one filled with the hope, the longing aspira-
tions of my whole life ; I find there recorded the
labor, the failures, the partial successes, the
discouragements, the perseverance that have
led mo through the hard study, the nights of
wakeful hope, upward and onward, till I stand
now on the pinnacle my prayers have so long
pointed out, and am acknowledged an artist.
My 'bar uncle, whose kindness has so long
iged me, and placed before me every
facility for study and success, has to-night
given me the publicity that must make the
starting-point for every aspirant for fame.

I have written already of my dear cousin,
Amy, the heiress of my uncle's wealth, the
darling of his house. When, two years ago,
my uncle brought me from my country home,
from my father's grave, he knew the aim of
my life. He knew that from my childhood
my father had trained my hand and eye to
learn his own profession. How from the hour
when, seated on his knee, he had guided my
hand over the paper to make curves and lines
of beauty, till the sad day when he wearily
laid aside his brush for the last time, it had

been his dream and mine that I should take
the place of the boy, whose blue eyes closed
in babyhood to sleep beside his mother's
grave, and carry down to posterity the artist's
name.

I had begun to fear that this hope was a
vain one, to see in my efforts only dead figures
when I had aimed at lifelike representations
when my pencil was guided and gilded by a
new hope.

I have never written of James Gordon, never
put down even on your pages the history of
our friendship. Only five short months have
passed since my uncle first brought him horn.',
yet he has become to me dearer than thoso
around me, who have made my life pleasant
for two years. I am not ungrateful, but God
has placed one spot in a woman's heart that
only one voice can stir to life, one love bind
fast forever. I scarcely know where or how
I began to love him. Amy, whose fair faco
is usually the magnet for our gentlemen
visitors, sits shy and silent when he is here,
seldom singing for him, seldom conversing
with him, so he turns to me, to pour forth for
me the treasures of his grand intellect ; to
stir my heart with his sympathy in my artist
dreams ; to meet my cravings for understanding
advice, by some subtle knowledge of the want ;
to draw my soul to his feet by his noble nature,
revealed in every word and action. He never
speaks of love, has never pressed my hand, or
clasped my waist ; yet I feel that he comes to
me for sympathy and friendship that I alone
can give him. It was James who first sug-
gested to my uncle the plan that was perfected
this evening.

I have been for several weeks engaged m
painting Amy's portrait, a birth-day gift for
her uncle. Every day while my pencil was
so occupied, James has come to the room I
call my studio, to praise or criticize, an 1
linger hour after hour telling us of himself,
his travels, his early life ; painting for me the
similarity of our childhood, for he too is an
only child, and motherless. His love for his
father is almost idolatry, and as his eloquent
praise of him falls on my ear, I can believe

godey's lady's book and magazine.

his father all he paints him, looking at the
handsome face where ever/ virtue he portrays
has set its seal. At last the picture was
finished, and put in the parlor fof criticism,
and then James suggested exhibiting it more
publicly for our numerous friends and visitors.
He proposed to have a tableau party, I to
arrange every scene, with, for the final one,
the " Tableau Picture" of the painting of
Amy's portrait. She had chosen a dress of
the last century with a wreath of jasmine on
her fair waving hair, and James insisted that
the likeness would be much more striking
thus brought into notice than with the por-
trait contrasted by visitors with Amy's every-
day dress.

All has succeeded to our wishes. The
tableaux were much admired, and the final
one met warm applause. Amy, in her piquant
dress, looked lovely, and the portrait on the
easel met with unanimous approval. The
days of planning when James, Amy, and I
have arranged and rearranged every position
and scene, are over now, and I sit here with
the gray dawn just peeping in at my window,
to chronicle my happiness, and mark my
approval of this sleepless night.

Feb. 28, 18—
Only ten days since I wrote from my full
happy heart, and again I come to you, my
journal, to pen with a weary hand and a sad
heart, my farewell to this home made so
happy by love. I am going to Italy. An old
friend of my father's, whose wife is recom-
mended to travel there in search of health,
has offered me the advantage of studying
there for three years, and to-morrow we sail.
One month ago, my whole being would have
been filled with ecstasy at such a prospect ;
now I can only realize the parting from home,
Amy, and — ah, it must be written, from
James ! Had he spoken but one word, I would
not leave, even for the fulfilment of my life's
hopes, but he has gone away for a month, and
in his parting from me, not one word fell from
him that my love could construe into a return
of its passion. Calmly and gently, with a
brotherly interest in my plans and hopes, he
bade me farewell, for three long years, with
no more emotion than a dear friend would show
at such parting.

He does not love me ! I have let my own
vanity lead me a wild dance of visionary
dreams and hopes, and the goal to which it

has brought me is the bitter shame of a
woman's heart over unrequited, unsought
love ! Better for me, now, to carry my misery
far from this happy home, and in the search
for perfection in my art — learn to forget.

Next in my pile of reference, I find a dain-
tily written letter on the thin paper used for
foreign correspondence, and directed: "Miss
Margaretta Seyinore, care of John Reynolds,
Esq., Florence — Italy," and opening this, I
find another page from a woman's heart.

Dear Retta : You have been now, for so long
a time, my confidante in every little secret that
a young girl admits in her heart, that I must
write to you first, of my joyful prospects. Ly-
ing before me on the paper, where I can see it
while I write, is my left hand, and on the
second finger, just where he placed it yester-
day, is my engagement ring, a cluster of bine
stones forming a forget-me-not, with a great
diamond dew-drop in the centre. You will
ask me who he is, and will I know rejoice
when I tell you he is your old hero, as well as
mine, James Gordon.

I had thought, though I blush now to think
how blind I was, that he loved you, Retta ;
his words were always for you, though he tells
me now of little positions and actions of mine,
that prove how closely he was watching me,
even then. Do you remember how he haunted
the studio when you were painting my por-
trait ? How he criticized and altered every
fold and attitude, and how warmly he praised
at last ? He loved me then, Retta, when I
was half jealously wondering if anybody would
ever take as much interest in my actions as
he took in yours. Did you see his love ? Ha
says you must have marked it%ven then,
though I was so blind, for that your praises
of your little cousin were the sweetest music
your voice ever made.

After you sailed, he came here as usual,
conquering the shyness that had ever made
him engage a third person in conversation,
and began to teach me that his voice and
step, his praise and love were the dearest of
earthly pleasures to me. I was an apt scholar,
for no one could see his modest dignity, his
cultivated intellect, his warm, generous heart
laid at their feet, suing for love, and not feel
glad and honored to give it from their inmost
heart. I have been a gay, laughing girl,
Retta, hut his wife shall be worthy of his
noble nature.

THE YOUNG ARTIST: A TABLEAU PICTURE.

His father called upon me to-. lav. I was
prepared, haying heard him speak so warmly
and lovingly of him, to meet a genial man.
who would be second only to my own dear
father in my love, but 1 found him grave,
taciturn, and almost stem. Looking from his
height (he is as tall as James) down upon
me, he seemed wondering what his son found
to love ; and when he spoke, it was with a
strange, eold reserve that chilled me instantly.
With lather he was more cordial, ami spoke
more freely of his pleasure in his sou's
prospects. I did not know until father told
jue to-day that ha is one of the richest men
in the city ; one of those fortunate and rarely
lound speculators, whose touch turns every
scheme into gold, and whose name at the
head of a company or fund was the guarantee
lor success and the sale of the shares. James
will be heir to all his wealth : yet I am
did not know this before. I would not wish
to have my choice influenced in the most
remote degree by mere money. Honor, good-
:i unstained name, and a loving heart.
these constitute the wealth I ask from my
husband's hand, and these he offers me.

We are to be married very soon, Ketta, at
i hristmas, and now I come to the very cream
of my letter. We are to travel in Europe, and
I need scarcely say that our first trip will be
to Florence to seek Ketta Seymour, the dis-
tinguished artist that is to he. James wants
to see your last improvements, and I want to
feel your kisses on my lips, and hear your
cordial, loving voice again. Mother says I
have been cross ever since you left, but that
i> a slander; I have only been, as tjie nurses
say, ••wearying" after you. Tell Mrs. Rey-
nolds I have a famous scheme for tempting
her nurse from her, and bid her get her roses
all in order to welcome me. Hark ! There is
the voice I shall soon promise to obey, plead-
ing for me to stop scribbling and come down
to him ; so I shall close this long letter, wish-
ing your heart may always bound to as joyful
a tune as your cousin Auv's.

iibcr, IS — .

And now I search in vain for any record of

the dark time that followed this happy au-

and must trust my memory to paint

cord.

Memory paints for me a winter scene, with

\..» snow lying in heavy masses over a long

■ 'tintry road in a county in Pennsylvania.

Vol.. I.XVII1. Ij

'I'll.- houses are few and far between, the wind
blows a fearful gale, scattering the falling
snow into the wildest dance of winter. Down
the wide road, plunging into the heavy snow
drifts, buffeting the wind as it meets him,
with a strong muscular frame, comes a man
clad in the poorest dress of tin- laboring
when the wind goes down with the deceitful
lull in which it gathers its force, this man's
anus fall at his side, his face is bowed low on
his breast, and his step lags wearily over the
road; but as the storm rouses again his phy-
sical resistance, he throws hack his head, lets
his broad chest meet the blast, an 1 stands
erect and manly battling the elements. As
he passes the white house, just visible in the
gathering twilight, he pauses, turns irreso-
lute, facing the road again, but at last opens
the gate and gains the door of the farm kitchen.

Leaving him there, look inside! The shut-
ters are all drawn in close, and the blazing
fire gives light enough for the dame's knit-
ting and the good man's nut cracking. A
good-natured, fat, homelike couple, Farmer
Schmidt and his frau, who have lived on this
little farm since they left the old country
nearly fifty years before, and who have pros-
pered, as they deserved, in all their under-
takings.

"Is that some one at the door?" said the
frau, pausing in her knitting to listen. She
spoke in German, and her husband in the
same tongue replied : —

"Knocking! Everybody is asleep this
stormy night, Jeannette. Knocking, indeed!"

But it was knocking, and two or three strong
decisive blows convinced the good man of the
fact. With a hospitable desire to draw the
visitor, whoever he might be, from the storm
outside to the genial firelight, he opened the
door to admit the man who had battled the
storm throughout the long day.

"Can I rest here for an hour?" he asked,
wearily.

•' If you leaves dis house dis night" — began
the farmer, when his visitor interrupted him.
Speaking the tongue of his fatherland.

"Thank you ! I am very weary, and have
been out in the storm all day."

"You are a German."

'■ N.i, but I have lived in Germany."

The door was bolted with so decided a de-
termination to let no one out, that the pale
weary face of the intruder lighted with a
grateful smile. The frau, everybody called

godey's lady's book and magazine.

her so, bustled about till a supper stood
smoking before the traveller, who had mean-
time been talking to his host of Germany, her
customs, her cities, his own native town, and
showing a familiarity with the spots so dear
to the old man's memory that the tears stood
in his eyes.

It was scarcely upon record that the worthy
couple had sat up after eight o'clock on a
winter's evening, but the old clock on the
mantel had struck midnight when they bid
their visitor good-night at the door of the
little room where he was to sleep.

To see some one who had left their old home
only two years before. To hear of the changes
of some localities, to recognize in his vivid
descriptions the unaltered aspect of other
spots, to hear the language of home in the
sonorous musical voice of youth, and be car-
ried back over the fifty intervening years, this
was happiness enough to keep the old couple
awake even after they tried to sleep. The
next day, frankly and humbly, the visitor
asked for work. He told them that he was
not expert in farm service, but that he would
serve them faithfully and study to please
them. His pale, sad face, his earnestness,
and, above all, his German, secured him in
their favor, and he was not only permitted
but urged to stay.

In the long winter evenings as he sat near
the fire sorting seeds, or mending the tools
for the farm, the old German gave him theo-
retical instructions about sowing and reaping,
the time for planting each seed for crop, the
advantages or disadvantages of ground and
situation, and finding him so apt a pupil
poured forth for him the experiences of his
long life of farming, well repaid by some
anecdote of his old home, or some legend told
in his own language.

All the long days the new hand, Karl,
worked with the farm servants, pale and sad,
making no friends, avoiding rather than seek-
ing notice ; all the long night, weary and yet
restless, the pale face set with some heavy
sorrow, bore the impress of suffering in sleep,
or waking quivered with sighs from an over-
burdened heart. Only in the evening, with the
old couple, would the eyes lose their gloomy
light, or the voice its patient weariness.

Spring opened, and the frau died. The old
man, pining for her, resolved to recross the
ocean and die at home. He first looked for a
place for Karl, and the young farmer was sent

on trial to the great man of the village near.
Marstan Loring. Here he worked as before,
patiently and faithfully, drawing his wages on
Saturday, sleeping over the stable in the loft
set aside for the workmen, making no friends,
and striving to do well his daily task of stern
manual labor. Looking into his face, you
could see that round the high forehead the
dark hair was threading with silver, the face,
sunbrowned and healthy, was drawn in deep
lines under the eyes ; the large dark eyes had
a mournful sternness in their depths, and the
lips were closed with a firm resolute expres-
sion that told of bitter sorrow subdued by a
man's strong will, the heavy dark mofistache
and beard shading them, being marked by
the same lines of silver that have set their
seal upon his hair.

He was in the hay field mowing with the
long sweeping strokes of a strong arm, and
watching the heavy grain falling beneath his
strokes, the summer sun falling on his face,
niini the loud voice of the overseer called
him : —

"Karl!"

He had passed for a German, a y>roUg6 of
Schmidt, on the farm, and his reserve had
been attributed in a measure to his supposed
foreign tongue.

"Karl!"

He threw down his scythe and came across
the field to answer the call.

"Mr. Loring wants to speak to you in the
library."

" Tome ?" questioned Karl, shrinking back.

The man eyed him keenly, suspiciously for
a moment, then said, shortly —

" Yes, to you."

There was no denial to the summons ; but
the cloud deepened on the sunbrowned face,
and the old slouching step took the place of
his recent erect walk, as he went slowly to-
ward the house. Twice he turned half round,
as if he would flee from the place, then setting
his lips together sternly, he strode forward
and reached the house. To have studied his
face, an observer would have thought that he
dreaded some fearful blow, some crushing
sorrow in the coming interview, but when he
stood facing his master, the mighty business
was simply — ■

"Karl, the coachman has sprained his wrist,
and I am expecting visitors by to-day's train
from Philadelphia. Can you drive to meet
them?"

THE YOUNG ARTIST: A TABLEAU PICTURE.

A long -iL-li of relief preceded the " ?es,
>ir;" 1'ut th<- face olonded again, aa .Mi.
Loring said, in German —

"I have I n WiMit for many yean to sail

my laborers my Friends, and there is scarcely
one among them but makes' me the confidant
of his troubles. I have been remiss that I
have n ' in you sooner, Beeing your

grief, but I have waited, not wishing to intrudi
upon your sorrow, hoping you would come to
me. Can I not aid you in any way'''

The stem lip quivered, as Karl answered:
"Thank you ! No one can aid me."

"I have studied your face when you little
thought you were watched, Karl ; shall I tell
you what I read there 1"

He only bowed.

row such as but few men can know
and live, some Brushing calamity that has
turned your youth to age, and darkened your
lit'.-: but there is no sin. I have seen you
kneeling to pray, with as pure and sinless a
face as a little chilli's. I have seen tin- words
from the pulpit break up your enforced stern-
ness, and a great peace -"ttle ou your face.
I read no harsh judgment, no cynic's satirical
musings in your expression : you are in sor-
row, but you have no guilt on your soul."

rare me ! Do not watch me, sir ! I can
tell no man my trouhle !"

''You are homesick, too!"

"Oh, so bitterly homesick !" — and the wail
in the voice moved the questioner as if he
had seen his servant weep.

"I see you cannot admit me to your confi-
dence yet : but promise me to think of me as
% friend, and if you can at any time break this
reserve, you will come to me as to a rather."

A strong shudder shook Karl's frame, but
he gave the promise. Turning to leave the
room he reeled as from a blow, and with a
white face and shuddering figure he caught at
the nearest chair. Attributing his emotions
to their conversation Mr. Loring insisted upon
his seating himself, and went to get him wine.
Scarcely had the door closed, when Karl was
ou his feet, gazing with hungry eyes, and
his figure raised longingly at a picture that
hung before it. All the stern expression had
vanished, the gloom was broken, only the
light of unutterable, unalterable love shone
on his face as he looked, seeming to fairly
devour the picture with his eyes.

The click of the door roused him from his
stolen ecstasy, and as he entered the room,

Mr. Loring found his "man" pale and im-
penetrable as ever, standing, hat in hand,
ready to go.

" Drive round for me at three o'clock, Karl ;
I will go to the depot with you. And by the
way, Karl, suppose you put on your best suit ;
there are ladies coming."

"Ladies?"

" My nieces."

Another question was near Karl's lips, but
he kept it back, and bowing, went out.

The ride home from the depot brought to
Karl's face so strange a look of desperation,
so heart-breaking and bitter an anguish that
Mr. Loring started as it met his eye.

The next day when the men gathered to
their daily work Karl was gone. Various
speculations wore rife. He was too proud to
drive the carriage ; he had stolen something ;
Mr. Loring had dismissed him the day before ;
and the master himself feared that his well-
meant conversation had deprived him of his
mysterious servant.

In the meantime, where was Karl ? All day
he was hiding in the barn of Schmidt's still
vacant farm, all night he was prowling around
Mr. Loring's house. Crouching under the
windows, stealing near the porch, listening
for the faintest sound of one voice, watching
for one pale face, hungering and thirsting for
the happiness once in his grasp, bow gone
from him.

And one evening as he so watched and
waited, this was what he heard. He was
hidden in the deep foliage at the back of a
little summer house, and Mr. Loring with his
nieces was inside, when the old man said : —

"And now, my darling, tell me what has
made my little girl so pale and sad since I
saw her last 1"

His little girl was sitting close beside him,
her head on his breast, her pah' cheeks under
his caressing hand, when she answered, and
peering through the foliage Karl's large eyes
rested on her face.

" You were away, dear uncle, when my
father gave his consent to my marriage, and
never knew that I was to have been a bride
last winter. My promised husband was the
noblest and best man that ever lived. You
smile, and I know you are thinking this is
every loving woman's boast, but from me it is
only justice to him. It wanted but two weeks
to our marriage when my preparations were
nearly all made, and I was dreaming as girls

64:

godey's lady's book and magazine.

will of perfect happiness, when — when — "
The white lips quivered and were still, but
another voice took up the story.

"His father w;ts discovered to have com-
mitted forgeries to a vast amount, to be
engaged in numerous swindling companies,
and was arrested, tried, and sentenced to per-
petual imprisonment, but committed suicide
on the night of his conviction."

Again the first voice, now infinitely tender
in its tone, spoke : —

"He was with him from the hour of his
arrest until his death. His own noble, pure
nature was pitiful to the father who, with all
his faults, loved him, and he could take the
sin hardened soul close to his own to comfort
and protect it. No scorn of the world could
win him from this allegiance, but when his
father died he fled, leaving me to bear my
sorrow alone. He wrote to me, such manly
honorable words as commanded my respect
with all my grief, and gave back the promise
he had won in happier days. Oh, he little
knew the love he threw aside. For him,
with him, I could brave even shame ; without
him, I am dying."

"My darling, he was right. What else
could a man of honor do ?"

It was the other voice that answered : —

" Live down the shame that is net his own,
only his heritage. Prove to the world that
he is noble, pure, and true, spite of his name
of shame, and save the life of the woman who
loves him."

In the doorway, his heavy waving hair
thrown back from his broad forehead, his form
erect, and his eyes lighted by an infinite ten-
derness, stood Karl. Half angry at the inter-
ruption, Mr. Loring put his niece from him,
and arose, but, unheeding him, the young man
spoke, only one word : —

"Amy!"

With a cry of mingled surprise, joy, and
hesitation, she sprang to meet him. A long,
searching look into his face, and she was
sobbing in his arms, while Margaretta stood
pale and half fainting, leaning heavily on the
side of the arbor.

For a moment no sound was heard but
Amy's weeping, then James Gordon spoke : —

" You are right, Retta, our noble, brave
cousin. It was cowardly to desert Amy, to
flee from my place. I will return, will live
down my father's fault, will win a place my
wife need not blush to share."

It was a hard, hard task to answer him, but
Retta's voice was clear and calm, as she said : —

"And I will keep her for you, James, till
you come to claim her. She has been true
and loving through your cruel silence, she
will be faithful, knowing that you are working
for her."

Silently Mr. Loring led the way to the
library, and there, facing Retta's portrait of
Amy, which her father had sent to her uncle,
they talked of the six months of separation,
and planned their future.

There were cold looks to meet the forger's
son when he returned to his old place, but
there were also warm hearts to welcome him,
hands stretched out to aid him in his manly
course of facing his trouble, kindly voices to
cheer him, as he toiled upward and onward.
Fifteen long years it took to clear away the
debts that were against his father's name, but
when at last a middle aged man, with hair
prematurely gray, but with honest soul-lit
eyes, and a name freed from its inherited
ignominy by its own honor, he claimed his
wife, it was Retta who put Amy's hand in his,
Retta who was her cousin's bridesmaid, Retta
whose clear voice, gentle manner, and bright
face make her now their most welcome visitor.

AFFECTATION.
Affectation is an artificial garb assumed by
those who make pretensions to qualities which
they do not possess. This evil propensity,
for such we unhesitatingly designate it. has,
alas, a deep and wide-spreading influence.
From the sublime subject of religion down to
the slightest punctilio of deportment, what is
there in any way noble, "lovely, or of good
report," that affectation is not impudent
enough to counterfeit ? But happily for the
interests of simplicity and truth, the counter-
feit is as different from the reality as the paltry
tinsel from the pure and solid gold, and though
the one may glitter and dazzle for awhile, yet
the other only will stand the test of time and
trial. The triumph of hypocrisy is short, and
even when at its highest glory the flimsy dis-
guise reveals more than it conceals. But this
is a fact of which those who wear the mask
are probably not cognizant ; for had they the
power ' ' to see themselves as others see them, ' '
they would cast the disguise aside. This idea
is eminently suggestive of the source from
which affectation springs, namely, a heart

AFFECTATION. — POETRY.

that has never been subjected to the scruti-
oiaing process of self-examination. Benoe
we shall Bad that an affected person is inva-
riably a self-ignorant person, and one who
possesses s mean mind*

Tin' kinds of affectation, as before hinted,
are both many and various. There is the
affectation of i > i • ■ t _\- , of mental endowments
and acquisitions, and of benevolent and sym-
pathizing feelings. Thel'hari — sin tin- time
of our Saviour were remarkable instances of
the affectation of piety; the fair display they
made well nigh deceived their fallow men;
hut He who looketh at the heart and not at
<the outward appearance, penetrated their real

characters at a glance, and rewarded them
with that severe and open censure which their
has.1 deceit so richly merited.

In the ranks of literature, too, we shall find
many pretenders, yes, many who. in order to
gratify their desire of shining, provide a fund
of witty sayings or learned observations and
remarks, which they do not scruple to pass
off as original. Such persons resemble the
gamester who plays for more than ha is worth.
Then again there are the liner feelings of our
nature, amiable and beautiful as they are
when perfectly natural, but when dissembled,
how odious and contemptible! yet the in-
stan - ol dei eption in this phase of our sub-
ject, are, sad to say, not at all uncommon.
We know there are many who. at the recital
of a tale of distress, can assume an air of the
U'liderest sympathy, when the real feeling of
their hearts is utter indifference; these hol-
low sympathizers find little difficulty in obey-
ing the apostolic injunction, they <-n\ readily
•' weep with those that weep, and rejoice with
those that rejoice."

It is indeed melancholy to reflect npon the
universality of this principle of deceit ; we
can hardly be too severe if we take up the
grave poet's strain, and say: "The world's
all title-page : there 'a no contents :" so much
is fashionable society disfigured by the mask-
er's presence. But surely genuine politeness

toes not n 1 suob baseless aid; thai should

flow as the heart dictates and as Nature
teaches : and Nature knows no affectation,
but a charming and unstudied simplicity is
seen in all her works. Let us endeavor to
copy her, for she is the standard of perfection,
ami only so far can we hope to advance to-
ward tin- excellence as we approximate to
Let' liken

"OUR MOTHER."

B T M A 1L V N . K 1 K K 1. D1LWOBTE.
OH, 111:01V Upfl lire Baying (Ills,

Mnl foiling tears to-day ;
Ami many hearts sts aching sort ,

Our mother '■ passed away :
Wo watched her lading Tear bj roar,

as they went slow ly by,

lint cast Ur freiii OS -en the feat
That she could over die.

She seemed so good, so pure, so true

To our admiring eyos,
We never dreamed tin* glorious fruit

Was ripening for the skies ;
Aud when at last the death-stroke came,

Sn swift, s.i sure, BO true.
Tie* hearts that held her here so fast,

Were almost broken too.

We robed her in familiar dress.

We smoothed her gray hair down,
Gave oue last kiss — theu laid her 'raid

The autumn leaves si, drown:
Then each took up the broken tiir. ad

Of life and all its cares,
How sad the heart 'mid daily tasks,

We miss our mother's prayers.

We ne"er shall know from what dark paths

They may have kept our feet ;
Yet hely will tln-ir influence be

While eaeh fund heart shall beat :
And as we tread the thorny way,

which her dear feet have trod,
Ever shall feel our mother's prayers

Leading us up to tiod.

And for the mie. still left to ns —

Our Father, aired and lone,
Who hears perhaps by nieht and day

The old familiar tone,
We 'II gather closer round him now,

To gaard from every ill,

As near the ilnrksimio river side,
He waits a higher will.

And when the storms of sorrow eomo

To each lierea v ,1 heart,

Let Faith glance upward to the home

Where we shall never part:

Where one awaits with loving eyes

To see her children come,
As one by one we cruss the flood

And reach our heavenly home.

Unsociable TioirERS. — Unsociable tempers
are contracted in solitude, which will in the
end not fail of corrupting the understanding
as well as the manners, and of utterly dis-
qualifying a man for the satisfactions and
duties of life. M . n must be taken as their
are, and we neither make them Or ourselves
better by Hying from or quarrelling with
them.

ADVENTURES OF A BACHELOR.

J Y THE AUTHOR OF ''MISS SLIMilESS,'

'THE RASHER FAMILY,

Mr. Oliver Gric.gs came suddenly to a reso-
lution long-deferred, and in order to strengthen
it, he pushed his breakfast away from him,
and going to his dressing mirror, took a care-
ful surrey of the pleasant reflection which he
met there. Apparently, the review was satis-
factory, for when he turned away it was with
a gentle, satisfied smile. When he went hack
to his coffee, it was cold ; but that did not
matter — he had lost his appetite — the gentle
stimulus of his resolve pervaded his frame,
preventing the need of any other. Leaning
back in his chair, he put his feet on the table
and continued his reverie.

While he is indulging in this placid em-
ployment let us find out who he is, and what
it is that lie is so seriously resolved upon.
Briefly, then, to the world he is known as Mr.
Griggs, a hardware-merchant, recently retired
from business with a competency of perhaps
sixy thousand dollars, of unimpeachable in-
tegrity, good social standing, a round face, a
head slightly bald, neat clothes, and a sup-
posed confirmed old bachelor. This is about
the idea he presents to the majority of his
acquaintance ; but we are destined to know
him more intimately, to learn to read every
emotion of the heart which throbs within that
lilac waistcoat, and to revere the excellent
qualities of an individual whose slight mis-
fortunes we pity, even when constrained to
smile at them.

''I never felt as I did last night, never!"

murmured Mr. Griggs, taking his feet down

from the breakfast table, and pacing hurriedly,

considering the warm state of the weather, to

and fro across the floor, stealing a glance at
himself each time that he passed the mirror.
"I do believe it was that baby's blue ribbons
that did it!"

He had made up his mind to get married ;
and as he had lived forty-three years before
coming to this conclusion, it is no wonder that
he was slightly agitated, so that his flowered
cashmere dressing-gown streamed out wildly
behind him, and his round face grew rosy
with the warm resolution and warmer exer-
cise— for Mr. Griggs was only five feet five,
and rather fleshy, so that an excited prome-
nade like this flushed him up considerably.

What had brought him to this frame of
mind it would be impossible to tell. The
previous evening, while spending an hour in
the private parlor of a young married pair
who boarded at the same house with him, he
had suddenly felt lost and lonely, and as if
he needed somebody to take care of him — -
albeit, his landlady took that kind and tender
thought for his comfort, that only a smart
widow of thirty-five can take for a gentle-
manly, desirable, ready-pay single gentleman.
Whether it was the sight of the baby, with its
blue shoulder-knots, crowing in the arms of
its smiling mamma, whether it was Fred's
devoted air to his wife, or whether it was the
effect of a slight headache with lobster-salad,
no one will ever know ; something awoke the
Rip-Van-Winkle sleep of his affections, and
he went to bed and awoke firmly resolved
upon the step we have mentioned. Our own
solution of the problem is, that all these various
causes combined with still another more pro-
minent one.

At this time he had been out of business
about six months. Wearied with twenty years'
faithful devotion to the firm of Higgins &
Griggs, he had resolved to retire, and enjoy,
modestly and prudently, the competency
which he had acquired ; he had therefore sold
out his share of the concern to a Mr. Biggs,
had shaken off the shackles of the hardware
business, unbound himself from its chains,
cut the ties which held him to it, as it were,
with one of his own knives ; and the conse-
quences were that for a long time he felt com-

ADVEXTURES OF A BACIIELOR.

pletely unhinged, and had like to have been

the butt of liU own fortune. For after a mau

lias been, the better pari of bis life, in the

routine of a flourishing business,

Bpending so many hours each day in bis warc-

and at bis books, be cannot, all at

le a gentleman of leisure, without

experiencing the heaviness of a great many

idle hours, which hang upon him almost as

weightily as his whole stock of hardware had

hung upon Mr. <li i__s.

During the continuance of the winter sea-
son he had got along tolerably, by means of
goingout a good deal of evenings, and attending
to the settling up of his affairs ; but now that
the opera was over, the married ladies of his
acquaintance going to the country, and his
money safely invested where it would pay
eight per rent, interest, time began to hang
heavy on his hands — and to the necessity
which every individual feels for some object
to live for, do we attribute the novel and ex-
citing resolution which took possession of
him.

Three times that morning, in the midst of
his promenade, he paused before the glass to
take an inventory of his personal graces ; he
1 at the sum total, and he
had no particular reason to be. It is true that
. htly bald, and a trifle too fleshy,
but these were the graces of maturity, and
added an air of dignity to the general rosiness
and benevolence of bis deportment. Mr.
Griggs had nothing of the slovenliness attri-
buted to bis class; be was neatness itself;
he had always been particular about bis
dres< ; but now, as he gazed at himself, he
resolved to somewhat change the style of his
attire. Hitherto it had been in somewhat of
a business style, fine and good, but with the
air of a v. ell-to-do hardware merchant clinging
to it. He still v, i : is bosom the em-

blematic pin which one of our best jewellers
had manufactured to bis or ler, and which he
had worn for m my years with honest pride.
It was a padlock, of solid gold, handsomely
finished, ith diam in I rivet, and a real key-
hole. This pin, which was the sole device of
its wearer, was ingenious and appropriate in
two ways ; in the first place, it gave a hint of
his business in the sale of pabUoi ks in -
in the second, it hinted delii ately, but firmly,
that the tie:, ares within were not in the
market — that the bosom of Mr. Wriggs was
Safely locked from the predatory visits of art-

ful females. And thus far it would seem in-
deed as if that golden padlock hail resisted
every assault upon the heart which it guarded.
Looking at it now, he resolved that he could
not lay aside his favorite ornament ; hut his,
brilliant fancy immediately conceived the
idea of attaching a little chain to the padlock,
from which should depend a tiny key, signi-
fying that his affections awaited only the fairy
touch of the proper fingers to be Hung open to
the reach of her who should unlock them.
Other changes in his dress suggested them-
selves to his mind; also, the best means to
take to get acquainted with a pretty and
amiable girl right away ; in short, he was so
busy with bis plans, that he did not bear the
knock at his door, and was not aware of the
intrusion until a tall young gentleman, who
had stepped into the room, called out —

"Good-morning, Uncle Oliver. I took my
breakfast an hour ago, with the others, at the
table. Don'tyou find it stupid eating alone ?"

Now this nephew was the only incumbrance
of Mr. Griggs ; he bad been named Stanley
Oliver Griggs, after his uncle ; his parents had
died years ago, leaving him unprovided for,
and his godfather had done bis duty by him
to the fullest extent. Master Stanley had
just graduated from college about a fortnight
since, and was making a visit to his unci' ,
who wished him to stay with him until he
decided to what profession or business he
should attach him.

•■Bless me, child, I'd forgotten you were
here ! I had, indeed, I 've been so occupied
with some plans of mine. The fact is, I 've
about made up my mind to take a little trip
to Uosoville — the place where I used to go to
school when /was a boy like you. It's a niee
village in summer-time, some nice people
there. If I get tired of it, I'll go on to the
.Springs. Fact is I don't think I exercise
enough — too quiet, lately. Must stir around
a little or I -11 get too fat— bey, Stanley?"

" And what am I to do I Stay here alone ?"
asked the nephew, ruefully.

'Alone.' no, bless me! Here's plenty of
people. And Mrs. Boardman will take good
care of you, if I ask her to. lie 's a good deal
of a child, to be sure," he added to himself, " to
be left so long. Perhaps 1 d better take him
with me. He won't be much in the way, and
it '11 please him."

So he offered to take his nephew along on
the little tour in search of a wife which he

GODEY'S LADY 8 BOOK ASD MAGAZINE.

had already arranged in his mind. The
wisdom of this plan will be apparent, when it
is perceived what a mere boy this nephew was
— only twenty-one — amere child, who couldn't
possibly be left alone in a New York boarding-
house, not even with an anxious and attentive
landlady to watch over his health and comfort.
That Stanley Oliver was slender and handsome,
with plentiful curling brown hair, and no
bald spot ou the top of his head — that Stanley
never wore spectacles when he read the morn-
ing paper, and that he was nearly sis feet in
his bouts — those little facts never presented
themselves as any objection to the kind plan
of his affectionate uncle.

" It will make no difference," said Mr.
Griggs to himself, "it will make no differ-
ence !" — but he didn't kuow.

" Hurrah for you, Uncle Oliver !" cried the
boy, at the promise that he might go along,
exhilarated with prospects of trout streams
and gunning excursions. " We '11 have high
times fishing, and boating, and all that, won't
we?" and he lifted his uncle two feet from
the floor in the excess of his joy.

"Bless me, how you frighten a person,"
murmured Mr. Griggs, after he was set down.
"There, run along and get ready to go out
with me. As soou as I 'in dressed we '11 go
out and do our shopping. If it's possible,
we '11 take the train this afternoon. I hadn't
thought of taking him," he continued, after
his nephew had vanished to obey his injunc-
tion, " but he will enjoy himself so much, and
it makes no difference !"

That was a busy morning for the two; The
first place visited was a jewelry establishment,
where Mr. Griggs left his bosom-pin to be
improved in the manner we have described,
with orders to send it to Roseville by express,
as soon as it was completed. Here he pur-
chased a watch for Stanley, and took occasion,
while the boy was absorbed in delight at this,
to select and buy a lady's finger-ring, set with
a diamond, for which he paid fifty dollars.
In doing this he only pursued his usual busi-
ness habits of being provided beforehand for
expected liabilities. Then came the furnishing
store. Stanley never before suspected how
difficult to please was his uncle's taste. The
lilac cravats and primrose gloves were numer-
ous, and he was constantly consulted as to
what was becoming to Mr. Griggs' complexion.^
"There isn't anything very becoming to it," he
said, in despair, as purple, orange, and sky-blue

were laid beside the round, red cheeks of the
good man. " Pick out that which agrees with
me best ; I feel quite particular going among
old friends, you know, and get yourself a
fishing-suit, my child, and a rod, and every-
thing necessary— there 's fishing tackle a block
below this — and get some gloves now, plenty
of ' em. I want you to do me credit, my boy ! ' '
and His face shone with benevolence and per-
spiration.

Stanley promised to do him credit if he could,
Alas!. Mr. Griggs knew not how admirably
that promise would be kept! The pur 'bases
were at length completed, the goods sent
round, the baggage packed, the express sent
for, and uncle and nephew partook of then-
last (for some time) dinner with Mrs. Board-
man, who shed tears of real disappointment,
when she saw the carriage drive away from
the door, which held the losses of a -
blighted again by this sudden move of her
most promising boarder. Mr. Griggs, modest
as excellent, saw not the wreck his departure
had made.

Roseville was a pleasant inland village,
which the travellers reached by rail at mid-
night, when they had their baggage sent to
the hotel, and immediately followed it, order-
ing two of the best rooms, and retiring aj
quickly as possible, in order to be fresh for
the campaigns of the coming day. Fish
floated in the dreams of the younger gentleman,
silvery trout splashed in the stream of his
fancy — while the elder, with the moonlight
resting tenderly on the tip of his rosy nose,
had visions of sparkling eyes, pouting lips,
the hardware business from which he had
retired, diamond rings, lost baggage, officiating
clergymen, etc., heterogeneonsly compounded.

"I give myself a month!" murmured Mr.
Griggs, to himself, as he tied one of the new
cravats at eight o'clock of the next morning.

"To do what? to stay in Roseville?" in-
quired Stanley, who had entered unbidden,
his knock having been unheeded by the uncle,
plunged into a rose-water reverie to his eyes.

" I wasn't talking out loud, was I ?" replied
Mr. Griggs, blushing, and looking guilty.
"What did I say?"

" That you were going to stay here a month ;
and I think I shall like it, uncle. See thos>
mountains stretching away ; just the country
for trout-streams ! We '11 have some fried foi
supper to-morrow. "

"Wry well, Stanley; I've no objections

<•

ADVENTURES OF A BACHELOR.

But yi mi must make ■ oall or two with me this
morning. [ have distant relatives here, who
will !»• onrions bo see how my little boy is
growing up. And then there 's my old friend

Perkins — l used to know his wife when she
was a girl. They bare two ot three children,
1 believe. Little Emily, the oldest, was a
graceful little thing about eight years oM,
when I was here last. Let me see, that was
eight years ago. 1 declare it don't Beem so
long I how time Hies! eight and eight are
sixteen. She must he almost grown up. by
this time. I wonder if she looks as her mother
nsed to, when we went to school together ?"

" Who, un

" Why. Emily Perkins, to bo sure. Put on
your best things, Stanley ; I want you to do
credit to my guardianship."

"I'll try to, if affection and gratitude,
shown by my behaving myself, will do you
credit, dear uncle. Only I hope there won't
be many ealls to make, they 're so stupid,
and I want to be asking the landlord about the
fishing."

Alter a leisurely breakfast, the two gentle-
men prepared to walk out. Mr. Griggs was a
good while brushing his hat ami putting on
his gloves ; he lingered some time at the glass,
while Stanley threw only a careless glanoe at
the handsome young figure he saw there,
with its animated face, the brown curls and
bright eyes set off to good advantage by the
white chip hat. While his uncle was fitting
on the primrose gloves, he unpacked a fishing-
rod and put it together.

"This is the very place !" said Mr. Griggs,
an hour later, pausing before a gate leading
intoa large, shaded lawn, in the centreof which
stood a plain, but pleasant and roomy mansion.
"It looks just as it use. I to. Let us go in, Stan-
ley. It 's eleven o'clock ; and Mrs. Perkins will
excuse my calling without sending my card,
as we used to be so friendly. She '11 invite
us to come often, and perhaps make a party for
us, so that we '11 have no difficulty in getting
acquainted in the village. I hope she knows
some of the young ladies."

He opened the gate and advanced up the
walk, shaded by elms ami locusts. A cool
breeze rustled the green leaves, and stole the
perfume of the roses which overran the pillars
of the portico ; it certainly was pleasanterthan
the city. As he came near the portico, fol-
lowed by his nephew, he was suddenly so
nearly overcome as to be incapable, for an

instant, of moving. In one of tie low windows
which opened to the Boor, sat a yonng girl
reading. She had been out in the garden not
lone before, for the lace curtains that canopie i
her had a garland of fresh roses catching
them back : there were flowers in her hair,
and a heap of neglected flowers and myrtle on
the floor at her side. She wore a blue mom- *
ing dress (Mr. Griggs' favorite color!), and
there were blue morning glories in her glist-
ening hair, and her eye-, when at last she
looked up and perceived the strangers, were
blue. She was lovely. There was no doubt
of that. Even Stanley, with his thoughts all
tangled up in fishing-lines and hooks, was
dimly conscious of it. as he modestly kept in
the shadow of his uncle, while that gentleman,
catching the young lady's glance, made a bow
so profound, that for nearly a moment she
saw nothing but the bald spot on the top of
his head, and she would have seen nothing
else, had not her glance darted over it and
met that of the young mau in the background.

"Is it possible that I have the pleasure of
seeing little Emily?" asked Mr. Griggs, as he
ascended the steps, holding out bis hand anil
beaming like the sun. " My gracious, how
yon have grown ! ' '

"Isupposeso," answered little Emily , laugh-
ing, and giving her hand, though she had not
the least idea to whom she was giving it, nor
why he shook it so warmly ; but Mr. Griggs'
countenance was a letter of introduction which
would have opened the severest door to him,
it was so made up of mingled goodness and
politeness.

"Dear me ! I had no idea ! indeed I hadn't I
never was more surprised — agreeably sur-
prised," continued the visitor, growing more
and more radiant. "How's your mother.
Miss Emily ? and your father ? Can I see them
this morning?"

" Mother is at home. Who shall I say wishes
to see her?" inquired the young lady, with
another glance at the young man still unin-
troduced.

"Bless me! I forgot that yon couldn't be
expected to remember me as well as I do you !
It 's eight years since I was in Roseville last.
Tell her Mr. Griggs — Oliver Griggs, from New
York, would like to see her tins morning, if
she 's not too much engaged. Excuse me,
Miss Emily, this is my nephew, Stanley Oliver
Griggs, named after me, you see."

The nephew and the young lady bowed,

godey's lady's book and magazine.

and both smiled. Uncle Oliver was so suffused
with sunshine that they caught the infection.

"I remember you now, Mr. Griggs," cried
Emily ; "mother will be delighted to hear you
are in Roseville. I remember you very well
now. I have some remains yet of the wax doll
you gave me when you visited us before.
It 's strange I did not recognize you at first."

" Did I really give her a wax doll ?" thought
Mr. Griggs, as she showed them into the
parlor, and went away to call her mother.
"How absurd! But of course, then, I had
no idea — she was a little girl, then. The next
present I make her won't be of a doll, that 's
certain ! ' ' and as his heart gave a slight throb,
it pressed against the diamond ring stowed
snugly away in his vest pocket.

" Don't you think it was lucky we decided
to visit Roseville?" he inquired of Stanley,
who was gazing vaguely at the shadow of the
vines on the floor of the portico.

"I don't know yet, uncle, until I've tried
the trout-fishing. It seems pleasant enough,
certainly. ' '

" It seems as if fate had led me to the very
spot," remarked the uncle.

"I hope it will prove so," replied the
nephew.

"They're as blue as the sky," murmured
the uncle.

"I thought they were speckled," answered
the nephew.

"Speckled! what are you thinking of,
Stanley ? — and grown so remarkably. ' '

' ' From three to five pounds, the landlord
tells me."

There was some danger of the two gentle-
men getting inextricably tangled in each
other's ideas, when they were relieved by the
entrance of the ladies. Mrs. Perkins was
glad to welcome her old friend ; and cast a
friendly and admiring eye upon the nephew
by whom he was accompanied. Roseville
was a small village, to whieh the visits of eli-
gible strangers were rare. All her motherly
instincts were aroused and on the alert. She
knew that Mr. Griggs was a person of irre-
proachable character, of considerable benevo-
lence, of great kindness of heart, and that lie
had sixty thousand dollars well-secured. This
knowledge made it a very pleasant thing to
look back to and talk over old times. She
'observed closely the extreme affection and
indulgence which he displayed towards his
nephew — a voung man, she was sure, in every

way worthy of his excellent prospects, if his
handsome face, frank and graceful manners,
and veneration for his kind uncle, could be
taken in proof.

Tilings went on, as Stanley would have said,
"swimmingly." The long and pleasant call
was ended by accepting an invitation to tea'
that evening, when Mr. Perkins would be
back from the court at which he was at present
busy as Probate Judge, and would be de-
lighted to welcome has friend Griggs, with his
nephew, Griggs, junior.

If it had not been for the excellent dinner
which the host of the hotel served up to his
two new guests, time would have been intol-
erable, while they waited for the appointed
six o'clock — for Roseville people kept country
hours. But with dining, and dressing, and
consulting watches, the hours did finally pass ;
Stanley finished a book which he had pur-
chased on board the cars the previous day — ■
and attracting many sly glances from behind
the decorous window-curtains of the white
mansions along the'way, the uncle and nephew,
in irreproachably neat and elegant summer
attire, walked again to the residence of
"Judge" Perkins.

Mr. Griggs' heart grew a great deal softer
than the butter during the hour passed at the
daintily-spread table ; the butter had a dish
of ice to repose upon, but his susceptible
heart was eased in no such armor. It fairly
melted within him beneath the rays of light
which flashed from the blue eyes opposite.
Emily had been as pretty as she could be, in
the neat carelessness of her morning-dress ;
and yet she was prettier still in the floating,
flowing muslin, the lace cape and burnished
curls of the afternoon. Her dress was white,
like her shoulders and arms ; but there was a
bit of blue ribbon run through the edge of the
transparent cape ; there was a richer bloom
on her cheeks, called up by the excitement of
the occasion, while the half shy, half mirthful
glance which shot from beneath the long
lashes was perfectly bewitching. She had
already taken a strong liking to " Uncle
Oliver," as the young gentleman (whom she
scarcely noticed) called him. Memories of the
wax doll which had been her childish glory
prepared the way for still kinder perceptions
of his goodness and indulgence. She was not
afraid to say all the little tormenting, piquant
things to him which came into her gay little
head. A thousand times Mr. Griggs mentally

ADVENTURES OF A BACHELOR.

thanked his stars for leading him to this place
of all pi sea for carrying out the plan which
be had formed. His breast thrilled when ho
1 the innocent signs of liking which
she was too young and artless to <<
His mind was fully made np, long before the
strawberries ami cream wore Barred. As for

-parity of ages, it wasn't much. She
was a good deal of a child to he sure, but he

•led and sedate enough to make the
match even. In his eyes there did not exist
a single objection worth thinking of. Stanley
was left entirely to the attentions of the father
and mother, who certainly did all in their
power to make their young guest enjoy him-
self; Mrs. Perkins was as tender as a mother
in her interest in his college-life, until the
judge began to expatiate upon the scenery of
die, including the mountain lake and
the trout streams, when the interest of the
young gentleman became absorbed, so as to
leave her at full liberty to dispense due por-
tions of sugar and cream to each saucer of
Btrawben

Stanley enjoyed himself very much also ;
for the tea was delicious, he was nattered by
Mrs. Perkins, and he obtained all the infor-
mation he desired on the subjects of gunning
and fishing. Uncle Oliver would have affirmed
that his nephew didn't know the color of Miss
Perkins' hair or eyes, for he only saw him
look at her twice, and speak to her once ;
while as for the little witch herself, she hardly
took notice enough of the boy to be polite to

Probably she didn't yet look forward
to being his affectionate aunt in the course of
a month or sis weeks. Uncle Oliver smiled
slily as he thought of it.

The tea-party inaugurated a fortnight of

■ such as had never before bewildered
the brain of Emily Perkins. She was the
envy of every girl in the village. Each day,
either in the cool of the morning, or in the

ion, after a light shower had laid the
dust, Mr. Griggs took her out riding in the

meet establishment which the livery
Btable could produce. There was no impro-
priety in this, he being such a very old family
friend, merely playing the part of a good uncle,
as it were. Sometimes Stanley galloped be-
side the carriage on the "spirited steed"
which Uncle Oliver had purchased for his use.
Hear, kind, indulgent Uncle Oliver ! every

ie heart of the young man ezp
more and more under the warmth of his good-

ness. Hi> lips overflowed with prai->-s whei

Mrs. Perkins gently and cautiouslj

tic- subject of his relations with his nn<

And when that worthy lady drew from tie
generous .Mr. Griggs his intentions towards
his nephew, they were entirely satisfactory tl
a prudent mind ; he avowed his purpose of set-
ting Stanley np in some nourishing businesc

and also of making him one of his principal
heirs — •• Always provided," he added, with :.
smile, "that my own boys don't want it all!'
and the mother smiled at the delightful humor
of the incorrigible old bachelor.

In the meantime the rest of Roseville was
not to be shut out from a fair chance at thi
envied prize. Mr. Griggs was an old friend of
many of the inhabitants ; they recalled the
time when he attended the academy along
with them, and hastened to invite him U
renew the ties of the past ; parties followed
parties — one every twenty-four hours, in the
evening — besides picnics, rides, drives, din-
ners, teas, and the sewing-society ad interim.
It was palpable to the dullest comprehension
that Emily Perkins did not or could not wish
to marry both the new arrivals — there would
be one left for some other fortunate female.
It was the general impression that Mr. Griggs,
believing it calculated to secure the steadi-
ness and prosperity of his nephew, was inte-
resting himself in getting him settled for life,
and had picked out for him the daughter o
his old friends. But what if he, Mr. Grigg-
himself, could he induced — should happen U
change his mind — should, in short, fall ii.
love and get married himself! The very
thought of it set the heart of Miss Briar t.
palpitating — for, of course, should he happen
to be attracted, it would be towards some om
nearly of his own age — and caused Mrs. BeL
to give a very small, select party, the lii>
company she had invited since her dear Mr
Bell's decease.

We do not propose to relate the history of
the picnic and the other gayeties in detail
We will only say that if ever a man received
aid and encouragement in the new under
taking which he proposed, that man w-as Mr
Griggs. Before the fortnight had expired 1.
had plainly hinted his purpose to the parents
who received it with the serenity of the dee].
est content. Twice or thrice, amid littb
coughs, and Hurried breaths, and rosy blushes
he had cast out soundings in the dimpled and
sparkling sea of the little maiden's affections ,

godey's lady's book and magazine.

and his faint approaches towards the subject
which now engrossed his thoughts had been
met with changing color, and glances shy,
indeed, but very kind. A less complacent
egotism than always shone in the round face
of Mr. Griggs would have been content. lie
only wanted an opportunity to press the ring
upon the maiden's linger and get her to set
the day.

So absorbed was Mr. Griggs in his own
happiness that he paid less attention than
usual to his nephew. It struck him, once or
twice, that lie had suddenly lost his passion
for fishing and gunning, though when he
asked him if game was scarce, he had been
informed that it was not. But, although he
had nearly given up his long, solitary excur-
sions, Stanley seemed perfectly contented with
Roseville, never once asking his uncle when
he was going to leave it.

"He's a good boy," said Uncle Oliver, to
Emily, as they were riding out together, while
Stanley spurred his horse up a bank to gather
a bunch of wild roses which the exacting little
lady had said she admired — "lie's never
disobeyed me, nor made me any trouble. A
little high-spirited, but controls himself well.
You '11 never find him any trouble ; he '11
always be respectful and affectionate, no
responsibility at all, I assure you, although
such a mere boy. You '11 be proud of him, I
assure you — that is, of course — if you— you
understand, Miss Emily," and Mr. Griggs
actually squeezed her hand as he grew more
embarrassed ; while the maiden blushed and
stammered and smiled, with half-averted face,
which drove her admirer into such an ecstasy
of hope and anticipation that he resolved that
very evening should find the words said.
Indeed, he would have rushed into the fearful
ordeal then and there, had not Stanley been
retrlrning with the roses. A sudden, happy
conceit came to the relief of his uncle ; he
would throw out a bold hint, which not only
could not be misunderstood by the lady her-
self, but would also give the boy an idea of
what was going on. Doubtless he would be
interested in this important change in his
uncle's mode of life, while the little maiden,
if she was not so pleased as she looked, could
repel him then, and save him the mortification
of a refusal. He reached out his hand for the
roses, and as he took them and handed them
with a gay flourish to the girl by his side, he
said, musingly —

' ' Thank you, Stanley. Mrs. Griggs is
much obliged to you," and then laughed as
if it were only a joke, but looked very nerv-
ous. He was so confused at his own auda-
city that he did not see how his nephew
blushed to the brim of his straw hat, and
looked at Emily, who gave him one swift
glance, and theii laughed to cover her blushes,
and struck Mr. Griggs on the arm with the
roses, and cried —

"For shame, Mr. Griggs ! How can you !"
in a voice not the least angry. She looked so
saucy and sweet, and loving and defying —
such an arch little coquette as she was — that
he could have eaten her up if his nephew had
not, for once, been in the way.

The rest of the ride was delightful. Emily
was as gay and bewitching as she could be,
letting him see plainly how well she liked
him ; while Stanley was in the best of spirits,
seeming somehow to be strangely grateful to
Uncle Oliver for all of the goods, mental and
physical, which blessed him.

" I believe I 'd got married years ago, if I'd
have realized how cosey and pleasant courting
is," thought Mr. Griggs, between the ride and
tea-time. " Nobody's laid a straw in my way so
far. Parents, nephew, and everybody agreed,
if the chit herself is as pleased as she looks.
Bless me ! I might have been settled years
ago, but then, I shouldn't have married Emily
Perkins, and no other girl would have suited
me so exactly. Bless me ! what eyes she has !
full of mischief as an egg is full of meat !"

When Mr. Griggs started, that evening, to
call on Emily, he did not ask Stanley to go
along ; he had important business on hand
which did not require the presence of a third
person ; besides which, the young gentleman
had been absent over an hour, having gone
out directly after tea without saying where he
was going. When he reached the lawn of Mr.
Perkins' mansion he was surprised to find his
nephew walking in the moonlight, on the vine-
wreathed piazza, with the little white hand of
Emily resting on his arm, and her face turned
up to his in the most confidential manner.
Not that he was displeased at the sight ! oh
no ! he had no doubt the pretty aunt wa*
making herself agreeable in a dutiful sort of
way to the nephew elect — but Mr. Griggs had
supposed that Stanley was off with a party of
young men on a moonlight boating excursion
which he had heard them speaking of.

When they saw him coming the young

ADVENTURES OF A BACHELOR.

ooaple paused in their promenade, waiting foil
him to come up the walk, looking very brilliant

and happy, as they stood oil the step, all
.-mil'-.- tn reoeive him.

•• Got the start of iiie, did you, my boy?"

" Yes, uncle !"

"Well, well. Better late than never. Bless
i i . Mi-, Emily, what 's the matter with your

cheek:

" Why, what is, Mr. Griggs ?" with the
most innocent concern,

" Look as if you 'd been rubbing in a few
of those roses. I thought you were going to
the lake, Stanley, didn't I hear you promise .'"

"I believe I did, uuele. I'd forgotten all
about it. It's too bad ! I don't want to go a
bit this evening, but the fellows will wait for
me, and it wouldn't be fair, after tiny made
up the excursion on my account. Half-past
seven was the hour, and it 's eight, now.
Good-night, Miss Perkins, excuse me, uncle.
I 'm dreadfully sorry I 've got to go."

Uncle Olivet wasn't sorry a bit. Here was
tin opportunity which the ardor of his feelings
would no longer allow him to delay. Mrs.
Perkins had retired with a headache, and her
father was out, Emily said ; there were no
visitors, and no engagements for a wonder.
Resolved that there should be one engagement
before the moon was an hour higher, Mr.
Griggs drew the blushing and willing girl to
^he rustic sofa at the farther end of the piazza.
He trembled inwardly and was very nervous,
but the moonlight was inspiring to his courage,
and there was nothing in the manner of the
artless young creature beside him to make
him less bold.

"Miss Perkins," he began, "dear Emily,
you must have long since guessed the object
which brought me to Roseville."

Here he paused, she was silent, her head
drooped, and the long curls partially hid the
glowing face, but the hand which he gathered
up and squeezed in his own was not withdrawn,
which was encouraging.

"Your parents must also have seen what
my purpose was. Perhaps I ought to speak
to your mother first, but" —

"Mamma has the very highest opinion of
your judgment in such matters, Mr. Griggs ;
I don't think she '11 be displeased at your
speaking to me," murmured the fair girl,
drooping still more, but always towards her
companion.

"And you are not displeased. 0 Emily !'°
VOL. LXVtII. — 7

— three BCfneeaes of the little hand — "then

you don't think the difference in age any ob-
jeition ?"

"Not in the least; I never thought of it,"
and she gave him one timid glanee.

" You know that you shall QeVOT want for
anything within the bounds of my fortune. 1 •
shall make it my study to secure your hap-
piness."

"Dear, kind, generous Mr. tiriggsl"

"Do you love in.-, then, darling Emily?"

"I've always liked you, ever since you
gave me the wax doll. But I never thought
you 'd take so much pains to make me happy. '

In the rapture of the moment he caught her
in his arms ; there were actually tears on her
Cheeks as he kissed them ; she gave him a
gentle kiss in return, smiled at him, and
patted his cheek.

"What a child she is!" he thought, de-
lightfully. "How blissful, how heavenly it
will be to have such an artless and affection-
ate creature lavishing her innocent caresses
upon me. She is too innocent even to be
reserved."

The moment bad come for drawing the dia-
mond ring from its hiding-place. He took it
carefully from its wrappings and slid it upon
the taper third finger of the left hand which
he held in his. She held it up to the moon-
light, laughing like a baby with a new toy,
as it sparkled brightly.

" Is it a real diamond, Mr. Griggs ?"

"Yes, a real diamond, darling; it cost fifty
dollars. I bought it in anticipation of this
happy event."

"Oh dear, how considerate! Did Stanley
know of it ?"

"No, indeed. I can keep some things
secret even from my boy, little Emily."

" He will be so surprised and pleased. You'
see he was a little doubtful. He didn't wxni
to say too much till he knew."

" Of course not. And I didn't want hLn to
know too soon. If I had been mortified, now,
by your not caring, I should rather he knew
nothing about it."

" It 's so thoughtful of you to want to save
his feelings." The white arms went »f them-
selves about his neck, and Mr. Griggs- received,
a delicious hug.

" And my own, too, you little witch ! But
now the engagement ring is on, my pet, you
must set the day ! Y'ou will, won't you, now,
little girl? and don't let it be fat off.. I must

godey's lady's book and magazine.

be back in the city by the first of September,
and if the wedding could take place about
three weeks before that — say in about a month,
so that you could go on a little bridal tour
before beginning your city life, it would be all
that I desire. Speak, dear, dearest Emily ! "

He paused beseechingly. She was com-
pletely overwhelmed by the proposition.
Blushing and trembling, laughing and crying,
she stammered out — ■

"So soon! dear me ! I never dreamed of it ;
I couldn't get ready ; I couldn't leave mam-
ma. Oh dear, it 'a so very soon, Mr. Griggs !"

"The sooner the better, when there's no
reasons against it."

"Dear me! you frighten me! I never
thought — Stanley never spoke of it. He ex-
pected to wait at least two years. I don't
know, really" —

" What has Stanley to do with our wed-
ding-day, little girl ? I suppose he can stand
as groomsman, if he wishes, but I shan't wait
two years to please anybody."

" What did you say, Uncle Oliver?" asked
the maiden, starting back from his shoulder,
and looking at him with eyes open very wide.

"What do you call me Uncle Oliver for?
Oliver will do, without the uncle, for my little
wife, I think. I said I didn't know what
business Stanley had with setting the day."

" I should think he would naturally be in-
terested in his own wedding-day."

"Why, is Stanley going to be married,
too?"

"How could I get married unless he did,
Uncle Oliver?"

" What do you mean, Miss Perkins ?"

'• What do you mean, Mr. Griggs ?"

" I mean that I labor under the impression
that you have promised to marry me, Miss
Emily."

" To marry you, Uncle Oliver!"

For a moment she stared at the face before
her — the round, shining face, out of which the
glow was fading like the red out of a sunset ;
she tried hard to control herself, for she felt
sorry, but the shock was too sudden — she
burst into a long, ringing, silvery peal of
laughter, in the midst of which Mr. Griggs
walked hastily towards the gate.

"0 dear! Uncle Oliver, excuse me, for-
give me!" she cried, running after him.
"You've left your hat and your handker-
chief. I 'm afraid you '11 take cold in your
head. Please wait for them. Upon my word,

I never suspected — neither did Stanley. It 's
only this very evening he spoke to me, and
I — I" — but Mr. Griggs had passed out of hear-
ing, leaving her standing at the gate with his
hat in her hand. In vain she peered anx-
iously after the short figure trotting rapidly
through the dim moonlight, bareheaded, and
vanishing in the distant shadows. Mr. Griggs
had faded into night — nothiug but his hat
was left.

Alas, that the key of that golden padlock
should have been given into such careless
hands !

PRACTICAL LESSONS IN DRAWING.

SEVENTH LESSoX.

As you are now able to draw outlines cor-
rectly, it will be necessary to study light,
shade, and reflection, which will give the ap-
pearance of substance to the objects you wish
to delineate.

If we consider light as applied to drawing,
we must do so under four distinct heads.
1st, as natural light, or that emanating from
the sun when it rises —

" At morning, flinging wide
Its curtain-clouds of purple and vermilion,
Dispensing life and light on every side ;"

2d, as artificial light, or that derived from
combustible bodies ; 3d, as direct light, or that
light which reaches an object directly, with-
out passing through, or being reflected from,
one object upon another ; and 4th, reflected
light, or that light which, when it is received
by one object, is thrown off or reflected upon
another, as from glass or water.

However, we must request our pupils to try
some simple experiments for themselves with
regard to light before they enter upon their
drawing-lesson of light and shade.

Place a cork upon the table in front of your
window, and let its end rest upon a sheet of
paper. You will observe a pyramidical dark
shadow, the base of which commences at the
cork, and also a pyramidical faint shadow, the
apex or point of which corresponds with the
base of the dark shadow ; and you will also
observe that a portion of the cork is faintly,
another portion deeply, and another portion
semi'-shadowed.

Place the cork upon its side, and you will
obtain nearly the same results ; but with this
difference, that the shadows are broader, and
the effect produced less striking.

PRACTICAL LESSONS IN* DRAWING.

Substitute a billiard-ball, a marble, or a
bullet for the cork, and the effect is nearly the
same, only thai the shadow is elliptical, or
somewhat oval, instead of pyranudio&l.

Roll up a piece of paper so as to form a
cone, gam clown one of the corners, and cut
off the base, so as to be even ; then set this
upon a piece of paper, and you will obtain
the same shadows as when you employed the
cork, which may be easily proved by placing
them side by side.

Many similar and simple objects will readily
BUggest themselves to the pupil, and should
be used as familiar examples to practise light
and shade.

From what you have seen, it will be evident
that all opaque or non-transparent objects
upon which light happens to fall must be
partially in shadow, whether the light falling
upon them be reflected, natural, or artificial;
while other parts will be illuminated, and
therefore placed in strong contrast with those
parts of the object that are in shadow.

Shading is intended to impart the appear-
ance of solidity to objects, so that the amount
of depth of shading in a drawing conveys the
idea to the mind of the beholder — 1st, that
the object delineated is in relief, or projects
from those surrounding it ; 2d, as regards the
relative position of one object with regard to
another; and 3d, the distinctive distances of
objects from the person viewing them.

Shadows are either natural or accidental.
Natural shadows are those that the lover of
nature beholds as he rambles through the lone
copse, the tangled wood, or river's margin.

If a ball is placed upon the table, and a ray
of light is allowed to fall upon it, the side near
to the light will appear different from the
other part upon which the light does not fall,
as may be seen in Fig. 27, in which A repre-
sents the point from which the ray of light
Fig. 27.

proceeds until it falls npon part of the ball,
d e, which thus receives direct light, while
the other part (c) is in natural shadow or
shade. You will also observe that there is along
pyramidical shadow thrown upon the table,
the result of the non-transparency of the ball.

Having directed your attention to the pre-
liminary and important points connected with

light and shade, it now becomes necessary to
make some observations upon shading,

In shading there are three kinds of manipu-
lation requisite — 1st, waving; 2d, stippling ;
and 3d, cross-hatching. There are certain
rules connected with shading which must be
generally observed; for it will be found that
much of the appearance of objects depends
upon the shading employed ; for it is by
means of the kind of lines used that the pro-
jection of bodies from one another, and the
appearance of the materials of which they are
constructed, are conveyed to those who only
possess the opportunity of viewing the sketch.
Color is at all time, better adapted to depict
ies, portraits, etc., than drawings of
uniform tint, however well the latter may be
executed.

The strokes used in shading may be of uni-
form thickness or not, and they may aU> !"■
placed at regular or irregular distances. If of
uniform thickness (as ./, Fig. 28), they give
Hg. 28.

a. i c

the same tone to a drawing that one color
would if it were placed upon the paper ; but
if the same strokes are drawn closer foget ' r
in one part of the drawing than in the other
(as «, Fig. 28), then that part will have a
«le. per tone. The same result holds good with
respect to oblique lines, as in I, Fig. 28. If
the lines become darker or broader, and neari r
to each other as they recede from the light,
then they will convey the impression of an
increased depth of tone (as in c, Fig. 28),
whether the lines be oblique, perpendicular,
or horizontal. All lines used in shading do
not take the same direction, as, in addition to
those mentioned above, some are semicircular.

Here is a figure (Fig. 29) that combines
outline and shading, and forms an excellent
study for the beginner in both, as, in the
former lesson, it serves to illustrate the beauty
and grace of curved lines, and in the latter,
of uniformity of shading.

Waving shotting is produced by a succession
of strokes close together, by using a soft pen-
cil (F or B) with a worn point. If these lines
are made with a fine-pointed pencil there is

godey's lady's book and magazine.

not a uniformity of tint produced, and there-
fore the lines should not overlap one another,

Fig. 29.

hut be drawn as in Fig. 30. Foregrounds and
deeply-cast shadows, broken earth, etc., re-
quire this kind of shading.

Fig. 30.

Stippling consists of a series of dots, which
impart a depth or lightness of shade, just as
they are made large or small, or closer or
farther apart ; the general rule being to make
them large and close together in the depth of
the shade, and gradually small and wider
apart as the light is approached.

Cross hatching is produced by drawing a
number of lines in such a manner that they
cross one another at right angles. They
should always be commenced from the out-
line, as in Fig. 31, and one direction of lines

Fig. 31.

finished before the other crosses them, other-
wise unevenness of tone will be produced.
They should always be thinner as they ap-
proach the light, and also wider apart. In
curved objects it is necessary to observe the
relative convexity and concavity of the sur-
faces, and to represent them by lines exhibit-
ing a greater or lesser curvature, taking care
to increase their breadth in certain parts, and
diminish them in others, as may be seen in

the most common engraving of concave or
convex objects.

The general rule for shading is, that fiat
surfaces must be represented by straight
lines ; convex and concave surfaces by curved
lines, as in Fig. 32, which represents a ball,

and shows the manner of increasing the depth
of tone by drawing the lines closer to each
other ; and all surfaces of a mixed appear-
ance must be dealt with according to circum-
stances, some parts requiring curved and
others straight lines, while others again will
require cross-hatched lines both curved and
straight.

Remember that much of the perfection of
shading consists in the knowledge of how
much you can do, and no more, and how much
your pencil will do. In order to attain per-
fection, or even mediocrity, in this department
of drawing, you should practise strokes of
every description, with each kind of pencil,
upon sheets of paper marked at the top thus :
H, HH, HHH, etc., and practise with fine-
pointed and worn-pointed pencils, sometimes
plain, at other times curved, and also cross-
hatched strokes. By this means you will
ascertain the power of your hand, and the
tone of your pencil.

MR. SURLY HARDBAKE ON TIGHT-LACING.

Mr. Surly Hardbake has just returned from
a lengthened tour over Europe. His broad,
honest face is of a deeper brick dust hue than
ever, his hands seem as if they had been
baked in the sun, and he wears a beard which
reaches down to the first button of his waist-
coat. I believe, indeed, that it was with a
view to growing this latter ornament that the
worthy patriot expatriated himself.

Meeting him by accident in a time-honored
haunt of his, I had a pleasant hour with him
in talking over his experiences of the Rhone
and the Danube. Whether the conversation
had been induced by observations as to foreign

MR. SURLY HARDBAKE OX TIGHT LACING.

ladies, and Mr. Surly's love passages, abroad
or not, I do not know : but, all at once, we
found ourselves discussing the vexed question
of tight-lacing.

"I'll tell you what it is sir," said Mr.
Surly, with vehemence, tight-Lacing i.~ tike
same sort of thin;; as Dutch gardening. Have
you a yew-tree such as Nature made it —
graceful, if rather heavy, nieely proportioned,
beautiful, as everything natural is; hut it
doesn't suit your gardener of Dutch William's
days ? Beautiful ! he has his own idea of
what beauty is. Natun — pooh I So he takes
his shears and goes to work on the unfortunate
tree : he clips here and clips there, and shapes
it into a pyramid, or a peacock, and then
stands afar off contemplating his work in silent
ecstasy. But what has he done? Ruined
the tree of course : produced a hideous no-
thing, not a tree, or a peacock : something that
won't harmonize with anything in Nature,
something witli which all the beautiful shapes
of Nature's foliage around it will not and
cannot harmonize. If you had asked a
thorough Dutch gardener which was the most
beautiful, a spreading un tree, just

as Nature has left it ; or one of those clipped.
cropped monstrosities, can you doubt to which
lie would have given the palm ? The natural
tree would be rugged, uncouth, not toliat his
production would be, the perfection of sym-
■ metry. It is just the same with the girls'
waists. Nature has done one thing, and we
are not satisfied with it ; we must get out of
Nature's leading strings, it would seem. We
must have a beauty of your own. like the
Dutch gardeners ! It 's no use talking to peo-
ple like 'Admirer' about Nature ; they either
knock you down with Fashion, or else tell
you Nature is wrong, and mantua-making
right. If somebody had started an idea that
there was a finger too many on our hands,
there are plenty of fashionable fools who
wouldsend for the chopper and rectify Nature's
exuberance! It's no use saying that Nature
knows better than we do, and that if mankind
needed anything like corsets they would have
been born with 'em. As to the matter of
beauty, I don't care what is said about statues
being ugly or clumsy when they are dressed.
They are beautiful when nude, and the fact
that the dress makes them ugly, if it is a fact,
only proves that our theory of dress is wrong.
But, hang it ! just set side by side the Greek
Slave with a dress over her natural waist, and

a dressmaker's dummy (one of those out of

toe BhopS, say), will, a waist drawn in like a
lawyer's bin.- bag when tied tight round the
middle, crinoline below forming one triangle,
the apex of which is at the waist, the bodice

above forming another triangle, with its base
upwards at the shoulders. Which isthebesl '

Fashion will tell yon the dummy. All the
lines which Nature drew are distorted ; all
her proportions set wrong, and yet that is
beauty. Nature never intended that the body
should be half cut into two by staylacs ; and
she revenges it, of course, by ruby noses.
Perhaps they are beautiful? But supposing
that a statue, beautiful when nude, looks
hideous when dressed : Bupposing that dress
is a mistake, and that to be beautiful we must
wear flesh-colored tights, or else lace our stays
like grim death; which is best — to attain to
that ideal beauty and lead a life of misery and
doctor's bills ; or look a little clumsy and be
as hearty as a bullock ? Talking of bullocks,
I wonder what would be said of an agricultu-
rist who had an idea that Nature had made a
mistake as to homed cattle, and insisted upon
clapping all his bullocks into stays > Of
course his friends would collar him, and lead
him away to t'olney Hatch — and serve him
right.

" If there is to be another great fire, I hope
it will break out in a corset manufactory.
Now, look here : the inside of a young lady is,
at least, as important as that of a bullock. I
doubt whether most young ladies ever think
that they have insides at all. Is it possible
that when Nature has given a space of twenty-
two inches, say. for certain important functions
necessary to life to be performed in, that
everything will go on as well when you
squeeze the space down to twelve inches ?
Pooh ! Nature hasn't got sufficient elbow-room,
I toll you! Now, we have been pretty sensible
of late years in the matter of dress (barring
excessive crinoline), but don't let us make
fools of ourselves again. Wherever you go
you see fresh, charming young creatures with
the natural bloom of health on their fates. I
should think never, since the primitive ages
of the world, were there so many healthy and
beautiful girls. I don't think the girls of my
youth were half so bewitching as those I meet
now, and sigh that I am too old for 'em, or
else I should have had a Mrs. Hardbake long
ago. ■ Well, what is the reason of this ? I
believe, loose clothing, fresh air and exercise.

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Once begin the abominable tight-lacing again,
and you will soon see cheeks like chalk,
obliged to be raddled in the middle ; noses
like Orleans plums, obliged to be coated with
pearl powder ; you will have wheezy, panting,
die-away creatures, painful to look at. Exer-
cise and fresh air can't be taken in sufficient
quantities, because the corsets forbid exer-
tion ; the want of fresh air and exercise will
soon tell on the pinched-up damsels — it would
even upon a Hercules ; they will pant and
wheeze and faint through life, instead of freely
inhaling the fresh air and tasting a pleasure
in the mere sensation of living. Fine mothers
of future soldiers they will make, won't they ?
If it is to come to a tug, other things being
even, I '11 lay my old hat on the side of the
people whose mothers do not wear tight stays.
Well, it 's an ill wind that blows nobody
good — the doctors will flourish, that 's certain,
perhaps I had better change my profession to
be ready."

"But do you think the young fellows like
their waists ?"

" I don't believe it ; if they do they 're fools,
that's all ; but I think they don't. Every fel-
low with sense likes an armful of humanity,
not a waist of buckram and jean, as stiff as a
lamp-post. Did you ever waltz with a tight-
laced young lady ; it 's like spinning round
with a clothes-prop, ain't it ? As for the
statue and garment question, I tell you the
only people who thoroughly know how to
dress their women were the Greeks. Look at
Parthenia, in ' Ingomar ; ' what a charming
dress! Some pleasure in waltzing with a girl
like that ; but let 's drop the subject and talk
of something else."

THE BANANA TREE.

This remarkable production of the tropics,
which, in its varieties, furnishes one of the
chief articles of consumption to the inhabi-
tants, attracted the attention of the great
traveller, Von Humboldt. These are some of
his statements concerning its great produc-
tiveness. He doubts "whether there is any
plant on the globe which, in so small a space
of ground, can produce so great a mass of
nutriment. The fruit is yielded in bunches,
containing from one hundred and sixty to
one hundred and eighty bananas or plantains,
and weighing from sixty-six to eighty-eight

pounds. Eight or ten months after the sucker
has been inserted in the ground the banana
begins to form its clusters, and the fruit may
be gathered in less than a year. When the
stalks are cut, there is always found among
the numerous shoots which have put forth
roots, one that bears three months later. A
spot of ten hundred and seventy-six feet con-
tains from thirty to forty plants, which will
yield more than forty-four hundred and ten
pounds in a year. The-produce of the banana
to that of wheat is as one hundred and thirty-
three to one, and to that of potatoes as forty-
four to one. The same spot cultivated with
banana will furnish subsistence for fifty indi-
viduals, which, in wheat, would not furnish
food for two."

ILLUME MY PATH, 0 LORD !

BY ADA ALGERNON.

"Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty, God hath shined.''
" Jly soul longeth, yea, even fainteth for the courts of the
Lord."

Illume my path, 0 Lord ! So let the light,
The bright effulgence of Thy glory shine,

That these poor weary eyes may see aright —
That these poor weary feet may follow Thine.

Illume my path, 0 Lord ! Thou who didst lead

Thy chosen Israel o'er the parted sea,
And through the wilderness : my spirit's need,

The pillar and the cloud vouchsafe to me.

Illume my path, 0 Lord ! Thou who didst dwell

In olden times between the cherubim,
From whose o'ershadowing wings deep sounds did swell,

Even as Thy voice, the temple's courts within.

In deep humility I seek Thy grace;

In deep humility, O Christ ! I kneel
Low in the dust. Shine from Thy holy place,

Thy footprints in this desert wild reveal.

My soul is longing for the pearly gates,
Which Thou hast promised in thy sacred word,

And in the dark and gloom of midnight waits,
In trembling hope. Illume my path, 0 Lord !

THE FORSAKEN.

BT JOHN CALVIN GITCHELL.

She sits alone in a hush profound,

And listens in vain to catch the sound

Of a voice that she listened to too long ;

For it won her to love, and led to wrong1.

Her face is pale, but her curls of jet

Half hide her cheeks that with tears are wet,

While she leans her head on the whitest hand

Of any proud lady in all the land.

Early in March, when the warm winds blow,

To melt from the hills the winter's snow,

A prave will be made in the trysting place,

And she will be laid to the earth's embrace.

NOVELTIES FOR JANUARY.

INFANT'S KlU'.E, AlT.nN, ETC. ETC.
Fig. 1.

Fig. 1. — Infant's Robe. The apron is com-
posed of narrow tucks, divided at intervals
by embroidered borders and double rows of

frilling. We have given this illustration to
show the arrangement of the tucks, etc, which
may be purchased ready worked, the entire

Fit-. 3.

GODEY S LADT S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

garment being tacked together so that only
the embroidery has to be done. The frilling
should have a scalloped edge, and two rows
should be whipped and put on together. When
nicely gauffered, these little frills have a very
i pretty effect.

Fig. 2 is an infant's hat, made of white
merino, embroidered or braided, and trimmed
with white ribbons.

Fig. 3.— Child's slip.

Fig. 4. — New style of bretelle and girdle for
a little girl. It can be made of either black

PATTERNS FROM MADAME DEMOREST'S

ESTABLISHMENT,

No. 473 Broadway, New York.

Florentine Dress. — This dress is composed of

Magenta-colored crape maretz, and the skirt

is ornamented with a flounce, headed by a

silk niching, and with double loops, also

composed of silk niching, placed at intervals.

or a high-colored silk, trimmed with a bead
gimp or black velvet.

Fig. 5. — Petticoat for a child six years old.
It is of white muslin, trimmed with rows of

Fig. 5.

ork,

The body is cut square and low, and is
mounted by a band of elegant braid-work
which forms a deep yoke. Short puffed
sleeves. The niching is of course used to
edge the body and sleeves.

The New Dress "Shields." — Ladies who
perspire freely, and thus so soon destroy light
silk, and other dresses, by discoloring them
under the arms, will find complete protection
by using our light and convenient
" Shields," made of a new material,

narrow scarlet braid, and edged with a fluted
ruffle.

and perfectly adapted to their use. They can
be applied in an instant, are taken in and out

WORK DEPARTMENT.

without any trouble, and add no encumbrance,
which can be inconvenient or disagreeable to
the must fastidious.

Elena Dress. — This pretty pored dress is of
lavender silk, in a small check, trimmed with
ruffles of the same, pinked on the edge. With
long full muslin sleeves, closed at the wrist,
and ornamented with narrow black velvet, it

constitutes an elegant little party dress, either
for day or evening. A wide sash is made to
match, and tied in a large bow behind. Ten
yards of checked silk of the ordinary narrow
width will be required to make the dress for
a girl of from eight to ten years.

Augustine Coat. — Dress sack in dark gray

Helton cloth : the straps on the sleeves and
down the front hound with black. Suitable
for a hoy of ten or twelve years.

Infant's Bib, made of quilted dimity, or a
light quality of Marseilles. If of the latter

material it will not. need quilting ; the edge of
the hili is finished with tatting, or tape-work ;
the loops on the shoulder are to fasten to a

button on the dress, or the ribbons that tie
up the sleeves may be passed through the
loops and so fasten the bib.

Yoke Waist, — A very pretty variation from

the plain Garibaldi. It is made of rose-colored
merino, the yoke, belt, and cuffs braided with
black.

INITIAL LETTEK FOK MARKING.

godey's lady's book and magazine.

HAIR NETS.

Nets for the hair heing much worn at the
present season, we have chosen a few of the
most fashionable for illustration, and as seve-
ral of our subscribers have written for patterns
of this description, we have given directions
for both useful and ornamental nets.

The Marie Louise is an entirely new design,
the ornamental part being formed of narrow
bands of Russia leather, secured with steel
heads ; the front is trimmed with small stars,
worked in tatting, and of the same color as
the bands. The net is of Alexandra Blue
Braid, or, if preferred, black may be substi-
tuted ; and it can of course be made in any
color, but blue or black harmonizes best with
the ornaments.

Materials. — For the net, a piece of colored
braid, a large netting needle, and a flat mesh

are stamped with a small gimp pattern. For
the stars, a skein of tatting twine the color of
the bands, a small shuttle, and a ring and
pin. To trim the front, one and a half yards
of blue ribbon, one and three-quarter inches
wide, and one yard one inch wide. Also one
yard of elastic.

THE MARIE LOUISE.

three-quarters of an inch in width. For the
trimming, a bunch of steel beads, No. 9, and
seven bands of narrow Russia leather, which
are usually sold twelve inches in length, and

TTIE NET.

Commence on a foundation of S stitches
(this will make a large size), work backwards
and forwards for 16 rows in plain netting ;
take it off the foundation, and stretch it open,
when it will form a square, which
is for the centre of the net ; the fol-
lowing rounds being worked on the
edges of this square, to do which a
foundation thread should be run
along the four sides a few stitches
from the edge ; then work down the
selvedge formed by the side of the
rows, netting a stitch in each of the
seven loops ; at the corner, increase
by netting 2 stitches in one stitch ;
then net along the first row, and
repeat all round, increasing at each
corner.

Net 10 rounds plain, and fasten

off. The elastic is to be run in the

last round.

To ornament the net see small figure. Take

a hand, and, commencing on one of the knots

formed by the stitches of the net, sew the

band to it, then thread on sis beads and pass

WORK DEPARTMENT.

them across in a slanting direction, taking a
stitch iu the net to secure it ; then thread li
more beads, and placing them aoross the first
ire them, and fasten off. Work the
same at each knot straight across the netting
to the opposite side. .Attach two more bands
parallel with the first and on each diamond of
the netting ; then a fourth band, leaving two
diamonds of the net between, and a fifth band
on the other side of the first, leaving two dia-
monds between to correspond with the other
side.

The Stabs (in Tatting).— Fill the shuttle
with the twine, and, commencing a loop, work
■ stitch, then (1 pearl loop and 2 dou-
ble stitch s alternately, 7 times) ; 1 pearl and
1 doable more, draw the loop quite close, place
the two rh.-r. knut them, and cut off

the twine. Make 22 of these stars.

about eight inches of wide ribbon
wire, and cover it with the narrow bine rib-
bun, placing the win- in the centre of it, so as

to leave equal lengths at each end for strings ;
t!. se are tied at the back of the net, and the
ii the wire sewed to about ten stitches
of the net.

Take the wide ribbon, double it so as to
commence in the middle, and at one edge
I make a plait or fold so as to form the point in
the centre ; make two loops or bows o» each
side of the centre, and leaving a longer space
between them, make two more bows ; the
rest of the ribbon is for the ends. The stars
Should now be tucked on, placing three beads
in the centre of each; this ribbon is then at-
tached to the band in the front.

SIMPLE SLEEPING NET.

'- — Crochet cotton, N".>. 2; aflat mesh a quarter
of an inch in width, and a netting u.-edle. 2*arruw cotton
braid may also be used.

Commence on a foundation of 50 stitches,
net them, and make it round bv working a
stitch iu the first stitch ; then net 25 rounds
quite plain.

27M round. — Decrease, by netting every two
stitches together as one stitch.

28M.— All plain.

29M. — Turn the cotton once round the mesh,
and net a stitch ; rep.-at all round ; when the
mesh is withdrawn these loops will be double
length of the previous stitches.

3"<<. — Net every two stitches together; then

2 rounds plain, and draw up the remaining
stitches, fastening them firmly.

Take it off the foundation, and run an elastic
in the first round.

invisible net.

Materials. — Fine sewing silk, or that known as "In-
visible" silk ; a flat mesh, a quarter of an inch in width ;
and a steel netting needle.

Commence on a foundation of 10 stitches
(this will make a large size), and net 32 rows
plain, working backwards and forwards; take
it off the foundation and stretch it open, when
it will form a square, which is for the centre
of the net ; a foundation thread must therefore
be run along the four sides of it a few stitches
from the edge. Net along the four sides,
working 2 stitches in each of the corners ; then
net 2" rounds plain, and fasten off. After the
first 4 rounds are worked, it is advisable to
run the foundation thread into the first of
them, which will keep the netting even.

LETTEBS FOB MAEKLNG.

GODEY'3 lady's book and magazine.

ITALIAN VILLA.

{See engraving , page 13.)
First Story.

A Summer kitchen. 11:6 by 17:0".

B Kitchen, 16 by 17.

C Pantry.

D Butler's pantry.

E Closet.

F Dining-room, 21:6" by 14:6.

G Library, 11 by 13.

H Hall, 6 feet.

I Drawing-room, 15 by 25.

J Porch, 11 feet.

Second Story.

K Bed-room.

L Bath-room.

M Closet.

N Closet.

0 P Q Chambers.

RSTU Closets.

V Chamber.

EMBROIDERY.

/^A^\A^^

INSERTING.

^°o°o'

o°C?00

.^°OcPo

WORK DEPARTMENT.

A BIRD CASE BCREBN.

It — T»« mis of cotton, Wo. 10, No. 3 Penelope
Book.

13/A.— 5 oh 2 L in every loop of the Kith I. ;

5 uh 14 L. Repeat.

14/A. — 5 eh 1 L on every one of the 26 L ;

lit. /.'.»•. — Hake 60 oh unite and work 4
rows of Dc. (This aperture is for the suspend-
ing ring of oage).

5(/i. — 9 oh Da in every ."nil loop. (12 cks of
9).

5 oh 12 L. Repeat. End with 12 !,.

l:tth.— 6 eh 12 L, the 1st on 2,1 L ; 7 eh 12
L, the 1st in next loop; 6 eh 10 L. Repeat.
End with 10 L.

16th. — 7 eh 10 L, 1st on 2d L ; 3 oh 13 L u

CM.— 3 ch * 13 L u 9 eh ; f> oh Dc u next 9
ch; 5 ch. Repeat from *. End with 5 eh Dc
ii 9 ch.

7tA.-*-5 ch * 2 L on every loop of the 13 L ; 5
oh. Repeat from *. End with 26 1..

M.— * 4 ch 24 L the 1st on 21 I.. Repeat.
End with 24 h.

9th.— 5 ch 22 L the 1st on 2.1 I,.

10th.— 20 L 7 ch. Repeat. End with 20 L.

IDA. —5 ch 1 L in 4th loop of 7 ch ; 5 ch 1
I. on same loop ; 7 ch 18 L 1st on 2d L. Re-
peat. End with 18 L.

12M.— 5chl3L u 5 eh : 5 eh 16 L. Repeat.
VOL. LXVIII. — t

7 ch, 3 ch 10 L the 1st on 2d L ; 7 eh S L, 1st
on 2d L. Repeat.

17M.— 9 oh 8 L, the 1st on 2d L ; 3 ch 13 L
on L, 3 eh 8 L, the 1st on 2d L ; 9 eh 6 L, the
1st on 2d L. Repeat. End with 6 L.

18M.— 10 ch 6 L; 7 ch 11 L, the 1st on 2.1
L ; 7 ch G L ; 10 ch 4 L. Repeat. End v, i; h
4L.

19th.— 13 eh 4 1.; 9 oh 9 L : 9 oh 4 L, ; 13
ch 2 L. End with 2 L.

20th.— 6 ch 1 L in Oth loop ; 1 L in 3d loop
{without making chs between) repeat from * 3
times more (a) then 6 ch 7 L the 1st on 2d 1. ;

godey's lady's book and magazine.

6 ch 1 L in 3d loop ; 1 L in next 3d loop. Re-
peat from * to * 6 times more, then repeat
from (a).

21sf.— * 3 ch 1 L on h ; 6 ch 1 L on next L *.
Repeat this 3 times more (6) ; 9 ch 5 L 1st on
2d L 9 ch. Repeat from * to * 8 times more,
then repeat from (6).

22d.— 3 ch Dc u 1st 6 ch * 9 ch Dc u every

6 and 9 ch for 3 times *, 9 ch 3 L the 1st on
2d L ; 9 ch Dc u every 9 and 6 ch for 9 times.
Repeat from *. End with 9 ch Dc u 6 ch before
the 3 ch.

23<f.— * (a) 3 eh 13 t u 1st 9 ch ; 3 ch Dc a
next. Repeat from * again, then 7 ch Dc «
next 9 ch (a). Repeat from (a) to (a) all
round. End with 3 ch Dc u 9 ch and Dc on
next Dc stitch.

24tiL— * 3 ch 11 L, the 1st on 2d L ; 3 ch
Dc on Dc. Repeat this again, then 7 ch Dc
on Dc. Repeat from *. End with 3 ch Dc
on Dc.

25th.— * 4 ch 9 L 1st on 2d L ; 4 oh Dc on
Dc. Repeat this again, then 7 ch Dc on Dc.
Repeat from * all round. End with 4 ch Dc
on Dc.

26M.— * 7 ch 7 L on L; 7 ch Dc on Dc.
Repeat this again, then 7 ch Dc on Dc. Re-
peat from * all round. End with 7 ch Dc on
Do.

27M. — The same only making 8 ch and 5 L.

28(A. — The same only making 9 ch and
3 L.

29M.— 3 ch Dc » 9 ch * ; 7 ch 1 L on centre
L ; 7 eh Dc u 9 ch ; 7 ch Dc u next 9 eh.
Repeat from *, again omitting " the 7 ch Dc
u next 9 ch" the second time make instead,
5 ch Dc on Dc : 9 ch Dc on Dc ; 5 eh Dc u 9
ch. Now repeat from first *. End with 7 ch
Do u 3 ch at commencement of row.

30th.— 7 ch Dc on L stitch ; ch 13 L « 2d 7
ch; 7 ch Dc on L stitch; 7 ch Dc on L stitch ;

7 ch Dc u 5 ch ; 13 L u 9 ch ; Dc « 5 ch.
Kcpeat. End with 13 L ; Dc on Dc.

31st. — 7 ch 11 L, the 1st on 2d L ; 7 ch Dc
on Dc. Repeat.

32</. — Same as last, only making 9 L, instead
of 11.

33d. — Same as last, only making 7 L. End
with 7 L.

34th.— 7 ch 3 Dc u 1st 7 ch ; 3 Dc u next ;
7 ch 5 L the 1st on 2d L. Repeat. End
with 5 L.

35th. — 7 ch 8 Dc, the first in loop before the
« Dc ; 7 ch 3 L the 1st on 2d L. Repeat. End
with 3 L.

36r/i.— 9 ch Dc on 2d L ; 9 ch 6 Dc, the 1st
on 2d Dc.

37(A. — 10 ch Dc u every 9 ch.

38th.— 11 ch Dc u same 9 ch ; 10 ch Dc u
next 9 ch ; 11 Dc u same, making the Dc
stitches come close together.

39th.— 10 ch Dc u 11 ch; 13 ch Dc u same.
Repeat.

A fringe would give a better finish to this
pattern, but as birds are apt to nibble and
swallow the cotton it is omitted.

HELP TO MEMORY.

The little article, the engraving of which is
given below, is intended to hang over a gen-
tleman's writing-desk, for the reception of
unanswered letters, and is a pretty as well as
useful present. The material is fine, po^shed
patent-leather, inlaid with Turkish morocco
of crimson. The stitching must be done on a
sewing-machine, and either black, white, or
crimson silk may be used. Cut twc pieces ' f
leather the shape of the hack. Then with a
sharp penknife cut out the star, on one piece.
Stitch the crimson morocco on the wrong side

of the leather, to fill up the star-shaped hole.
Then put the two pieces of leather together
and stitch all round. The front is cut and
made in the same manner, cutting out the
pieces for inlaying the morocco, the shape
given in the pattern. Have a piece of thin
board, cut in the shape of a half oval, paint
it black and varnish it. Then tack the front

WORK DEPARTMENT.

to the round of the oval, with small curtain
taiks, and put on the back to the straight side
of the board in the same way. Cut and stitch
round a buttonhole in the point of the back,
to hang the letter-box on a nail.

LADY'S BOOK PINCUSHION.
(8ee engraving, page 21.)
We give among our illustrations a very
ornamental as well as new kind of pincushion.
It is composed of scarlet cloth or satin and
chalk whiteheads. A number of small circles
an' oat accurately in card-board, and covered
neatly with the cloth or satin. On these
circles a small pattern is worked in the white
beads according to the engraving, with a small
loop of beads round the edge, leaving a space
sufficient for the next to wrap over. These
6mall circles are all arranged round a larger
circle cut in a firmer card-board, in the form
of a wreath, each projecting slightly over the
last, leaving a space for the cushion in the
centre. A round cushion is then made suffi-
ciently large to till the centre, covered with
the same material. It is drawn down either
with a scarlet cord, strings of white beads or
gold thread, so as to form four quarters from
the centre, and is attached by means of this
cord to the card-board foundation. This
cushion should be sufficiently full to look well-
raised and handsome. The foundation circle
should be covered with a slight material pre-
vious to the ornamented circles being placed
upon it. It has a very pretty effect when
completed, the bright red contrasting well
with the white drapery of the toilet table.
The Berlin watch-pocket and this pincushion
are arranged to match. The beads should be
worked on with No. 20 Crochet Cotton.

NEW STYLE OF RAISED EMBROIDERY ON
NETTING.

Tins style of work produces a better effect
than darning, and can be used for a great
number of articles — window curtains, counter-
panes, antimacassars, etc. It can be worked
from any crochet or netting patterns, as well
as from all Berlin work patterns, but a certain
rule must be observed. Tims, all the stitches
placed in a straight direction in the patterns
are worked in a slanting line on the net — that
is, in the direction of the diamonds, touching

each other at the point ; the stitches placed
in a slanting direction in the patterns are, on

Flg.l.
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DCCDCCjD-

Dopgcogqp

II. CL'J

-QQcEB

Pesign for Raised Embroidery.

the contrary, worked in a straight line on the
net, but one diamond should always be left
between two diamonds that are to be worked .
To render this explanation clearer, we give an

Fig. 2.

Raised Embroidery, showing the direction in tvhioh
the stitches should be taken on the netting.

illustration of a specimen of Berlin work, Fig.
1, consisting of seventeen squares in cross-
stitch ; then a specimen of netting, Fig. 2, on
which the diamonds to be embroidered for
working this pattern are shown by dots. By
comparing these two illustrations all difficulty
will be done away with, and our readers will
be able to work on a netted ground any sort
Fie. 3.

Raised Embroidery on Netting, showing how the 2d
stitch should be cununtu

of pattern in Berlin work. The working of

this embroidery is very simple. Take em-

godey's lady's book and magazine.

broidery cotton of the coarsest size ; fasten
one end to the netting ; cover this diamond
with five or six stitches which go round twice,
by passing the needle from one corner to the
other, alternately under two threads and over
two threads of the netting (see Fig. 3). The
diamond thus filled up is reckoned for one
cross- stitch ; Fig. 3 shows one of these dia-
monds when completed, and the direction in

liaised Embroidery, showing the 1st and 3d stitches
nearly completed.

which the needle is to be placed to form the
next. This latter is filled up like the pre-
ceding one, and worked round in the same
manner, the needle being inserted underneath

the two outer circles of the previous diamond,
as seen in Fig. 4. The engraving, Fig. 5,
represents the pattern complete. A prettv
effect might be produced for an antimacassar
by working these stars in colored wools, in
the same manner as we have just described.
The wool would fill in the holes of the netting

Fig. 5.

New Style of Raised Embroidery on Netting.

nicely, and the work would have a rich raised
appearance.

EMIiliOIPBnY.

SAMPLER PATTERN FOR OUR TOUSG FRIENDS.

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godey's lady's book and magazine.

Erupts, &X

MISCELLANEOUS COOKING.

Beefsteaks with Mushrooms. — Take four pounds of the
best sirloin stocks, cut thin. Season them with black
pepper, and a very little salt. Put a large tablespoonful
of good lard into a frying-pan, and set it over the fire.
When it is quite hot, put in the steaks and let them brown.
Have ready a quart of mushrooms, stemmed and skinned,
and moistened with a pint of water, seasoned with a little
pepper and salt, and thickened slightly with a good
dredging of flour. Pour it over the steaks in the frying-
pan, and then let them cook till thoroughly done.

Venison steaks will be found excellent dressed in this
manner, but the venison must bo fresh.

Minced Beef. — Take the lean of some cold roast beef.
Chop it very fine, adding a small minced onion; and sea-
son it with pepper and salt. Put it into a stewpan, with
some of the gravy that has been left from the day before,
and let it stew for a quarter of an hour. Then put it (two-
thirds full) into a deep dish. Fill up the dish with
mashed potatoes, heaped high in the centre, smoothed on
the surface, and browned with a salamauder or a red-hot
shovel.

Cold roast mutton or lamb may be minced as above,
adding some sweet-marjoram to the seasoning, and filling
up the dish with mashed turnips instead of potatoes.

Also, cold roast-pork ; flavoring the seasoning with a
little chopped sago. Cover the top with sweet potato,
boiled and mashed, or with apple-sauce, that has been
stewed as thick as possible.

Corned Fillet op Veal.— Take a large fillet of veal
and make deep incisions or cuts all over it with a sharp
knife, and insert a slip of the fat into each, pressing it
down well to keep it in. Mix a tablespoonful of pow-
dered saltpetre with half a pound of fine salt, and rub the
meat all over with it. Make a brine of salt and water
strong enough to swim an egg on its surface, adding a
lump of saltpetre about the size of a walnut. Put the
veal into the brine (of which there must be enough to
more than cover it), and let it remain ten days, turning it
every day. Then take it out, wash off the brine, and boil
the veal till thoroughly doue and tender all through. It
is best to eat it cold, and sliced thin.

French Wat of Dressing a Shoulder of Veal. — Cut
the veal into nice square pieces or mouthfuls, and parboil
ihem. Put the bone and trimmings into another pot and
stew them slowly a long time, in a very little water, to
make the gravy. Then put the meat into the dish in
which it is to go to table, and season it with a very little
salt and Cayenne pepper, tho yellow rind of a large lemon
grated, and some powdered mace and nutmeg. Add some
bits of fresh butter rolled in flour, or some cold dripping
*of roast veal. Strain the gravy and pour it in. Set it in
a hot oven, and bake it brown. When nearly done, add
two glasses of white wine, and serve it up hot. Any
piece of veal maybe cooked in this way.

Stewed Lamb. — Take a fine quarter of lamb and, for a
large dish, cut the whole of it into steaks; for a small
dish, cut up the loin only ; or slice only the leg. Remove
the skin and all the fat. Place at the bottom of a large
stew-pot a fresh lettuce split into long quarters. Having
reasoned the steaks with a little salt and Cayenne, and
some powdered nutmeg and mace, lay them upon the let-
tuce, pour on just sufficient water to cover the whole, and

let it stew gently for an hour, skimming it occasionally.
Then put in a quart or two of young green peas (in pro-
portion to the quantity of meat), a sprig of fresh green
mint, a lump of loaf-sugar, and some bits of fresh butter.
Let it cook slowly about half an hour longer, or till the
peas are all soft and well done. In sending it to table,
place the meat upon the lettuce, and the peas round it

Fillet of Mutton. — Cut a fillet or round from a leg of
mutton ; remove all the fat from the outside, and take out
the bone. Beat it well on all sides with a rolling-pin, to
make it more tender, and rub it slightly all over with a
very little pepper and salt. Have ready a stuffing made
of finely minced onions, bread-crums, and butter, seasoned
with a little salt, pepper, and nutmeg, and well mixed.
Fill, with some of this stuffing, the place of the bone.
Make deep incisions or cuts all over the surface of the
meat, and fill them closely with the same stuffing. Bind
a tape round the meat to keep it in shape. Put it into a
stew-pan, with just water enough to cover it, and let it
stew slowly and steadily during four, five, or six hours,
in proportion to its size; skimming it frequently. When
done, serve it up with its own gravy.

Tomato sauce is an excellent accompaniment to stewed
mutton.

To Roast Canvas-Back Ducks. — Having trussed the
ducks, put into eacli a thick piece of soft bread that has been
soaked in port wine. Place them before a quick fire and
roast them from three-quarters to an hour. Before they
go to table, squeeze over each the juice of a lemon or
orange ; and serve them up very hot with their own gravy
about them. Eat them with currant jelly. Have ready
also a gravy made by stewing slowly in a saucepan the
giblets of the ducks in butter rolled in flour and as little
water as possible. Serve up this additional gravy in a
boat.

Canvas-Back Ducks Dressed Plain. — Truss the ducks
without washing, but wipe them inside and out with a
clean dry cloth. Roast them before a rather quick fire
for half an hour. Then send them to table hot, upon a
large dish placed on a heater. There nrust also be heaters
under each plate, and currant jelly on both sides of the
table, to mix with the gravy on your plate ; claret or port
wine also, for those who prefer it, as an improvement to
the gravy.

CAKES, PUDDINGS ETC.

An Excellent Pudding. — One pint of nice fine bread
crums to one quart of milk ; one cup of sugar ; the yelks
of four eggs beaten ; the grated rind of a lemon ; a piece
of butter the size of an egg. Bake until done, but not
watery. Whip the whites of the eggs stiff, and beat in a
teacupful of sugar in which has been stirred the juice of
the lemon. Spread over the pudding a layer of jelly
or any sweetmeats you prefer. Pour the whites of the
eggs over this, and replace in the oven and bake lightly.
To be eaten cold with cream.

Tnn President's Pudding. — Six ounces of fresh butter
worked up to a cream, four ounces of loaf-sugar mixed in
with the butter, four yelks of eggs beaten, six ounces of
bread cruras, two rinds of lemon grated. Line the dish
with a light crust, and a layer of jam or marmalade ; then
pour in the mixture and bake in a very slow oven for half
an hour. Froth the whites of the eggs with a little loaf-
sugar and place them over the pudding, and put in the
oven just before serving.

The Secretary's Pudding. — Chop four ounces of apph'
the same quantity of bread crums, suet, and curraut^.

RECEIPTS.

well washed and picked ; two ounces of candied lemon,

I line ; five OUn<
loaf-sugar, one-half a nutmeg grated. Mix all
with f'-itir eggs. Butter WftU an.l flOUX a ktn, put in the
mixture, and place a buttered paper ou the top, and a
cloth over the paper. If you steam II the paper laaoffloient
it will take two hours" boiling. When yon dish it. stick
rut blaadhad almonds on it, and serve with w.;ie sauce.

Apple Jkllt. — One pound of moist sugar, one pound of
■ ton — the juice of the lemon to be used and
clio rind added — cut very tin*-. BoU the Whole till it
becomes a patted felly. L>t it stand in a mould till quite
firm and cold. Turn out. and stick it with almonds ; set
custard round. If for mould, plain.

Nt-NNERi.KY Pudding. — One-half pound of raisins chop-
ped, one pound of met, four tablespo.mfuls moisl sugar,
four ditto flour, and four eggs. To be well boiled and
served with wine or brandy -

— Two pounds flour, one-half pound
butter, one pint mo!a-.>r>, rand sugar, one

ounce ginger, one-half tea-spoonful of cream of tartar.

Coax Cake. — Take one pint of coru meal, one quart of

sour milk, four ecgs well-beaten, two tablespo.mfuls of

Ktiirar, and *odu en..-u_rh to BWeeten Hi'"' milk. Mix all

well together, and bake iu pan any corn cakes

\ the eggs most be well beaten.

MacaROOVS. — To a quarter of a pound of sweet almonds
take four teaspoonfuls of orange-flower water, the whites
. gs, and one pound of sifted white sugar. Blanch
the aim" the brown skin), and pound them

with the r water, or some of the white of an

egg; then whisk the whites of the eggs and add them
gently to the almonds. It is important that these two
ingredients should be carefully added, or they will '■ oil''
or separate. Sift the SUgu into the mixture until the
whole form* a paste, not too stiff to drop upon white paper,
which should be placed in a tin, or on a plate, and the
whole baked in a slow oven till done.

To Make Apple Fritters. — Take one pint of milk, three
. and as much flour as will make a
batter. Beat the yelks and whites separately, add the
yelks to the milk, stir in the whites with as much dour as
will mako a batt-r. have ready s.-me tender apples, peel
them, cut them in slices round the apple, take the core
carefully out of the centre of each slice, and to every
Npoonful of batter lay iu a slice of the apple, which must
be cut very thin. Fry them in hot lard to a light brown
OB both sidc^s.

OOHTRTBITTKD RECEIPTS.

Thh following receipt was presented us by a lady, with
a piece of the soap manufactured after the receipt, and we
can pronounce it a good article: —

Hard BOAP. — Four gallons of water, six pounds of
53 "i.t. six pounds of clean tut, three and one-half
pounds of atone lime. Put the lime and soda in the water
and boil until the soda is dissolved; then pour it into
a tub an. 1 Let it settle ; then pour off the water gently, with
ks little lime then add the fat and boil it

nntil .June. Take a little out in a saucer, and if no water
remains under when cold it is done. Pour it in deep
p\n<, or a tub. and when cold cut in bars.

[■KKOK Pvddino\ — Beat up the whites and yelks of five
irately ; mix them, and add ei_'ht tablespoonfuls
ofpowderi'd sugar, two tahtospoonfolB of powdered crack-
er, ti/loi, the grated rind and juice of two lemons; pat

this in a dish lined with thin paste. Milk added before
tin mixture Is put In the dieb Impn
Con \r,v Pit-pin.}. — Huh together three tablespoonroli

of melted bntterwitl »cup ol white sugar, add ■ ■■

beaten light, pint ufflour, will, tw small teas] nrala <•'

cream of tartar sifted, one teacup of sweet milk with a
small teaspoonful of soda mixed in it.

Wft KLIiArTEOUS
rt por Stone Wabb. — Gelatine is allowed I
in cold water, the Jelly warmed, and bo much recently
sUikfd Lime added us requisite t-> render the mass sum
ciently thick for the purpose. A thin coating of this
cement is spread, while warm, over the gentP

of fractures of the articles and lei dry under
strong pressure. What 00£C* out i- removed directly with
a moist rag.

Pebbhrvthg Meat and Ftsn bt Scoab.— To preserve
Bah by sugar, open them and rob the sugar in, iu the same
manner ft£ i ;t then for a few da] U the fish

be intruded for long keeping, dry it after this, taking care
to expose new snrfaosB to the air to nui aily, to preveL'
mouldiuess. Fish preserved in this manner, it is sau..
will be found, when dressed, much superior to what has
been cured bj Bait or smoke. For a salmon of six pounds
weight, a tablespoonfttJ of brown sugar is sufficient.

Feediw; Poultry. — It ha^ been ascertained that, if yoi
mix with their food b sumcient «iunucity ot • ■--■■■■■. ■
chalk, which they eat greedily, they will lay twice or
■ many eggs ;l> before A we l-fed fowl is dis-
posed to I . numberof eggs, bul cannot do -,,

without the materials ofsholls, however nourishing in
other respects her food may lie; indeed, a fowl fed on
food and water, free from carbonate of lime, and not find-
ing any in the soil, or in the shape of mortar, which they
Often -ar on the wails, would lay no eggs at all, with the
will.

Size for Attaching Paper to Waj ts. — Hone but the
best size should be used for attaching paper to wall".
Many a fever ha- been caused by the horrible nnisance of
corrupt size used in paper-hanging the bed-rooms. The
nausea which a sleeper, in such a case, i- ;iwareof, on
waking in the morning, should be a warning needing no
repetition. Down should come the paper at any cost or
inconvenience.

Sca-Weeds. — The color of dried sea-Waeds may be pre-
served by brushing them carefully with the following
solution: in two-third- of a small phial of turpentine,
dissolve two or three small lumps of gum-mastto.

Few persons, observes M. Soyer, know how to chop
onions properly. In the first place, al! the dry skin must
be removed ; then a thin slice off the top and bottom, 01
they will be bitter; then cut them into thin BUces, dividing
the onion, and cut crosswise to form dire. If ^ slight
flavor is required, and the onion is str^ni.- when .
pnt the pieces in the corner of a napkiu or cloth, wash
them in water, squeeze them dry, then put them back on
the board and chop fine.

Meat employed for broth, soup, or gravy, -hould be
fresh, for if in the slightest degree tainted or nasty, it com-
municates a disagreeable taste ; fresh meat gives a more
savory broth than meat that has been kept two or three
days.

For a Scald or Bcr.v. — Apply immediately pulveriz-'d
charcoal and oil. Lamp oil will do, but linseed i
The effect is miraculous.

GODEY S LADY 3 BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Whkn broth, eonps, or gravy, are preserved from day to
day, in hot weather, they should be warmed up every
day, and put into fresh-scalded pans; this renders them
less liable to spoil

ESCAPING FROM FIRE.
Human life has been often thrown away from persons
not. taking the precaution to accustom their minds to dwell
al tiroes on the proper method of acting in emergencies.
Prom want of this, many rnsh into the very jaws of
death, when a single moment's calm reflection would
have pointed out a certain and easy means of escape. It
is the more necessary to fix in the mind a general course of
action in case of being in a house while it is on fire, since
the most dangerous conflagrations occur at dead of night ;
and at the moment of being aroused from a sound sleep,
the brain is apt to become too confused to direct the bodily
movements with any kind of appropriateness without
wime previous preparation in the manner contaiued there-
in. The London Fire Department suggests, in case prem-
ise* are on fire —

1. Be careful to acquaint yourself with the best means
of exit from the house, both at the top and bottom.

2. On the first alarm, reflect before you act. If in bed
at the time, wrap yourself in a blanket or bedside carpet.
Open no more doors than are absolutely necessary, and
*hut every door after you.

:i There is always from eight to twelve inches of pure
air close to the grouud ; if you cannot, therefore, walk
upright through the smoke, drop on your hands and
knees, and thus progress. A wetted silk handkerchief, a
piece of flannel, or a worsted stocking, drawn over the
(ace, permits breathing, and, to a great extent, excludes
the smoke.

4. If you can neither make your way upward nor
downward, get into a front room ; if there is a family. Bee
that they are all collected here, and keep the door closed
a* much as possible, for remember that smoke always
follows a. draught, and lire always rushes after smoke.

.'>. On no account throw yourself, or allow others to
throw themselves, from the window. If no assistance is
at. hand, and you are in extremity, tie the sheets together,
having fastened one side to some heavy piece of furniture,
and let down the women and children one by one, by
lying the end of the line of sheets around the waist, and
lowering them through the window that is over the door,
rarther than one that is over the area. You can easily let
yourself down after the helpless are saved.

6. If a woman's clothes catch fire, let her instantly roll
herself over and over on the ground. If a man be present,
let him throw her down and do the like, and then wrap
her up in a rug, coat, or the first woollen thing that is at
hand.

Of the preceding suggestions, there are two which can-
not be too deeply engraven on the mind, that the air is
comparatively pure within a foot of the floor, and that any
wrtted silk or woollen texture thrown over the face,
♦occludes smoke to a great extent ; it is often the case that
the sleeper is awakened by the suffocating effects of the
•moke, and the very first effort should be to get rid of it,
oo as to give time to compose the mind, and make some
icuwular effort to escape.

In case a portion of the body js burned, it cannot he too
strongly impressed on the mind that putting the burned
part under water, or milk, or other bland fluid, gives
instantaneous and perfect relief from all pain whatever ;
find there it should remain until the burn can he covered
perfect with half an inch or more of common wheaten
floor, put on with a dredging box. or in any other way,
and allowed to remain until a cure is effected ; when the
dry. caked flonr will fall off, or can be softened with
water, disclosing a beautiful, new and healthful skin, in
aU eases where the bnrns have been superficial. But in
*»»y case of burn, the first effort should be to compose the
tnmd. by instantaneously removing bodily pain, which
r* done as above named ; the philosophy of it being, that

the fluid, whether water, milk, oil, &c, excludes the air
from the wound ; the flour does the same thing ; and it is
rare indeed that water and flour are not instantaneously
to be had in all habitable localities. — HalVs Journal of
Health.

A REMEDY FOR DIPHTHERIA.

We find the following going the rounds of the press.
The remedy is a simple one, and can therefore do no harm.
If it is of value, the Lady's Book secures it a place where
reference can always be at hand : —

"This affection, which comprises those known under
the various names of bad sore throat, angiua, croup, and
the French angine couenneuse, has hitherto been consi-
dered one of the most difiicult to cure. We find in the
Revue Thcrapeitiique a paper by Dr. A. De Grand Bou-
logne, Vice Consul at Havana, in which he mentions ice as
an infallible specific. As this, from its extreme simplicity,
would, if effective, be far superior to any yet tried, we
cannot refrain from quoting the cases mentioned by the
author, who had published the remedy as far back as
February, 1S60, and consequently complains (uot without
reason, if its efficacy is such as he describes it) of the in-
excusable negligence of practitioners in not taking n&iice
of it, thereby allowing many valuable lives to be lost.
The following cases came under his observation after that
date: In March and April, 1861, the disease in question
broke out under an epidemic form, and chiefly attacked
adults with such virulence that in one week three young
women died in one house. One of Dr. De Grand's pa-
tients, afflicted with blephacite, was seized with it, and as
he could not immediately attend, uwing to the severity of
the case another physician was called in, who ordered
emetics and aluminous gargles, which produced no effect.

"At length Dr. De Grand came and found the tonsils
greatly swollen, and a false membrane covering them.
He immediately administered small pieces of ice, and by
the following morning the tumefaction of the tonsils had
diminished by half, and the false membrane had nearly
disappeared. That very evening she was enabled to take
food. Profiting by this example, a few days after her
brother was seized with sore throat, presenting the same
preliminary symptoms as those of his sister; but he,
without waiting for the doctor, at once took some ice, and
was rid of his sore throat in a few hours. Some days
later. Dr. De Grand was summoned to a young lady who
had been laboring under the disease for some forty-eight
hours ; all remedies had failed, and the parents, relations,
and friends of the family were plunged in the deepest sor-
row. When Dr. De Grand ordered ice a general cry of
astonishment was uttered by all present. Ice for a sore
throat ! Impossible ! It was sheer murder !

"Dr. De Grand maintained his ground, and after much
expostulation, during which much time was lost, he ob-
tained his end. Before twenty-four hours were over, the
patient was in full convalescence. Being at Vera Cruz
on a mission, he was requested to see a young man who
was artacked with malignant sore throat, and had been
treated without effect by cauterizations with hydrochloric
acid and astringent gargles. Here again he had to battle
with prejudices of the family, but was at length allowed
to administer ice. The young man recovered in the course
of the following day. Dr. De Grand has now been using
this remedy for the last twelve years, without having met
with a single failure. This is what he says ; but even ii
only half of what he says were true, the method should be
tried by others. Cold gargles have been employed with
ntcceas by Dr. Blanc, of Strasburg ; why not icei1"

Htm' 8>aih,

EIGHTEEN HURDRED AND SIXTY-FOUR ] WHAT

WILL IT BRING?
AccoRDnri idUBons and interpretations of sacred

prophecy the present year is to inaugurate an Era of
mighty changes and wonderful events. How many wise
aud holy men, during the past centuries, have longed to
see this Now Year ! And now it has come : what does it
bring to us?

First, in order, it brings the common duties of life to
each and all ; these must bo done day by day, if we
would enjoy the blessings of the year,

And thou what? Let us leave Time to be the inter-
preter. The year, as it passes, will tell its own story.
The same law that holds the sun in its, place draws a fall-
ing feather to the earth. Whatever changes are before us
Come through Divine appointment or sufferance. Our

Father in heaven holds the balance of events ; He will
make all things work for good to thein who love lliin
and strive to do His will.

THE ORNAMENTAL TITLE-PAGE.

Our readers will find In its. illustrations these life les-
sons in their lovelies! aspect of the season. There is tho
loving woman, brightening the close of the dark winter
day by teaching her little daughter those prayers, never
to be forgotten when learned from a mother's lips, which
will guide the soul of the child to the Source of love and
light. On the left the thoughtful father is straining his
gaze to catch the first gleam of the evening lamp from the
windows of his home. And there are two sweet young
faces, going to school in a snow-storm, under the shelter
of one umbrella, while the little ones at home and the
tender mother feel this to be the great event of the day.
Then the Light-house, like a star of Hope, guides the
homeward bound mariner; the Skating scene shows what
healthful and innocent pleasures winter brings in its
train ; while feeding the robin is a cheerful emblem of the
Charity that should warm the hearts of all who have
nough and to spare'' while fellow beings are
famishing with cold and hunger.

But the centre group is the crown and glory of the
Plate — ■■ ' ■ - ,w ovrr sloping In-

fancy! In this beautiful idea is embodied not only the
hope of life's happiness on earth, but also our hopes of
life immortal. While angels watch over little children
our heavenly Father will never permit the Powers of
Evil to destroy goodness from the earth.

And is not the woman — to whom God gave the promise
of salvation for our race — next to the angels, the agent of

in preserviiiL'g Iness? Look over the Title-page

and observe low the womanly virtues and feelings pre-
dominate. Love and piety, cheerfulness and charity are
lied.

The Last's Hook has led the way in all theimprove-
c women which the last thirty years have inau-
gurated. In the great changes apparently coming on the
world then- will bewidesoope for the virtues, the al
and the gifts of u omanhood. We shall be careful to watch
ming events, and continue to make our Periodical
Ihe orgau to direct the aspirations and encourage the efforts
*»f woman-, always keeping her place in harmony with the
Bible prediction of her destiny: "Strength and honor
arc her clothing, and she shall rejoice in time to come."

The New Tear for AhkBICAH Ladies opens with three
rainbows of hope over the dark clouds of our country's
horizon. Let us briefly trace these good augurb a
first—

VASSAR COLLEGE TO BE OPENED THIS YEAR!

Hob. Matthi-:w Vassar, of Poughkeepsie, N. Y. — the
Founder of this remarkable Institution — is ono of those
distinguished MBS of the class of Girard, Agtor, George
Peabody, and Peter Cooper, who, having, by force of
strong intellect, stern integrity, and persevering effort,
accumulated princely fortunes, have crow oed their labors
with pereunial glory by doing public good with their
]u-\\ ate gains,

Mr. Vassar, an Englishman by birth, belongs to a
respectable family, and is nearly related to sir John Guyj
rounder of Guy*s Hospital, London — but being brought to
the United States in his infancy, he has become truly
American in heart and mind ; therefore, as "our honored
countryman," he will have his name enshrined, and his
home consecrated in the hearts and minds of American
Women for all time to come. Being Without children,
Mr. Vassar's thoughts were drawn to the subject of his
duty in the dispensation of the large fortune God had
intrusted to his care : we will quote his own interesting
address to the Trustees he had selected as guardians of his
munificent donation.

"It having pleased Ood that I should have no direel
descendants Co inherit my property, it has long been my
desire, after suitably providing for those of my kindred
who have claims on me, to make sorb a disposition of my
means as should best honor God and benefit my fellow men
At different periods! have regarded various plans with fa-
vor ; but these have all been dismissed one after another,
until the subject of erecting and endowing a college for the
education of young women was presented for my consid-
eration. The novelty, grandeur, and benignity of the
idea arrested my attention. The more carefully I exam-
ined it, the mote strongly it commended itself to my
judgment and interested my feelings.

" It occurred to me, that woman, having received from
her Creator the same intellectual constitution as man, has
the same right as man to intellectual culture and devel-
opment.

" I considered thai the mothers of a country mould the
character of its citizens, determine its institutions, and
shape its destiny. Next to the influence of the mother, is
that of the feminine teacher, who is employed to train
young children at a period when impressions are most

vivid and lasting. It also seemed ft me, that if women

were properly educated, some new avenues to useful and
honorable employment, in entire harmony with the gen-
tleness and modesty of her sex, might i"' opened to her,

"It further appeared, there is not in our country — there
is not in the world, so far as is known — a single fully en-
dowed institution for the education of women. It was
also in evidence, that for the last thirty years, the stand-
ard of education for the sex has been constantly rii a
in the United States; and the great, felt, pressing want
has been ample endowments, to seen re to the Bomi nitric-
for Young Wton.-u the .-levated character, the stability
am! permanency of our best colleges."

Vassar College is located in the fair old Dutch city Of
Poughkeepsie, halfway between New York and Albi

The ground was broken for the foundation of the edifice
on the Fourth of July, 1801. It will be finished for the
reception of scholars in 8eptemb< r, L864. An able writer
in "theNewEngIander,"forOctober, 1362, thus described
the college and its surroundings: —

"The building is to be in the Norman stylo; Hie material

godey's lady's book and magazine.

is brick, with stone trimmings, three stories high, with &
mansard roof. Perhaps an idea of the appearance of the
building cannot be better conveyed than by referring the
reader to any familiar engraving of the Tuileries, in imita-
tion of which this structure was planued. The length 01'
the front,, including the wings, is five hundred feet ; the
wings are each fifty-six feet wide and one hundred and
sixty-five deep ; the centre is one hundred and seventy-one
feet deep. Under one roof will be contained a chapel, a
library, an art gallery, lecture and recitation rooms, the
president's house, two double houses for four professors,
apartments for lady teachers, matrons, and the steward's
family, and finally, accommodations for three hundred
ladies, each one of whom is to have a separate sleep-
ing room. The edifice will be nearly fire-proof, will be
heated by 6team, lighted with gas, ventilated in the
most perfect manner, and supplied throughout with an
abundance of pure soft water. It stands three hundred
feet from the road. The avenue by which it is to be ap-
proached is to be guarded at the entrance by an exqui-
sitely shaped lodge, and to wind through grounds wrought
to high beauty by the landscape gardener. A little way
upon the left of the college runs the Casparkill creek,
which here flows in a straight full current, and by artifi-
cial means has been made to expand into a beautiful
little lake, surrounded by grassy banks, and shaded by a
thick circlet of chestnut and willow trees. Here willbe
erected an appropriate bathing-house ; and the lake will
furnish healthful exercise for the members of the college,
by skating in the winter, and in the summer by rowing.
It may be added, that buildings and grounds will consume
a portion of the endowment somewhat exceeding two
hundred thousand dollars."

The amount of Mr. Vassar's endowment was four hun-
dred and eight thousand dollars (§408,000) ; the interest
;tccroing for the three years will make the whole sum
nearly half a million !

The young ladies will live under the college roof. It
i* plain that the independence which young men may, in
college life, enjoy without injury, would be pernicious to
young girls. Boldness and during, desirable in the one
pox, arc not becoming in the other. The home life is an
essential element in woman's education, necessary for the
best development of her mind, and the perfection of her
character. Therefore, the plan of making this collegiate
institution apleasant home, for all who are educated under
its privileges, was wise and beneficent. To do this made
the large endowment necessary. And, we are happy to
add, this magnificent College Hrrae will be open on such
moderate terms, as to allow all parents, who really prize
such great opportunities for their daughters, to avail
themselves of this new and wonderful institution, designed
" to accomplish for young women, what our best colleges
are accomplishing for young men."

We trust, and we seriously believe, that this enterprise
of Mr. Vassar is the initiative of a most important era of
improvement in humanity. That one-half of the human
race should, for nearly six thousand years, have had their
faculties repressed, their genius deadened, their minds
dwarfed or wasted on trifles and vanities, would seem
impossible if it were not true. Nature has endowed
woman with mental faculties that might, if cultivated
rightly, prove as important in influence for good use to
their country, as if these powers were exercised in a
masculine brain.

Vet, some really good people seem to fear that literary
cultivation will injure the household virtues, and that a
woman from possessing knowledge will lose the best
instincts of her nature and cease to love her children.

It seems to us, that dissipation and nonsense are far
more likely to injure the maternal character than would
be an acquaintance with Cicero or Seneca, or improved
powers of arithmetical calculation, or skill in chemical
combinations.

The son of a mother who has stamped on his mind
noble and generous ideas, from the impression of her own

thoughts, will not easily be led into tho intercourse of idle
and ignorant companions. In those years of early life,
when impressions are most easily and most indelibly
made, the vast might of the mother's influence has not
been understood. Children are imitative; a thirst for
knowledge, a desire for improvement are caught by the
buy when he sees these are prized and understood in his
own home and by his own mother. Alas, that we must
add, that the devotion to selfish display and trifling
amusements, is, too commonly, the consequence of the
infant's first reflective powers, observing these to be the
leading desires and ideas of his inconsiderate and unedu-
cated mother.

There is, however, a higher aim needed in the education
of Young Women than any college for Young Men has
ever yet attained or even attempted. This aim is the culti-
vation of mind, heart, and soul in consonance with faith
in God's Divine Revelation and in harmony with the vir-
tues and graces of Christianity.

Here is to be the distinguishing glory of Vassar College,
that "Instruction in Religion and Morals" is made the
basis of its educational system, and the bible is the buok
from which the wisdom, the beauty, theperfectness of the
whole plan is derived, and on the bible it will be sus-
tained.

II.

THE ORDER OF DEACONESSES TO BE RESTORED
IN CHRISTIAN CHURCHES.

I entreat thee also, true yokefellow, help those women
which labored with me in the Gospel. — St. Paul. Phi-
lippians, iv. 3.

In our Editors' Table for December, we brought an
important movement to the notice of our readers; that
the Episcopal Convention of Pennsylvania had, at its last
session (May, 1863) approved the Report of its committee,
virtually recommending this restoration of the order of
Deaconesses in the Episcopal Churches.

No observing and reflecting person can fail to see how
peculiarly fitted to woman's impulses and views of duty,
to her heart and her understanding would be the offices
of ministering to the sick and afflicted, bearing light into
the homes of sorrow, training the young and teaching the
ignorant — under the appointments of the church and by the
sanction and encouragement of her pastor and his officials.

The works of love and mercy are so much a part of the
feminine constitution of character that, since sin and
sorrow entered Eden, there is no period within the reach
of tradition and history, in which she is not found in this
ministry. "/ will put enmity between thee and the
woman" said the Lord God to the Serpent! In that
divine declaration woman holds her patent for this min-
istry of love and light, of mercy and hope. In the Mossed
Gospel, women were the constant and devoted friends of
Jesus Christ. In the Apostolic Churches, women were
openly acknowledged as helpers and held offices — dear
coness, prophetess i instructress — these are embodied in the
elect lady, Priscilla, the daughters of Philip and Phebe ;
and the chosen " vndotos seem to have constituted a society
of womanly elders."

But we have not room here to enlarge. The Report *
should be studied. That we have in our land, and in our
American Churches, of all denominations, thousands of
pious and faithful women, tender, skilful, self-sacrificing,
and ready for all good works, has been shown in our
hospitals during the last three years. The need, now, is
of judicious organizations in the different churches,
whereby woman's efficiency and aptitude as the helper of
good men in their efforts to spread the Gospel in its love
and faith, its purity and peace, its improving and sus-
taining power may be proven. All denominations are
equally interested in this Bible restoration of the order of
deaconesses. Let us hope all will move simultaneously
in this great work. Should the year before us prove the
era of such a blessed renovation in the life of the churches,
by recalling to their duties the larger portion of members,
the year Eig/iteen hundred and sixty-four would be,

*Any lady who desires a copy of this report, may have
one, by writing to Mrs. Hale and inclosing a stamp.

editors' table.

indeed, a season of joy ami blessed o. . , t . woman, wbat-
.-.•■> might be coming on the earth

III.
FKKE NATIONAL NORMAL SCHOOLS FOR YOUNG

WOMEN.
The following Memorial was first brought before Con-
gress In 1855-M. It was very favorably reotlved, and
would have been acted oa had not Other bills, ^kini;
appropriations of public lauds been defeated or fetoed.
Those lands were then considered pledged f"r the public
credit. The passage of the " Homestead Hill" having
virtually opened the. public domains t-> private letUers,
there Beams, now no hindrance to plans that aim to raise
the condition and character of those industrious pioneers,
in the now unoccupied regions whore the American Flag
is to protect tho citizens of the United States, Moreover,
as the bill for endowing "Agricultural Colleges'1 baa
provided aids for the pursuits of men, will not Congress
furnish, also, facilities for the benefit of women ' We
trust in the wisdom and patriotism of American States-
men to decide this important question and submit the fol-
lowing in the name of the Women of the United States: —

memorial :

Honorable Senate and House of BepresentaHves
i'jress assembled.

tre now more than ttco millions of children in

our country destitute of the opportunity of education,

, <'-, nutmd teach rs to supply them at the

union in our best ede I

ntfully beg to call your attention to these con-
ma: —

1. That, while the great West, California, and the wid«
ocean invite young men t-- wealth and adventure, and
while the labors of the school-room offer so little recom-
pense or honor, the sixty thousand teachers needed cannot
tie obtained from their ranks: and. therefore, the young
women of our country must become teachers of the common

or these must be given up.

2. That the reports of common school education prove
women are the best teachers, and that in those States where
education is most prosperous the average of these :

- of the other sex is asjStw to

3. That while, as a general rule, women are not ex-

(rt bmilies, nor to pay from their earnings

to support the State, they can afford Bo teach for a smaller

satton than men; aud, therefore, funds bestowed

to educate TOtnra WOHBH gratuitously will in the end prove

■norny, and at the same time will

tend to render education more universal and more elevated

-iug the best class of teachers at a mo J.
pens.-.

4. That willing to teach are chiefly found in
the tndn tlved few favors
from National or st.it.- Legislatures.

5. That providing such gratuitous advantages for women
to act as educators will secure a vast number of wed [-edu-
cated teachers, n..t by instituting a (bates .bat
by employing the unoccupied energies of thousands of
young women from their school-days to the period of

while, at the same time." they will thus be
qualifying themselves for the most arduous duties of their
future domestic relations.

In view of these considerations, your memorialists
petition that TBS MILLIONS of acr^s of the PrBi.i<>; at in.v at,
noatjjun be set apart to endow at least >>ne Free .'.
Formal School in every State for the gratuitous education

of TOCNG WOMEN,

institutions could be modelled and mana_'.d in
each State to suit the wishes of its inhabitants ; ai

very section would be trained as instructors for
children in their own vicinity; this would be fonnd of
immense advantage in the States where schools have
hitherto been neglected.

While such vast portions of the national domains ire
devoted to national aggrandizements pr physical ad van-
humbly petition that a moderate share may be
1 io benefit the daughters of our Republic, and
th'isat the same time to provide educators for two millions
af its most neglected children.

THE MEDICAL PROFESSION: WHAT WOMEN
HAVE DONE IN IT.

Trfrr are three incorporated Medical Colleges for young
women now open in our laud. We have the Reports tor
18t>3 before us.

1. Tbe Female Medical College op Pennsylvania —
(Philadelphia — North College Avenue and Twenty-second
Street] — established about rouxteen years ago, has now a
"Woman's Hospital" connected with it; thus an oppor-
tunity of seeing some practice is atforded. Thiscolleg*
has, probiili .: fifty young women; aud a*
physicians for their uw u BOX and children they have boen
successful.

2. ThbNbw England Ffmai.f Hkdical Collhob— (No. 10
East Canton Street, Boston, Massachusetts) — incorporated
1S.">6, has sent out nearly fifty graduates. The Board of
Trustees deserve commendation for tho good judgment
shown in the change they have adopted respecting tho
"style and title of the Diplomas conferred on women."
Hereafter it is to be " Doctresn of Medicine," equivalent
to the Latin term Medicinal Doctrix. Tbecollegein Phil-
adelphia has, also, adopted this "style and title" for
its graduates. Bo there will be no more foolish asaump

- of the masculine form of address by women prac-
tising medicine. Doctor w ill signify a gentleman of tbe
profession ; Voctress a lady physician.

New York Medical College for Women — (lately
opened in Nt*w York City, T'J4 Broadway) — promises to
become a a institution of ureal u-rtiiln— , and otferssupe-
rior facilities. It has the significant dignity of namo :
A College for Women — not Females, which may mean
animals, as all living creatures that bring forth young
enisles. Therefore, as the term does not, certainly,
signify the human feminine, by using it, the directness of
language is marred, and the dignity of the woman or lady
is degraded. It seems to signify the lowest type of
womanhood, as it refers only to the animal.

May not this be one reason why our " Female Medical
Colleges" have not been as popular as their friends
desire 1 Having now adopted a true style of Diploma,
why not try the virtue of a true style of name? The
Lames* Jfeckeal College, would be significant of higher
efforts. Had "The Lady's Book" been styled "Tho
Female's Book," would it ever have become the leading
organ of magazine literature '

Books for Home Reading.— In our Book Table wilt be
found notices and lists of some excellent works. Next
month we shall give special attention to this subject.

Needlework and the Sewing Machine. — While we are
urging attention to mental culture, let us never forget the
importance of ingenious handiworks and useful accom-
plishments in domestic knowledge. The only mechanical
invention of Eden was the sewing needle — it will be thein-
dispensable handmaid of fallt-n humanity till the advent
of the New Jerusalem. Therefore, the importance of that
wouderful American Invention, the "Sewing Machine;"
it should be honored by all women. Among the variety of
these excellent inventions we recognize The Wheklek
and Wilsou Machine * as the Queen Bee of the hive, and
wish we had the power to order one of these for every
widow in our land, who has to live by her needle, as a
gift to make her a happy New Year.

pASHlom of Dress, and their Influence on Char-
acter.— The Lady's Book, as the monitor of American
fashions of dress, has done much for the improvement of
taste, and the encouragement of ingenuity, industry, and
economy. Perhaps there is no single influence which
has had more salutary effect in promoting the comforts of
home and the respectability of family lifo throughout the
length and breadth of our land, than tbe attention given
in our Magazine, to illustrations and directions, which
make needlework and fancy works in all their varieties.
known and accessible for those who need this information.
Home is the place for such pursuits; by encouraging
these, we make women happier and men better.

Woman's Mission to Woman. — The Bib lb is the b*»M
missionary for heathen women, as it is the best instructor
for all women. Look at our Title-page: it iH a picture of
Christian civilization. The goodness and happiness of

* MC Broadway, New York. 704 Chestnut St., Philada.

godey's lady's book and magazine.

women and children and all the pure enjoyments of home
life in Christian lauds, are not these derived from Bible
influences? Ought not this blessed Book to be taught to
;iU the world? Native Bible-women are now employed
by American missionaries in heathen lands. Funds are
... i * 1 4 ,1 to pay these poor Bible-women. Will not out
friends help/ Any contributions sent to Mrs. Hale will
bo acknowledged in the Lady's Book. One. dollar from a
idy of Pottsville, IV, we thankfully record.

Something for Health — Important Medical Discov-
ery.— A London letter says; —

"A great discovery is just now engaging the attention
of the scientific and medical world. Few English names
;ire more familiar to Americans than that of Dr. John
Chapman, once the leading publisher of heretical books,
now editor of the Westminster, and always a devotee of
science and medicine. This Dr. Chapman has been for
years engaged in studies and experiments connected with
the nervous system alone, with Dr. Browu-Sequard and
Claude Bernard of Paris. For the past year he has been
proving a tremendous discovery — namely, the cure of epi-
lepsy, and many diseases hitherto deemed incurable, by
means of the external application of ice and hot water, in
India-rubber bags, at various parts of the spinal cord,
acting thus upon the sympathetic nerve, and through it
upon the most important and vital regions of the body.
Many eminent physicians have accompanied Dr. Chapman
to see the marvels which he had wrought upon patients
who had long ago despaired of health. Many of the worst
and most inveterate feminine diseases have yielded to the
i:ow cure. The treatment is as simple as it is grand. Any
one Who is troubled by the pressure of blood on the braiu
Will And that, by holding a bag of ice on the nape of the
neck ten minutes, an equable flow of blood can be secured.
Those who are troubled with habitual cold may find relief
by applying ice to the small of the back in the Lumbar
region. It is hard to estimate the importance of this dis-
covery, which will ere long be ranked by the side of that
of Jenner. Seven hospitals are already under Dr. Chap-
man's practice, and, as yet, no one can bring forward an
instance of failure.''

SIGHT SCENE.

Up ami down the lonely street,

With a restless mind I go ,

Seeing faint lights dimly glow
Thro' the rain and misty sleet.
Whore the eager cares of life

Rushed forth, panting, to the world ;

Where the maddening passions whirled
In a wild delirious strife,
Now is silence ; in the night,

I behold but dimly glare

Thro' life's cold and misty air.
Many a faint and distant light.
Yet, through earnest faith 1 know,

That, above the clouded sky,

Burn the golden stars on high,
"With a calm and steady glow. D. L. P.

To our Correspondents. — The following articles are
accepted, and will uppear when we have room: "Sum-
iui r FancieB" — "Smiles" — "Frost-work" — "Tom Snug-
gery in Search of a Wife" — "You're Koaming through
the Past to-night" — " Words for All" — and " Beneath the
Sno'fl ."

These articles are declined: several of the number
would bo published if we had room: ''January, 1864" —

My Valley Home" — "Music" — "To the Memory of J.
II." — " Specialties"—" The last Day of the Year." — "Be-
qulem" — "The Lost Ring" — " Not an Authoress" — "A
strange Experience" — "Morning, Noon, and Night" —
■ Watchiogs"— and "The Wedding Gift."

Many articles arc on hand ; next month these will be
named.

" Harry Desmond's Choice." No letter received. What
is to be done with the MS. ?

Notices to Authors. — We have received several letters
lately, saying: " By same mail I send you a MS., etc."

said MSS. have never come to hand. Better adopt the old
plan and pay full letter postage. Very likely the article
has never been forwarded, as the first publication of cheap
postage on MSS. was au error. See page 484 November
number.

fittrarg SUtins.

From Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia: —
THE REJECTED WIFE. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens,
author of " Fashion and Famine," etc. Without claiming
to be a historic novel, this book deals with historic cha-
racters. The authoress weaves a romance around the life
of Benedict Arnold, before he entered upon his public
career. She draws with a skilful hand not only the out-
lines, but the nicer shades of his character, such as history
proves him to have been — ambitious and courageous, but
selfish and unscrupulous to the last degree. The peerless
Laura de Moutreuil challenges our admiration ; while the
gentle, simple-minded, trustful Amy Leonard calls for our
tenderest pity.

THE LOST BANK NOTE; and Marty n Ware's Temp-
tation. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of "Squire Trev-
lyn's neir," etc. These are two pleasing novelettes, in-
culcating the best of sentiments and morals. Mrs. Wood
never writes amiss.

From Lippincott k Co., Philadelphia: —
DAY DREAMS. By Joseph A. Nunes, U. S. A. If Mr.
Nunes has aspired to fame through the medium of hi*
poetic talent, we fear disappointment lies in wait for him.
But if he has written and published from the humble,
though quite as commendable and perhaps less selfish
motive of adding what he may to the pleasure of others,
he will not be unrewarded. Though displaying no re-
markable genius, the various poems which this book con-
tains are pleasing specimens of their class, and will be
read with satisfaction.

THE BOOK OF DAYS. Part IS. A Miscellany of Popu-
lar Antiquities in Connection with the Calendar, including
Anecdotes, Biography, History, etc. A most interesting
work. Price only 20 cents per number.

From Frederick Lbtpoldt, Philadelphia : —
FANCHON THE CRICKET. From the French of George
Sand, by Matilda Hays. Various English adaptations of
the German dramatization of this book have already been
received with high marks of favor in this country. The
story is of a pastoral character, quiet in narrative, and the
charming simplicity of its style is in perfect harmony with
the simple peasants who figure in it.

THE ART PRINCIPLE AND ITS APPLICATION TO
THE TEACHING OF MUSIC. By Anna Jackson. A
well-written essay which music teachers and lovers of
music will find both pleasant and profitable reading.

From Wm. S. & Alfred Makttejt, Philadelphia: —

GEORGE MORTON AND HIS SISTER.

FRANK AND EUFUS ; or, Obedience and Disobedience.

Both books are by Catharine M. Trowbridge, a writer
of much merit, whose works aro popular in Sabbath
Schools and among children's books. These last works
are very good.

LITTLE BY LITTLE. A book in which the writer ha*
aimed to show how the poor and ignoraut in England

LITERARY NOTICES.

■tragi — and that the great aid in their pro-

Bible, willi Its teachings of duty.
ALfil U i ij these sets, each en-

relo] photoc r*P^ picton -

i Sfow War are these eolar-prints, i
'•Bird?" iu all tie Favor-

ites" ami will

make a valuable and beautiful album for the children
of a family.

From P. APPLBTOS i Co., Now York, through AsHHBAS
& Evas lelj iiia : —

A CATECHISM OF THE STBA3! ENGINE, in
now-* Aj'j'

Rathe";/*, >iu'i Agriculture. By John Bourne, C. E.
This is a new and revised edit rk which lias

mot with t enl to judge

merits. To the practical mi
mauuflicture and manag< d
value.

HARRY'S VACATION; or, Philosophy at Borne. By
William I -. A. M.

THE PET BIRD, and Other Stories. By "Cousin
Alice," author of " No Such Word as Fail,'

AT HOME AND ABROAD; or, Bow to Behave. Py
Mrs Manners,

PLEAsPKE AND PROFIT; or, Lessons on Vk -

- tries. Py Mrs. Manners. This

first I r juvenile books reminds us thai

holid aching, and -

the Little folks. These are all excellent and profit
books from the pens ->f individuals who have the g

children really at heart We reel Mire that the litth I
by"( re highly treasured byits

young readers when we t?ll them Chat she wh>> has

thought of them and written for them so much will never
Write ii>hcd

Trover in death.
APPLETON'S I'NITEP STATES TOSTAL GPIPE;
. containing the Chii Office; and a

Comp i nghoutthe United Sta

Published by the authority of the p icneraX

From CnART.K^ Scrtrser, New York, through Lippin-
; ^iia : —

KEYEK1ES OF A BACHELOR; or, A Book of the Heart.
By Ik Marvel.

DREAM- LIFE: A FabU of the Seasons. BylkMarvel.
These two volumes, la tasteful ami uniform bindj
npw edittona "t' wrks already familiar to the public.

'■Ik Marvel" may be called the far: , timental

school of Ameriean literature. The person mual
deed insensible who. after reading these books, does not
think m - duties, and feel kindlier dis-

posed towards his fellow men.

MY FARM OF EDGE WOOD: A Country Book. By the
author of " I:. Bachelor." tPbic

the incidents, accidents, aud results of the experimental

d1 a man who "fall a somewhat enthusii
riosity to km.w, and to determine by actual exp
if farm-Ian- Is were simply a cost and an annoyam i

would not wholly forswear books." Bringing
to his aid considerable scientific know ledge, mat
in a mod fthe vactonsimprov*

land culture, and machinery, and exert
highly developed taste, sound judgment, and common
sense, he has !■ BBonstrated the perfect success of his uu-
dertaking, and made withal a very readable book.

vol. Lxvm. — 9

From H Nov York, through Pbxbb>

ion & Bb idelphla: —

THE RING OF AMASS. I . <( Ger-

Sober! Bulwer Lyti ■
edith). Those who d< ler Ln the labyrinths

of Teuton i ■ rature,ean nere Lose and find them-

selves as often as they please, Of the first order ■ m i ■

it is a capital imitation of that which it professes to bo — a
German book.

MARTIN POLB. A Novel. Py John Saunders
..i" ■■ Abel Drake's Wife," etc. The story of " Martin Pol
itself, though Bexvingtobind

angly interesting, and illustrates inanex-
. maimer the toJ ■■ ■ itition, "Tie. I

Aberford," "Old Matthew's Puzzle," and tho

Others, are all deserving of perusal.

HARPER'S HANDBOOK FOR TRAVELLERS IS EP-
ROPE. Py W. Pembroke Fetridge, Esq, We have m \ r
travelled in Europe, bul i rp< cl to one of these days, and
we would as leave think of going without a change ol

apparel as with ut this most nssfbJ 1 k. Mr. Fetridge

has travelled all over the groninl e — has hon-

estly visited every place — has stopped

describee — has quenched his thirst al every spring —

a facetious friend of ours once Bald, he has w eked with
old Socrates, ripped with old Euripides, romed with ol 1
Komulus, and canted with old Cantharides. He has been
everywhere. We met him at Washington n few days

since, and he informed US that he had just returned from

"doing up" old Spain, and in a few da; a he would depart
for Russia, to shake our Friend Alexander by the hand — for
Fetridge is at home everywhere. Bis boob is useful. Pox

instance, wo will take Paris. Fetridge

dozen pleasant trips from Paris, which will i

some one day ami some more, but you may always

return to ymir starting-place and never go over the Bam .

Lrn'itud twice. Just so with London, aud so with B!

large city. This other guide books '1 not give y^u. They

place a long route before you, but do not t-'ll you how

you may diverge I ' bo we commend

him; and we are sure that noon

trip without Fetridge in his pocket, especially it" it is done

up in the handsome pocket-book form as Ls our c

Fiv.ru Shei.tkis & Co., New York, through Peterson i;
BK-.rmiRs, Philadelphia : —

BROKEN COLUMNS. To a certain . xt.-nt a clever, but
most unequally written book. Occasionally its ps
sparkle with vivacity, aud again the] drag with m<
unreadable dulm-s. Let it-* readers skip the Latter, aud
they will gain time, l"-e Little profit, and be tho bel
pleased.

From Cari.eto.v, New York, through Petersox & Bro-
thers. Philadeljihia: —

VHTCBSrEO; or. Sunken Bocks. A novel. By J.
Ruffini, Author of "Dr. Antonis." etc. A well-written
and attractive romance, the seen.- of which is laid in Italy.
It is printed from the author's advs no

From Ticksor & Fields, Boston, throu-h ! .
Bkothbbs, Philadelphia: —
EXCURSIONS. By Henry-B. Thoreau, author of "Wat

den," aud "A Week on the Concord ami Merrimack
Rivers." Thoreau was a man possessing an ardent I

<>f nature, and a keen appreci;--

Emerson, in a biographical sketch ofihis remarkable man,

prefacing the book, says: "It was a]

godey's lady's book and magazine.

to walk with him. He knew the country like a fox or a
bird, and passed through it as freely by paths of his own.
He knew every track in the snow or on the ground, and
what creature had taken this path before him. One must
submit abjectly to such a guide, and the reward was
great." A book by a man like this, descriptive of scenery,
must possess a peculiar freshness.

REMAINS [N VKIISE AND PROSE OF ARTHUR HEN-
RY HALL AM. With a Preface and Memoir. This is not
a new work, calling for .special description aud commen-
dation. It is nearly thirty years since the first edition
was issued, aud such was the approval it received that its
editor ;,ud publishers have felt justified in printing it a
second, and now a third time. Arthur Henry Hallam was
a young man of rare promise, whose death Tennyson
mourns in the beautiful poems of his "In Menioriain."

From Lorino, Boston: —

PIQUE. A Novel. One of the pleasantest diversions of
the month has been the perusal of this novel. Its well-
laid plot, well sustained interest, finely-drawn characters,
and excellent moral tone, must commend it to the favor of
all. Its style is not so perfect as we might wish, being
somewhat formal, especially where dialogue is attempted.
And if we have other faults to find, it is that we have not
so great an admiration for the hero. Lord Alresl'ord, as its
author seems to expect from the reader Though his lady
wife may have displayed unnecessary "pique," we can-
not regard him as entirely blameless in the difficulties
that arose between them.

From Gorxr* & Lincoln, Boston, through Smith, English
&Co., Philadelphia:—

GEOGRAPHICAL STUDIES. By thelatc Professor Carl
Kit t it, of Berlin. Translated from the original German, by
William Leonhard Gage, Translator and Editor of Prof.
Heinrich Steflins's "Story of my Career,'* etc. This book,
from the hasty examination we have been enabled to give
it, seems to be a sort of condensation of the ideas presented
in the '* Erdkuude," a most elaborate and voluminous pro-
duction by the same author. The introduction to the
"Erdknnde," aud the "General Observations on the Fixed
Forms of the Earth's Surface," are incorporated into this
translation. Ritter was ono of the most thorough, profound
and energetic students of geographical science in all its
branches.

From Wm. Carter & BROTnnR. Boston, through Lippin-
cott & Co., Philadelphia: —

THOUGHTS IN MY GARDEN. By Mary G. Ware.
Author of "Elements of Character.1' A meditative and
reflective work of a religious character.

TEN CHAPTERS ON MARRIAGE. Ra Nature, Dfetf,
Duties, and Final Issues. By William B. Haydem,
Minister of the New Jerusalem Church. Though the
author is a disciple of Swedenborg, and his work tinged
with his peculiar ideas, there is yet sufficient exalted sen-
timent of a general nature, to make this book acceptable
am mg Christians of all beliefs. His ideas concerning
marriage are beautiful, and his teachings not to be disre-
garded.

From J. E. Tiltox & Co., Boston:—

ADVENTURES OF DICK ONSLOW AMONG THE RED-
SKINS. A Book for Boys. With illustrations. Edited by
William H. G. Kingston. A book of wonderful adventures
and hair-breadth escapes, such as all boys delight in.

#0btj« %xm-€ jj air.

JANUARY, 1S64.

A Hearty New Year's Greeting to all our subscribers.
We are with you once again, fertile in resources, and with
an array of talent and embellishments that will throw
into the shade all our previous efforts. We present our
January number as a specimen of what we mean to do.
Here is the commencement of our sixty-ciyltih volume —
thirty-four years a publisher. Our receipts of clubs this
year, so far, have exceeded any previous year; and what
complimentary letters! — any one but ourself would grow
vain ; but we have been so accustomed to receiving them,
that we are not the least affected, except gratefully to
those who send them.

Our leading plate, a Tableau picture, which will no
doubt be used in every tableau party during the season.

Our Title-page for 1S64 — seven distinct pictures ; but
Mrs. Hale has so much better described it elsewhere, that
we merely refer to it, simply saying that a more beautiful
engraving from that fraternal house of Illman and Bro-
thers we have never given. It reflects great credit upon
them. We may here mention that both of the leading
plates in the December Number were from the same ta-
lented and interesting family.

Our Fashion-plate consists of six figures, fashions — not
pictures. This is a marked distinction. We publish the
fashions for the month ; yon will find in others fashions in
winter for those in summer, and vice versd.

Minstrel Slipper, printed in colors, and at present the
great novelty of the season.

"Going to a Party in Winter," and "Returning from a
Party." Two plates emblematic of the season, and vary
pretty plates, too. Compare them with the steel plates :n
other magazines, and we think the preference will be in
favor of our engravings on wood.

Marion Habxakd's story in this number. We ask our
subscribers to rend this story attentively. They all liked
"Husks," and pronounce: it her best story. We want
their judgment upon " Nobody to Blame." It will be re-
membered that the Lady's Book is the only magazine that
Marion Harland writes for.

We ask attention to our advertisement for 1S64, pub-
lished in this number. It is but a faint outline of what
we will do, but will give some general idea of what th-e
Lady's Book will be. In fact, it is hardly necessary for
us to publish any advertisement. Our subscribers and
the public know that we will publish the best lady's
book in the world: and they have known us so long
that they are willing to trust us, even without any
promises on our part. We are thankful, very thankful
for the patronage we have received for the last thirty-
four years ; and we can only add that, having found that
fulfilling every promise made has been the best policy,
that plan we shall still continue to pursue.

Club 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, aud 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, $i For Canada terms, see
cDver.

godey's arm-chair.

Wk pnbUah this mouth a number of complimentary
letters thai we have received from irdlng us

clubs. We have umuy thousands of the same kind.

vs for me to attempt, with my weak
pou, to say anything .l l ■ < ■ • n Godey ; but I

needs Ln the we) of a magazine, I
send you a club for it. Inoloeed, hud 010.

Miss J., Ohio.

I havo trot up a club for your excellent book. I havo
been taking II the past year. 1 think 1 ahall tako it tho

.Mi.-. 8., 111.

I inclose a draft tor (SO, witn I Bent

you lasl ;■ Bve . this y

better, and have succeeded. More than twenty )

QodeyV i was ■ monthly visitor, everwelcc

■. and my sister, v, hoa ead

my club, bas been .i c nsl mt subscriber U the 1 t* for

tars. We al : - an old friend. My

. little boy ol ton years, now looks for its coming, as I need

to at hia age. May sneoess and prosperity ever attend you.

Bins. C.| Mich.

I send you strain, as I have done for many year- before,

What can I any I i one thai all

i of ladies recognu ■■ to all? 1 dis-

ate, but habits mi ■ I are no! en sily

broken. When a little girl yoox book was a great delight.

rears have made it i gratifying companion

that i v. dd u >c willingly relinquish — an appi

'•other half." Godey still stands, as supreme

of Our land, and all times writes its

name first in the hearts of American women.

Miss BfcM., III.

It would Beem almost impossible to do without your
Lady- B • k, as either my slater or myself hare senl a
club for the last three or lour year.-, and' hope to <
to do - >- Miss 11., wiaeont

■

Mr-. H. -ays she has taken the book since she was ten

year- old, and bar mother bas taken it ever since si

■■.; mid not think of doing without it She

i all bound in good order. She and her mother

make all the dresses, and a great many other things from

Hand family 1 know of,

I have noticed often that wherever the book is taken, it

ha- a tendency to refine and improv any other

■, and the ladies of my club all give it the prefe-

M. 1'., Indiana.

('in; 01

avaluable : I have taken it for many
vpect to take it lor many years ta come.

C. A. J., California.

OfR MCSIC. — We are constantly in receipt of letters re-
ferring to the able conducting of our Musical Department

r Bolloway, Esq. Be is a gentleman ol nn -t
inusical taste, and has started a musia

zine of his own, entitled ■' HoUoway's New Musical
Monthly.'' Price $3 a year. We will send it and the
Lady's Book both one year on receipt of $o.

Postage on the Lady's Book, according to the late law
last winter.

b on Godey's Lady's Book. 21 cent*
ly, semi-yearly, or quarterly in ad-
vance, al ■■'■.>-- Post-offlce where the Book is rec

Mews dealers may receive their packages at the same
rates, that is, 2 cents for each copy or' the magazine, and
may pay separately for each package as received.

Old Terms. — It will be seen by our advertisement
that we have gone back ajraiu to onr old terms. We
were forced to make a alight advance during a portion
of last year, on account of the great rise in paper, and
of every article conuected with oar business ; and al-
though but little change has been made in the cost of
the same articles, still we return to onr old terms, which
have always been so well understood by the public.

OUR MUSICAL COLUMN.
Opera at the Acad- my.—M the present writing, An*
Bchats'a German troupe is in the midst of a brilliant sea-
son, which promises Co continue wltbont interruption,
until Max, with the immaculate cravat, ahall be ready for
the field with his double troupe of Italians, includ
Brignoli and tho old favorites, with ever so many new
candidates fbi : bas certainly been a gay

one thus far, and the continued bull. ant audience, at

Lcademy, Indicate the onlimlfc Eash-

iouable circles. The princi] Ifl tho

representation of three oi is, by both

troupes, including Gonnod's Faost, which has been set-
ting all Paris and London crazy the past year, and now
brought out for the first time in this country, at our Aca-
demy. Petrella'a beautiful opera of lone has also been
revived.

Tlie Musical Monthly for 1864— The most beautiful
number of our favorite new periodical yel published, is the
Christmas holiday double number, now ready. It com-
mences the volume, and is altogether a splendid number,
containing nearly twice the usual quantity of music, or
nearly the value of the whole cost of a year's subscription
in this one number. We given list of to i -how

that tins number is what we claim it to be — the cheapest
and most elegant work of the kind ever published. 1.
Christmas Chimes: a brilliant aew nocturne by the distin-
guished'composer, Brinley Richards, author ofWarblinga
at Eve, Floating on the Wind, and other favorite pieces
in our l.i-i volume. -. Many Returns, or Bappy Greeting
Polka, by Ascher. 3. Around the Fire; new song and
chorus, written and compo-r,i expressly for the Holiday
Monthly by the author of At the Gate, etc. 4. Under the
Hisletoe, beaatifnl new ballad by Glover. 6. Kxiss Cringle,
charming divertimento, by Theo. Oesten,

The Christmas double number of the Monthly is put up
in handsome illuminated covers, and makes an elegant
ornament for the piano. This one number, of itself]
is especially appropriate for Christmas presents, and we
expect a sale of thousands of copies for this purpose
alone. On receipt of the price, 50 cents, and a three cent
stamp for postage, We will send it tree to any ad

Notwithstanding the large additional cost in the publi-
cation "f this numbi r, the M isle I M mthly, by the year,
or single number, will not be Increased Ln price. Terms
$3 00 per annum, in advance ; four copies $10 00; single
numbers oO cents. A year's subscription will constitute
the most elegant an 1 appropriate gift of the season. We

trust that each of our subscribers and friends will make
an effort to send in at least one additional name for the
new volume. All subscriptions ami communications
must be addressed to the publisher dinct. .1 Starr Hollo-
war, publisher Musical Monthly, Box To*t Otfice, Phila-
•delphia.

A" id Sheet Music. — We will \'Mo receive orders for any
of the followin-: beautiful new songs and ballads. Mo-
ther, is the Battle over; Forget The..' by Balfo; Angel
Friend-; 0, Ye Tears; We Met and Talked of other
It;!}-. ; lb. me of my Youth ; Night on the Rippling Rli * .
Mother Would Comfort Me ; Still in my Dreams Thou'rt
>'ear; Watching all Alone ; each 25 cents.

Also, the following pieces: Warbling at Dawn, At
Morn, At Eve, by Brinley Riohai Is, !

Lng on the Wind. same, 35 ; What Bells are Those, same,
60; Musings at Twilight, nocturne. 33 ; dne Nuit Sur
r Ocean, nocturne, 30; On the Oesten, 30;

Marche Militaire, Glover, 30; Cavalry Quickstep, same,
3-J. Address J. Starr Hollow ay.

100

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Make up tope Clubs. — Remember that the Lady's Book
is the best work for ladies published in this country. We
have more than one thousand private letters testifying to
this fact, aud the press throughout the country is unani-
mous iu saying that the Lady's Book is the best magazine
of its kiud in this or any other country. The difference iu
the club price of the Lady's Book and that of other maga-
zines is only a few cents, and for these few cents you get
nearly one-third more reading and engravings, be&ides
other more expensive embellishments that a low-priced
magazine cannot afford to give. Clubs must be for the
Lady's Book alone, with one exception, and that is "Ar-
thur's Home Magazine." One or more of that work can
be introduced in a club in, place of the Lady's Book, if
desired.

Any person, with a very little ti'ouble, can get up a club
for the Book; we have frequently been so informed by
ladies — the work is so popular. It is but to call and get a
subscription. Clubs are always in time, as we are able to
supply numbers from the beginning of the year; yet we
like them sent in soon, to know how many we shall print.
Remember, that a work with 150,000 subscribers can give
live times as much as a nTork with only half that number,
and the embellishments can also be made of a very supe-
rior character.

Our terms are made plain and explicit, so that they may
be easily understood. We are often asked to throw in an
extra copy. In no instance can this be done, as our terms
are so low to clubs that it cannot be afforded. A shop-
keeper would look amazed, if a purchaser should ask him
to throw in an extra yard because she had purchased
twelve. And yet we are asked to add au extra copy be-
cause twelve have been ordered. It cannot be done.

A New Holiday Gift. The Craig Microscope.— The
editor of the Sunday School Advocate says in regard to
this newly invented instrument: —

'• Its simplicity, cheapness, and great magnifying power
struck mo with surprise. Then I was examining a fly's
eye by its aid, and was struck with wonder at the skill
and power of the Creator which is displayed in its struc-
ture. Whim I saw a statement in an advertisement Unit
the Craig Microscope magnified one hundred diameters,
and could be bought for $2. I thought it was one of the
many humbugs of the hour, for I had paid $20 for a
microscope not long before. But now I find it to be a
really valuable instrument which I should like to see
introduced into the families of our readers in place of
ihe manifold useless toys which please for an hour and
then are destroyed. This microscope would both amuse
and instruct them, and I advise every boy and girl who
wishes to know the wonders which lie in little things to
save his money until he has $2 25," for which Henry
Ckak;, 335 Broadway, New York, will send him a mi-
croscope post paid. For §1 50 more he will send twelve
objects all ready for use, or for $5 the microscope and twen-
ty-four objects will be sent.

ABorr Drafts. — We advise out1 subscribers to procure
drafts — they are the only safe way of remitting. Thereare
two distributing offices in two of our largest Western
StLites, where there is a large amount of money stolen.
Circumstances may render it necessary for us to be more
explicit. The premium on a draft must he 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, this will not do ; twenty-five cents distri-
buted 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.

Wk print in this number a memoir of the late Mrs.
Alice B. Haven, and ask an attentive perusal of it.

The Juvenile Tableaux that we are publishing from
month to month are attracting great attention ; so much so,
that many of our exchanges are copying them without
giving the Lady's Book credit. We pay for these articles,
gentlemen, and you take them from us. At least, credit
them to Godey's Lady's Book.

S. P. Borden's Excelsior Braiding and Embroidery
Stamps. — Mr. Borden has increased his facilities for man-
ufacturing his celebrated stamps, and is now prepared to
fill all orders promptly. These stamps are the best stamps
in use, as they will stamp on any material. Ladies will
find stamping a very pleasant and profitable business.
Send for a few dozen of these stamps. All necessary
articles for using them accompanying each order free of
charge. All orders addressed to S. P. Borden, MassiUon,
Ohio, or the following agents, J. M. Pickering, No. 96
West Fourth Street, Cincinnati, Ohio ; Mrs. A. P. Brooks,
No. S3S North Tenth Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania ;
Mrs. L. A. Colbath, Exeter, N. H. ; Mrs. M>S. Belcher,
Newark, N. J. ; Mr. Fred. Thoman, Hastings, Minn. ;
Mr. E. M. Davis and Mrs. E. C. Biggers, are travelling
agents. Price $5 per dozen.

Brodie is with us again in this number with one of his
elegant designs.

Music Received. — We have received the following from
Horace Waters, 481 Broadway, New York, and O. Ditson
& Co., 277 Washington Street, Boston, Mass. :—

Idylwild. By M. Keller. A polka caprice.

The Tear of Love. Music by Mrs. Parkhurst.

How Softly on the Bruised Heart. Music by Mrs. Park-
hurst.

Your Fortune is too Small for Me. Music by Maurice.

Lawrence's Popular Songs and Duetts: The Flower
Blown in Linden Vale; One by One the Stare of Evening;
Is it the Violet ; Characteristic Pieces for the Piano ; Morn-
ing Prayer; For an- Album ; I '11 Wait at the Gate for Thee,
Sung by Carncross and R. Howard.

Songs and Ballads by J. R. Thomas : Kindly Words and
Smiling Faces.

Foster's Melodies : For the dear old Flag I die.

Let all the People Praise Thee, O God ! Anthem by J. R.
Osgood.

Young Ladies' Seminary for Boarding and Day
PrPiLS. — Mrs. Gertrude J. Cary, Principal, South-east
corner Sixteenth and Spruce Streets, Philadelphia, Pa.
The nineteeuth session of this school commenced Septem-
ber 14th, 1863.

The course of study pursued embraces the fundamen-
tal and higher branchesof athorough 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, III. ; Louis H. Jenkins, Jacksonville, 111.;
Rev. George Dnffield, Jr., Adrian, Mich.

Circulars sent on application.

To Poets. — Having so much poetry at present on hand,
we must he allowed this year to use some of it ; therefore,
during 1S64, we cannot send the Lady's Book in payment
for poetical contributions.

godey's arm-chair.

101

FAY'S "HKW-TRAB."

BY HATH. NAK AMOKS.
I. QlKHTloN".

■ golden presents
■ . . ■ borne to-d iy,

valets bear inem —

i they be ofclayf

G iid t i ■ ilden sweethearts ;

What ah ■ n, then,

My laughing, little Fay:'

Rough has been your p

Hani baa been your fate,
Gold will buy you station,

Oold h :i great-

Gold b 111 bring yon m
Will y hi doI h.w e gold, i ben,
My laughing Little Fay ?

II. ANSWr.K.

Oh fle on golden presents!
lake the gaudy things away,

Life should roughen faster
i Hay ;
Oh ii" mi rank and Btation '
What cares Truth for baubles?
What cuss your little Fay?

Oh shame on craven suitors I
Keep the -illy slaves away ;

WI lie ' here 'a life In Nature's pulses,
■ . .

i ■ . e :i garland,

r
Tour Laughing Little Fay I

Mr. DBXFBTBB. — Who like him in ballads? Whenever
ii. iv- had any person who could approach Mr. D., in the
rich qualities of his voice aud his unequalled taste in
ballad singing. Els "May Queen" — the poetry by
Tennyson, and the music by himself — is enough for an
at : but in addition to that he gives
gs in the "Idyls i»f the King," and his '-John
i my Jo*' is worth the whole price uf the enter-
tainment. We commend Dempster to the press of the
country. Let them hear him and his success is certain.

That sweet songstress KQss Ri'hings, was lately sere-
ere by tho Opera band. She richly deserved it;
for Bliss U. is a most estimable lady in private life, as well
i nament to her profession.

Ws would Like our correspondents, ladies particularly,
if th y have any good jokes, to send them to us— ah int
servants, or anything '-ise. There are many, and each
ran contribute one. So let us have
th. m We would like a joke department; no old Joe
Miller's. Wo have an "riginal copy of that venerable
joker, but don't use him.

Tm: " Wedding March" is the title of a piece of music
received from Philips & Solnms, of Washington, D. C.

A HMTo-iRAPn ha* been lately published — a copy of the
ambmtype of the three children found in the hands of the
dead soldier on the field of Gettysburg. Dr. Bourns, 1104
Spring Garden Street has the original.

Chbjstus Martyrs in the Comst-itm. By P. Rother-
meJL A private view of this masterpiece of the painter
' receutly to the inspection of his friends. It
niflcent work, and will add to the great reputa-
tion Mr. R. at i It is rich in the harmony
of its coloring, and is boldly and skilfully grouped.

A Rival of Pit. Ma* kay.— It will hardly be
that a correspondent of th.- Lot

im New York on tin- 23th ult., is t!.<- aathor > f
the following in. 1. fn. us stupidity. He says; "it La tho
first Urns in -ix y.'ars that I have seen targe quantities of
roa*t- d Id mi tho market Tin y are i d on

the trees by the heat of the sun (!), ami then gath ■■'• ii and
brought to the market. They sell at fifteen oente the peek,
roasted."

Tho Mlow mti-t have Been porsiiumons.

Diaphaine. — Have any of our subscribers seen any of
the works of J. B. Keller, 31 So hi Street? Sis prepa-
ration of windows is beautiful j any window that you
Wish ornamei ted to re ml i sd glass, only more
beautiful; and when you want to hide the prospect ou<
side, l' a]<\i. rery thing. Fur door limits, it La
particularly suitable. Call at Keller's, and sec his pat-
terns.

The Grecian \Vkiuoi.e.- Have you ever seen the Gre-
cian wriggle? It is practised by all ladies that wear
hoops. It i> done in crossing a g utter. The hands do not
touch the dross, hut tho wriggle part >'[oi- the dress to
angle Hi on tho right, and the Grecian part of it is to sling
it to angle i'> on tho loft, ami s,. oseape the gutter. Ii is a

beautiful movement, iiif-.minonhj grar.fnl ; [mt it n-

quires, particularly, that a lady shall have uu holes in her
stockings.

Arthur's Home Magazine.— This very excellent and
best of the $2 magazines is the only magazine that can
be introduced in a club in place of a copy of the Lady's
Book.

Messrs J. E Tn.rnx £ Co., Boston, have for sale all
materials for the ditfeient stylos ,.f Painting and Draw-
ing taught in theii book, Art Recreations. They will
send a price list, if requested, and answer necessary
questions, and will furnish, post paid, the b'>ok for $2 0(1,
It teaches Peucil 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.

PnoTOORAPH of Mrs. Alice B. Haytn. — We have added
to our extensive collection a photograph of this much
lamented lady.

A ct'Rtors illustration of French sentiment may be seea
in the cemetery at Montmartre, where a tombstone has
been erected, on the stone of which has been carved what
is Intended to represent a tear, but its magnitude is so ex-
treme, that its meaning would generally be overlooked, if
it were not for the line which accompanies it — "Judgo
how we loved him."

Something more about tears.

A siax had the misfortune recently to lose his wife.
Over her grav.* he CS n sed a stone to be placed, on which,
in the depth of his grief, he had ordered to be inscribed,
•■ Tears cannot restore her — therefore I weep.'1

Mrs. Hale is anxioas tb procure a copy of " Sketches
of American Life,"and "Traits of American Character,"
two works of which she is the author. A year's sub-
scription to the Lady's Book will be given for either
work.

We publish in this number No. 1 of a n^w series of
poems, by our able contributor, W. E. Pabor, Esq.

102

godet's lady's book and magazine.

JUVENILE DEPARTMENT.

BE DOVE-LIKE.

' Be ye harmless as doves."

'Be ye kind one to another, tender hearted."

I MrsT kind and gentle be,

If I would my Father plea#e,
For I know He loves to see

Children bearing fruits like these.

Nothing selfish or unkind

Can before my Father come ;
I must have His children's mind,

If I seek His children's home.

No more angry thoughts or rude

Are allowed to enter there;
We shall seek each other's good,

And each other's pleasure share.

When these evil thoughts I feel —

As, alas, I often do! —
Lord, thy tender love reveal ;

Surely Thou wilt conquer so !

MOTHER GOOSE TABLEAUX,
{Continued from December number).

TABLEAU VI.

"Ride away, ride away, Johnny shall ride,
Up shall have little dog tied to one side ;
He shall have pussy cat tied to the other,
And Johnny shall ride, to see his grand mother. "

Remove the cross from the preceding scene, and in its
place put a work table. At this table is seated the mother
(Madame M re had best join the rest of the children), ser-
ving. The rocking horse, in its old place, is mounted by
Master Johnny, in his short trousers and socks, and
holding a big whip. To his belt are fastened two long
strings, which are fastened at the other end, one to a cat
and the other to a curly dog (toys on wheels). In the
corner of foreground, facing the horse, sits the grand-
mother. A basket of work is on the fioorbeside her; one
hand holds the stocking she is knitting. She has both
arms out to welcome Master Johnny, coming to visit her.
If there is no rocking horse in the nursery, a stick horse.
or even a broom handle, will do for Johnny's spirited
steed.

TABLEAFX VTI, VTH, IX.

"When I was a bachelor, I lived by myself,
Aud all the bread and cheese I got, I put upon a shelf.
The rats and the mice they made such a strife,
I was forced to go to London to get myself a wife."

The stage represents a kitchen, with a shelf across the
background. In the centre of stage is a table, upon which
is a hat and scarf. Upon the shelf are loaves of
bread and cheeses, all overrun with rats and mice
(made of lead colored canton flannel, with black
bead eyes, long horse-hair whiskers and string
tails, if the little folks have not toy rats and
mice). In the centre of foreground stands the
bachelor, who, with a very rueful face is putting
ou his overcoat before starting for London.

"The roads were so bad, the lanes were so nar-
row,
I was forced to bring my wife home in a
wheelbarrow."

Scene same as before. The bachelor, with hat
and scarf on, is just wheeling the barrow into
the room (centre of foreground). In the wheel-
barrow is scaled a little girl, with a fashionable
bonnet, cloak aud dress, holding an open para-
sol over her head.

"The wheelbarrow broke and my wife had a fall,
Down came the wheelbarrow, wife and all."

By taking out the sides of the barrow, removing
the wheel and tipping it over, the curtain rises
again upon a melancholy wreck. The wife lies
on the floor crying, the parasol fallen from her,
aud the late bachelor stands with raised hands
and a face of dismay looking at the mischief.

TABLEAU X.

'■ " Little Miss Muffet

Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey ;

There came a big Bpider,

And sat down beside her.
And frightened Miss Muffet away."

If in the housekeeping furniture there is a " tuffet," so
much the better, but if you, like me, have had your edu-
cation so shockingly neglected, that the word is in an
unknown tongue, you may use one of the nursery crickets
for Miss Muttet's throne. Miss Mullet's hair (another of
the deep mysteries of the popular author of the poem),
most be in a state of dire confusion — or, as the nurses say,
"all on end." She must be seated centre of stage, facing
audience, with a large bowl of curds-and-whey in her lap.
One hand holds the bowl, the other the spoon. Close
beside her is the dreadful animal, the "big spider."
(Horrible looking spiders on spiral wires may be bought
tor a few pennies at any toy shop). Miss Mutfet's face,
full of terror, is turned to the spider, and she grasps the
bowl and spoon as if about to run away.

These Tableaux will be continued next month. Those
that we gave in the December number were received with
great favor by our young friends. During the year we
will publish a number of charades, proverbs and tableaux,
along with other amusing and instructive articles, that
we have had written out expressly for this department.

The illustrated hymns will also be continued.

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.

A Present for a Ladt. — Did it ever strike any of our
young friends that they could not make a more agreeable
Christmas or New Year's present to a younj? lady than
a year's subscription to the Lady's Book? Will it not
monthly call the donor to their remembrance, and will
they not be particularly gratified in receiving so useful
a present?

godey's arm-chair.

103

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

Vo order attended to unreal ^companies It,

\U j,, t , og answers by mail must send a

poet-offloe stump ; ami for all articles that ;<r.' t.> 1-.' sent
by mail. Btampa most be sent to pay return j»

Be partlcalar, irhen writing, to mention the town,
eonnty, and State yon reside in. Nothing can be mutle
out of post-marks.

M. J. P.— Sent embroidery pattern, October 21st.

E. L. — Sent knitting needlea 21st.

J. D. — Bent India-rmbber gloves 23d.

Ml. t. P. t —Sent hair-work 23d.

M. a D.— Sent pattern 23d.

Mrs. I- W.— Sent braid 27th.

Mr... A. M. W.— Sent pattern 27th.

C I.. 1'.— s.i.t design of cape 29th.

lOsa i; 1. I'.— S.nt invisible hair net 2?th.

J. W. I>. B. — Sent lead comb, Xoveiuber 2d.

Hra. 1 D C. in pattern 2d.

Mrs. S S C.— 'Sent pattern 2d.
H -. W. L.— Sent pattern 2d.
ML m 2d.

Mr-. J. A B.— Senl pattern 2d.
Mr. J. T. C— Sent pattern 2d.

tf. A P.— Sent pattern 2d.
C. II. M. i Co.— Sent pattern 2d.

- Hi pattern 2d.

Mr-. 8. A. C— Sent pattern 2d.
Sir- M. K. B— Sent article 4th.
J. L. P rn 4th.

L. B.— Sent articles Uth.
M-- E P. De L.— Sent pattern loth.
Sir- A. S. H.— Sent pattern 10th.

C. D. C.—Sent pattern 10th.

M- si a. C— Sent pattern 10th.
W. >". D.-— Sent pattern 10th.

K. A. — Sent box of articles by express 10th.
M. E. W— Sent pattern 17th.
Sir- C. L. G.— Sent pattern 17th.

D. A — Sent hair rinirs 17th.

C. D. S. — Sent hair anchor 17th.
I. E W — Sent pattern 17th.
SI ■- i: E C— Senl pattern 17th.
51 -- I. II —Senl pattern 17th.

Sir. .1 T C —Sent pattern 17th.
T. P. F.— Sent pattern 1 7th.
J II P. — Sent hair bracelet by express 17th.
Sir-. I. H. — Sent by express 17th.
Sirs. r;. H. C— Sent hair jewelry by express nth.
s P — ] ml box of articles by express 17th.
Sir- A. IS. D-— Very glad the receipt pleased you ; very
.orry thai we are so far off that we cannot receive one of

Charleston.— Gare instructions for knitted mittens in
Juno number for 1862, and in Slarrh and October for 1S63.
Butting mores in March, 1S63, and Driving Gloves in
Dec. If

riant Reader. — We have given directions and en-
graviri.- r ■- making bead basl.

A B, S — There is a new style of hair crimper (not
he hair as you desire. The price is
$1 60. r per oz.

L. of Hingham. — Sent your letter to Marion Harland for
her decisi"n.

G B.— To make skeleton leaves, soak the leaves for six
hours in a weak solution of lime-water.

I R. E. P., and a host of others. — We donbt the
whole affair. The same person has been engaged in va-

rlOUS schema! Of the same kind. Aii swindles. Is it not
a sini.-nl.tr BmI that 00 publication of it is made in this
cily } It la intended for the country.

E. S. P. — Every year something of the same kind is
staled, offering numerous premiums. You will neither
get the premiam or the book.

ll, V. — Handwriting is an art, eas; Ition. It

requires practice and great care. Every lady should eu-
deavor to write a good hand.

iu\iau.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Havino had frequent applications for the purchase of
jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the
Bditress of the Fashion Department will heree
eommisslons for any who may desire it. with the charge of
a small percentage for the lime and . lired.

. and autumn bonnets, materials for dresses, jev
eds, children's ward]

tillas, .Hiul mantelets, will be chosen with a view to ei

my, as weii as taste ; and boxes or packages forwarded
by express to any part of the couutry. For the last,
distinct directions mast be given.

Ord ■■ ehecks for the proposed e3spen>

diture, to he addressed to the care ..//.. A. Godey, Esq.

No order will he attended to unless the money is first
reeeirn ■'. iV< ttht r the Editor nor Publisher will be account-
ahle for tosses that w remitting.

The Publisher of the Lady's Book has no interest in
tins depi tment, 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 "f
the person, on which mi in choice. Dress

roods from Evans & Co.'s ; mouruiut.' goods from 1-
& Son ; dry goods of any kind from Messrs. A. T, Stewart
& Co., New fork; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, from
Brodie's, 51 Canal Street, New York ; bonnets from the
most celebrated establishments ; jewelry from Wriggens
..v 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
JANUARY.

Fig. 1. — Rich purple silk dress, trimmed with black
velvet. Cnir-colored cloth cloak, made in the Spanish
style, and trimmed with black velv t. White uncut vel-
vet bonnet, with a falling crown of purple velvet, and
trimmed with fern leaves.

Fig, 2.— Green silk dress, trimmed with a deep chenille
flounce, headed by a silk niching. The cloak is of black
cloth, elaborately trimmed with gimp ornaments. Bon-
net of white silk, trimmed with lace and crimson carna-
tions.

Fig. 3. — Blue poplin dress, with new style of fancy gir-
dle embroidered, and trimmed with black velvet. The
skirt is trimmed with bands of black velvet, arranged in
pyramids on each breadth. The hair is arranged in a
Waterfall, and tied with a black velvet ribbon.

Fig. 4 — tforning-robe of white muslin over rose-colored
silk. The robe is made with a yoke, at the back, and
falls loose in box-plaits. The trimming is embroidery,
finished on each side with muslin puffings, through which
are run rose-colored ribbons. The cap is of embroidered
muslin, trimmed with rose-col., red ribbons.

Fig. 5. — Dress of a light cuir-colored poplin, trimmed
With medallions, formed of black velvet and braid. The
cordage is trimmed with shoulder-braces, braided with

104

godey's lady's book and magazine.

black velvet, and finished with a chenille friuge. Linen
collar and sleeve. Coiffure of white lace, trimmed with
Magenta flowers.

Fit/. 6. — Child's dress of Magentr. silk poplin, trimmed
with a broad baud of black velvet. The berthe and gir-
dle are also of black velvet. A baud of Magenta ribbon
fasiens on top of the head with a quilled rosette.

CHRISTY MINSTRELS SLIPPER.
(See Plate -printed in Colors, in front.)

This slipper is worked in two colors, the figures being
entirely in black, and the ground in green wool. The
materials required for one pair of slippers, are half a yard
of Penelope canvas, No. 40, 12 skeins of black Berliu
wool, and 30 skeins of a pretty bright shade of French
green. The pattern is worked in crnss-stitch, and, from
the fact of there being so few colors used, is extremely
simple aud quickly executed. The color of the grounding
may be changed to scarlet, ponceau, blue, or, in fact, any
bright color the worker may like. It might also be exe-
cuted in beads, the figures being still in black, aud the
gronnd in whito beads, threaded with scarlet cotton.

The small bordor near the toe of the slipper is suitable
lor many purposes, and would answer extremely well for
gentlemen's braces or cricket belts. It may be worked in
different colors to those given in the illustration, and
would look very prettily, executed in black aud scarlet,
with a blue filoselle grounding. The black stitches shown
io the pattern should be of black silk, the green stitches
in scarlet silk, aud tho grounding of bright blue silk.
This border, when worked on coarser canvas, and with
Berlin wool, would be very suitable for a bag, with strips
of velvet or cloth inserted between them. Worked on
very coarse canvas, in double wool, a pretty curtain bor-
der might be made, using colors to harmonizo well with
the material it is to ornament.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA
FASHIONS FOR JANUARY.

The succession of the seasons has brought us again to
January. We can no longer chat with our readers, as a
short time since, about organdies, bareges, and grena-
dines. Now the bare mention of them makes us shiver,
and we gladly dwell on warmer dress.

Ladies are now obliged to have recourse to their furs.
The styles of this winter are in very good taste, giving
the figure a less bulky and more graceful appearance than
when the talma and long pelerine were worn. These are
not being made up at all, except when ordered.

A visit to Geuin's fur department enables us to give the
most desirable information. The new styles are the col-
lar, a quarter of a yard deep, and nearly round, and an-
other style, three fingers deep. The latter is the newest,
and is being made up in all the costly furs, such as Rus-
sia sable, ermine, sable, mink, chinchilla, and a variety
of others. Persian lamb, a fancy variety of fur, is also
much worn. It is intensely black, the hair long, but
tightly curled. It has really but little value, and is but
a passing fashion.

Muffs are a shade larger than previous seasons, and got
up in perfect taste, the trimmings being quite novel, and
very rich. The lining, generally of a color to match the
fur, shows very much from the outside, and is finished
with two rows of niachiue-stitchiug. Instead of the cord
and tassel so long in use, a pretty little bow is substi-
tuted, from which hatu; two fur tails. This is decidedly
the prettiest style we have seen.

Muffs made of fancy materials, such as plain and fancy
velvets and plush, frequently trimmed with fur, are much
worn. Fur sleighing or travelling, we recommend the
fur hoo Is. We admit they possess but little beauty, their
principal merit being their warmth. We think, however,
the best we have seeu are from Geuin's. They are of the
Marie Stuart style, and are admirably shaped and fin-
ished.

For gentlemen and boys, there are a great variety of
mufflers and cuffs made of dark furs, and some of them
quite inexpensive.

For little girls, the shapes are the same as we have de-
scribed, but in light furs, such as errniue, chinchilla,
Siberian squirrel, aud squirrel lapped. Furriers have no
cause for complaint this season, as there is no more fash-
ionable or distingue trimming for mantles and walking
dresses than bands of fur, either one deep baud, or gra-
duated bands. Every one, however, cannot afford such a
costly luxury as sable. Tho soft chinchilla, with its
lovely gray tints and warm aspect, appears advantage-
ously on either cloth or velvet. Bonnets are also fre-
quently trimmed with bands of fur. Fur trimmiugs are
very much adopted for children's dresses, especially (or
ii>y<. ;in the principal styles for them are the Scotch aud
Russian dress. In the latter, the dress, coat, and hat, are
all trimmed with fur.

For dresses, there is nothing more fashionable than
p!a:d>, Mich as the Stuart, Rob Roy, Macduuald. Maclean,
and others. For little girls, fancy leather boots aro the
rage; some lace half way up the leg, aud are finished
with quite a large tassel in front.

We understand that colored flannel is very generally
adopted abroad for skirts, instead of the white. They aro
scalloped round the edge with either silk or zephyr, aud
high colors are preferred.

For gentlemen's dressing gowns, or invalid wrapper*,
nothing can be nicer than the puiuted flannels of gay Per-
sian or Turkish design, quilted through with silk, of tho
prevailing color in the wrapper, and confined at the waist
by a rich silk cord and tassel.

It is said that Lord Eldon, when Lord Chancellor of
England, laid down as a rule that 40 pounds a year was
sufficient to dress any young lady, not of age, even if she
had large expectations, and he refused, in all cases, to
allow more than that sum for dress to any of the maids
of chancery. It was fortunate for Lord Eldon's peace of
mind, and personal comfort, that ho did not continue to
be Lord Chancellor until the present era of extravagance.
He would either have had to change his opinion (a thing
which lie utterly abhorred), or else be obliged to see his
maids walk about with "nothing to wear," for certainly
at present 40 pounds would be a very small allowance, at
least in this country, for never was there such a luxu-
rious style of living and dressing as at the present day,
and our large cities are enjoying a carnival-like gayety.

Through the kindness of one of the principal attaches
of the retail department of A. T. Stewart aud Co. , we have
had a peep at some costly novelties in the shape of silks.
A few only we can particularize. First, the most exqui-
site whole moire, covered with tiny figures, in some bright
color, but of one color, olive, and resembling embroidery.
Fur instance, a cherry-stone, or triangle, quite small, but
graceful, and the effect new and exquisite. The same
design may be had in all the principal eolorsj or the rich
white moire ground. The prevailing taste seems to be for
small figures, which harmonize charmingly, and are very
elegant.

Then we saw a very dainty white taffeta, with vane-

FASHION'S.

105

gated chenille flow, m, teveral rows of them form
Btrrpee tight inches wide, and the same Spaa Intervening

.■; shades "f
t from the top to the bottom of the garment,
■ stand-alone quality, having sprays of Bowers the
of the dross, but of v srj much darker shade. Theso
- arc very much raised, and area very dose imita-
of needlework. The effect is rich and beautiful.
i styles are all til.1 new colors, the names of which
Last month, studded with small v- Ivet fl

rich novelties, then is every variety of
Etd plain silk, so that the
mically inclined can be as well suited as the extra-
vagant belle.

In jewelry, the prevailing taste is for the peculiar,
though the Roman, Greek, and Egyptian are greatly in
favor. Among the novelties are necklaces, composed of
dead . i ui which depend tiny gold dag|

connected with each uther by rows of fine chains, which
fall in te

.: -shaped ear-rings, either chased or studded with
precious stones, are much worn. Others are formed of
small gold scales, each having a pearl in it. Gold lan-
tern*, beautifully ornamented, is another of the principal
styles. Then, again, we have the beautiful butterfly,
sparkling with the most costly jewels (formerly the cm*
bl«-m of the soul, but now, alas ! the emblem of coquetry
and frivolity), arranged as ear-rings and pin, or glitter-
c >iffuros.
Initial and crested jewelry is still very fashionable, and

■ style we would recommend.
Antique stones, fil agreed gold and silver, are largely
Figures in bas-relief, in different colored gold, are
.1 as artistic productions.
At the establishment of G. W. Vogel, of 1016 Chestnut
Philadelphia, we were shown a choice assortment
of lingerie and lace g

For home wear, linen sets are the most in favor, made
in various styles, and embroidered in various colors.
- Borne are embroidered in black, red, blue, or white, while
Others, known as the Spanish style, are variegated, with
pnod efl>ct. Others, again, are trimmed with fluted ruf-
whieh are exceedingly pretty. All sleeves have the
cuff either falling over upon the hand, like a gen-
tteman'a wristband, or turned over from four to five
i r case, they are buttoned with four or

five fancy, or plain linen buttons. The collars are
of various styles, some straight, others pointed in differ-
ent ways.

In pocket handkerchiefs there are a great many pretty
and Inexpensive styles. Some have a tiny scallop on the
entirely tilled in with a dot of the same color as the
1 in one corner some pretty design on the ini-
tial, worked in colors. When the handkerchief is bought
ready worked, but one initial is on it, but when worked
reral initials may be very prettily interlaced.
Another pretty style had two rutfles of cambric figured
in color-, the edge whipped over with the color on cam-
bric. These raffles were simply fluted at the corners,
and at tbi- sides were entirely plain. The shapes were
re, with ronnded corners. The prettiest style for
gentlemen has the national flag embroidered in colors in
one corner, or two fl^_ Frequently, when

handkt-rchiefs are embroidered to order, the initials are
interwoven with flowers and figures, and form an entire
bordering for the handkerchief.

Among the choice lace goods were the Dnchesse collar.
in exquisite point lace. The shape is rounding and quite

■ the back, and In front falls in long point, almost
a quarter of a yard deep. These wo won- told were the

tylee in the
very finest of Li .fusion.

Iu black thread Lace we were Bhou exq tlatte

\ . Is; the finest we have ever bet i ought in the

moat artistic designs, of bird- and fl
Guipure is the fashionable lace of the Benson, and Mr.

Voge] I rimi

forminj od wreaths tob . that

forming a groundwork for the figures. One very elegant
set was $60. ,;,ii: "i!o to $13.

Capes for cloaks are also of various styles. Guipure
Veils have appeared this winter, but they have too much
the appearance of Shetland veils to suit our ta -

Point lace sashes with capes, flounces, etc., are this
winter very fashionable for evening dresses.

Small black medallions, wide Guipure Insertions, some
finished on both sides, with an edge, are the most elegant
winter trimmings.

At Madame Demorest's, 473 Broadway, we were shown,
as usual, many elegant designs in dresses and cloaks, bat
have only space now to mention some very attractive cos-
tumes for the always healthful, now popular light parlor
gymnastica made for the pupils of Mrs. Plumb's Academy
of Physical Culture, No. 59 West 14th Street, New York.
One very tastqfttl dress was of Russian gray Empress
cloth, a fine quality trimmed with leaf-green velvet ; the
Of velvet at the bottom of the skirt was about
eight inches, cut in at the upper edge in two patterns,
alternating, which gave style and variety to tho skirt,
and also to the body and sleeves whenever applied. The
edge of the velvet is finished by Che tiniest gold braid;
then a jet, and then another gold braid, the two last put
on in pattern. The body was a plaited Garibaldi, with
deep yoke pointed in front, and extending to the w
and finished with cut velvet, and braided to agree with
the skirt. The sleeve was in the prevailing mode, with-
out seams inside of the arm, but ingeniously confined to
tbc wrist, and adapted to the ooatume, Wide Turkish
pants of the same completes the dress.

Another pretty costume for a young lady was a "Tar-
tan"' plaid skirt, With scarlet trimmings, the upper edge
cut in pattern, and braided with narrow black velvet
Waisl of black Empress cloth, with starlet yoke, and a
rolling collar; an embroidered linen collar, 'Cavalier"
style, and black silk tie fl] ock, Full pants in

black Empress cloth is w-im with tola suit.

We have lately seen a very useful article invented
and Introduced by Madame Demorest ; it is called the
dress ■ l la very similar to the one described in

the January number for 1883, and is so arranged that by it
the skirt am be uniformly raised all round at a moment's
notice.

The elevator is a belt hooked round the wai-
the dress ; to this belt rings are fastened, through which
are passed stout linen cords, reaching half way down the
skirt. On the end of each cord is a ring which attaches
to eagle talon hooks that are sewed to the seams of the
dress Inside, and from their peculiar form cannot unhook
of themselves.

The cords come together, and are secured to buttons
which pass through the dress by small openings in the
seams; the buttons are drawn forward and tied when the
dress is to be raised, or may be merely held by the hand.
These elevators are made of the most durable material,
and are sold at only fifty cents each.

Fashio.v.

J^^TXJA-TIY, 1864.

23x£x"ft=>oXXi.js2xi3a.o:ia.tfs, 33 to.

A TABLEAU PICTURE. A very flue steel engraving.

OUR NEW-YEAR OFFERING. Consisting of seven dis-
tinct engravings.

MINSTREL SLIPPER. Printed in colors.

GOING TO A PARTY IN WINTER, and RETURNING
FROM A PARTY. Two engravings emblematic of
the season.

GODEY'S DOUBLE EXTENSION COLORED FASH-
ION-PLATE. Containing six figures

THE POSTILION GIRDLE. Back and front view. Two
engravings.

ITALIAN VILLA. Three engravings.

DINNER-DRESSES. Two engravings.

RICH MORNING-ROBE.

THE MADRIDIAN. From Brodie.

SCOTCH DRESS.

RUSSIAN VEST OR JACKET.

BRAIDING PATTERNS. Two engravings.

DRESS FOR A GIRL OF TEN.

LADY'S BOOK PINCUSHION.

EMBROIDERY PATTERNS. Five engravings.

CROCHET WATCHPOCKET.

TABLE NAPKIN HOLDER. Two engravings.

BRODEIUE FOR A CHILD'S DRESS.

TRIMMING PATTERNS FOR DINNER-DRESSES. Two
engravings

ALPHABET OF FANCY LETTERS. Formed of ribbon.

GOING TO THE PRESIDENT'S LEVEE. Three en-
gravings.

PRACTICAL LESSONS IN DRAWING. Six engrav-
ings.

NOVELTIES FOR JANUARY. Infant's Robe, Apron,
etc. etc. Five engravings.

PATTERNS FROM MADAME DEMOREST'S ESTAB-
LISHMENT. Six engravings.

INITIAL LETTERS FOR MARKING. Two engravings.

HAIR NETS. Three engravings.

INSERTING.

A BIRD CAGE SCREEN.

HELP TO MEMORY.

NEW STYLE OF RAISED EMBROIDERY ON NET-
TING. Five engravings.

SAMPLER PATTERN.

DESIGN FOR DARNING THE EORDERS OF NETTED
WINDOW CURTAINS.

QUILTING PATTERN.

NAME FOR MARKING.

BORDER PATTERN FOR NETTING OR CROCHET.

Oontrltontor© «.^a.ci C3ooa.to33.tis,

20,

S4, 88;

21 ,

Italian Villa (Illustrated),

Dinner-dresses {Illustrated),

Rich Morning-robe (Illustrated),

The Madridian, from Brodie (Illustrated),

Scotch Dress [Illustrated)

Russian Vest or Jacket (Illustrated),

Braiding Patterns (Illustrated),

Dress for a Girl of Ten (Illustrated),

Embroidery (Illustrated), 21, 22,

Lady's Bonk Pincushion (Illustrated),

Crochet Watchpocket (Illustrated),

Table Napkin Holder (Illustrated),

Trimmings for Dinner-dresses (Illustrated),

Brodene for a Child's Dress (Illustrated),

Music — There are still some Joys before us, by J.

Starr Bbllowoy,
Alphabet of Fancy Letters (Illustrated),
*' Nobody to Blame," by Marian Hartand,
A Scrap,
The King is Dead. Long live the King, by Eto. II.

Hastings Weld,
Look on the Sea! by George W. Birdseye,
Going to the President's Levee (Illustrated),
Punctuality,

The Casket of Temperance, by Willie E. Pabor,
The True Gentleman,
A New Year's Story, by One who was in it,
Sonnet, by Kruna,
Alice B. Haven,
Diaries,

Love Within, by Clara Augusta,
The Young Artist: a Tableau picture, by S. Annie

Frost (Illustrated),
Affectation,

" Our Mother," by Mary N. Kirke DUworth,
Unsociable Tempers,
Adventures of a Bachelor, by the author of "Miss

Stimmens," etc.,
Practical Lessons in Drawing (Illustrated),

Mr. Surly Hardbake on Tight-lacing,
The Banana Tree,

Illume my Path, 0 Lord ! by Ada Algernon,
The Forsaken, by John Calvin Gitehtll,
Novelties for January (Illustrated),
Patterns from Madame Demorest's Establishment

(Illustrated),

Initial Letters for Markin

Hair Nets (Illustrated),

Inserting (Illustrated),

A Bird Cage Screen (Illustrated),

Help to Memory (Illustrated),

New Style of Raised Embroidery on Netting (IlVd),

Sampler Pattern {Illustrated),

Design for Darning the Borders of Netted Window
Curtains (Illustrated),

Quilting Pattern (Illustrated),

Name for Marking (Illustrated),

Burder Pattern for Netting or Crochet (Illustrated),

Receipts,

Euitors' Table, containing —

Eighteen Hundred and Sixty-four! What will it

Bring ?
Vassar College to be opened this Year!
The Order of Deaconnesses to be Restored in Christ-
ian Churches,
Free National Normal Schools for Young Women, 93
The Medical Profession: What Women have done

in it, P.")

Books for Home .Reading, 9.~>

Needlework and the Sewing Machine, 9.5

Fashions of Dress, and their Influence on Character, 95
Woman's Mission to Woman, 9.»

Something for Health, 96

Night Scene, by JO. L. P., 90

Literary Notices, PG

Godey's Arm-Chair1, OS

Juvenile Department, 103

Fashions, 103

81, S3

NOTICES.

Godey is decidedly the best Lady's Magazi ne published.
It is well worth the cost of subscription— $3 a year to
every lady in the land.— Times, Oskaloosa.

The literary matter cannot be excelled, because God^y
employs the very best talent on his magazine. — Journal,
Spencer.

I'll is is decidedly the best and cheapest magazine now
published. The double sheet fashion plate in the num-
ber before us is worth the year's subscription, to say
nothing of the vast amount of choice original readiug
matter it contains. — National Union, Georgetown.

Godey's Lady's Book is the gem of the magazines, and
the Union. Union, Concord.

The tales it coutains are of an interesting nature, and
we candidly assert that Godey stands A 1 among its
many rivals. — Satirist, Montreal.

We can't see how mother, wife or daughter can keep
house without this standard ladies' book. — Journal,
Louisiana.

It is a high-toned ahd magnificent periodical. — Advo-
cate, Greenville.

Every lady who wishes to dress fashionably, should
subscribe for Godey. Its fashions can be relied on, and
its receipts for cooking, etc , are such as can be found
nowhere else, and this alone is worth the price of the
magazine. In fact it is necessary for every lafcly to sub-
scribe for Godey in order to keep house. — Democrat,
Litchfield.

No well-regulated family should be without Godey.—
"Republican, Mason City.

The publisher has reduced the terms to the old stan-
dard, and what lady will wish to do without this liter-
ary and fashionable necessity. — Union, We)l>ville.

As a fashion book, and guide to the mysteries of
kitchen and general domestic lore, it is unrivalled. Its
music, engravings, designs for cottages and the like are
all features, and uach of itse'.c would amply repay the
cost. — Lanctt and Observer, Cincinnati,

a;.v(K'() v

WATCH POCKET IN BEAD WORK.

ftH*-^

SKATING ON THE SCHUYLKILL.

VOL. LXYHI.— 10

117

ROBE PSYCHE.

{From the celebrated establishment of Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., of New York.)

This dress is of a delicate shade of tonrterelle, or tnrtle-dove color reps, printed in imitation of braiding with admirable !
effect. The same style of robe may be had with the design elegantly chain-stitched, which, however, greatly adds to the
expense.

118

HEBE DRESS

(From the cehhrattd ettabluhmi »t ./Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., of New York.)

Imperial bine poplin robe, richly ornamented with chain stitching, and black velvet designs woven on the robe.

119

VISITING OR DINNER-DRESS.

Sea-grwn silk dress, trimmed on the edge of tie skirt with two flounces edged with black gnipure lace. The fancy design
i* uf black gnipnre inserting, laid on white ribbon, and producing a charming effect. The vest is edged with a very narrow
guipure. On the jacket, the inserting forms merely a wave in front, but is arranged in a large bow at the back, matching those
en the skirt, though much reduced in size. ■

120

WALKING SACK

^"^^ "I* S? b,nf "J,Trt ^Sil with trimminKs *"4 "rnaments of jimp and velvet. The sack ig slashed at uuentto.
S1. ,* „ ef,T? ,H,corv , Dr'-^ »f fi^'-fd «ui poplin, with a plaitin?of ribbon on the ed|jeof the skirt Blackvclvet bonnet.
"M wth a &" of black 'ace and black feathers. The inside trimming conwt* of pink roses and blonde.

10* 121

THE SABACEN.

IFrom the establishment of G. Bbodie, 51 Canal Street, New York. Drawn by L. T. Voiot, from actual articles

of costume.]

This modification of the circnlar style has met with mach commendation. The ornament consists of a rich pimp
arranged in festoons, with a maearon and tassel tirops depending from each end of the festoons. The material of the
garment may vary at pleasure.
122

EMBROIDERY.

MAEIE ANTOINETTE FICHU.

This pwtty youthful looking fichn is made of fine muslin, trimmed with Anted ruffles. It merely meets at the throat,
aud sloi»«f gracefully to the back of the waist, where it fells in two very long sash ends.

123

EMBROIDERY.

ITALIAN CORSAGE.

FOB A GIRL OF ELEVEN OK FOURTEEN YEARS.

This fanciful little corsage can either be of the ram« material as the skirt, or it can be made of black silk, as in the
design, trimmed with black velvet The under waist is of fine white muslin, laid in plaits, and finished at the necu
with a Valenciennes edge.
124

INSERTING.

<&§

GIRDLE, WITH BRETELLES.

SUITABLE FOR A CUILD OR MISS.

For the latter, it is pretty made of black velvet or silk, and trimmed with leather or bright colors. For a child, it is
pretty of a rich plaid, or any high-colored silk. It i« very easily made, and adds much to the costume. It can be
made with merely a band at the back, or else a fancy jockey Both styles are much worn.

125

EMBKOIDERY.

ooooooooooooopooooa

o^o^opooopx-popmc

FANCY FICHU.

{Front view.)

(Back view.)

This stylish little affair is made of fine French muslin, laid in plaits to represent a Pompadour corsage. Below
his it is trimmed with black velvet and muslin ruffles, edged with Valenciennes lace.

126

127

GEOMETRICAL OR HONEYCOMB NETTING.
(See Description, Work Department.)

FANCY WORK-BAG.

(See Description, Work Department.)

EMBROIDERY

^^^^k^

BABY S ERAIEED BIB.

YOL. LX7III. 11

129

WRITTEN AND COKPOSBB FOR THE PIANO FOR GODEY'S L A D y's BOOK,

By W. DELESDEENIEE.

u Andante affetuoso.

PIANO.

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or bright Shall

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Dear face? may sarronnd my hearth,

With smiles and .-
Or I may dwell alone, and mirth

Be far from me.
My bark is wafted to the strand

By hand divine;
And on the helm there rests a hand

Other than mine.

One who has known in storms to sail,

I have on board ;
Above the raving of the gale

I hear my Lord.
He hold* me when the bill ws smite;

I shall not fall.
If :harp, 'tis short ; if locg, 'tis light ;

He tempers all.

ALPHABET OF FANCY LETTEKS, FORMED OF RIBBONS.

132

GODEY'S

%i\h'$ |iook aito ||lag;ninc.

PHILADELPHIA, FEBRUARY, 1864.

"NOBODY TO BLAME."

BY MART 'X HARLASD.

PE&tend, acc.-rding to Act of ( r, in the clerk's office of the Distr..

of the Doited States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.]

(Continued from page 38.)

CHAPTER III.

Mr. Ci.EVFi.ANn had had a succession of
partners, all alike indifferent to him, and
■Bring conducted the last one to her seat,
spoken tin- few nothings that etiquette requir-
ed, and picked op the handkerchief she had
1. the usual accident on such occasions,
■was bowing himself off, when he caught Mrs.
Ainslie's eye. In obedience to its mute I
he luade his way to her without delay.

"I bring yon an olive-branch," she said,
playfully. " Our poor little v terribly

grieved, becanse she is ronvineed that her
forgetfuluess has made an enemy of you for
Kfe. Sorely you know Iut better than to
believe her capable of wilful offence to you
or any one else. She is giddy and hasty, like
other girls, and has almost atoned for her
fault by the pain she has Buffered since it was
committed. It has quite marred thepJ
of her party. She came tear making a Niobe
m herself, when she confi led to me the fact of
your dig and her penitence."

"My tre, as you term it. was not

with her," replied John, whose heart had
grown lighter with every word of this address.
"I could have wished. I eonfess. that since I
was to n, my more fortunate com-

petitor had been a different personage from
Mr. Lorraine."

" But you understand how that happened »"
interrupted Mrs. Ainslie. " He, as Miss pu-
ll*

pont'sjfiance', is. according to Maggie's notion,
entitled to especial kindness from the pros-
pective ljridemaid."

'• Ah ! that view of the ease had not occurred
tome!" Mr. Cleveland's brow was all clear
and bright again. "Will it he necessary for
me to make my peace upon my bended knee,
do you think V- he turned back to ask.

"You need not try it, except as a ■
restart," she rejoined. '.'Willi" she t .
her husband's arm with her fan, "I have
made an agreeable discovery — one likely to
be highly advantageous to all parti. -
cerned. Ask me about it when we go home."

Maggie did not observe Mr. Cleveland's
approach, and her start and confused excla-
mation at the sound of his voice were sweet
flattery.

•■ Maggie I" it said, in his customary gentle
tone — always most gentle to her, albeit she
might not detect its different cadem
have waited very patiently for my dance.
How soon may I have it .'"

Her answerwas charmingly irrelevant, "Ai d
you are really not angry with me ? How very
good you are I"

"How very wicked I would be to Ies
temper for so slight a cause, you ought lo
say ! And you have really and soberly
thought that you bad banished me for the
whole evening 1 My question still waits for a
reply. How stand the tablets now?"

133

134

LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

"I am free for the next set. That is nice.
And I promise never to forget you again while
I live!"

He replied by taking her bouquet-holder —
his present — and silently directing her atten-
tion to a wreath of Forget-me-nots, set with
turquoises, twined about the golden cup, and
the treaty was consummated.

He danced twice with her, and had the
additional bliss of handing her in to supper,
none of which privileges might be regarded
as distinguished marks of favor, but he was
supremely happy in their enjoyment. So
amiable was he rendered thereby, that he
went, after his second dance with Maggie, and
solicited Miss Dupont's hand for whatever set
was most agreeable to her. Miss Marie, was
very gracious, and professed to be disconsolate
that she had not one vacancy upon her list,
except for the next dance, from which she had
already excused herself to several gentlemen,
on account of a Polka, which was to follow it
immediately.

"And if I expect to do myself justice in
waltzing, I must rest awhile first. I dote
upon la valse, Schottisch, Eedowa, polkas of
all species I"

She went on talking volubly, and John,
naturally interested in learning somewhat of
the character of Maggie's bosom friend, will-
ingly stayed to listen and judge. He caught
himself marvelling, ere long, how so artless
and upright a girl as his favorite could fancy
the companionship of this piece of artificiality
and quasi sentimentality.

"Just the woman who would read Sue and
George Sand by stealth, and jump out of a
window to marry a Polish barber!" he said to
himself. "This intimacy cannot endure many
months," and his thoughts leaped daringly
forward to muse upon the changes ofttimes
wrought by the "expulsive power of a new
affection" — when Marie said, dropping her
voice to a confidential pitch : —

" Is not Maggie an angel ?"

Mr. Cleveland colored like a boy accused
of his trial love affair.

" She is very pretty !" he recovered himself
go far as to say.

"Very pretty! You nngallant creature!
fan you say no more ? Is it want of appre-
ciation, or" — casting a bold, meaning glance
at his face — "the fear lest yon should be
betrayed into saying too much ?"

This was going ahead rather fast lor a ten

minutes' acquaintance, even had Miss Dupont
been the kind of person he would have in-
trusted with a tender secret. Therefore, with
that semblance of frank surprise that best
veils the real feelings, John looked her straight
in the eyes.

"Afraid of saying what I think about my
old playfellow — the Maggie whom I have
known and petted for years ! That would be
too absurd I"

" Yes ! I know you are sworn friends. She
regards you quite as a godfather. Shall I
own it ? before I saw you, I imagined you, from
her description, to be fifty at the youngest, a
gray-haired bachelor in spectacles, with a red
bandanna handkerchief in one hand and a
box of bonbons in the other. Was it not a
ridiculous notion ?"

"That is for you to decide," said Mr.
Cleveland, with rather an unsuccessful attempt
at a laugh. Was he, then, so ancient, so very
much older and graver than herself, in Mag-
gie's estimation ? The thought was exquisitely
painful.

" She is the dearest little thing in the round
world!" pursued Marie. "We are never
happy apart, and I am to have her with me,
half the time, now she has done with that
horrid Institute. I graduated a year ago, but
we have seen each other every week .since.
This will be a heavenly winter for us both. I
hope her godfather will not neglect her while
she is in her other home. Her friends will
always be as welcome as mine in my mother'a
house."

" If I ever cross the threshold, I give you
leave to shoot me on the spot!" was the
hearer's mental ejaculation. He said aloud,
"Thank you!" and bowed.

The floor was cleared for a waltz, and Mr.
Lorraine came up very seasonably to end the
interview.

" I have given him a lesson he won't forget
in a hurry," said Marie to her friend, as he
passed his arm around her waist in the fash-
ionable embrace licensed by our "best soci-
ety" as both graceful and innocent.

" I am sorry you took that trouble," waJ
the reply. "A spirited rivalry makes these
affairs more interesting — keeps np the ex-
citement. I Hatter myself, moreover, that I
would prove no mean antagonist for this 'very
superior, this excellent young man,' as I
heard two old ladies call him, just now."

They were off! whirling and skimming.

"NOBODY to blame."

135

floating an. I sinking, with a dexterity that

argued diligent ami j"int practice, round
and round, steadily and nnflaggingly, not a
false stop, not an angular movement, the
lady's eyes brighter and blacker, her half
smile just affording a glimpse of her white
teeth; her partner easy and self-assured, yet
plainly oonsoious of his present importance in
the sight of the lookers-on. Bach were seen
many of those who had entered the mazy
circle with them. One couple after another
withdrew from the maelstruiu in prudenoe ox
D.e8S, the remaining dancers becoming
more conspii nous, as each pair dropped off,
until Mr. Lorraine and bis companion had the
whole Boor to themselves, Still the gliding
whirl went on ; still the lady's light feet
skimmed the floor, as a sea-bird's the waves,
and the firm, elastic step of her cavalier was
regular as at the first round. They coveted
notice and admiration, and they had it. They
Baled not a straw for adverse (Briticism, sneer-
ing envy, or grave disapprobation, and they
received these also in profusion.

" Sound in wind ! No question about that !"
observed Mr. Carvill, a brother merchant, who
held Mr. Loylan's button in a snug corner.
" Pair of fancy nags. Step high !"

"Miss Dupont — is it not?" Mr. Boylan
screwed np his eyelids, being rather short-
sighted, so as to get a better look at the
waltzors. "Who is that with her?"

" Name is Lorraine. Book-keeper for Law-
rence & Co. Protegt of Lawrence, Senior.
Fair salary. Spends money like a nabob.
Drives fast horse. Gives and takes oyster-
snppers. Champagne, cards. Nights when
there are no parties, faro-bank. Lawrence
thinks it s all straight. Isn't my clerk. None
of my lm-iii. 98. Isn't engaged to my daughter.
That couldn't be!"

This string of laconicisms, which was de-
livered with great deliberation, and punctuated
by knowing nods and an odd purse of the
mouth, would have occasioned the discharge
of any official in Mr. Boylan's employ, however
strong his confidence in him np to that time
had been, an 1 the same might have been
affirmed of nine out of ten of Mr. Carvill 's
acquaintances. He was a shrewd, hard man,
who never said anything he was not sure of,
and when he did speak, his terse, aphoristic
Senten.es bad the sound and weight of oracles.

"He is engaged to Miss Dupont. I hear,"
said Mr. Boylan. "Hasn't she a father, or

brother, or guardian, somebody to look ■
her? She is too elover a girl to be allowed to
throw herself away in this manner."

'• Father dead. Brothers younger than her-
self. Mother gay, rich widow. May marry
again. Four children. Marie real heal of
family. Stuart as a steel-trap. Smartest of
us do silly things sometimes. Hardest thing
in nature to manage is a woman whose head
is set upon marrying a scamp."

"If she were my daughter I would manage
her!" said Mr. Boylan, and he really looki d
as if he could. "I would lock her up and
feed her on bread and water for a year, before
she should disgrace me by bringing this
worthless puppy into the family. But, as I
asked before — hasn't the girl a guardian .'"

"Mot her nominal guardian. Executrix too."

" Was her father a born fool that he made
such a will ?"

"Sharp fellow in most matters. Would
cheat you out of your eye teeth if you did not
look out. You remember 1dm. Old Adolph
Dupont, Wall Street."

" Indeed ! He did not lack sense. Was he
in his dotage when he drew up his will ?"

"Gray mare the better horse 1" said Mr.
Carvill, drily.

Mr. Boylan replied even more sententiously,
" More fool he ! ' '

"I flatter myself that we have created a
sensation for once," whispered Lorraine, as
one final, sweeping whirl brought the perfor-
mance to a close, and he conducted Marie,
flashed, but, as she declared loudly, unwea-
ried, to a seat.

Maggie pressed forward to congratulate her.
"You have achieved wonders to-night, my
love."

Mr. Lorraine's how showed that he appro-
priated a share of the compliment.

They had together accomplished divers
things which were destined to exert an import-
ant influence upon the future of more than
one person there present. First and fore-
most, John Cleveland felt that it was high time
he threw off the mask of the elderly friend,
and paid open suit to the girl he had loved
for fonryears. The bud he had watched, an 1
nurtured, and dreamed over, was at length
unfolded, and there were those who might,
account his constancy of devotion, his patio- -,
waiting and considerate reserve, as notbin ;
in the contest for the prize now displayed I •
the general gaze. Secondly, he had coo

136

godey's lady's book and magazine.

a distrust of Miss Dupont and a dislike for
her reputed betrothed, and resolved to with-
draw Maggie from their influence as soon as
he had the right and opportunity. They, on
the other hand, without suspecting this one
of his designs, agreed in singling him out as
the man whose pretensions to her hand were
likely to be soonest asserted, and most strongly
seconded by her relatives.

Tiny had picked up quite a store of sweet
crums, compliments, attentions, etc., Mr.
Cleveland having chosen her as his earliest
partner being the largest and richest of the
collection. She reviewed these acquisitions
to her stock of mementoes, as she went
through her minute and old-maidish prepara-
tions for bed, at three in the morning, and
felt that she had made some progress in the
tedious journey towards a change of name.
Marian had adroitly insinuated a bitter drop by
her praises of Maggie, before and after the ball,
but this was fairly neutralized by Miss Dupont
and her fascinating escort.

"My dear Miss Tiny," Marie had said at
parting, "we young people must be very
sociable this season, and I foresee that you
and 1 will have to be the mainsprings in the
good work. Maggie is new and shy, and not
altogether as energetic as we are. This
energy is not a bad thing after all — is it ? I
don't know how society would get on but for
such brave spirits as ours. We must contrive
frequent family parties, drives and excursions.
And pray use your influence" — with an ex-
pressive smile — "to induce your knight, Mr.
Cleveland, to joiu our band."

" How unlike members of the same family
sometimes are!" Mr. Lorraine remarked
during the single set which he bestowed at
Marie's instigation, upon Tiny, that astute
diplomatist having apprised him of the expe-
diency of conciliating the stinging nettle of
the household Bo3'lan. "You three sisters
belong to as many different orders of beauty.
Yours is the sylph-like, the ethereal ; Miss
Maggie is a plump Hebe, and Mrs. Ainslie
looks the literary lady to perfection. Her
stateliness, undoubtedly, proceeds partly from
her superiority in age. It is the air of author-
ity which the eldest of a family insensibly
acquires."

"Oh, she is decidedly the blue of the trio ! "
returned the sylph, radiently. "We are very
proud of Marian's talents."

Mr. Boylan had likewise his opinion of the

dashing French couple, one which he would
not have altered at the bidding of all the
women, and all, save one, of the men in both
hemispheres. As he had no present call to
think or speak of it, he locked it away in his
faithful strong-box, memory, in case it should
ever be needed. No harm could come of the
continuance of such intercourse as now existed
between his girls and Miss Dupont. If, after
her marriage, Lorraine's evil courses me-
naced his social position or business standing,
the acquaintance "must be broken off, in-
stanter!" This was his way of stating the
process of disrupting the eternal friendship
avowed by the schoolmates. So long as
his children associated with those of their
own rank in life, it was not his province to
inquire into the private histories of their com-
panions. " Women must have confidantes
and cronies, and all that kind of stuff, to
gossip and cry with," he reasoned. "Only
they must never bother me with their tales
and quarrels." Thus discussing this trivial
subject, he set himself about the arduous task
of extorting Mr. Carvill's judgment upon a
certain promising, but rather new railroad
stock, then exciting the noble minds of spec-
ulators.

And our heroine — for insipid as she may
be esteemed by others beside Tiny — an un-
remarkable, merely pretty girl, with a soft
heart and not particularly stout brain, with
little to recommend her beyond feeling and
sweetness of temper, ladylike manners, buoy-
ant spirits and a fair stock of intelligence,
lUnless we appeal to the sordid, by adding her
prospect of receiving a comfortable fortune
from her father — such as she was, Maggie is
our heroine — what thoughts carried she to
her rest ? There was a full moon, and it
showed quite distinctly the rosy face nestled
among the white pillows. The brown eyes
were large and thoughtful, but not sad.
Anything but that ! She was dreaming over
the events of the evening, too excited and
happy to sleep. She needed not Tiny's em-
phatic proclamation, as the last carriage drove
off. " Thank gracious ! It is over, and it has
been a complete success I"

Of what she did not say, but modest as
Maggie was, she did not affect to deny to
herself that she had not been a failure. Her
experience to-night was but the harbinger of
continued enjoyment. She had the stamp of
popularity, and henceforward, her course was

1 XOBODV TO BLAME.

137

easy. She had outshone Tiny, pleased her

; father, almost interested her mother, and

I delighted Marian. But none of these reflections

kindled that light in her eye, suniinonrd that

tender smile to her lips. " He .says that he is

pond of me!" she whispered to herself, in a

kind of timid exultation, and sin1 repeated it

■loud, as if tn assure herself that she had

heard praise she scarcely dared reoeii e.

"Proud of me! of his silly little Maggie 1

Ought not I to be the happiest girl alive I"

CHAPTER IV.
" Maggie is going to spend to-morrow with
me. ma," said Marian, one evening, about a
month after the party.

This was the most respectful form of asking
permission erer employed by Mrs. Boylan's
Ktildren towards her. The wonder was that
they thought it worth while to keep np this
rpoor pretence of consulting her as to their
movements.

She sat now. by the drop-light in an easy-
r chair, a warm shawl wrapped about her, ami
her [eet on a cushion, reading a purpie-covered
pamphlet, the vignette a coarse wood-cut of
a frantic female, brandishing a knife a foot

■ and a half long over a sleeping infant —
(the title, in staring capitals — "Sinning Sybil,

or The Blotted Book." Milk-and-water as
I was her nature, nothing would serve her turn
lin literature but the thrilling tragic, the
I monstrously improbable. Perhaps nothing

else kept hex awake. She absorbed, like a

fceedy sponge, streams of such trash as is

lis of a higher tone to

be turbid and nauseous, a slow poison, when
tit does not art as an emetic. Her lymphatic

knperament prevented any unhappy effects

of this diet upon her nerves, nor was it ever
intimated by the most slanderous, that her
jmorals Buffered thereby, although intrigues,
i robberies, poisonings, and suicides infested

■ every page.

She looked up placidly in the midst of a
midnight adventure where the hero caught a
glimpse, by a Hash of lightning, of the assas-
sin's poiniard aimed at his heart.

"What did you say, Marian, love?"

Mrs. Ainslie repeated her remark.

"Certainly, my dear, if you and she wish
it, and rill wrap up warmly. It is

very cold I" and she slid back into her ro-
mance.

"Anything special 1 " asked Tiny, in her
sharp way.

" ?ea. I want Maggie's company, and she
is not averse to mine," replied Marian.

"There is nothing uncommon in that, if
one tries to believe in the nonsensical parade
of affeotion you keep up for one another,"
retorted Tiny, breaking her sewing-silk with
a jerk. "It is all very pretty in company,
but when one sees it every day, it becomes
sickening — actually disgusting !■"

"Come, Tiny! don't tly into a passion
because I happen to love Maggie better than 1
do you. I can't help it, you know," said
Marian, quietly.

"I don't ask you to help it ! Gracious knows,
I wouldn't have people fawning ami flattering
around me, as they do to her, for any sum
you couhl offer me. It is not in my line, I am
glad to say."

" As you remark, it does not appear to be
in your line," answered Mrs. Ainslie. "But
it is news to me that you rejoice in not being
a belle. It shows how mistaken one can be.
I have imagined, hitherto, that you would
like to be admired and sought after. It is a
comfort to me that I have learned my error.
I have wasted a vast amount of pity."

Tiny drew her breath and her thread very
hard.

"You will come early, will you not. Maggie
dear?" said Marian, taking up her cloak from
the chair where she had dropped it. "1 want
a nice, long day."

"Another dinner-party, I suppose?" said
Tiny, unable to keep her tongue still.

"By no means! or you would he invited too.
I do mean to give another, some time, and
leave Maggie out. It was too unkind in her
to eclipse you as she did last week. It was
not Strang.' that you called my unpretending
little entertainment 'a stupid failure.' "

Tiny nearly choked. One would have thought
that the least grain of common sense would
have withheld her from these perpetual tiltiug-
matches, in which she inevitably came off
second best ; but the peppery demon that
possessed her small body would not let her
remain quiescent under defeat.

" And you hope to make the belle contented
for an entire day without a single beau, do
you ? She is as cross as a bear when she h is
to spend one evening at home and nobody
drops in."

"0 Tiny!" uttered Maggie, appealing!/.

138

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

" Poor child ! " said Marian. "It must be
hard to bear ! I have had some experience of
these dismal no-company nights. Pa, asleep
under the evening paper upon the lounge ;
Ma, hidden behind a purple or yellow cover ;
Tiny, sulking and drowsy, or counting the
stitches in her embroidery — you cannot mag-
nify the dolefuluess of the picture. By the
way, Tiny, for what favored admirer are those
elegant slippers intended?"

' ' That is no concern of yours that I can
see!" returned Tiny, growing crosser each
second.

"Certainly not, my dear. You are right
there. I ought not to have asked the ques-
tion. A moment's reflection would have
showed me how difficult it would be for you
to reply to an inquiry thus worded. Good-
night, ma. Say the same to pa for me when
he awakes. Remember, Maggie, darling, you
are to come over soon after breakfast."

Had Tiny surmised the true reason for this
pressing invitation, she would have retired
that night in a worse temper than was pro-
voked by Marian's sarcasms. The morrow
was John Cleveland's birthday, and Mrs. Ain-
slie having ascertained this accidentally a
week before, had made him promise to eat
his anniversary dinner at her table. She and
Maggie had each prepared a present for him,
as had also Tiny — with this difference, theirs
were manufactured by stealth, to be offered
openly — hers, the slippers she was finishing
this evening, were ostentatiously exhibited,
while they were being wrought, and destined
to be sent by mail without the knowledge of
any other mortal besides herself and the
honored recipient. Mrs. Ainslie's gift was a
dressing-gown of superb pattern, beautifully
quilted and trimmed, and Maggie's, a Turkish
smoking-cap to match.

John's gratification and surprise were an
abundant recompense to the two latter donors
for their efforts to please him.

"This is very kind — too kind!" he said,
over and over again, trying to smile, while
his eyes were glistening. "You will make
me forget that I am a poor, sisterless bachelor,
living in lodgings, with no one to provide for
me these blessed — falsely so-called minor com-
forts of life. "

"Just what yon ought to forget, old fellow!"
said Mr. Ainslie, laying his arm across his
shoulder. " While I have a home it is yours.

And now to dinner as one of the major com-
forts of the inner man !"

In this repast, John's tastes had been like-
wise consulted. His favorite dishes were there,
prepared in the finest style ; Mr. and Mrs;
Ainslie, whom he rightly counted among his
best friends, presided over the feas . an I
Maggie sat opposite to him. No one but I
perversely unreasonable and ungrateful man
could be otherwise than contented in the
circumstances, and Mr. Cleveland, who had a
habit of looking on the bright side of <■■ ,-ry-
thing, felt and said that this was one of the
sunniest spots in his life. Maggie had donned
a dress, for which he had once expressed a
liking, and this trifling instance of her regard
was not lost upon him. She was very joyous,
very pretty, very gentle — in his sight, the
loveliest embodiment of a household fairy he
had ever beheld.

And when, after dinner, Will took him into
the lawless sanctum, the library — forced him
to assume the new gown and cap, while he
arrayed himself in similar habiliments, install-
ed him in a stuffed chair before the glowing
grate, and produced a couple of prime Hava-
nas, and Maggie, who "liked the odor of a
fine cigar," followed her sister into the room
and took a low seat in the corner, just where
the red firelight, and the soft lustre of the
shaded burner, above the centre-table, united
in showing her face and form to the fairest
advantage, what was there to hinder John
from a bit of mental sketching, that kept him
silent with deep, deep happiness ?

What if this were truly a family party ? if
he were receiving his friends iu his home,
instead of being entertained by them, and the
mistress of that home were she who sat there
beside the hearth ? Would herair of cheerful
content be lessened, her fresh, sweet face be
dimmer if the dream-picture were a reality ?
He said to himself, even in the unspoken
ecstasy of his imaginings, that rather than
bring a cloud over that dear, young hen 1. he
would leave his love to the last untold ; rather
than grieve that loving, innocent heart, he
would himself give her away at the altar to
another. Maggie could have had no more
certain proof of the depth and disinterested-
ness of his attachment than was brought out
in these musings. He had no mawkish me-
lancholic sentiment in his composition. His
forte was not the romantic. Had Will and
Marian been out of the way, he would have

'' NOBODY TO BLAME

139

1 no more auspicious time and oir-
; pnmstancea for the momentous declaration
I than this domestic nook and tliis birthday
Moonlight rambles and poetic quotations
were, as Tiny said in another res peot,

"nut in his line." lie redrawn his

loser to Maggie's, and taking her hand,
toll her how Long and trail be bad loved her,
bid asked for some assuranee that be bad not
farad and waited in vain. Tlien — and a quicker
mlse-throb brought before him ;
pictim — the present, had but the magic- words
of mutual lovi- betw eon them, and a

u blessing been uttered above them.
. synonyms that
sum up the rapturous emotions of many a
1 heart !
g-a-ling-ling '."
"Mercy npon usl" said Marian, putting
her hands to her ears. "What an impetu-
ig! Show no on.' in here I" she called
to the servant as she the library-

door.

up at the sound of a loud,
Bear voice in the hall.
"Oh, sister, it is Marie '."
Ere Mrs. Ainslie could reply, the door was
I open by that resolute damsel hi rei If,

aing to you till ! I knew you
in here. 1 smelt the cigars. 1 adere
Bern I Oh, how fragrant ! What a snug
ohild, how do you
do f" kissing her.

"Take a seat near the lire, Miss Dopont I"
Sail Marian, not very warmly, for she SI
; id the intra

I "Thank you! hut I have no time to stay.
I i on an errand, it seems hard-

i I inme to break up this very picturesque

igroup, still 1 must possess myself of one of
its ornament-. Maggie, darling, I am here to
Idemand you."

I "Mel" "Her!" exclaimed Maggie and
(Mrs. Ainslie, in a breath.

a — my precious! Her — my dear Mrs.
1 called at your father's, M

I me to pursue my search in

I. You wrote me. the other day,

itliit you would run down to me for a night

,er I sent for you. Not caring to trust any

hold me, the bearer of my own

■arrant for your arrest. Now, Mrs. .'.

lon't look grave and doubtful ! 1 am tinned

nth the proper credentials, having done the

uj the const nt ol your

it parents. It was given readily and
unconditionally, and Miss Tiny very kindly

put up a morning-rob,- and other n li'ul

articles in a valise, which 1 have outside in a
carriage. ISo hurry, dear — there's a LoTC I"

ie -t 1 motionless in a state of per-
plexed incertitude. Marian's countenance
expressed unqualified disapproval of the pro-
poaed measure; Will looked surprised and

annoyed, while John watched Maggie in anx-

p.nse. She did wish that Marie had
not called for her on this night, and here,
but saw no way of refusing without vexing her.

she always t njoj i d her visits to the Dopants.

It would have been an act of self-denial to
decline this invitation, yet it was John's
hirthnight, and Marian counted upon her
spending the antire evening with her. and
John would feel slighted and Will blame her — i
'■ 1 wish 1 knew what to do !" she buret forth,
in distress.

" If you take my advice you will stay where
you are!" said Marian, positively.

" You are our guest for the night, and we
cannot excuse you !" added Mr. Ainslie.
'• You can go down to Mrs. liupont's with me
in the nine o'clock train, to-morrow morning."

"Impossible!" exclaimed Marie. "I have
especial reasons why I must have Iter without
delay. My party comes off in three lay.-, and
matters of vital importance respecting it are
tit a stand-Still for want of my prime counsel-
lor. Dearest Mrs. Ainslie. do not lie inexo-
rable! You were a girl yourself only the
other day, and cannot have forgotten how
gitl- feel, situated as Maggie and 1 tin."

This sort of talk would have propitiated
Tiny, hut Marian was made of different stuff.

•■ Have you no escort. Miss Dupout ?" she
inquire 1.

"Only our coachman, who is the most
trustworthy creature living, and a safe dri-
ver," was the rejoinder, accompanied, John
fancied, by a sadden, sly glance at Maggie,
who did not observe it.

'• That may be, still it appears tome neither
prudent nor proper for two young ladies to
drive three or four miles at nine o'clock at
night, with no attendant except a servant,"
said Marian, decidedly a- before.

"My dear madam, what an ideal Why.
Thomas has been in our family for ages, and
is really a gentleman!" Marie stopped to
laugh, perhaps at Mrs. Ainslie'S prudery.

" Give yoursell no uneasiness on that score,

110

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Mrs. Ainslie," interposed John, calmly. "If
Miss Maggie decides to go, I shall request
Miss Dupont to give me a seat, also, tu her
mother's door."

"Oh, I could not think of that!" Marie
commenced, with a startled look. Then, as
if another and a very amusing thought had
struck her. she broke into a peal of laughter.
"I beg your pardon I" she said, when she
could control her mirth — "but it did seem
such a preposterous plan ! However, if you
iusist upon straining your gallantry so far, I
will not forbid it, although it is a pity you
should be put to so much trouble. Now,
Maggie, make haste, dear I We can thank
Mr. Cleveland on the way home, and we must
not keep him out late."

"How will you get back?" asked Maggie of
him, and still hesitating.

" There is a train up at half-past ten, one
down at eleven. lean catch one or the other,"
he answered.

"Come back by all means!" said Mr. Ains-
lie. " We shall sit up for you."

Maggie ran for her wrappings, and John,
stepping into the hall, resumed coat, hat, and
boots, with, very diverse feelings from those
with which he had laid them off.

Mr. Ainslie handed Miss Dupont down the
steps, and this gave Maggie a chance to say
tremblingly, almost tearfully — "I am so sorry
all this has happened, Mr. Cleveland. I wish
you would not go. I do nothing but annoy
you now-a-days."

" Please say no more about it, I much
prefer going," he replied, somewhat coldly.
He could not help being disappointed and
hurt at this unforeseen close of iasfSte.

It was a moonlight night, and the air was
very keen. The coachman walked up and
down the semicircular drive in front of the
portico, stamping his feet and swinging his
arms, to keep himself warm.

" Thomas !" called his mistress.

"Yes, ma'am !"

" Open the carriage-door !"

Maggie had John's arm, and he felt her
start violently as the man spoke — saw her
cast a look in his direction, and then drop
her head, while she trembled all over. But
for her agitation, he would not have thought
of noticing the fellow particularly, but he
scanned him now narrowly. He was muffled
in a great coat, with many capes, and a fur
collar hid the lower part of His face. He stood

holding the open door, in respectful silence,
while the ladies got in and seated themselves.

"Stop a moment! this gentleman will es-
cort us home!" said Marie, arresting his
movement to shut them in.

The man wheeled sharply around, and met
Mr. Cleveland's full, fixed gaze.

"Close the door, sir!" ordered the latter.
"With your permission, Miss Dupont, I will
alter my mind. I see that you do not requirn
any further protection."

His manner hardly astonished Mr. Ainslia
more than did Miss Dupont's silence at this
singular change of purpose. Neither she noi
Maggie uttered a syllable of inquiry or adieu.
The coachman mounted the box, and the
carriage rolled away.

Marian had witnessed the departure from
the hall door.

"I thought you were going with them!"
she said, as her husband and John came up
the steps.

" I did intend it I"

John said no more until they were again in
the library. Then he stood, looking into the
fire, for some moments.

" You saw who that fellow was, did you
not?" he said, abruptly, to Mr. Ainslie.

"No! what fellow?"

"Miss Dupont's pretended coachman was
that young Lorraine!"

" Impossible I" ejaculated Marian.

"You must be mistaken, John," said Will,
seriously.

"I am not! His height, walk, and voice
were enough, if I had not had a distinct view
of his countenance, when he wheeled about,
as Miss Dupont told him that I was going. It
was he, and no one else!"

"I recollect how suddenly he turned, but
attributed it to surprise. This is a Svrange
freak!"

"An unladylike trick!" said Mrs. Ainslie.
indignantly. "And she would have suffered
you to take that cold ride rather than tell the
truth!"

"You remember that she did oppose my
going ; then gave her consent, I imagine, with
the idea that the excellence ol the joke would
be enhanced if Lorraine and myself were both
victims."

" Fancy his having to drive the whole way
without speaking a word, for fear of betraying
himself!" laughed Mr. Ainslie,

"This is no laughing matter, Will," aaiu

1 NOBODY TO BLAME.'

141

his wife. " It [a either a very witless, scbool-

girli.-h plot, beneath the dignity of a woman

tise, or there is something deeper in it

than we can see. Can it be possible that

I ie had any complicity iu it .'"

John was silent. Ho recalled the start that
had awakened his suspicions.

•• [ should be very angry if I believed that
lew i" what company she left the house."
pursued M arian. ''1 have no patience with
such underhand proceedings."

"Come, come, you are taking this too
seriously!" replied her husband. "It was
unquestionably a silly affair; but I do not
perceive the enormity of the transaction. It
was rather poor fun, I should think, yet if
tpont and her beau enjoyed it, why
should we object V

Neither of his auditors was inclined to

dismiss the anbjecl so lightly. Marian dwelt

Upon the disrespect offered to them, and was

d that such means should have been

to obtain possession of Maggie.

"If Miss Dnpont's intention were to hoax
her. tl - cannot but be very embar-

rassing to the poor child. Think of her sur-
prise when the supposed servant speaks to
1 should be vexed enough to get out
a;i I walk hack home by myself?"

"Maggie is not so touchy!" returned Mr.
Ainslie. " And it is to be presume.! that she
is well enough acquainted with Miss Marie's
ways not to be frightened to death at the
ment. Another ci^rar, John! And,
Marian, we will have a bowl of punch to con-
sole us for the loss of our fireside fairy."

John was not consoled, however well he
succeeded in preserving the outside show of
equanimity. He was very angry with Miss
Bupont, and more so with her puppy of a
lover, while with regard to Maggie, he felt a
degree of alarm, entirely uncalled for by the
Seeming facts in the case. The thought of
deceit in connection with her conduct was
utterly incompatible with what he knew of
lvr pure and artless nature. Her surprise at
Marie's entrance and proposition was assu-
redly not simulated, and granting that she
e through Lorrain's disguise at the
moment of departure, considerations for her
friend's feelings would have restrained her
from exposing him, then and there. Nor was
her silence, when he announced his change of
intention, to be set down to aught save the
same unselfish dread of annoying Marie, and
vol. lxviii. — 12

the confusion which a young, ingenuous girl
would naturally feel in such a position. He
hoped, and said as much, that Mrs. Ainslie
would not chile her Bister for the folly of her
ate, but he hoped as fervently, that
which he did not say — viz: that she wonl I
not rest until she unravelled the mystery
which to his apprehension hung around
Maggie's intimacy with this gay, and, as he
feared, unscrupulous couple of lovers. H i re
they levels .' What if Marie's intense love of
scheming, and the straining after dramatic
effect, which entered so largely into her
character and actions, were leading her docile
unsophisticated companion into more serious
complications than such merry plots as that
of this evening I

His heart stood still at the thought. His
dov. — his own — his undented, by even a
dream of evil — at the mercy of a bold, de-
signing woman, who made use of the ardent
love she had inspired in that guileless hosom
for the furtherance of her plans, whatever they
might be! He, too, would have a talk with
Maggie, and a decisive one. Where else could
she find such protection as in the acknowledged
devotion of a true and honest heart I
(To be continued.)

Delicacy. — Above every other feature which
adorns the female character, delicacy stands
foremost within the province of good taste.
Not that delicacy which is perpetually in quest
of something to he ashamed of, which makes
a merit of a blush, and simpers at the false
construction its own ingenuity has put upon
an innocent remark ; this spurious kind of
delicacy is as far removed from good taste as
from good feeling and good sense ; but that
high-minded delicacy which maintains its
pure and undeviating walk alike amongst wo-
men, as in the society of men ; which shrinks
from no necessary duty, .and can speak when
required, with seriousness and kindness, of
things at which it would be ashamed indeed
to smile or blush. This is the delicacy which
forms so important a part of good taste that
where it does not exist as a natural instinct,
it is taught as the first principle of good man-
ners, and considered as the universal passport
to good society.

— Pr/RSFF. what you know to he attainable,
make truth your object, and your studies will
make you a wise man.

142

godey's lady's book and magazine.

THE CASKET OF TEMPERANCE.

BY WILLIE E. PABOR.

(Pearl the Second.)
A PICTUKE.

Te^e fire burnt low on the dark hearthstone,

And the wind without, with sorrowful tone,

Went by with au added sigh and moan ;

For close by the ashes a woman's form

Stooped low, as in fear of wind and storm,

lu a vain attempt to be wake and warm ;

And soughing and sighing, the wind went by,

And the rain came down from the storm-swept sky,

And the thunder drowned the woman's cry.

Up from her sorrowing, desolate soul

The words of her terrible agony roll

In a vain appeal for pity and dole ;

For here, in the prime of woman's life,

Buttered and scarred by worldly strife,

She sits, the drunkai'd's desolate wife.

Time was when her years were young and few,

When her heart was light, her hopes were new,

And her thoughts were of the good and true ;

When sunshine lay round the maiden's feet,

When her lips did songs of youth repeat,

And her life by hope was made complete.

The days, the months, and the years slipped by,

Till the sun of love rose on life's sky,

And shone out the depths of the maiden's eye I

The altar's base and the pastor's grace,

A few brief words in the holy place

Are things of the past she loves to trace ;

With words of cheer for new life begun,

With hand close clasped by the chosen one,

She walked as the most of us have done.

The fields were full of the bloom of May !

And crowned with tho pearls of summer's day

Her heart was light as a child's at play.

Eat where is the moon without its night?

And where is there bloom without a blight?

And why does sorrow succeed delight?

Questions are these of such solemn weight

That we ask them early, ask them late,

As the ancients did at the shrine of fate !

But dumb are the lips of the oracle;

And of those who stumble and who fall,

How many go down beyond recall !

As the years went by, the woman's life,

From the hour she found herself a wife,

Was full of sorrow and full of strife.

Fur he who had sworn to cherish her

Was of mocking wine a worshipper ;

And his fate her love could not defer.

Far down in the path of rectitude

Tie went, and the friendliness that would

Have kept him from ruin was withstood ;

Bveper and deeper he sank in shame,

Till he drank away his manhood's name,

And lost in the cup life's nobler aim:

Kay, more ; for he squandered heart and sonl,

And drowned all hope in the flowing bowl

Till he reached the common drunkard's goal.

The enrse of home, the fool of the street,
He went about with staggering feet
Till the wreck of his life was made complete-
Complete as many a wreck that lies
On rocks of error, beneath the skies
Of a self-chosen sacrifice.

But the curse fell not alone on him !

From the hour he touched the wine cup's brim

Eyes other than his grew sad and dim.

The light went out of beautiful eyes

As the stars go down in nature's skies,

That, in setting, never more shall rise.

The bloom of the rose upon her face

Faded away, as her great disgrace

Followed her footsteps from place to place.

And her heart, so light in other years,

Grew hoary with doubts, with pains, with tears.

And her pillow wet with midnight tears.

But of what avail tho picture trace

Of a woman crowned with a disgrace

That writes its story upon her face,

Till here, in the prime of woman's life,

Battered and scarred by worldly strife.

She sits, the drunkard's desolate wife?

Deep under the sod two children sleep ;

And low at her feet two others keep

A vigil of hunger while they weep. ,

And she, in her sorrow and her shame,

In all the blight of her woman's fame

Sees fashioned in the flickering flame

A picture of all that might have been !

Of the heights she early thought to win

Before the spoiler had entered in.

In the picture was a hearthstone bright,

By reason of love's undying light,

And all things beautiful to the sight.

Her husband's tones were so soft and dear,

The baby's prattle so sweet to hear,

Her friends so many, with words of cheer,

While affection's circle reached so far,

That, under contentment's genial star,

Nothing the joys of their life could mar.

But now, alas, for the hopes that bloom

Beneath the spell of the drunkard's doom,

With all its agony, pain, and gloom I

And this is all ! Let the lips be mute

That would this shame to her hands impute ;

For, sowing no seed, she reaps the fruit

Of all the sorrow and all the shame

That gather around the drunkard's famo

With its blight for all who bear his name.

So the fire burns low on the dark hearthstone,

And the wind without with sorrowful tone

Goes by with an added sigh and moan ;

And close by the ashes this woman's form

Stoops low as in fear of wind and storm,

In her vain attempt to be wake and warm.

And ever and ever the circles sweep

Around the rum whirlpool, dark and deep,

Where sorrow and shame their revel keep,

And into the vortex daily flow

The hearts that beat and the hopes that glow,

And all that 'd loving and loved below.

ST. VALENTINE'S DAY.

B T 8 . A II K 1 B FBOST.

It was a clear, sunny morning tins fonr-
t.N ■nth of February about which I write, ami
the postman of Longwood looked for a busy
day, for Longwood was a cosy, old-fashioned
town where Lovers still clung to time-honored
custom-, and Valentines had not become mis-
erable daubs or vilo caricatures. Many a
tale of love was reserved for the yearly time
when the silent adorer might pour forth his
hopes and fears on paper, or by some well
chosen gift Win lii.s way to the heart he
coveted. Many a rude rhyme, with limping
feet and well-worn similes, was treasured as
the studied task of a loyal heart, and made
bright eyes moisten or pure hearts throb
Milton's peer might have sued in vain.

The morning sun was not very high, when
Lossing, one of the acknowledged
belles of the little town, sat combing out tho
rippling waves of her dark hair, and building
her air-castles. It was a double holiday for
the pretty girl, her birthday and St. Valen-
tine's day, and Maggie knew that on this
eighteenth birthday there was not likely to be
any lack of the tributes laid yearly at her
feet. She knew where two for her wee
r were securely hidden, and
she was wondering what Lizzie and Hattie,
Willie and Laura would receive from the
BOStman, and whether her mysterious lover

who tor live years had remembered her would

he forthcoming on this her eighteenth birth-
day. She was still dressing when her two
elder - ht, pretty girls of nineteen

and twenty, came in.

•■ Now, Mag," said Lizzie, " I would not for
the world he suspected of hinting ; but there
is a collar at K.'s that is the object of my
profound admiration, and Hattie lias confided
to me that she thinks a head-dress of moss
buds would suit her new tissue dress to a
charm."

'• Perhaps it won't come, "suggested Maggie.

"Perhaps it will!" said Hattie. '-CI, it is
too delightfully mysterious. Do yon know,
Maggie, I am furiously jealous, and should be
wor-e if you were not so generous?"

"It seems so funny," chimed in Lizzie,

"and if papa was not so willing for you to
accept it, and mamma so smiling, I should
doubt its propriety."

"The breakfast bell, and I am just ready.
Come, girls ;" and oil' Maggie darted to answer
the summons.

Speculations were plenty as to the number
of valentines expected and the senders thereof,
but many allusions were made to Maggie's
certainly coming, and various hints were
thrown out about wants and desires. At last
the double rap at the front door gave the
signal, and as the sound rang through tho
hall Dr. Losing's eldest son, Albert, came
down the stairs to breakfast. Every one of
the children, except the wee baby, was in the
hall : Lizzie and Hattie hidden by the door,
Laura beside Hetty, and Willie peeping behind
her skirts. Maggie was kneeling to draw
from under the stair-mat the envelopes ad-
dressed to Louis and wee Amy, while even
John, the doctor's errand-boy, made the boots
an excuse to appear on the scene. The
doctor looked up from his paper with an air
of interest, and mamma left her second cup
vnitasted till the important letters were de-
livered.

" One for Lizzie and one for Maggie, that 's
all by the first post," said Hattie, coming in,
followed by all the others. "Yours always
comes early, Maggie; there it is."

Maggie broke the seal. For four years
before a crisp bank note for $500 had fallen
from the envelope, hut this year there WftB,
with the usual offering, a letter, and inside of
that a smaller envelope addressed to Dr.
Lossing.

"A proposal, and here a note to ask papa's
consent," cried Lizzie. "Too bad, and you
younger than Hattie or I !"

But, looking at the face that was bent over
the sheet, she paused, to ask in a quieter tone ;

"What is it, Maggie dear!" And Dr.
Lossing, with a glance at his wife, echoed the
question.

"Read it, and tell me what he means,"
said the yonng girl, handing the doctor the
letter, which he read carefully.

143

144

GODEY S LADY'S BOOE AND MAGAZINE.

'• Come into the library with me, dear, and
I will tell you. No, none of you," he added,
waving his hand to the others who crowded
round him; "I must see Maggie alone."

The deep gravity of his manner, the myste-
rious letter, filled Maggie with a vague dread,
and she trembled violently as she followed
him. Even his kind arm around her, his
loving kiss on her face could not quiet her
agitation, while his face was so grave and his
voice so sad.

"I cannot tell you why this letter was
written," said Dr. Lossing, gently, as he
placed her in a comfortable chair, :l until I
open my own, and this he has requested me
not to do yet. Read his letter to you again,
Maggie."

With a trembling voice the young girl read :

My own pear Maggie : At last, after eighteen
years of cruel separation, I am hoping to see
the dear face whose baby features, pictured
by niy loving heart, have been the comfort of
my lonely exile. I am trembling with joy at
the thought that the eyes now scanning these
lines will rest lovingly on my face, and the
clear voice I have heard in dreams will fall in
music of affection upon my waking ears. I
am coming home, shall be with you on the
day when you receive this, to clasp you in my
arms, never again to let you go from me. Go
to Dr. Lossing, and ask him to tell you the
story of my life, then read what I inclose to
him, and oh, my darling, my treasure, open
your heart to the weary wanderer who looks
to you as his haven of love, of joy, after years
of bitter exile. Listen to my story, love me,
and welcome me. Herbert Arundel.

"Now, dear father, tell me what all this
means."

" It means, Maggie, that you are to leave ;
but no, I will tell you the story as he requests.
Years ago, when these gray hairs were brown,
and this peaceful home a dream of a far off
future, Herbert Arundel and I were old college
friends. I would not paiu you by the recital
of our life, but it is necessary to make you
Understand what follows. We were what
indulgent parents call 'wild boys,' what
sterner truth-tellers call ' dissipated young
men.' Young, and with ample means at our
command, we ran the career that borders
closely on vice and crime. We were as criminal
in our intoxication when it came from cham-
pagne suppers that cost us half our quarter's
allowance, as the lowest drunkard who reels
from the miserable tavern we despised. For
three years we continued this miserable course
of folly, keeping our positions partly by family

influence and partly by exerting our powers
of intellect at intervals to redeem past idleness
or misspent time. The fourth year we really
devoted to study, and passed creditably
through the necessary examinations, but after
leaving college old habits resumed their sway.
Plunging recklessly into the amusements of
the large city where we lived, we became
involved in debt, and made our lives one lone
course of fashionable extravagance and dissi-
pation. To dress with taste, to be acknowledged
leaders in fashion, to drive the fastest horses,
give the best suppers, and flirt with the
gayest belles, seemed the height of our mis-
erable ambition, till we both became conscious
of loving truly and fervently. The ladies whose
fair faces became the light to show us the
wicked folly of our lives were good, pure
women, one the daughter of a leading phy-
sician, the other the orphan niece of a wealthy
banker.

At first, a false shame kept us both silent,
but in some moment of better feeling we
mutually promised to amend our lives, and
try by steadiness and rectitude to become
worthy of the love we coveted. Frankly and
without one reservation I laid my case before
Dr. Lee, the father of my Amy, and he held
out to me the helping hand I sought. .Making
my reward depend utterly upon my own
merit, he admitted me among his students,
and allowed me to visit in Ids family, where
for five years my present wife waited for me to
prove my love.

Herbert was not so fortunate. His ad-
dresses were treated with scorn, but he won
the lady to consent to a clandestine corre-
spondence. Meantime, he obtained the situa-
tion of clerk in the bank over which her nncie
exercised some control as a director. With a
resolute determination to win the esteem he
had perilled by his former career he kept his
head clear and his hand busy with his new
duties, striving earnestly to overcome the evil
desires that still clung to him. We still met
frequently, and as the folly and vice of the
past became more vividly real to our minds,
we sought with penitent and earnest hearts
the Divine aid to persevere in the path of
rectitude. Three years after Herbert had
entered the bank, it was discovered that ex-
tensive frauds were being perpetrated, and
large sums stolen from the institution. With
bitter malice, Mr. Wallace, the uncle of the
woman whose love was given to Herbert,

ST. YALEXTIXeVs DAT.

145

1 tli is crime upon him. He was fol-
lowed, and watched, and among his private
papers were found letters and part of the
stolen money, the letters containing proof that

he hail spent larger sum? than his salary would
hirer. He was imprisoned, tried, fonnd guilty,
and sentenced to a long term of imprisonment.

Two weeks after his trial, the prisoner escaped,
and no trace was ever disi overed of him, but
of Mr. Wallace was thwarted, for
i Bed from home on the night when
the prisoner escaped. They were married in
New York, and sailed for California the next
day.

The doubt of Herbert's perfect innocence of
the charges brought against him never crossed
my mind, never for one instant dimmed Mar-
garet's faith in him, and she accompanied him
,'.s ob.eerfo.lb/ on liis flight as if friends and
relatives had sanctioned her marriage with
the noblest of the land. Under a feigned
name Herbert again tried to win a position,
and aided by Margaret's possession of a large

sum of mi y he started in business in San

Francisco.

Five years later, when my own marriage
In 1 been blessed by two crowing babies
Albert and Lizzie, and worldly prosperity
t.i.1 -lading upon me, I again saw Margaret
Arundel. Herbert had lost everything by a
pestruotive lire, and this devoted wife had
come home alone to beg for aid from her
on le. and to obtain from government her

id's pardon.

It was a will evening in February when she

came tn my office, weary and faint, to implore
alp my old friend. She had seen lor
unele, and been cruelly taunted as a felon's
wife, and refused the most trilling aid, and as
the last words of her pitiful story left her lips
she fainted in my arms. That same night, or
rather the next, eighteen years ago at two
this morning, you were born, and two
hoars later your mother died.

I wrote to your father, inclosing such pecu-
niary aid as was within my reach, and prom-
ising to flU a father's place to his child till he
could claim her. Maggie, dear, you can best
judge if I have kept my word.''

But Maggie's voice, broken by sobs, had no

ptDt 1. only her stinging amis round his i fe,

her face lifted to his told how truly she felt
that he had indeed fulfilled his trust.

"Fur two years I heard nothing from my
old friend; hut then he wrote. lie had

obtained a foothold among the merchants, and
was winning his way to affluence, but ho
implored me to keep his child, never to let
tin- taint of the felon's name rest on her life.
From that time he lias sent me yearly more
than sufficient for your support, still imploring
me to make no difference between you and my
own children. Wishing, however, that yen
Should enjoy what was truly your own, I pro-
posed to him to inclose a portion of your
income to yourself, and have contrived to
drop it in the post-office so that you receive it
on St. Valentine's day. Your own generosity
has still kept the balance even, for I am sure
that but a small portion remains after your
gifts to all have been selected.

And now, my dear child, before we open
this envelope, let me say hi you that no father's
love was ever stronger than mine for you.
Your gentleness, frank, loving heart, your
eluli me and intelligence have been tome as
great a joy as the gifts of my own children.
and the separation will be as painful as if
Lizzie or Hattie were about to be taken from
me."

Quieting her own emotion, Maggie watched
the doctor as he broke the seal of his letter.
(Inly a newspaper scrap fell from it, but upon
this was printed : —

"The murderer of L J to-day in

open eourt confessed his crime, pleading the
heat of passion as his excuse. Following the
long confession which we give in anothi r
column, the prisoner made another oi
most as important. Twenty-three years ago
he was clerk in a large banking-house in

B , and in love with tin niece of one of

the directors, Lemuel Wallace. Being favored
by this gentleman, now deceased, he was anx-
ious to be rid of a rival, and with the aid and
consent of Mr. W. contrived to fix the crime
of the celebrated hank robbery of that year
upon him. secreting in his desk forged letters
and some of the missing money, and swearing
to arts and winds of the accused which would
make his guilt appear certain, but of oommit-
uttering which lie was perfectly inno-
cent. He begged that, as some atonement for
the crime which he has just confessed, Her-
bert Arundel's name may be cleared before all
tin* world, as he Was innocent of the crime
laid to his charge. During this recital one of
the jurymen, Henry Atherton, a merchant
whose name is one of our most honored among
merchants, was observed to he violently agi-
tated, and as the prisoner concluded, he rose
from his seat and Si 1 erect, facing him.

•• ■ Look at me. John Davis !' he cried.

" ' John Davis ! that is my own name,' said
the prisoner trembling, hut obeying the re-
quest.

146

godey's lady's book and magazine.

"'Look at me,' repeated Mr. Atherton,
' and say if I am not the Herbert Arundel
whose good name you swore away twenty-
three years ago.'

"The prisoner gave him a long searching
gaze, and then trying in vain to speak he
fainted on the floor.

"Mr. Atherton, or Arundel, has been be-
sieged by congratulating visitors, but it is
rumored that as soon as he can arrange his
business, and collect his vast wealth, he will
return to B ."

It was in vain that Maggie tried to speak in
answer to the doctor's kind words of encou-
ragement and congratulation. The old gen-
tleman, himself elated by this good news of
his friend, was almost vexed at the white face
and quivering lip the young girl turned to
him.

"Maggie, think of it I After twenty-three
years of lonely exile, he is coming home a
free, cleared man, to establish his innocence
and claim his child. My poor child ! all this
agitation has been too much for you. Shall I
leave you alone for an hour or two while I tell
the others?"

"Yes, yes, let me think 1 It is all so
strange to me."

Strange indeed! — to part from all these
dear ones, whom she had always believed to
Ise her own relatives, and go away with a
stranger who was really her father! With
yearning, pitying love she longed for him, to
repay the generous love that had starved
itself so long to give her a happy home, and
yet she shrank from this bitter parting before
her. Lizzie, Hattie, and the children had
never seemed so dear, and Albert — how could
fhe leave Albert ? From the time when he
had shared his marbles with her, and refrained
from breaking her doll, she had always been
his pet sister. Lizzie and Hattie were together
constantly, and Albert became very fond of
the baby whose brightest smile was for him,
of the child whose first word was his name, of
the young girl who turned to him ever for
protection and companionship. Belle as she
had been, she preferred brother Albert for an
escort to any of the adorers who begged the
office, and while the two older girls were al-
ways provided with "beaux." Maggie always
kept the place for Albert ? And he was not
her brother ! she had no claim upon that ten-
der love, so precious to her ! The strange
father would carry her away from home, sis-
ters, father, mother, and brothers. Worn out
with conflicting emotions, the young girl car-

ried her sorrow to the Source from whence
she had always looked for support, and kneel-
ing down by the doctor's chair she prayed
fervently for counsel in her new duties,
strength to bear its trials, gratitude for its
blessings ; prayed for the dear unknown
father, for the tenderly loved home circle she
must leave, and as the whispered words fell
from her lips, she felt the painful agitation
quieted, and the troubled throbbing of her
heart growing calm again.

She had risen, and was standing by the
window waiting the return of the doctor, when
the door opened, and a tall, handsome man,
with iron gray hair, and a kindly look in his
dark eyes, came forward. It scarcely needed
his open arms and tender call of "Margaret,
my child!" for Maggie to know her father,
and the tender clasp of his arms, the loving
words he poured out upon her, told her that
he would keep his word, " never again to left
her go from him."

The whole morning passed, and the long
separated father and child held uninterrupted
converse, the one seeming too happy only to
scan again and again the features of his
daughter, to hear the music of her voice, to
take into his heart the timid but warm assur-
ances of her sympathy and comfort; while
she, already opening her heart to take in the
patient noble nature that was leaning so trust-
ingly on her love, was happy too, as a woman
always is when she stands as comforter.

At last the dear mother of her childhood
came to break Maggie's long morning of loving
intercourse with her father, and take her hack
to the home circle.

For some weeks, Mr. Arundel was content
to stay at Longwood, and wean his darling
gradually from the dear ties of her life, but
the parting came at last, and Maggie left her
old home to preside over her father's large
house in B .

The petted darling of the wealthy man,
whose sole object in life was her happiness,
she had every comfort, every luxury at her
command ; but money could not fill the great
house with the music of home voices, could
not lessen the painful home sickness of the
loving little heart.

Her father never dreamed of this pain. For
him her face wore its gayest smiles, her voice
rang out its music in tenderest welcome, and
while he was near her the hours flew by in
musie, reading, and familiar conversation.

ST. VALENTINE'S DAT.

147

She loved him truly, but she was learning in
another lesson of love, learning to
recall a voice that had always been tcn.l.r.-t
for her, a brother who was fa=t becoming rc-
ired and loved with a stronger affection
than even a sister gives. So, with threads of
joy aud pain interwoven, a year glided by.

"Maggie dear," said her father, as he sat
■laying with his coffee cup, " next Wednesday
week is your birthday, and we are to have a
grand party. Everybody is to come, aud Miss
Arundel is to enter society. Now I want you
to n rite to Longwood and invite them all here,
as many as can come. The doctor's family
must come for a long visit, and you must ask
all your old friends for the party. It is only
four hours' ride from here, and they can stay
all night. I may have been wrong in not
having them here before, but I was jealous of
the old affections. You have not been u«-
tappy> Maggie f"

" Not for a moment ! I have missed them
all, dear father, but I have never doubted
your love, never wished to change my posi-
tion. Yet if they could come sometimes for a
visit" —

" As often as you will. Have one or the
other always with you, dear, it -it will make
the hours when 1 am away less tedious.''

St. Valentine's day found the doctor, his
wife, Lizzie, and Hattie, Maggie's guests, while
Albert was to come in the evening. Every
it ion for the great party was completed,
and Mrs. Lossing bustled about full of the
importance of mistress for the nonce, and
chaperon for her dear adopted child, Maggie.

Late in the afternoon Maggie received the
only Valentine offered her that day. She
was in her room, preparing for the evening,
when the white envelope was handed her, and
she let it lie unopened while she finished
ig. As she broke the seal, the mirror
before which she stood threw back her figure,
in its glossy white silk, its fleecy lace folds,
and the pure pearl ornaments, her father's
gift. The rich dark hair, braided low on the
Beck, contrasted well with the pearl sprays
there resting, and the beautiful face bore the
test of full dress bravely. She looked very
lovely, and as she read the words before her,
the deep flush that mounted to her check was
not unbecoming.

Inclosed in folds of soft paper, the letter
contained a ring — a circlet of pearls, with one
bn'ut diamond in the centre. She look all

in her hand, and softly went down stairs to
her father's library. He was alone then-, and
greeted bis darling with fond words and proud
praises, but she put in his hand the letter and
the ring.

He sighed as he read, but the blushing face
before him gave added force to every word of
this petition : —

"Maggie, Maggie, I cannot live apart from
you. The brother's lore, for so many years
part of my very being, was nothing to tie-
earnest devotion I lay now at your feet. I
love you fondly, truly,- as a man loves but
once, and 1 implore you give me one word of
hope that you will return my love. If you
can give me the precious boon I crave, let me
see the inclosed ring on your finger to-night,
n of betrothal to one who will make
your happiness the hope and study of his
life. Albert."

Studying Maggie's face earnestly, the young
girl's father read there her answer to the
petition.

•• II.' must come here, Maggie ; I may take
a son, but I cannot lose my daughter."

She clung to him, whispering: "Nothing
shall part us, father!"

Long, long he held her closely in his arms,
then with a fervent kiss and a whispered bless-
in,' her father put Albert's ring upon her
finger.

A FEW THOUGHTS ON CHANGES.

BIJ. B.

"One man in his time plays many part- "
and as I have begun with a quotation from
Shakspeare (which brings before me the forest
of Ardennes, and pale, melancholy Jacques,

delivering his world-famous api h to the

banished duke and his companions), I cannot
help remarking what changes have taken
place in the theatrical world since the time of
that gro.it dramatist ; and how strange it
Seems that we now laugh at the burl,
versions of those plays which have been re-
vered and wept over for so many generations.

But that is merely a digression, and this
article is to be anything but theatrical.

We, indeed, play so many parts in our
lives, that every year — nay, every month —
almost every day — sees some change in our
toe : and looking back to what we were
some years ago, we can sometimes S<
believe that the person who now lives i. the
same who was then in existence. Frcu:

148

godey's lady's book and magazine.

hood (bright and golden) to age (how often
cold and lonely) — from the cradle to the grave,
what changes we pass through ! How fast the
days come one after an other, making us
men and women before we are- aware of it,
and then dragging us quickly down into old
age, till we become suddenly aware that our
lives must be near an end, and think how
wasted our days have been, and what differ-
ent things we would do if we could ouly live
th>-iii over again.

It is strange that we are seldom contented
with the period of life we are in, but are al-
ways wishing ourselves younger or older. The
child, getting weary of his playthings, and
growing above his dependent position, thinks
of the things he will do, and the different life
he will lead when he becomes a man ; and the
man, worn out with the cares of the world,
and disappointed at the non-realization of the
brilliant day-dreams he dreamed in his youth,
imagines childhood to be such a happy, inno-
cent time, and would give anything to be a
boy again. But let me say that the childhood
imagined by those who can only partly recol-
lect their own is a very different thing from
the childhood of reality ; and children them-
selves have very different ideas, and think
very different things from what old age im-
agines. The case stands thus : Childhood,
knowing nothing of the future, imagines it to
be the "golden age ;" and mankind, having
failed to find perfect happiness, imagines that
it is only attained in childhood.

Some people take the changes of life very
philosophically, and, living according to their
age, are perfectly happy and contented. I
sa y almost ; for I do not think it was ordained
that any one should be wholly happy ; such
a state of existence would only make us love
this world too much, and think very little
about any other. But to a great many the
changes come so quickly that they are unable
to keep up with them, and so fall considcrably
behind the times, which, no doubt, accounts
for many of the peculiarities we notice in our
fellow-creatures. There are people who pass
their years in a state of childhood, and, though
living to a great age, have no idea of the
duties and vocations belonging to an advanced
period of life ; and there are others who seem
t" have never been young at all, but take upon
themselves the habits and manners of age
long before they have reached such a period,
and go down to the grave without having ever

felt the dreamy longings of youth, or known
any of its dear, simple pleasures.

I have heard and read of people who, at
certain parts of their life, become stationary ;
and I believe that such a case may often hap-
pen. For there may have been days when we
were very happy, and certain dreams we had
long dreamed were on the point of being re-
alized. Those days may have passed away ;
the people who helped to make them happy
are either dead or somehow lost to us ; the
old associations are all broken ; and the very
place itself may have changed ; but we, to
whom those days were the happiest we had
ever known, can never forget them, and their
reminiscences will be forever making the
present seem dreary, and the future without
hope ; so that, though long years have |
over us, we will never change, but until death
have the same thoughts and fancies we had
in the old long ago. Truthfully speaking, I
think the episode of Miss Ilavisham, in Charles
Dickens' "Great Expectations," about as true
a one as ever was written.

It is no doubt the best way to take life as it
comes — to be playful and thoughtless in child-
hood, and when grown up to obtain a certain
position in the world — get married, and " live
happy ever afterwards." But how few of us
can do so ! Memory is too strong ; and the old
associations of the past will rise up before us,
making us wish to live with the same people,
and do the same things as we did in days gone
forever. However matter-of-fact our lives
may be, the old ghosts of the past will rise
up before us, and plunge us into a sort of
dreaming discontent. It may be our duty
not to give way to such wild, unreasonable
longings, but we should not be too hard upon
the ghosts ; for, seen sensibly, such visions
often leave pure, good thoughts behind them
■ — thoughts that make us feel better and
stronger, and more willing to "do our duty
in that state of life unto which it shall please
God to call us."

Not all Desolate. — Moss will grow upon
gravestones ; the ivy will cling to the mould-
ering pile; the mistletoe spring from the
dying branch ; and, God be praised, something
green, something fair to the sight, and grate-
ful to the heart, will yet twine around and
grow out of the seams and cracks of the deso-
late temple of the human heart.

THE STORY OF "WEALTHY LEIGHTON.

BV Vllt^l*IA F. 1 OW.VfcKSH.

CHAPTER I.
"That is the lady — the one in the chip hat
with blue and white trimmings. Miss Wealthy
Leigh ton."

There were half a dozen of us, probably,
going out of the picture-gallery together at
that moment, full of light, foolish talk and
laughter, but it so happened that I caught
the sentence which completed itself with my
naine.

"Poor child ! poor child !" answered another
a little lowered now, adeep, manly voice,
emphasized with pity that was almost pain.

I turned involuntarily, and looked at the
speaker. We were close to the door, and I
had only time for a glance, but it was one that
photographed the face and figure in my mem-
ory. A young man, at least a good many
years behind his prime, with a good face — the
faccof a gentleman, intelligent, kindly, strong;
a man whom, had I been lost in a crowd, or
in anywise bewildered among strangers, I
slu'uM instinctively have selected for help or
counsel ; a figure somewhat tall, well propor-
tioned, and seeming to possess a certain dig-
nity in delicate harmony with the face of its
owner.

" Why do you call me poor child ?" I am
certain that my face must have asked this
question, in as downright a fashion as my lips
wanted to, as I turned it toward the gentleman
bewildered, amazed. He read the inquiry
there, and understood that I had overheard his
remark. I had time to see this before the
door closed betwixt us.

We were going down to Stewart's that
morning, for Stewart's was down town at that
time, but I remember that the singular words
of the strange gentleman haunted and trou-
bled me occasionally, that they came between
me and the marvellous frostings of Honiton
and Valenciennes, or dashing arrays of brocade,
or gorgeous piles of India fabrics, into which
tropical suns seemed to have burned their
gorgeous hues, for these things variously en-
gaged our attention for the next three or four
hours.

I wonder if I, the graver, sadder, and yet
by so much wiser woman, who sit writing

here, was ever the gay, thoughtless, butterfly
thing, sporting in the sunshine of piOSj

lOial admiration, and all the follies that
the daughters of men too often delight in,
that I was that morning ! So, looking across
the bridge of years, the young creature that I
Bee standing there, with her life just blossom-
ing into womanhood, and her future opening
in radiant and dashing perspective before her
vision, seems to mc another, and not I, sitting
here writing — not /.

At this time I was in my twentieth summer.
I had been orphaned of my father and mother
in my childhood, and ever since had resided
with my only and elder sister. We were not
alike — sister Elvira and I. She was a tall,
dark, magnificent woman, sixteen years my
senior. She had married, a year hefore my
mother's death, a gentleman a score of years
older than herself, a president of a bank, a
shrewd, practical business man, one who had
built up his own fortunes, and prided himself
on it, and on his splendid home, his handsome
horses, his elegant wife, his position in the
world, and on a great many other things
besides. My father had been a plain, country
merchant. Failing in business during the
latter part of his life, he came to the city to
retrieve his fortunes, which he never did, for
death took charge of all that.

My sister did not often allude to her early
life, and I was too young to remember much
of it. hut I knew that our parents, although
highly respectable, and leaving an unblemi-h-
ed name to their children, were comparatively
plain, unpretending people.

But niy sister had the ambition and pride of
a princess. I must be loyal to the truth here.
Elvira's ambition was of the worldly kind, for
wealth, position, display. She lived for the
world, for its admiration, its wonder, its envy.
She was a thoroughly conventional woman,
with little sentiment, little profundity of
character, but she had great self-possession,
great practical sagacity, and executive forces,
and SQch a character will always be a strong
power in her own household, and will be felt
more or less in the society in which she cir-
culates.

149

150

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

My sister Elvira was a perfect manager.
She did the honors of her splendid home with
marvellous grace and tact. Her dinner par-
ties and her receptions were eclipsed hy
none, and in the rustle of her rich silks, the
carriage of her handsome figure, the very poise
of1 her haughty head, one who thoroughly
understood her might have divined that she
always had a consciousness that she was the
lady wife of the rich president of the hank,
Gerald Matthews. So, under her roof, my life
came up from child into girl and womanhood.
I do not know whether Elvira was fond of me.
Demonstrative affection was not in her way,
hut in a certain fashion she was always kind.
She surrounded me with every luxury, and
sought to mould me after her own type, to
make of me the same fashionable, ambitious,
worldly woman she was herself.

She and her husband got on admirably
together. For me — she was my sister, and I
loved her better than anything on earth, and
yet I think there was always one part of my
nature that was in secret revolt against her.
She exercised a fine tyranny over my life, one
that she never put into words, however, and
perhaps on her part was totally unconscious
of. Still, I seldom dared be just myself in her
presence, that is, I had an instinctive aversion
to confiding to her whatsoever was deepest
and most sacred in my thoughts or feelings.
I shrank from the gaze of those cold, calm,
yet lustrous eyes. I dreaded the half scornful,
half pitying, " My dear, fine sentiments and
girlish fancies are very pretty things, but
they never help one along in this world. " Poor
Elvira ! she thought that she had laid the
foundations of her house strong and deep,
but the winds and the rains prevailed against
it!

The time at which my story opens was a
few months previous to my marriage. My
betrothal was another result of my sister's
managing genius, for so far as I was concerned
she certainly had the thing totally in her own
hands, and greatly did she felicitate herself on
Iter success thereat. Not that she had actu-
ally done anything more than turned her all-
powerful influence in favor of the gentleman's
suit. She saw that he was interested in me,
and that I was at that time quite indifferent
to him ; but I had always been accustomed
to make her will my law, and when she expa-
tiated upon the rare good fortune which had
fallen to me, on my lover's prospects and

position, on the splendid future which awaited
my acceptance, I listened, and wondered, and
yielded. There was no higher law than these
governing the splendid house of Gerald Mat-
thews on Fifth Avenue, and it was long before
my instincts formed one.

Algernon Hastings was a descendant of one
of the oldest families in New York, and on his
mother's side from noble Dutch ancestry. He
was the last son of his house, his mother being
a widow, and his elder sisters all married at
the time of our betrothal. The family was
very exclusive, and still maintained its ancient
state and style of living, although so reduced
in numbers.

Algernon was an only son, the youngest and
the idol of his family. He had a handsome
face and figure, was accustomed to the most
polished society from his youth, was a great
favorite with ladies, and had cultivated him-
self in aesthetic directions until these had
become quite the chief interests of his life,
lb; prided himself on his exclusiveness. his
fastidiousness, his knowledge of art and human
nature. "Only to think," said my sister,
"of the honor of being the choice of such a
man ! He has seen the noblest ladies of
Europe, and I don't doubt, when abroad, but
he might have married a title."

Of course there was nothing for me to do
but consent, and feel very much exalted hy
the immense honor which had been done me.
But after all I did not then love this man.
Algernon Hastings. Something in me had
recoiled from him at first. I felt that he was
indolent, self-indulgent, conceited.

That day, after the singular remark which
I had overheard, I went home with a vague,
heavy pain at my heart, which I could not
have put into words, but which inspired me
with a strange longing for counsel, sympathy,
help of some kind. I found my sister at lunch,
and alone, which was quite an unusual cir-
cumstance with her. I sat down before my
cake and wine, without removing my bonnet ;
then involuntarily a sigh, freighted with much
that I could not utter, found its way from my
head to my lips.

"What is the matter, "Wealthy?" asked
my sister, setting down her coffee cup so
sharply that the delicate porcelain rang again.

" What makes you ask, Elvira ?"

" Why that sigh and your face are enough
to suggest the question. What has gone
wrong with you ?"

TIIE STORY OF WEALTHY LEIGHTO>T.

The words must c.>m.' now, even though they
would bo Sanscrit to her wlio hoard them. I
turned suddenly full upon her.

"Elvira, what do you think we are all
living for '"

She looked at me. bewildered, amazed.

'• What do you mean, Wealthy

I see her sitting there now, at the head of
Jier table, the tall, dark, magnificent woman !
l'oor Elvira !

••I mean that it seems to me. just now. a
ll folly, and sham, and vanity, that
we're living for — you, and I, and our set in
general. What does it amount to, this strug-
gling for appearanees, this living for show,
without one real, true, noble aim or purpose
in life? I 'm siek of it ; I 'in disgusted with
it: it doesn't pay in any sense. Folly, and
vanity, and meanness! I turn my eyes on
every side, and these only meet me. Don't
ry of it, sometimes, Bister, and
ask yourself what it all amounts to — where it
will end?"

a moment Elvira did not answer my
bastion. But it seemed to me that a little
twinge of remorse struggled for a moment
with the amazement in her face'. When she
li 1 apeak there was a faint note of sarcasm
^n her turns. " I think you must have been
f.o hear a Methodist parson this morning!"

'■ No, I haven't ; but somehow the question
'las njme to me with dreadful force — What
Be you living for, Wealthy Leighton? What
fight have you to fritter away your life in this

Bast miserable, wasteful fashion? And I

fon't know how to answer it."'
" Yon 'v.- got a little nervous. Take a glass
tf wine," said Elvira, my sister, and she
r hand toward her silver bell.
I stopped her by a gesture.
" No ; don't put me off in that fashion.
Chere is more in this than wine will cure.
Answer me truly, Elvira. If you were to die
, (o-night. would you be quite satisfied about
lives of ours ?"
The question went home. I saw it did ;
,'.own through all the pride, an 1 vanity, and
ocial ambition my question made its way to
he heart and conscience of Elvira Matthews,
he moved uneasily in her cushioned chair.

"Well, no; I don't suppose any of us
rould, precisely ; but what is one to do ?
VTiile we do live, we must keep up our posi-
ion, and the style of living which it demands.
have tried to make you happy, Wealthy'.''

There was something nearer an appeal in
the tones which finished this Bentence than 1
had ever heard in my sister's voice before
It touched me at once

"So you have, Elvira. You have done by
me just as you would by your own child."

She was moved again. My words touched
some slumbering feeling of maternity in her
heart. I believe that she felt for a moment
that, had God granted her a child, she should
have found, in the sweet service and sacrifice-
of motherhood, some deeper, holier joy than
all which her life had brought her, successful
as she regarded it.

There was a little silence betwixt me an 1
my sister ; then the words of the stranger in
the picture-gallery recurred to me. I cannot
tell what fine link of association suggested to
my mind at this moment Algernon Hastings :
or whether I consciously suspected that he
had any connection with the st ranger's remark.

"Elvira," I said, for I was in a mood for
speaking what was in my thoughts, "you are
certain that I am to marry a man who is in
every respect worthy ?"

"Worthy!" exclaimed Mrs. Matthews, all
other feelings lost in astonishment. "Wha'
do you mean, child ? Just think of his family,
of his position, of his fortune. You have
reason to congratulate yourself every hour of
your life for the match you are to make."

" I know, I know, Elvira ; but I don't allude
to those things now. I am speaking of the
man himself — of the man as he-Would be
without money, position, or any of those
extraneous things. Is he a good, strong, true
man, upon whom a woman could lean for
strength, tenderness, help in all the poSBibH
needs and contingencies of her li f. — one in
whose heart and character she can rest i.i
entire confidence ?"

"Of course; that is all understood. Mr.
Hastings is even-thing that is satisfactory.
Only what — what has been putting suoh ro-
mantic notions into your head ? Isn't Alger
non a sufficiently ardent lover ?"

"0 yes ; I've no lack of devotion on hii
part to complain of, only — only" — I pause 1
for something to explain and justify my ques-
tions.

" Only what ?"' Elvira's great piercing eyes
were on my faee.

So I told her of the conversation which I
had overheard betwixt the two gentlemen hi
the picture-gallery that morning, concluding

152

godey's lady's book and magazine.

with — ■'• Why did he call me ' Poor child !' in
that voice, Elvira?"

"I can't tell, I'm sure. Probably he
couldn't, unless, as is most likely to be the
case, he had some sister or friend who was
jealous of your good fortune, and had made
out some story which occasioned his gratuitous
pity. Women, you know, never have any
especially good fortune befall them without
being the subject of the envy and gossip of
the less lucky of their sex. You may depend,
the remark had its origin in some such feel-
ing, if you could only sift it to the bottom."

Of course there was no gainsaying Elvira's
wisdom, and I had to seem satisfied, which
certainly I was not, in my own heart. Before
we had finished our lunch, some calls inter-
rupted us, and terminated our conversation.
Such a one had never before transpired be-
twixt my sister and myself — such a one never
did afterward.

Four months later I was married to Algernon
Hastings. Elvira was in her element. We
had a magnificent wedding. Diamonds and
silver, laces and brocade, with a series of gor-
geous entertainments, all form the dazzling
background of that bridal month, which lies
away off in my memory now, about as real a
thing as my old child visions when I sat
drinking in the marvellous stories of the
Arabian Nights. After the bridal was over,
we went to Europe for a half year.

CHAPTER II.

Five years had passed. They had not left
me as they found me. I had grown older in
some deeper sense than that of time. Not
that there had been any striking outward
change in my life. We lived in the suburbs
of the city, in an elegant villa, which my
brother-in-law owned. Our grounds were not
large, but laid out in exquisite taste by a
foreign landscape artist. We kept our car-
riage, and several servants, and lived luxu-
riously ; for this was a necessity of my hus-
band's nature.

Of course I had not lived these five years
with Algernon Hastings without learning
something of the real character and essence
of the man to whom I had committed the
happiness of my life. Day by day, year by
year, the conviction was forced ou my reluc-
tant soul that a refined selfishness lay at the

foundation of .his character, was the spring of
all his actions, the habit of his life.

This is a terrible verdict for a wife to pro-
nounce on her husband ; but I, Wealthy
Hastings, sit here, telling facts to my paper
which I have never breathed in any human
ear. And as the truth is in me, and I am
obeying its strange impulsion, which has
taken possession of me, to write, so must I
hold nothing back — disguise no truth.

My husband was a fine critic, a courtly
gentleman, with a keen sense of all physical
beanty, because it ministered to his enjoy-
ment ; and enjoyment of a refined aesthetic
character was the one great aim and purpose
of his life. He was indolent, luxurious,
eclectic in all his tastes ; highly social, fond
of operas, parties, clubs, and was a general
favorite in society. At home, if matters went
well, lounging among las books and pictures,
with his rare cigars and his costly wines, he
was usually in a good humor ; but anything
which interfered with his comfort was sure to
produce fretfulness and moroseness on his
part.

He was not often coarse or harsh, but he
was unjust in little matters, and in a small
way a domestic tyrant, and I could not dis-
guise from myself the fact that in any cast*
his own convenience or tastes were indulged
before my comfort or happiness. Still Alger-
non Hastings had a sort of indolent good
nature, and could make himself most agree-
able in his own home, and had too much good
taste ever to fail, at least when in society, in
> those delicate attentions which a man always
owes to a woman — a husband to a wife. Then
he was my husband, the father of my child —
the one little girl God had sent to open its
new, holy fount of love in my heart. And in
all these years that we had dwelt together, a
new wifely tenderness had struggled into life,
and I clung to Algernon Hastings faithfully
and fondly as a wife should to her husband.

My sister was dead. She had taken a severe
cold at Saratoga, and subsequent imprudence
developed a fever which terminated her life
suddenly. She was unconscious during her
last days. I felt her loss keenly. I had now
to act wholly for myself.

One day, Algernon drove out from the city
in great haste. It was a beautiful forenoon
in the early May. The earth was full of tho
laughter of sunshine, the joy of the sprouting
leaves, the opening of blossoms. Hope, 0171

THE STORY OF WEALTHY LEIGHTOX.

153

lit tl«.' daughter, and 1 were out on the veranda
having a in fry romp together. We had been
in the garden a few minutes before, and she

.had plucked a cluster of hyacinths! and it
trailed i perfume along the wind. At

that moment Algernon appeared at the door.

'With my first glance at his white, Btern face,
I knew that some evil had chanced to us.
pope ran toward her father holding out her
purple surf of blossoms in her little pink shell
of a hand. "See, papa, see!" she cried.

lie was usually fund of his beautiful child
iu her bright moods and ways, but now he

(angrily motioned her away. " Wealthy, oome

;into the house," he said, in a stern, deadened

.tone which fairly frightened me.

I went into the little, baek sitting-room,

jwhere the canaries were siuging, and the

;tempered sunshine poured its soft rain up"ii
imson furniture. My husband stoo

jdespt rate glare in his

I (altered.

What is the

r, Algernon i
|! " Do you know I ir from

this hour, Mrs. Hastings.''' he said, hurling

rds at me.
, ' ' A beggar, Algernon ! ' '

" Yes, the house broke down this morning.
brother-in-law has lost every dollar."
, My first thought after the first Bhook was
tfor my sister's husband ; it came up from my
heart to my lips, " Poor Gerald, what will
become of him !"

The words seemed to madden Algernon.
"Youhad much better ask what is to become
of you and your husband and your child," he
■tterly sneered, "for I tell you we are all
As for Gerald Matthews, he deserves
;the fate which has overtaken him: rushing
.into speculations that any sane man must

•reseen would ruin him!"
j And again, out of the pity in my heart, I
jmurinured, "Poor Gerald !''
' "Mrs. Hastings, will you listen to me for
inn.' moment !" with a bitter, desperate taunt
,in his tones. " 1 wish yon to understand that
(the roof over your head, the very table off
which you eat, and the bed on which you lie,
^are no longer your own. We are beggars !
!and I think now you can find some better
(subject for lamentation than this senseless
pity over your miserable brother-in-law."

I sat down because it was impossible to
Stand. "Oh, Algernon," I cried, " surely it
is not so bad as that ! Surely you have
vol. lxviii. — 13 ..

mane] I We did not depend upon Gerald
Matthew a for our snl

"We did, though 1 spent two months ago
the last dollar of my fortune. My father —
though the world never suspected it — was
broken down in fortune before he died, and I
thought the honor Of marrying into a patri-
cian family would be a sufficient reward fol
all the gold I should get out of my plebeian
brother-in-law."

I remember catching my breath, and reach-
ing out my arms imploringly. "Don't, don't
say that, Algernon," I cried, trying to turn
away the sharp edge of the words which oat
as no sword could do. " Don't say that you
married me for money?"

" What else do you s'pose I married you
for?" I ln-li.ve that in his heat and despe-
ration, Algernon fairly held rue responsible for
the ruin of my brother-in-law.

•• fid you think it was your pretty face won
me ? That. I admit, was a very agreeable con-
comitant to the bargain ; but I 'd sense enough
to know that it couldn't support us without
it was backed by the half million of your
banker."

"But it is different now; say that it is, that
you love me now ! Oh, Algernon, I am your
■wife, the mother of your child ; I will do any-
thing, suffer anything for your sake. We
will go off into the country, where we are
quite unknown. I will take a school, and I
my part of the burden unflinchingly, and meet
the trial like a true woman."

He laughed a bitter, cruel laugh that ran
along my nerves like keen pain. "If you
were a little better acquainted with the world
than you are, all such romantic nonsense as
that would Boon be dissipated. I wish you
would talk sense for once, Wealthy !"

The sneering tone stung me at last into
self-respect and self-assertion. "I have de-
served better at your hands. Algernon
. if you married me for my money,
that was your sin and shame — not mine, and
I was worthy of something better than thi.-..
There were good and true men, as you know,
who would have taken me for myself without
a dollar of the gold that bought you."'

I think the truth stung him, for I uttered
it with the strong, passionate vehemence of
youth, of outraged justice, with my whole
soul roused into resentment at last at the long
falsehood that had been put upon me.

" It s a prty you didn't accept one of your

154

godey's lady's book and magazine.

disinterested lovers, Mrs. Hastings. I should
not in that case have found myself so egre-
giously sold this morning." And with this
taunt on his lips, Algernon Hastings left the
room, and I was left alone — alone with Hope.

I caught up my wondering baby, and as I
hugged her to my heart in a sort of passionate
frenzy, there rose up from my soul a reproach
against the dead. "Oh, Elvira, Elvira, this
is your work!" I will not dwell upon that
miserable time. During the following week
my brother-in-law had an attack of paralysis,
accelerated probably by anxiety and misfor-
tune, and in a few days he had vanished
away swift and silently as the fortune which
he had builded.

Our house and furniture were sold. The
creditors were very kind to us. Many articles
valuable to us, either intrinsically or from
association, were generously reserved. Of my
husband I saw very little at this time. He
was silent, irritable, morose. I believe that
he always held me in some sense responsible
for his disappointed expectations.

We had taken lodgings for a short time in
the city until we could determine some plans
for our future. One day my husband absented
himself from early morning until dark, and as
the evening wore into night, I began to be soli-
citous about his return. At last a porter came
to our rooms with a letter in Algernon's hand.
It was very brief, but not unkind, at least
in words. He frankly admitted that he had
not the courage to face the change in his
fortunes, and there was none of his family
who could afford liim anything but temporary
relief in his desperation. So he had concluded
to sail for Europe to retrieve there, if possible,
his fallen fortunes. He should not forget the
claims his wife and child had on him, when
it was in his power to remember them. As
for me, I would probably find friends, at least
I would be as well off without him as with
him ; and when that letter was placed in my
hands, the writer thereof would be miles
away in the steamer which had sailed for
Europe.

So I was left alone with n<ip» once more, a
wife deserted, broken-heartr.l :

CHAPTER III.

Four years had passed. It was in the early
June, and the earth was flooded with the wine

of the year, and fragrant with the breath of
blossoms. I was in the midst of all this, in
the still, cool, delicious country, where, three I
years ago, I had buried myself, my child, and
my sorrows.

My old nurse, who had loved me with the
true and faithful love of mothers, was living
in a little inland village in the State of Mas-
sachusetts.

After my husband's departure, my thoughts
turned to her as the one true and faithful
heart that I could trust in through all changes
and sorrow, and I wrote to her. In a week I
an answer came, full of the sympathy and i
tenderness which do not wound, and an en- .
treaty which was almost a command that I
should come to her at once. So we went,
Hope and I.

After a time an opportunity presented itself
to open a small private school. I availed |
myself of it. The remuneration was not large ; j
but Hope and I boarded in the little cottage of •
our old nurse, and our wants were very sim-
ple. I was sick of the world, sick too of all j
that luxury and splendor for the sake of which
I had been bought and sold. My school '
prospered; my heart took courage. As the
months went on, something that was like the ;
old freshness and hope of my lost girlhood
came back to me. Then, my little girl, blos-
soming from baby into childhood, was a con- :
stant delight and wonder to me. We were
happy, little Hope and I. although I never I
beard from her father, who had deserted both
his child and her mother.

That afternoon, in the early June, we were
out in the little garden, Hope and I, sitting
under the great plum-tree that was raining
down its blossoms upon us. She had, this
daughter of mine, a passionate love for flowers,
and now she gathered in her hands, small and
white as crumpled lilies, the fine white flakes,
and filled her apron with them.

"See, mamma, how many and pretty they
are !" she said, displaying them witli as much
priiie as a diver might the pearls he had |
gathered.

" Very pretty, my love ; but what will you
do with them all ?"

What Hope's answer would have been I
never knew, for at that moment a gentleman's
voice attracted me, a few rods beyond at the
little gate which opened on the lane. I rose
up, and Hope standing by my side slipped her
small, dewy hand into mine. The gentleman

TTIE STORY OF WEALTHY LEIGTITON.

155

lifted his hat, and the gesture, slight as it was,
was its own intelligible sign of courtesy and

a you t • - 1 1 me, madam," he asked, "if
a Mrs. Algernon Hastings resides in this
vicinity '"

Horn.- vague dread thrilled cold to my heart,
ittle warm, soft hand tighter.

"I am Mrs. Algernon Bastings," I said.
| The strange gentleman hesitated a moment,
then lie spoke, a little hurriedly —
I "1 bring you some tidings of your hns-
■nd, Mrs, Hastings. Will you permit me to
•come in '"

I motioned for him to do this. All words
failed me. Hope pressed up a little olo8er to
my Bide, and surveyed the gentleman with
her shy, wondering eyes. He looked at me
(earnestly, doubtfully, pitifully, I fancied.
iThen he said, a little hurriedly again—

'■• Your husband and 1 were old classmates.
TVe came upon each other quite unexpectedly
early last spring, in a little out-of-the-way
Barman town. He was preparing to go to
the mountains ; so was I. He was suddenly
(taken very ill with a fever, an epidemic in
Hhat climate which often proves fatal." He
I here, and looked at me.

I must have grown very white, and a strange
sickness went all over me, but I commanded
mys.-lf to say —

" You have not told me all ?"

"No; how much can you bear?" And
jnow pity had superseded every other expres-
sion in the large, gray eyes.

"All, all there is to tell." And I held
band so tightly that the little dimpled
hand writhed for pain in mine. I think he
felt that I was to be trusted.

"Your husband lingered only three days
■after his attack, and was most of the time in
• of high delirium, during which he
(raved about his wife and child. I remained
•Jwith him to the last, and saw that be had the
Ibest medical advice and nursing which could
iibe obtained. At the end he had Christian
burial."

I sank down on the low seat. I forgot my-
self, everything but Hope at that moment. I
took her in my arms, and held her very tightly,
as my words drifted out on a sob : " My little
child, you are fatherless!"

She looked up at me, her face full of he-
wilderment and trouble. "Is that anything
bail, mamma ?"

It was terrible ! The unconscious words <■(
his own child, bearing wit ISt her

dead father. And for me, I could not speak,
for the truth's sake. I could not tell my
child that it was worse for her that she was
fatherless !

Some instinct told me that the gentleman
must have felt, too, the significance of my
child's question. I rose up. I thanked him
for his care of my dead husband, and took my
child and went into the little cottage, and I
was a widow, and Hope was fatherless !

CHAPTER IV.

TnE slimmer wore away with its pomp and
glory, with the long, bright laughter of its
days, as the other summers had worn in that
quiet little nest among the hills, where my
heart had come for rest. The world afar off
was to us — myself, my child, and my old
nurse — as though it were not. Its tumults,
its fevers, its restless hurryings to and fro
could not reach us.

Hay by day I went to my appointed task in
the little red schoolhouse. Every night I
went up through the old fragrant pines, scat-
tering abroad their sweet, spicy scents on the
air, to the cottage where the old face of my
nnrse and the young face of my child awaited
me, both radiant with the sweet welcome of
love.

Sometimes another face was there. Doctor
Gresham, my husband's classmate, was pass-
ing the summer in the neighboring village, at
some springs much sought for during the
summer on account of their medicinal cpuali-
ties.

Dr. Gresham was a thorough scholar, a wide
traveller, a most agreeable man, sincere, true-
hearted to the core. He was unlike any other
man I had ever met. I think his character
was drawn on a " ground of reserve." And
yet he could refresh and relax himself at
times with a humor and playfulness that were
almost boyish, without losing the dignity that
was natural, or a habit with him. Then, too,
he was so simple, so straightforward, so en-
tirely free from any of that self-assertion, or
that petty conceit which usually accompanies
a habit of flattering women. I cannot remem-
ber that Dr. (iresham ever paid me a compli-
ment during his visits that summer.

He was some distance beyond thirty : a

156

godey's lady's book and magazine.

man of fine presence, with a good face, a face
anywhere to be trusted in, because lie who
owned it trusted in God.

One day he sat on the lounge in our little
parlor, and Hope, on his knee, was playing
with his watch-guard, when, looking at him,
a fancy suddenly struck me — not for the first
time.

" What are you thinking of, if I may be so
bold f" he asked, looking up at me suddenly,
and finding my eyes on his face.

" That it seems to me I must have seen you,
Dr. Gresham, some time, a long time ago."

His whole face lifted itself into a smile.

" Yon are right. Do you remember, a long,
long time ago, just as you reached the door
of a picture-gallery on Broadway, that a gen-
tleman, standing there, said some words of
you?"

"Do I remember?" It had all come back
to me like a scene of yesterday ! " Why did
you call me 'Poor child!' then?" I asked,
having waited ten years to know.

"Well, you had been pointed out to me by
a mutual classmate as the betrothed of Alger-
non Hastings. I looked in your face ; I knew
what his luxurious, self-indulgent life had
been ; and I felt how little he was fitted by
education or habits of life to be the strength
and shelter of a heart young, trustful, ignorant
of life, as your face said yours was : and so
involuntarily the words forced themselves
from my heart to my lips. It was rude."

I understood what deeper meaning lay
behind his words, that delicacy, and the mem-
ory of the dead prevented his uttering.

"I did not think of it in that light," I
answered, and then added, half to myself,
" How great the change must be !"

"Yes," looking at me with his grave,
kindly eyes, "but not so much of years as of
character. The sunny, radiant, girlish face
has gone ; it will never come back ; but there
is light, and faith, and courage there still, and
these are better."

After awhile, I cannot tell how, but Hope
had fallen asleep on his knee, the doctor
began to speak of himself, of his early life,
of its loneliness, its necessities, and its strug-
gles ; and how he had at last made for him-
self a place to stand in, and to work bravely
in the profession he had chosen.

This was his last visit that summer. A
brief note which I had received on the follow-
ing day told me that he had been suddenly

summoned away. I think we were all of us,
nurse, and Hope, and I, a little lonely after
that. We had all grown to like the doctor.

The trees were in a drift of pink and white
blossoms, for it was the late spring when he
returned again. And afterward he rode over,
almost every day, from the neighboring village
to our cottage.

One day, about a month after his return, I
said to Doctor Gresham as we turned from the
window, where he called me to see the sun-
set buret into what looked like vast fields of
blossoms in the distance, purple, and crimson,
and gold, I said to him: "What a beautiful
world it is I"

" Very beautiful to eyes that look at it with
the right spirit. I think, sometimes, there
is but one thing more that I desire in this
earth."

"What is that?" I asked, for we were
such friends now that the question was not
intrusive.

" The heart and the face of one woman I"

" Who is she?"

Certainly, if I had stopped to consider, I
should never have asked this question. It
seemed to breathe itself out of my lips before I
■was aware.

" Yourself!"

I stood still in dumb, absolute amazement.
Certainly I had not the remotest expectation
of this reply. I looked up in the doctor's
face, and it accented his monosyllable. It
was like him — the plain, abrupt, straightfor-
ward answer; no circumlocution, no disguises
with this earnest, true Christian man.

Thoughts, emotions surged and crowded
themselves through my soul, and crowded out
my panting breath, in the midst of which my
stammered words came. "It cannot be — it
must not. You are worthy of somebody so
different, so much better, and not me, me with
my lost girlhood, my baffled youth, my sad-
dened womanhood, my orphan child — oil, not
me!"

"Yes, you, Wealthy, you and the child to
love, to live for, to be taken into my heart
and life, to make me a gladder, better man,
and in the shelter of my tenderness to make
your life somewhat that it has never been.
I say the truth before God !"

And as he spoke some of the old lost
dreams of my girlhood came back to me, the
old dreams, and yet changed as I was changed.

But the thought of this strong, true man's

BEXEVOLEVCE.

157

love, about my life, shielding ami blessing me
as I had never been shielded and b

Iden and sweet conviction which now
overcame me, that my heart could make
answer to him out of its fulness, overcome
all doubts, all sen

was playing at onr feel with a basket
of shells which the doctor had brought her.

1 t.', ic her up in my arms and held her

towards him. "Take us, Doctor Gresham;"

and lor answer, his arms folded us both —

and child.

Dear reader, this is it — this is all the story

of my life which I have to tell !

BENEVOLENCE.

Benevolence is a principle that boasts a
celestial birth, and claims relationship with

heat and noblest graces. It was uu-
loubtedly intended to serve the purpose of
mitigating the ills to which mankind is subject ;
for this end it was sent down to earth, and
surely nowhere, within the compass of human
knowledge, could a sphere be formed more
feted to exercise its seething powers. Like
the reviving dew that falls on the herbs and
flowers, so are its droopings to the weary and
troubled heart. It has a sweet chemistry of
its own ; it practises an art that only love
can teach, and thus furnished for its work, it
goes forth distilling comfort for the mourner,
Bid aeeki] : to allay the smart of the sorrow-
stricken breast. Ah I and many a forlorn one
to whom the "heavens have seemed as
nasa," and the earth a rugged and weary
place, yielding no rest, has, by its loving aid,
from despair and all its fearful
- ; and what seemed a desert has

frejoi 1 and blossomed as the rose."

Thus we see that even in the darkness and
confusion of man's fallen state, a gracious
Creator has not left Himself without wit]
H His own benevolence and wisdom; for the
same hand that has appointed disease, sorrow,
and trial as consequenoes of sin, has bestowed
the healing balm, the heart's ease, and many
a sw.-et Mower of consolation. Benevolence

ml as one of the chief of these, and
most lovingly our mental eye reverts to it for
a further contemplation.

The subject may be viewed in two aspTOts,
the one passive, the other active; in both the

le will bi ii to be the same, circum-

stances only making the difference. Thus a
heart may glow with love to all around, and

burn with desires to lay itself out for their

ii !. and yet the possessor of that heart be

bo situated as to be tnoapabie of manifesting

its feelings. Benevolence with such must
necessarily be nearbj pas ive, yet still it

would, perhaps, be bard to find a sphere that
can entirely confine it, or a station so barren
of opportunities as not to afford it some out-
let. One thing is certain, namely, that the
individual with whom it dwells will never be
satisfied with the mere of it, while he

— s Buffering around him that he is by any
means able to relieve ; for to befriend and
bless must ever be his aim.

But, perhaps, seme may say that benevo-
lence, though it is all very well as the sub
of a moral essay, yet that in reality it could
be very well dispensed with. That such an

assertion is as false as it is bitter, must be
evident to the most careless observer of human
life; and moreover it is a base reflection on
the gracious Bestower of the blessing. Only

look at its workings. Imagine, for instance,
a father and mother surrounded with a young
and hopeful family, blest with content and
happiness; though poor, their poverty is
scarcely felt to be an evil, for the father has
li anil strength, and be deems it no
hardship to toil for his loving wife and prat-
tling little ones. But, alas! precarious is ail
human bliss; a fever attacks the leal of the
family, and after a . or it may be

hours, he expires, lea ii' ! his wife and chil-
dren with no c.ther legacy but a husband's and
father's prayers and blessing. Sad loss,
indeed! What can the weeping mother do
with so many helpless oi undher? May

be she casts upon them a despairing look,
and almost wishes them, and herself too, in
-rave with their father ! But just at this
juncture a band is stretched forth for her aid,
and her desolate heart revives at the thought
that though her natural protector and support
is gone, yet she and her babes have a frii 1
in the benevolent heart.

Ah ! how adapted is thi- beautiful pre
to the exigencies of our changeful life! and
how barren and bare and doubly a "vale of
tears" would the world become if bereft of its
heartsoothing presence! What but this
the moving principle of that noble spirit of
ne lioration and social reform that is at work
amongst us ? What but this causes hospi

158

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

orphan schools, penitentiaries, humane socie-
ties, ragged schools, and all such like institu-
tions to spring \ip in all parts of the land ?
It is true that other motives may sometimes
give rise to acts which appear to men to spring
from a benevolent heart, jet even this, so far
from being derogatory to real benevolence, is
but a tacit acknowledgment of the high esti-
mation in which it is held by mankind.

There is, besides, another aspect in which
the subject may be viewed, namely, that
which takes in its reflux influence. It is well
known there is happiness in the very desire
to make others happy. "There is a heart's
ease, or a heart's enjoyment in the very first
purposes of benevolence as well as in its sub-
sequent performances. Like its kindred vir-
tue, mercy,

" It 's twice blessed,
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.**

We refer to this view of the subject because
it is an argument for the wisdom and goodness
of the Author of our being. The resulting
satisfactions of benevolence, although they
tnllow as by natural consequences, have cer-
tainly but little weight in the calculations of
t lie benevolent individual ; " the satisfactions
are not his aim, but the object which affords
them — the object for its own sake ; and though
the more strongly and exclusively he is set
upon the object for its own sake, the less he
will think of the consequent enjoyments, yet
the greater will these enjoyments be. Such
is the constitution of our nature that benevo-
lence loses not its disinterested character,
while man loses not his reward.*'

AN OLD MAN'S MEMORIES AND HOPES.

[The poetic beauty of one of Nicholas Poussin's paint-
LngE in tin1 Mi; --Of de France is even greater than its artistic
merit. It represents a group of Arcadian shepherds halt-
lag in their joyous dance hefore a tomb upon which id
inscribed, " Et in Arcadia Ego."]

Green, gently sloping hills, and streams
Whose nnirin'ring fall through 6Umm«

Suggests entrancing, lovely dreams
Of youth with all iU dear delights,

0 world! forever fond and young,
These arc thy dreams of Arcadie,

And I in careless youth have sung
&s gay and free a melody.

By flowery bank? and mo&S-grown rocks,
When love's poetic fire was bright,

1 've watched the clouds pass by. like flocks

Of white- winged doves, ser-ue and light.

Huw oft my shepherd maiden's face
Was framed within those snowy sails !

And aye her tender, joyous grace
Was mimicked by the sportive gales.

I, too. have lived in Arcadie,

My feet have pressed her vales and hills ;
Her sunny skies have gladdened me,

And oft I 've heard her tuneful rills.

Now, through a leafless land I rove,

Not summer flower, nor running stream,

Nor whispered word of tenderest love
Is here to tell me that I dream.

Yet, through the gray and leafless tree,
And through the leaden, sunless sky,

A it: i ei Arcadie I see;
1 see it — hear it — let me die!

Its gates are pearl — its walls are gold,

Its glories cannot pass away ;
Nor sultry heat, nor wintry cold

Disturbs its endless, lovely day.

I hear my loved one's angel voice

Telling the joys of Arcadie,
While Li gions, near her. still rejoice

To swell the enrapturing harmony.

My soul, begin thy youthful song,

And so await thy summons home!
Sing Bweet, and clear, and firm, and

tttes at last thou "n com .

nice like morning larks thy song
i on earth will end above,

Ami eyes that sadly waited long
Shall see the eternal light of love.

BENEATH THE SNOW.

BY J . C . BI'RSETT.

Gray the clouds that hang above us,
Dreary winds that 'round us blow,
Plain and forest disappearing

'Neath the drifting snow.

Under tombs of ice the brooklet

Waits tin- balmy smiles of spring,
While its gentle murmurs whisper,
•• Life is lingering."

Gone are merry-hearted songsters,

from every glade and dell.

Ami each sigh the sad wind utters

Seems to say "Farewell '"

"Fad^d are the bright-lined Bowers

Summer made to come and bloom ;
Pallid forms — the snow-clad bushes —
Mark their lowly tomb.

All. the birds and flowers only
Are not all that from ns go ;
Friends, the dearest God has given,
Sleep beneath the snow.

It is better to need relief than to want heart
to give it.

MARRYING A FORTUNE.

BY BELLE KCTLKDOR.

■Who is she, Nod — that lovely lady with
Lr. Campbell?" inquired Philip Otis of his
irieiid. Ned Leland, who stood beside him at
the soiree given li Lm by his friend's mother.

"Oh, Bhe is the dorter's niece, Miss. Camp-
Mil, whom he has adopted, 1 understand;
and the other lady you see with them is also

his ni Miss Barton, a cousin to Jenny

Campbell, and an heiress of fifty thousand,7'
answered Leland.

"But she is decidedly plain, notwithstanding
phe is an heiress. What horrid red hair, and
ruddy complexion, and what a showy dress —
bright yellow I She certainly lias no taste!"

■'What a denced pity, now. that that
■hawming creatchaw, Miss Campbell, hadn't
the money instead of her tawdry consinl"
said Mr. Kit/. Simmons, an exquisite of the
first water, who, joining them, had overheard
me conversation of the two gentlemen, "for
1 do really think I should cultivate the lady's
acquaintance if she had : hut it would never
do for Mr. Pits Simmons to throw himself
away on a poor girl I His relatives in England
would cut his acquaintance instantly!" he
added, in a drawling tone, twirling his faint
hionstach • in his delicately gloved lv
'• I think, however, I will he presented to the
Mr. Leland, though she is rather sin-
■ in her tastes and appearan

"t>ii certainly, Fitz Simmons, you shall
make th intance of the lady. Come,

I'll present yon." And Ned, with a merry
look at his friend < 'tis, left him, and proceeded
to formally introduce Fitz Simmons to the
lady in question, while Philip litis sought
Dr. Campbell, and was introduced to Jenny
t'amphell. the poor cousin.

"Miss Barton," said Ned. as he approached
the heiress of fifty thousand, "permit me to
introduce to you Mr. Fitz Simmons — an Fng-
lah gentleman of rank — who is desirous of
:l iking your acquaint;:'

"Aw, I am happy to make your aoqnaint-
ance, Miss Barton. ITope you 're well this
evening'" said Mr. Fitz Simmons, extending
the tips of his gloved hand as he spoke to
her.

'• Pretty well. I thank you," exclaimed the

young lady addressed, in a loud tone, and
giving his hand a tremendous shake. '• 1
hope you're well, Mr. Fitz Simmons, though
you don't look amazing smart!"

" < ill, I assure you my health is very good,
miss," said Mr. Fitz Simmons, lowering his
voice as he spoke, for her loud tones grated
harshly on his refined ears and delicate sensi-
bilities.

••Well, I'm dreadful glad to hear it, for
you do look masterly slim" — and hen' the eyes
of the girl wandered over the slender, willowy
figure of Fitz Simmons. " But then it's the
fashion to look like a candle, uncle tells me,"
continued the girl, " and I must try and stint
myself in eating, for I want to be fashionable
and eitilied ; 'case I'm an 'airess, you see,
and have got my market to make."

Ned Leland, who had stood by during the
above conversation, cast a queer look on the
girl, and, with a Bmothered laugh, left them,
while Fitz Simmons gazed at the plump figure
and frizzly hair, before liim, and sighed
heavily. The loud voice and countrified man-
ners of the heire - shocked him, and he was
on the point of beating a precipitate retreat
as he noticed they were attracting attention ;
but then the vision of the "fifty thousand"
rose up before him, and he resolved to over-
come his feelings in hopes of winning its
possessor.

All that evening the elegant Fitz Simmons
remained at the side of the heiress, and in his
soft tones "talked sentiment" to the girl,
who, in her seeming simplicity, sat with open
mouth, apparently devouring each word from
the exquisitely moustached lips of her ad-
mirer. But at . Fitz Simmons again
was still more shocfW by her ignorant
everything before them. •

■•Shall I help you to some of this jelly f"
he inquired, as he stood I dy to

do the agreeable.

"What is it made of?" she asked. "I
never eat anything unless I know what it 's
made of. Do you know what it is?" she in-
quired of a gentleman who stood beside her.

" It is ealves'-feet jelly, miss, I believe," lie
replied, with a smile.

169

160

godey's lady's book and magazine.

" Calves'-feet jelly ! Well, I believe I won't
have any, for it can't be very clean if it is
made of calves' feet ; for our calves never had
clean feet, and 'taint likely city ones have,
running round these black streets."

Mr. Augustus Fitz Simmons was nearly
dying with mortification at her verdancy and
the attention it attracted, and throughout
supper his face was equally as rosy as his
partner's.

At length Dr. Campbell came for her, saying
the carriage was ready, and poor Fitz Sim-
mons felt infinitely relieved ; and, after bowing
her out, he wiped his heated forehead with
his perfumed handkerchief, and, taking leave
of the lady of the house, departed to his
hotel.

As he entered his rooms at the first-class

hotel in B , he threw himself upon the

sofa as if completely exhausted with the eve-
ning's exertion; and then, fearing no inter-
ruption, gave vent to his thoughts in this
wise: —

"She is 'gawky,' but I can't stop to be
squeamish now ! I must make a strike with
the girl while the iron 's hot I" he said, " for
the fifty thousand is a nice little sum. Here
J am in such a deuced fix that I can't stir
out unless I 'm dunned at every step for my
bills. There's that confounded tailor and
the shoemaker, and then that old washerwo-
man was here twice yesterday, and again to-
tl iv ! And the landlord is getting suspicious,
and won't wait much longer. There 's nothing
left for me but to marry the confounded dowdy
country girl ; and then — but once let me get
that fifty thousand into my hands, and won't
1 show 'em a light pair of heels ? Deuced pity
to sacrifice myself, but it can't be helped, un-
tie circumstances !"

Thus, weaving plans for the future, Mr.
Fitz Simmons passed the remainder of the
night ; and the next forenoon recurled his
moustache, and, arranging himself carefully,
sought the house of Dr. Campbell to inquire
after the health of the heiress.

As soon as Mr. Fitz Simmons had handed
the heiress to her uncle's carriage, where
Jenny — who had been escorted thither by
Philip Otis — was awaiting her, and her nncle
had sprung in, the door was shut, and merry
peals of laughter rang out on the night air
from the two ladies, in which Dr. Campbell
also joined heartily.

"Well, girls, a pretty rig you are leading
your old uncle 1" he exclaimed, merrily.
" Here 's Kate making a perfect fright of her
pretty self with that shock of red hair, and
this horrid yellow dress ! I declare I don't
wonder she frightened all the beaux away'"
laughed the doctor.

' ' But you forgot Mr. Fitz Simmons, " laughed
the girl. " I 'm sure he played the agreeable,
notwithstanding it cost him a master effort ;
and Jenny here didn't suffer, if she did
enact the role of 'the poor cousin,' for she
had one of the most gentlemanly attendants
in Mr. Otis. I declare I 'd give half my for-
tune (?) and my red wig to boot, if Mr. Otis
had been as attentive to me ; but I plainly
saw that he didn't care for money, and so I
despaired of attracting his attention."

"Well, Kate, I must confess 3-ou made a
capital country girl," responded Jenny. "I
thought I should fairly expire with laughter
to hear you go on at table ; and uncle — I
thought he would never get over it. Kate,
you have certainly found a most ardent ad-
mirer (of your fortune .') in Mr. Fitz Simmons,
who is certain to be at your feet from this
night."

"Well, girls, I see you are bent on having
your own way, and your old uncle will have
to give up to your mad capers ; though 'tis a
pity to spoil Kitty's looks, for she did look
like a downright fright to-night. And Jenny,
here, what would your charming city friends
say, I wonder, to see the rich heiress in such
plain attire, and occupying the place of a poor
dependant ?"

The next morning, the two cousins — Jenny
and Kate — were sitting in their room at Dr.
Campbell's elegant residence on H Ave-
nue, when the servant brought up the card
of Mr. Fitz Simmons.

' ' There, I knew he would come this morn-
ing to inquire for your health, after last night's
dissipation, Kate !" exclaimed Jenny.

" He is doubtless smitten with my auburn
curls, Jen. Do pray help me fasten them on !
and that short, gay-colored dress — I must
wear that ! You must come down, Jen, and
see how I torture the poor fellow's delicate
nerves with my countrified tones and man-
ners!" And, so saying, the gay girl de-
scended to the parlor, and in a short time was
followed by her cousin.

"Mr. Fitz Simmons, this is cousin Jenny
Campbell," said Kate, as Jenny entered the

HARRYIXG A FORTUNE.

1G1

apart ment. Mr. Fitz Simmons was about to
rise when tl -. ■ 1 1 . -. I ; but, seeing no

. on.' but the poor dependant,
i merely bowed, by way of acknowledging her
presence.

"Did yon see my cousin Jenny?" asked
!, somewhat tartly.

"Yes, 0 yes; 1 recognized her," said Mr.
r"itz Simmons, looking coolly at her as he
spoke.

•' Well, then, why don't you shake hands
'With her, as if you were glad to see her? I
bought that was oity fashion. Ain't it. Jen-
ny '" turning to her.

Jenny bit her lips to hide a smile, and then
answered : —

" I believe so, cousin Kate ; but then people
often omit the custom."

" Yes, I expect so ; I rather guess it s only
piliiiiiite friends who shako hands. Ain't it,
Mr. Fitz Simmons?"

'• Fes, I think so," murmured that confused
igentleman, "or those who are engaged."

"But you shook 711;/ hand last night," con-
tinued the malicious tormentor, "and — and —
\we ain't yet."

" Nobody knows what maybe, most ador-
able oreatohaw I" whispered Mr. Fitz Sim-
mons, in his softest tones, as he moved nearer
•her on the sofa.

" Oh, Jenny, did you hear that — what Mr.
Fitz Simmons just said to me?" exclaimed
the wieked girl, not heeding poor Fitz Sim-
mons' reddening fare, and faint whispers of
1't, don't, I beg of you !"
" lie called me ' an adorable creatchaw,'
'and looked dreadful tender at me. Is it love,
].lenny. to talk and look so? 'ease I want to
;know if I "m made love at."
1 Jenny had turned away as Kate commenced
(speaking, and now stood at the piano with
her back toward them. With face convulsed
,with laughter, she bent over the music, not
(Appearing to heed her cousin's words.

Swallowing his chagrin and confusion (for
'the sake of "the fifty thousand"), Mr. Fitz
, Simmons asked : —

" Do you sing, Miss Barton ?"
I "Well, yes, I do sing some. I sing 'Old
'Hundred,' and the 'Doxology,' and 'Green-
land's Icy Mountains.' Now, Jenny sings and
plays on the planner beautiful, and I 'm going
to begin to take lessons right off. Uncle says
I must, to be fashionable, so I can play afore
folks when they ax me. But perhaps you 'd

like to hear i Zebedee Hall used to

admire to hear me, and said I beat all the
girls in our town; but then 1 gueSS lie was a

llatterin' me, for ho wanted to spark awful

bad. That was alter 1 had my fort in Lit me,
you see," she added ; " and I tolled our folks
that I didn't want a farmer — I meant, to go
down to the city to Uncle Campbell's, and see
Something of the world, and get a city
mebbe ; but abont singing — shouldn't you
like to hear me sing, Mr. Fitz Simmons? If
you '11 pitch the tuue, I guess I can sing the
• Doxology.' "

"You mnst excuse me, Miss Barton, but I
do not sing the tune you mention," replied
the gentleman, nervously.

" 0 la sakes ! I thought everybody knowed
that, and pennyryal tunes; but I'll get
Jenny to pitch the air on the pianner." But
just then the door closed on Jenny, as she
left the room with her handkerchief to her
face, and a faint sound, as of suppressed
laughter, smote their ears. " I rather guess
cousin Jenny 's got the toothache," said Kate,
"by her having her handkerchief to her
mouth. I expect these jellies and rich 'i'ec-
tionary people eat at parties destroy the
'mini 1 of the teeth, and makes folks lose 'em
young. Now, mine are rale good and sound,
and I don't mean to spile 'em eating much of
tli ■ p.-ky stuff when I go to swam's ."'

Mr. Fitz Simmons, who had been decidedly
uncomfortable while Jenny was in the room,
and had been on the point of retreat at the
first opportunity, now settled himself com-
fortably again in the large arm-chair; then,
mastering his aversion to the red hair and
loud tones, tried to look very lover-like on
Kate.

But Kate was determined to display her
powers of singing ; and so, after a preliminary
humming of the tune, she favored him with
"Old Hundred" and "Greenville," much to
the apparent pleasure of Mr. Fitz Simmons.
Just as she finished, the door-bell rang, and
Mr. Fitz Simmons, rising hastily, excused
himself on the plea that he had business down
town, and must then leave, but he should do
himself the honor of calling again on her very
soon ; and with a tender pressure of the hand
he left her. On the steps he met Philip Otis,
who saluted him with —

" Ah, yon 've been taking time by the fore-
lock, I reckon!" and then entered.

As the door closed on the retreating figure

162

godey's lady's book and magazine.

of her admirer, Kate threw herself npon the
sofa and burst into merry peals of laughter,
from which she was aroused by the entrance
of the new caller. She started up in confu-
sion ; but, recovering in a moment, said,
"Mr. Otis, I believe? I will call my cousin
Jenny, ' ' and left the parlor.

As she spoke to him, and passed him on
leaving the room, Mr. Otis thought her not so
awkward as she had appeared on the evening
previous. He was interrupted at this point
by the appearance of Jenny Campbell, to whom
lie had lost his heart on that evening ; and he
was soon chatting pleasantly with her.

"I believe the lady whom I met just now
was your cousin ?" he said. "I have not yet
been presented to her."

" 0 yes ; she will be down directly," Jenny
replied, and soon Kate made her appearance ;
and notwithstanding that she continued to
enact the country lass, Philip Otis saw that,
despite the country tone and manners, she
was a girl of uncommon good sense and cha-
racter. Still, the poor cousin was more at-
tractive in his eyes than the heiress of fifty
thousand, and he left Dr. Campbell's more
thoroughly in love with Jenny than on the
previous evening.

An hour later, the heiress and the poor
cousin sat together in their room.

"Jenny," exclaimed Kate, "tell me if I
enacted my role of ' the country girl' to per-
fection, for I thought Mr. Otis regarded me
somewhat closely, as though he suspected
something of the kind."

" Perfect, perfect ! couldn't have been bet-
ter!" exclaimed Jenny, with tears of laughter
in her eyes. " Why, you ought to have been
an actress, cousin Kate ! Poor Fitz Simmons !
all, how I pitied him when you exposed his
innocent love-making ; and, when you insisted
on singing the 'Doxology,' I was forced to
apply my handkerchief to my mouth, and
make my exit. And you kept such a sober
face all the while ! ' '

"Yes, Jen; and I told Mr. Fitz Simmons
you had doubtless got the toothache from
eating sweets last evening. I managed to
keep a smooth face till he left, though, when
Mr. Otis came in, I was laughing most im-
moderately, and I suppose he thought I was
quite insane."

A month went by, and still the two girls
kept up the farce. Mr. Otis was very atten-

tive to Jenny Campbell ; and she felt that
with him she could be very happy, for he had
not sought her for her wealth, as others had
often, and as many there would have done
had they known she, in reality, was the
heiress instead of her cousin Kate.

But the reputed heiress, notwithstanding
her fifty thousand, did not abound in admirers.
Two or three gentlemen had, at first, endea-
vored to approach her "with matrimonial
intent," but the frowsy head and red face had
daunted them, and so they withdrew, sighing
over the loss of the fortune with such "an
incumbrance."

Yet one had remained besides Fitz Simmons
— NedLeland, a young man of sterling integrity
of character and quiet exterior, who saw that
beneath Kate's awkward manner and uncouth
ways there was much to respect and admire.
And, somehow, in his presence the loud voice
and uncouth manners softened, and she came
near betraying herself several times.

Mr. Fitz Simmons still continued his atten-
tions, and so the time glided on. At length
his landlord grew more impatient (notwith-
standing poor Fitz Simmons promised to pay
"when his remittances from England ar-
rived"), and threatened him severely; and
the tailor and washerwoman thrust their bills
into his face each day ; and so Fitz Simmons
grew desperate, and found that he must at
least bring matters to a crisis with the heiress.
So, one evening, dressing himself with unusual
care, he wended his way to Dr. Campbell's.

Upon admission by the servant, he found,
to his joy, that there was no one in the parlor
but Miss Kate Barton, who was seated on the
sofa with an extra frizzle in her red hair, and
arrayed in a brilliant red dress which harmo-
nized (?) with her ruddy complexion most
wonderfully. His heart whispered that she
was expecting him, and he imagined the fifty
thousand already in his possession. Ko more
threatening landlords, and insolent tailors,
and whining washerwomen; already, "beyond
the seas" he was riding in his own carriage,
while his dowdy wife — well, I fear me that I
she did not mingle very largely in the gentle
man's anticipations of the future !

"Aw, my dear creatchaw !" he exclaimed.
in most tender tones, seating himself beside
her, after the salutations of the evening.
" were you expecting me ?"

"Wall, I don't know as anybody else vft^
expecting you but me !" she replied.

MARRYING A FORTUNE.

163

"Yes; you are the only one, dearest I"
murmured Fits Simmons, in tender tones ;
" thf only being whom I oould wish to expect
me, or desire my ooming; and, most lovely
one, I have come to-night to ponr into you
listening ears the Beoret whioh 1 have kept
Bidden in my heart since the night when I first
Beheld yen. I can keep it there no longer.
It has burst its bonds, and must be rel
Can I hope that my wild worship is returned
v yon, most ador i ' and he took her

band as he spoke, and raised it to his lips.

" There, I knowed it I" exclaimed Kate. " I
knowed you loved me, and told uncle so,
when he Baid the bank had failed where all
my money was put. I told him I knowed t hen-
was one heart that was true — thai would stiek
fast when money had took wings and flown
away. But, what is the matter, Mr. Fitz
Simmons! you look dreadful pale, and kinder
tremble all over! I'm afeard you're took
sick. I '11 get yon some camphire, and mebbe
you'll feel bettor to rights."

" No, no, I thank you, Miss Barton, I am
better already ; but I think I must be going.
I don't feel eery well. I wish yon a good
evening." And, in an astonishingly short
period — short as his last exclamations had
keen — the confounded gentleman found him-
self on Dr. Campbell's front door steps.

As the street-door closed on him, Kate gave
D.1 to her laughter ; and, as once I
the bell again rang, and Mr. Leland was ushered
into her presence. Kate rose to meet him
with fluttering heart and downcast eyes, for
she trembled for the effects of the same know-
ledge of "the loss of her property" on him;
and she felt that it would be a hard struggle to
givo up his acquaintance as easily as- she hail
Fitz Simmons. And so, when Ned Leland
avowed feelings similar to those she had heard
from Fitz Simmons, her voice trembled as she
told the same tale of the loss of her property.

"It is not your wealth I care for, Kate; it
is not that I would wed. but your own self,
minus the paint and red wig 1" he answered,
smilingly.

Kate started up in astonishment, and un-
consciously grasped at the offending wig ; but
it was there, too securely fastened to be easily
removed.

^ "0, Kate, I have known it all along — from
the first — that you wore a wig, and used paint,
you wretched girl!" he exclaimed, with a
hearty langh ; "and though others were de-

ceived, I saw through the disguise a1

Love has sharp eyes, you see, Kate," he

added, draw in_' her to him.

" Kate, tell me if you love ma, or that odious
Fitz Simmons, who is always in your presence.
I must know which, this night I"

There was no need for other answer to the
young man than the uplifting of the bine ayes,
and the shy, but happy laugh that folio

And when, a few minutes later, Kate de-
scended to the parlor from her own room,
whither she had retired, what a complete
change had taken place in her. Hair of the
richest brown had usurped the place of the
red wig, and from her delicate complexion
all traces of paint had vanished ; while,
tastefully elad in a becoming dress, she Stood
before her astonished lover.

" I had thought you passable, Kate, ' ' he mur-
mured, as he met her, "but now yon are
more beautiful than a dream. Can it be that
you are the country girl who but just now left
the room?" he .asked, fondly.

"Yes, tho same, dear Edward; the same,
but minus the 'fifty thousand,' as before, for
that belongs to my cousin, Miss Jenny Camp-
bell, who is the heiress, while /am only the
adopted child of my Uncle Campbell. Can
you take me as I am?" she added, roguishly.

"All I ask is you, Kate," he murmured,
fondly drawing her to him.

After a time, Kate related the interview
with, and abrupt exit of, Mr. Fitz Simmons,
earlier that evening: and a merry laugh fol-
lowed at the fortune-hunter's expense.

The next day, Ned Leland had a consultation
with Dr. Campbell, to whom he told his love
for his niece, and its return, asking his con-
sent to a certain event in the immediate
future : and the old doctor only said "Yes,''
very pleasantly, asking with a smile, "if he
knew that Kate had lost her fifty thousand."
And it furthermore happened that, on that
same forenoon, Philip Otis also sought the
doctor on a similar errand ; and he, too, went
away very happy in its results.

"There, girls!" exclaimed the doctor at
dinner, "here I've had two consultations
without a single fee, this morning — both on
your accounts, yon naughty girls ! But then
I administered the right potions, and the
patients are doing finely, and I think will be
out soon, and able to come here to speak for
themselves."

164

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Soon after, two weddings took place ; and

the astonished world of B learned that

Jenny Campbell was the real heiress, while
Kate proved the handsomest lady in the town,
and niece to the old doctor.

Mr. Fitz Simmons was not seen in B

after that night. He probably "stepped out
incontinently," for the landlord of the A

House was heard making inquiries for him, I
together with the tailor and washerwoman,
and various other creditors, who, 1 much fear,
cherish his memory to this day as the gentle-
man who promised to settle certain bills
" wheuliis remittances arrived from England."
Possibly, in the mother country he has re-
plenished his purse by "marrying a fortune."

A SKETCH FOR ST. VALENTINE'S.

J Y MISS M. A D. CAP.

THE TABLEAU.

It is related of Daniel Webster, and his
brother Ezekiel, who lived with their father
in the good, but cold State of New Hampshire,
that the coming of the new almanac was a
great event to them. There were no other
annuals in those days. In these, when Christ-
mas and New Year's books come in piles, no
book of the whole embossed and gilded assort-
ment is welcomed with half the pleasure with
which the future statesman, when a boy,
received the old Farmer's Almanac. And, on
a certain cold night it is said that Daniel and
Ezekiel, having " retired" as we say, "gone
to bed" as it used to be called, had a dispute
upon some point in the Farmer's Almanac.
What it was history does not record. Per-
haps it was whether the then present year
was Bissextile. If so, I don't wonder. Neither
would my quondam friend, Fanny Ketchim,
Grander, for she is fully alive to the importance
of Leap Year, its sympeance, and its prn
and if there be a saint in the calendar whom
she honors, it is Saint Valentine.

Everybody did not know, when Daniel was
a boy, and the schoolmaster had not so widely
extended his travels, that the important
question can be decided without getting up
of a cold ni^ht and looking at the almanac by
the blaze of a pine knot, as Daniel and Eze-
kiel did, before they could compose themselves
to sleep. Any year which, divided by four.
leaves no remainder, is the happy year of
golden opportunity. Four into eighteen four
times and two over. Into twenty-six, six
times and two over. Into twenty- four, .six
times and no remainder. Therefore, this year
of grace, 1864, is Leap Year without a doubt;
and if I do not make a capture before Febru- i

ary, 1S65, it will be because I fail, as some one
else whom I could name failed four years ago.
I could tell her name, but shall not. I will
change it, as she would be glad to do if she

could.

There are two sorts of arrivals which make
a sensation in a country town. One is the
coming of a new schoolmaster. But that is a
small surprise, as it occurs too often. In
teaching the young idea how to shoot, the
master himself gets peppered and retires,
leaving the field for a new man to try its dan-
gers, and in his turn be put hors du combat.
The new minister comes but seldom. Of
course he is a greater prize — provided he is
unmarried. And I have observed that the
chance of an unmarried candidate over a man
of family is as ten to one. The prudent
mothers say of the pater familias that they
know he is an excellent man, but they fear
tiny cannot support him! It is very un-
charitable to say, as some cynics do, that then-
real fear is that he will not support one of
their daughters.

Fanny Ketchim (wouldn't she like to do it !)
had angled for schoolmasters to no purpose.
She had many nibbles, and the bait was di-
minishing with every failure ; for Fanny, all
the time, was growing older.

Fanny was youuger once than she is now.
And prettier, of course.

But, dear me, you would think, to see her,
that she is growing younger, instead of older,
every day ; for she wears one of those killing
hats, with a knowing brim, intended for very
juvenile misses. It looks on her like a mis-
tletoe bough on the top of a leafless tree.
That, however, is no business of mine. Fanny
don't care what the girls say of her. And she
need not. For the more we girls say, we who

A SKETCH FOR ST. VALENTINE'S.

165

ought to know about a woman, the more des-
perately the man pursues her. They pretend
to think it is all jealousy.

Our parish had become vacant. There
were several candidates here before the choice
was made. Fanny coquetted with all the
single ones ; for in her estimate of male at-
tractions she never forgets thai cardinal vir-
tue, singleness of heart. But she took very
good care never to commit herself before
the "call" of the parish was "extended."
Fanny wants a shepherd, but not a shepherd
minus a flock. Whether any of the unfortu-
nate rejected counted in the loss of the parish
the prospective loss of a wife, or whether any
considered that the failure to take the parish
was compensated by the escape of being taken
by Fanny Ketchim, is more than I can under-
take to declare.

The Reverend Mr. Smith (I change his name
too) has never disappointed anybody (except
Fanny) since he came among us. lie seemed
at first, and he proves to be, a most practical,
unsophisticated, transparent person ; all the
more able, from his own honesty, to meet the
wiles of the world. He suspects nobody, and
puts down finesse by the most straightforward
deaUng. When Fanny asked him, in a lan-
guishing way, if lie did not find solitude
insupportable, he answered that he did not
find solitude at all ! The pleasant intercourse
with his new friends left him, indeed, too
little time for study. Of his divided duty
betweeu the library and the parish, the latter
received more than its share, because he
ed it had most temptation. Now, if
the man knew what Fanny was after, he most
adroitly foiled her. And if he did not know,
the case was even worse. The leading ques-
tion led to nothing.

It need not be supposed that Fanny was
alone in her demonstrations. Everybody in
the parish, young and old, male and female,
was very attentive to young Mr. Smith —
except me ! Perhaps, those who took the
least pains to secure his attention received the
most of it. /, certainly, have no right to
complain. But, in justice to my sex, I must
say that every lady who shows a gentleman
courtesy does not necessarily intend to belea-
guer his heart. We have the same right to bo
polite that the gentlemen have. If a man
happens to be unmarried, there is more indeli-
cacy in ridiculous prudery towards him than
there is in common politeness. The manner
vol. lxviii. — 14

in which Mr. Smith was loaded with presents
was, however, amusing, to say the least, lie
found it so. For when, one morning, a visitor
in his study looked at the long array ot
worked wool slippers, Mr. Smith followed the
direction of his eyes, and said, " I don't think
I'm a centipede, do you?" There is cer-
tainly enough of his feet to make two or three
reasonable pairs ; but two small slippers arc
nothing to one big foot.

I am in uncommon spirits, as I write this
evening ! I wonder what is the reason ?
Would not some folks be amused, and others
be vexed, if they only knew .' But to go on
with my story. Fanny used to be a friend of
mine. She pretends to friendship no longer,
which is very spiteful of her. But she is
chillingly polite. She is ridiculously attentive
to all the etiquette. I call. She calls. We
are as carefully posted as the ledger in a cash
store. But, as to any cordiality, dear me !
I think the manual called the " Soholar's Com-
panion"— that royal road to learning — makes
cordiality have something to do with the heart
as its root. If Fanny Ketchim haa a heart,
none of us girls have found it out. The man
who shall, will be fully entitled to it as first
discoverer.

It is ridiculous how the minx has managed
to learn everything that can possibly )»•
known respecting the Reverend Mr. Smith.
She knows his pedigree for three or four
generations. She knows with what honors
he graduated, what books he has read, how
many sermons he has written, and how he
writes them. Certainly, she has not only an
inquiring mind, but an inquiring tongue.
And he, good, easy soul, never thinks of
giving any answer but the fullest and the
truest. His very frankness is the easiest way
of meeting designing people. You can specu-
late upon what a slow speaking or tortuous
man designs to do ; but your straightforward,
honest fellow defies all the calculations of
schemers.

Meanwhile, the parish throve exceedingly
under the charge of the Reverend Mr. Smith.
The congregations were full, and all the good
agencies were well supported by diligent la-
borers. Not the young women only, but the
young men took hold of all the work with a
will ; and not the young people alone, but the
old. It was said by the sneering, who always
are ready to deprecate good works, that not a
little of this apparent prosperity was to be car-

166

godey's lady's book and magazine.

rieil to the credit of the minister's youth and
good looks, and to the fact that he is a bachelor.
Perhaps ! But a better than I has said, in
any wise the good is done, and therein we
may rejoice. ''Humph!" says Mrs. Blunt,
of whom more anon, "Humph! We shall
see presently ! if Mr. Smith should get mar-
ried!" But what do / care? He will be
quite as much to me after marriage as before.
Fanny Ketchim may not be so much interested,
but I shall, for his position will be fixed and
scandal silenced.

Mrs. Blunt is a widow, young, handsome,
and rich ; three grounds for audacity, either
of which would be ample. She is the terror
of all the young people, and not a little
shocking to the old, for nobody knows what
she is going to do next. No one dares leave
her out of their invitations, and while all fear,
all would be disappointed at her absence.
Mr. Smith was tea'd and toasted all about the
parish after his arrival, and after it was
settled that he was to stay, the tea Increased
in intensity, and the toast in brownness. To
what length the hospitality would have gone,
and how far the demonstrations might have
been carried, it is impossible to say, had not a
little incident occurred which checked the
flood of tea and gave the toaster a respite.
Let us describe the tableau.

Time, after tea. Scene, a parlor pretty well
filled. Sofa with Mr. Smith on one end, and
Fanny Ketchim on the other ; company grouped
about, the women wondering how that Fanny
Ketchim could be so demonstrative. Young
men repressing tin- inclination to yawn. Fanny
lost in Leap Year fancies, and sighing inwardly'
at Mr. Smith's astonishing apathy. He, good,
easy soul, absorbed in his next Sunday's
sermon, and wishing that the hour of ten
would strike the signal for cloaking and
bonneting, and relieve the awful dulness of
the evening.

Up starts the Widow Blunt, and all eyes
turn to her in mute apprehension. What
does she do but take her chair, and with
coquettish bustle and a graceful bounce plant
hexaelf full in front of the reverend gentleman.
His large, dreamy eyes open with a mute
" what now ?''

" Mr. Smith!" she began, "you are in the
c niifessional — "

" Not quite so public, I beg," said he, with
a smile.

"Oh, the more public, the leS9 scandal.

We are all dying to know, we women. Come,
confess, are you engaged?"

If a bomb-shell had fallen among us, it could
not have made more stir. First there was a
general start ; then the men led off in a laugh.
The women could do nothing but follow, but
I never did hear such a queer, shrieky laugh
as Fanny Ketchim' s. The noise gave Mr.
Smith time to recover himself. He blushed
scarlet, poor man, and rising made a low bow,
as he said : —

"Yes, I had the pleasure to agree with the
committee of the parish last week."

"That 's not it. We all know that, and are
highly pleased. But we women want to know
something farther and even more interesting. ' '

"We women!" interposed a matron with
three daughters. " We women, indeed ! We
ladies" (with an emphasis) "would thank
Mrs. Blunt to speak for herself. "

"Oh, very well," said the widow undaunted,
" and perhaps some among you would be glad
if Mr. Smith should speak for himself!"

"Well, then, Mrs. Blunt," said the reve-
rend gentleman, who had now recovered his
presence of mind, "if it is any gratification
to you to know, I am not. Are you ready for
the question ?"

"Not from you, " said the widow, unabashed.
"I have had my one bachelor, and am now
looking for a widower. Who knows but I
may take you after some of these young ladies
have done with you?"

Did you ever hear assurance like this ?
Fanny Ketchim was awfully scandalized, and
so were we all. But there was only one course
open to us, and that was to take the matter
as a joke, publicly, and to talk it over by
ourselves, seriously, in private. Never was
poor woman so cut to pieces (metaphorically)
as was Mrs. Blunt. But it did not diminish
her audacity ; although she knew, or, if she
did not know, might guess what was said.
She enjoys a sensation, and certainly the town
would be very dull without her. I do believe
Mr. Smith himself admires her quite as much
as is prudent.

II.

The valentine.
Faik play is fair play. Not even Fanny
Ketchim should be imposed upon. I would
scorn to do it. But not to anticipate uiy story.

A SKETCH FOR ST. VALENTINE S.

Tho curious escapade of Mrs. Blunt disturb-

■ ed the current of social matters in our parish.

j Before that affair occurred, each gathering

'had concluded with an appointment for the

next. Indeed, it might fairly be said that we

' adjourned from one house to another. The

terrible conduct of the Widow Blunt made

sverybody forget the routine that evening,

and the chain of festivities was broken. No-

• body seemed to care to make a formal begiu-

i ning again, and so for some time the matter

It was shocking behavior in Mrs.

| Blunt.

As to Mr. Smith, lie paid no more regard to
' the turn affairs had taken than he did to the
new moon ; although, from being daily pes-
tered with invitations, the man was now left
almost entirely to himself. What does he do —
ithe wise man — but turn the whole thing to
'the best possible use, and make the most
'excellent improvement of his leisure ?

The poor we have always with us. In every
■parish, where the parson is popular, the hos-
■pital attentions of the rich and the well-to-do
leave the shepherd little leisure to attend to
he moat n. ed his pastoral care. These
■( the indigent, and those who, if not abso-
lutely so, are "pinched,"' and unable to
, compete with their more fortunate neighbors
in giving entertainments. The care of this
pn in an American community is one of
the most difficult matters that the clergyman
manage. Like many other things in
ionr transition country, it is ungraded by
precedent. Hannah More, of pious memory,
•the Reverend Leigh Richmond, and other
[English nen and women of good hearts and
Christian deeds, have written very excellent
;r.-uts and manuals which are reprinted in
ithis country, at the rate of a hundred to one
of the English copies. Very good reading
they are, and very edifying. But such books,
jwritteu for a state of society so different from
lours, are about as useful in guiding the bene-
Ificent here as the sermons of Jonah to the
Ninevites would be to preach to a modern
iChristian congregation. I should not quite
like to be the person who would walk into
"cottages" (i la Hannah More, and patronize
|the occupants. I think I know better than
that. So does the Reverend Mr. Smith.
Willow Blunt says I should make him an
excellent wife. Did you ever?

The moment Mr. Smith found himself at
liberty, he set about hunting up the residences

of the poor and neglected: the good people
made humble by a sense of obligation, but
still with pride enough left to feel grieved
at being reminded of it ; the poor pen
Of the parish who deserve more honor than all
the rest, and who receive it, from Him at
least who declared tie- widow's two miti s
r than all the gifts which the rich cast
into the treasury. There are great spirits
among of people : courage and for-

titude to be found among those who are never
known beyond their little eirele. Among the
heroines, as a woman, I admire those who
dare to go to church in bonnets, whibh, how-
ever deftly altered, will lie recognized by some
Poll Pry as having been gifts to them, "done
up" anew; and in dresses which have
spread in the best pews before they were
turned and refitted to be worn by the humble
in less eligible seats. It is a great pity that
even the Church is in some sort Vanity Fair.
But it never has been helped, and I fear never
will be.

Mr. Smith sought out these true heroines.
And he made much of the heroes also who
did not plead "nothing to wear" as an
excuse for lounging about all day Sunday,
unshaven, but came boldly to church in
coats of a fashion a dozen years old. and hats
of shape antique and absurdly conspicuous,
with naps destroyed by constant brushing. It
is very easy for the miserly rich to go in seedy
garments, for they could dress better if they
would, but for those whose best turn out is a
confession of poverty, the moral courage re-
quired to make it is no trifle. With all these
good people Mr. Smith was, at once, more at
home than with the pretentious part of his
parish. He fell to visiting them diligently :
and he knew exactly how to conduct himself
among them. He is an American "to the
manor born," and knows that Sir Roger de
Coverly and his Rector, Lady Bountiful and
the rest of the condescending patrons of the
poor, are no models for us.

Fanny Ketchim soon discovered what he
was doing. She volunteered advice, and
would have offered to pilot the reverend gen-
tleman in person, but he was too obtus to
take any hints. I think, indeed I know,
that she was exercised, moreover, with the
dangers which an unprotected male encoun-
ters. The perversity of nature often makes
the daughters of the poor more comely than
those of the rich; and if some of "those

163

GODEY S LADY 3 BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

people" should entrap him ! It would be a
shocking thing for the parish, and quite de-
stroy the minister's usefulness and influence.

Fanny planned instantly a series of "re-
connoissances in force." The force was made
up of all the well saved articles of attire which
burthened her presses, and had been pre-
served in case the fashion should come in
again. She became a most active and zealous
sister of charity. Wherever Mr. Smith went
he found traces of her retreating steps, as if
she had been before him doing good, and
blushed lest he should find out her fame. I
have often noticed that when the minister
calls, his first act is to take up whatever book
lies nearest to him. This must be to find a
topic for conversation, or to relieve embarrass-
ment. Whatever be the reason, Mr. Smith
always does it ; and I guess — for how should /
know ? — I guess that Mr. Smith's facial angle
was disturbed in every poor man or woman's
house, when the good book he took up had
delicately inscribed on the fly-leaf: "From
her friend, Fanny K." Whatever he thought
he said nothing. Probably he rejoiced, how-
ever it might have happened, that the poor
had in Fanny so good and disinterested a
friend.

So stood things on the Fourteenth of Feb-
ruary, A. D. 1860. On the fifteenth day of
that month and year, while I was dusting the
parlor after breakfast, I heard a knock at the
door. I peeped through the blind and saw
standing on the door-step the Reverend John
Calvin Smith, six feet four in his boots, and
his eyes hid by those big spectacles. His
mouth was fixed as though it repressed a
lecture for somebody — could it be poor me ?
I skipped out and sent mother in, while I
dusted myself off, and washed the wonder out
of my face.

Pretty soon mother came out and told me
that Mr. Smith inquired for me! In I walked
with as much unconcern as I could assume.
We talked the weather over, and all the other
important regular topics. There was evidently
something special behind. Mr. Smith took
at last from his pocket one of those ridiculous
missives called "Valentines," delicately em-
bossed, beautifully pinked and perforated,
and prepared, in fine, with all the wonderful
decorations which were once in fashion. He
put it in my hand. I held it and tried to look
him in the face. "Open and read it," he

said. I did so, and these were the words that
were written : —

" Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer !
Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still

here ;
Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast,
And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last."

" Fanny Valentine.'1

"Do you suppose, or does anybody pre-
sume to say, that Miss Ketchim sent me that
folly?"

"Certainly not," said I, with the pretence
of reddening with indignation ; (and some
excuse for my scarlet was necessary.) " No
lady could do a thing so preposterous."

" Then it is a joke," he said, " and, pardon
me for saying so, a very ill-natured one. I
hope it is not yours."

"No, sir, it is nor," I answered. And I
suppose I ought to have repelled the insinua-
tion with some warmth, and rebuked Mr.
Smith for his assurance. But, somehow, I
did not want to say much. What would I
have done if the trick had been mine ? I am
afraid I should have fibbed — but to tell a fib
to that stern and yet gentle face ! I couldn't
have done it.

Nothing more was said on that subject.
What other conversation we held was between
ourselves. But I did feel like a hypocrite,
and wished that the folly of the last three
days could have been undone.

What folly ? It will do no harm now to say
that the Widow Blunt came in on the evening
of the twelfth of February ; that we chatted
and laughed over the sudden cessation of the
parish hospitalities, and of the increase of
Fanny's charities ; that just then I happened
to think of that verse in Moore's Melodies :
that I opened the book, and pointed Widow
Blunt's attention to the passage ; that she
clapped her hands, and said : — -

"I'll doit!"

"Do what?" said my mother, looking up
from her knitting. "I know you two crea-
tures are in some mischief."

"I'm sure I can't tell what Mrs. Blunt
means to do," said I.

"And I'm sure I sha'n't tell," said she.

And that was all I knew about it until Mr.
Smith called. When he left, I thought. I
talked to myself and said it was all nonsense.
I thought more of it, and began to see that it
was not quite fair. I put on my hat, and

A SKETCH FOR ST. VALENTINES.

109

ping oat to discover if Mr. Smith had gone
oat hi sight, ran in directly to the Widow
at's. She looked up to rue quizzically,
motioned me to a chair, and I sat down and
1. She did not ask why, but listened till
I had told her all 1 chose to speak, and she
had guessed all the rest.

"Never mind, Minnie,'' she said, bringing

me a glass of her currant wine and a bit of

, "I'll fix it all. / aiu not afraid of the

Reverend Mr. Smith ; but Fanny Ketchim shall

put right, fur all that." The woman tried

be serious, but I saw she was choking with

1 amusement at her own mischief. " Come in

to-morrow evening. I'll invite Mr. Smith,

and bring all 'the herd' back too." And

then she controlled herself no longer, but

1 into a lit cf most malicious laughter.

The first of a new series of tea and toast

luarae off accordingly at tin- Widow Blunt's, and

the parish hospitalities were resumed and

completed. Fanny was perfectly unconscious

of all that had happened ; and from the

knowing looks of the parson and the widow,

;I could readily perceive that she had been in

the confessional. She is a good, whole-heal til

. but her fun is certainly sometimes

idr. adful.

III.

SOT QriTE THE CONCLUSION.

Bo i iatters moved on for three years, Mr.
ISmith gaining in the confidence of his people.
'lie has kept the even tenor of his way, ex-
ijpt when Fanny has turned up in some new
MDbuscade, or Mrs. Blunt has thrown us all
into sixes and sevens, by one of her outra-
geously farcical performances. I wish some-
body would marry her, and Fanny Ketchim
. 00. But I happen to know that Mr. Smith
!»ill not take either of them.
I A new sensation was created a few weeks
igo. Reverend Mr. Smith took possession of
he parsonage, and proceeded to furnish it.

Fanny felt sure! But sin; said it was not
vis., in Mr. Smith to bring his mother and
istcr there. It would be so unpleasant to
(Ualodge them, if Mr. Smith should think of
ing a wife ! Fanny has left no way unat-
■npte'd to win his heart; or at least his
iand. She took all the license of Leap Year,
nd more too, four years ago. I think she is
reparing for a fresh demonstration in this

14*

year on which we are now entering. She is
very much exercised — very much about the
parson's mother and sister, who have evi-
dently settled thorns. -Ives in his house. "Th.-y
Been) to be very nice people, and perhaps Mrs.
Smith, if there really is to be a Mis. Smith" —
ami here she looks as if she could say some-
thing, but will not — "if there really is to be
a Mrs. Smith, perhaps she will be able to g< t
along in a partnership household. But she
(Fanny) doesn't know."

Thus stand matters on this fifth day of Jan-
uary. I sha'n't say how I think they will
turn. I do know that Fanny Ketchim has
become more prying and impertinent than
ever. I am sick and tired of her.

IV.

TOSTSCRIPTCM.

[So far from Miss M. A. D. Cap. The tale
would be left incomplete but for the following
note, which reaches us from the same post-
office in which was mailed our Madcap cor-
respondent's article. The writer is Fanny
Ketchim, whose real name we suppn
we do also those of our correspondent, and the
other persons in the drama.]

Mb. (inpEY — Sib : I have the best reason

to know that Miss (she may be Mrs. before

you receive this — Mrs. Mary ) has sent

you a package of manuscript, purporting to
be a very witty relation of certain events in
our village. How far she has "drawn on her
imagination for her facts" I cannot exactly
say. But the comment on her narrative, and
the answer to her aspersions upon others will
be given next week, when she, the retiring,
modest, and never-to-be wedded maiden will
become the wife of the Reverend John Calvin
. It is unnecessary to say more ; ex-
cept that if you publish her unlady-like
communication my subscription will be with-
drawn, as well as that of all your patrons in
this town. Faxxy .

[Postscbiptdm No. 2. We have referred to
the mail-book, and find, as we might have
guessed, from the threat held out, that Miss

Fanny is not a subscriber. When

Mary Madcap wishes Iter direction changed,
we shall look for a generous wedge of the
bridal cake to accompany the notice.]

Anort friendship is not unfrequently as bad
as calm enmity.

170

GODEY'S LADY S BOOK A.N'D MAGAZINE.

TEARS.

Teaks are a luxury, at times even a bless-
ing ; and we will maintain the fact, though,
by so doing, we incur the ridicule of a few
strong-minded women, and the impatient
sneers of the lords of the creation. Tears
now in different ways. They may fall gently
and slowly, like the drops from the clouds
passing over the summer sky ; and they may
rush from their source with the impetuosity
of the broad and rapid stream. They may
pass away like the summer shower, leaving
nought but sunshine upon the countenance,
or they may allow their traces to be visible in
the swollen eyelids, the settled look of gloom
and melancholy which shows that there is but
a lull in the storm of passion or sorrow, that
slight provocation only is necessary to open
the flood-gates which self-control has closed,
and the torrent will burst forth with renewed
vehemence. And how various are the causes
of tears ! Joy, sorrow, sympathy will each
in its turn draw them up from the well of
feeling. When the soul experiences the
intensity of some great gladness, when the
last drop is added to the cap of bitterness,
and the senses are benumbed by the weight
of woe which is pressing upon them, do we
not find infinite relief in removing the stone
from the well, and permitting the bright,
beautiful drops to flow unchecked and un-
heeded ? Yet it must be admitted that there
ire tears often shed which are the essence of
•oily, and the result of weakness and want of

■ hie self-control. Can we wonder at the dread
which most men have of beholding a woman
in tears when we see many foolishly sensitive
persons give way to a fit of weeping at being
unable to obtain the gratification of some
absurd whim, or when they meet with trivial

tisappointments and vexations of daily life,
which, more or less, all must encounter .'
Such tears as these possess no cairn and
sanctifying influence : they are but bitter
drops of petulance and wounded vanity, and
therefore generally fail to excite the desired
sympathy with their cause. None, however,

■ :an deny that there is a healing balm in tears
when they are the outgushings of true and
deep feelings, whether the cause be joy, or
sorrow, or sympathy, or, better still, of sincere
repentance. How beautiful is Moore's de-
scription of the tear of the penitent as the
Peri's passport to Paradise —

"Blest tears of soul-felt penitence !
In whose benign, redeeming flow
Is felt the first, the only sense
Of guiltless joy that guilt can know."

*****

" 'Twas when the golden orb had set,
While on their knees they lingered yet,
There fell a light more lovely far
Than ever came from sun or star,
t'pon the tear that, warm and meek,
Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek.

"To mortal eye this light might seem
A northern flash, or meteor beam ;
But well the enraptur'd Peri knew
'Twas a bright smile the angel threw
From heaven's gate, to hail that tear
Her harbinger of glory near."

SPEAKING WELL OF OTHERS.
If the disposition to speak well of others
were universally prevalent, the world would
become a comparative paradise. The oppo-
site disposition is the Pandora box which,
when opened, fills every house and every
neighborhood with pain and sorrow. How
many enmities and heart burnings flow from
this source ! How much happiness is inter-
rupted and destroyed! Envy, jealousy, and
the malignant spirit of evil, when they find
vent by the lips, go forth on their mission like
foul fiends, to blast the reputation and peace
of others. Every one has his imperfections ;
and in the conduct of the best there will be
occasional faults which might seem to justify
animadversion. It is a good rule, however,
when there is occasion for fault-finding, to do
it privately to the erring one. This may prove
salutary. It is a proof of interest in the indi-
vidual, which will generally be taken kindly,
if the manner of doing it is not offensive. The
common and unchristian rule, on the contrary,
is to proclaim the failings of others to all but
themselves. This is unchristian, and shows
a despicable heart.

SMILES.

BY MT J.IGJTT.

Oft we wander seeking roses

In this garden called the earth ;
Beauty in each nook reposes,

Smiles will give that beauty birth .
Many little flowers would perish,

Breathe their life out in the night,
Shonld the smiles no longer cherish,

Which have brought them life and light
Though on earth these flowers will wither,

They will bloom anew in heaven,
And our souls will beckon thither,

Blc ssing us for smiles we 've given.

ADVENTURES OF A BACHELOR.

BY TUB ACTBOR OF "MISS films 8, ' 'THE lllslll.t FAMILY,

(Cuniinued from page 74.)

The next day Mr. Griggs did not leave his
room, nor, in fact, his bed. The sadden re-
vulsion of feeling had made him ill. lie
struggled to get up, for his pride forbade him
to show how badly he felt ; but he had taken
cold in his head from walking to the hotel
without his hat, and it ached dreadfully ; be-
sides there was a faint "gone" feeling in the
region of the heart, which made it almost
impossible for him to sit up. Stanley, in
complete ignorance of what had occurred, was
oppressively attentive. He did not get back
from the boat-ride until twelve o'clock, so, of
course, could not see Emily at that hour ; and
this morning the fact of his beloved and usu-
ally healthy uncle being ill was enough to
keep him from betraying the longing he had
to find himself again with Emily, to complete
the important conference which had been 90
abruptly broken off. Stanley was so happy
himself that he sympathized all the more
keenly in the afflictions of another. His ten-
der attentions were almost unbearable to Mr.
Griggs, who groaned in irritation and disgust
as he looked in the bright though sympathiz-
ing face. This was what ha 1 come of being
father to that boy! Stanley would have
trend. led in his shoes could he have known
the cruel resolution which was hardening in
his uncle's heart. That uncle, upon whom
all his prospects of future prosperity depended,
who was the only relative in the world whom
he loved, was deliberately resolving upon
casting him off to battle alone with the stern
realities of life. The very sunlight was hate-

ful to poor Uncle Oliver. The rich, creamy
'• milk of human kindness" had turned sud-
denly sour. Stanley wondered at the change,
thinking it strange that a slight sickness
should so totally transform the best of dispo-
sitions into the most peevish. Still more was
he surprised and dismayed when he was
peremptorily ordered to pack up and prepare
for instant departure — that is, the hour that
Mr. Griggs should be able to dress himself.
Then, indeed, the young gentleman's counte-
nance fell, and while he dolefully packed his
fishing-rod, and wrapped up his shot-gun, he
busied himself with surmises as to what had
brought about the change. "Can it be that
he knows I have spoken to Emily, and that
he is displeased about it ? though even that
wouldn't make him sick. Maybe the bank is
broke in which he deposits. But if so, he
would tell me"." Finally he spoke —

" But, uncle, it will be impossible for us to
leave to-day. There 's the general to be dis-
posed of; and it wouldn't look right to leave
our many friends without a word of farewell."

" Don't undertake to dictate to me, sir. I
will give the landlord orders to sell the gene-
ral. And as for our friends — >juur friends,
yon 'd better say — ha ! ha I"

What a bitter, satirical laugh ! Mr. Griggs'
laugh was usually like the gurgle of olive
oil out of a salad bottle — but then it was as if
he were emptying the vinegar-cruet by mis-
take. Stanley looked at him in deep concern ;
an to fear that something serious was
the matter with his. head, and that a physician
had better be sent for ; bo, without hinting at
his purpose, he slipped out of the room, and
dispatched the errand-boy of the hotel after
Dr. Brier.

That personage soon arrived, causing con-
siderable stir and bustle through the house,
by his pompous manner of making it well
known that he was called in to so popular
and important a patient as Mr. Oliver Gri^s.

"For the Lord's sake, what have yon done1,
Stanley ? That boy 'U be the death of me
yet," groaned Uncle Oliver, reproachfully,
when the physician entered the room. " I do

171

172

godey's lady's book and magazine.

not need any doctor, any more than a toad
needs two tails."

"He's worse than he thinks for," mur-
mured the nephew, aside to the physician.

"Ah, yes, of course, of course ! very apt to
be the case. Don't allow the patient to de-
cide, fortunately. Head very hot," he con-
tinued, placing his hand on the bald spot on
Mr. Griggs' head, "face flushed, pulse high.
Threatened with inflammation of the brain.
Must be bled, the first step — then mustard-
plasters to the soles of the feet and ice appli-
cations to the head ; also take the prescrip-
tion which I will cause to be put up. It
would be better," he added, reflectively, "if
his hair was shaved off close to his head be-
fore the application of the ice-pillow. There 's
a barber in the building, I believe," turning
to Stanley, who felt more than ever alarmed
at the vigorous treatment considered neces-
sary.

"If there is, he won't have the privilege of
making me look like a convict," shouted Mr.
(rriggs, springing out of bed, and doubling his
fist. "There's nothing the matter with me
but a headache, and I 'in not going to be in-
terfered with. You needn't trouble yourself,
doctor ; I give you warning that I shall pay
no bill for services that I don't require."

"Poor gentleman!" said the doctor, sooth-
ingly, " it 's bad for him to excite himself so.
See how crimson his face is. There, there,
Mr. Griggs, get back into bed, and I give you
my word your hair shall not be touched.
Fortunately," he added to the anxious ne-
phew, "it's not very thick, and the bare
spot on the top will do very well. We must
keep him cool — that 's the main thing — keep
him cool."

"The best way to do that is to let mo alone,"
growled Uncle Oliver, lying down again, and
shutting his eyes, for his head did aelie
badly.

"They all say so," continued Dr. Brier;
"if you'll hold that bowl for me, I'll just
\>leed him a little. After that you can order
the ice and mustard, while I see to having
the prescription sent round. I '11 send my
boy with it, as I 'in going home to dinner
before long."

In spite of remonstrances Mr. Griggs was
obliged to submit to the loss of half a pint of
blood ; but as he knew that he had a ten-
dency of blood to the head, and that he was
of rather fall habit, he consoled himself by

reflecting that he should be all the more com-
fortable for it through the hot weather. The
iced cloths to his head did not feel badly
either ; and if it had not been for the irri-
tating poultices smarting the hollow of his
feet, he would have felt decidedly better, and,
in spite of his crushed hopes, have fallen into
a gentle slumber.

But the repose which he so much needed
was not to be allowed him. Instead of the
doctor's boy with the soothing drops, came
his daughter, Miss Brier, the maiden of forty
before referred to. She immediately estab-
lished herself by the invalid's bed, and de-
clared her determination not to forsake it
until he was convalescent.

" It would be a burning disgrace to a Chris-
tian community, if a stranger in their midst,
sick and helpless, should be left to the cold
care of hirelings ; it must not — should not be."

In vnin Stanley thanked her and declared
his own ability to take charge of his uncle for
the present ; she insisted on dropping the
medicine and administering it, changing the
iced cloths, looking at the mustard applica-
tions, feeling the patient's pulse, and then
sitting down on the side of the bed, and
fanning him with such steady, tender assi-
duity, looking at him all the time with such
heavenly compassion from out the dark cloud
of her artificial curls, that poor Mr. Griggs
began indeed to grow feverish and restless.
He was fast being driven into the illness
which his friends were determined to fasten
upon him.

The news of Mr. Griggs' dangerous situation
flew through the village on the wings of the
wind, gathering .substance as it flew, until it
was soon generally understood that he was
at the point of deatli with inflammation of
the brain, that his hair had been shaved, his
reason had fled, he knew nobody, not even
his best friends, and his nephew felt dread-
fully, although, in case of his uncle's death,
lie would be the sole heir of eighty thousand
dollars.

Knowing how uneasy Emily would feel,
Stanley had dispatched a note to her, ex-
plaining the reason of his absence, and saying
that his uncle was quite though not danger-
ously ill. The note had not been gone over
an hour when Emily and her father appeared
at the door of Mr. Griggs' chamber. Fortu-
nately, Miss Brier had descended to the
kitchen to see about making some toast-water

ADYEXTURES OF A BACHELOR.

173

for quenching her patient'3 thirst, while Mr.
Perkins called Stanley into the hall to consult
about having the sick man removed to his
own resilience — so that for a few moments
Emily was alone in the room with her rejected
lover.

He turned his eyes away from her when
he saw who it was. But when she saw him
lying there, evidently so desperately ill, and
thought of what had brought him to this criti-
cal condition, she could not restrain her
feelings of sorrow and remorse. Bursting
into tears, she flung herself on the edge of
the bed, lifted and kissed the hand of the
sufferer, as fat and plump as a small roly-poly.
"Don't turn away your face, Uncle Oliver,''
she sobbed, "please don't. I'm so sorry —
oh, so very sorry — you can't guess how bad I
feel. If it will make you well, I '11 promise
never to speak to Stanley again. He never
■reamed, any more than I — and oh, Mr.
Griggs, I do assure you I shall never, never
breath'- to any one what you said to me
last night ; nobody shall ever know it, not
even mother. They all thought you meant
to have Stanley and I fall in love with each
Other. There — don't groan — oh, please don't,
you make me so miserable ! I liked you so
much — so very much, Uncle Oliver — only not
in that way. My heart 's most broken, it is,
indeed, and here 's your ring ; please take it.
Only say you forgive me. If you '11 forgive
1 get well, I '11 do anything you ask!"

•• Bnt marry me !" sighed Mr. Griggs.

"Yes, but marry you, dear Uncle Oliver.
But I won't marry Stanley either, tf it makes
you feel so bad. I '11 give him up entirely."

She said this in such a despairing tone — as
if making such a mighty effort — that Mr.
Griggs could not but turn to see how she
looked. The. sight of that pretty, girlish face,
pale, with the red eyelids, and wet cheeks —
the mingled air of misery and determination
which it wore — so anxious for him, so re-
morseful— moved him so much, that the se-
verity of his anger melted like the ice on his
hot head. Besides, he was comforted, even
more than he knew, by her assurance that
no one but herself should laugh at his mis-
take, his heart relented of its cruel resolutions,
he passed the ring back into her hand, and
bade her wear it for Stanley's sake ; he should
take no steps to make them nnhappy if they
really loved each other.

Emily's face was so lovely in its new look

of mingled joy and oontritenees that lie felt

again, with renewed pangs, what he had lost.
She saw the look of pain, and kissed his hand
again.

" Don't do that," he said; "go away, and
let me get control of myself, enough to make
up my mind to things as they are. I 'm not
so sick as I look, so you needn't cry about
that. Only that terrible Miss Brier will mase
me so, if she stays here much longer. All I
want now is a good sleep. If they 'd darken
the room and leave me alone awhile, I 've no
doubt my headache would clear off, and I 'd
be better. But oh, Emily, my heart will
never u'et any better, I 'm afraid. And please
don't call me Uncle Oliver ; I can't stand that ;
not yet!"

Miss Brier entered with the toast-water at
the same moment with Judge Perkins, who
approached Mr. Griggs, shook his hand, looked
at his tongue, and into his eyes, and felt his
pulse.

"You're not so very sick, my friend, as
they 'd make believe. A little feverish, that 's
all. Mrs. Perkins warned me not to come
home without you, if you could be moved
without danger ; so I guess I '11 just order
up an easy carriage, and have you slip
on your stockings, and go home with me.
My wife is a wonderful nurse, and she does
not like the idea of your being sick at a
hotel."

"Oh, doesn't she?" said Miss Brier, snap-
pishly. "Well, I guess there's Christian
charity enough left in the community to take
care of him, if he should be. My papa says
Mr. Griggs is dangerously ill, and I suppose
his opinion is worth as much as that of those
who do not know a pill from a powder. It
won't do to move him at all ; I assure you,
Mr. Griggs, it will be at the risk of your life ;
and as for nursing, some people know as mnch
about it as others. You won't be left negleeted
as long as the strength of Araminta Brier
holds out."

"You are too kind," groaned poor Mr.
Griggs, trying to look grateful, as Miss Brier
held the toast-water to his lips. " All in the
world I want is a chance to sleep off my head-
ache and fever. Stanley got alarmed about
nothing, judge, and sent for the doctor with-
out my knowledge. They '11 worry me into a
spell of sickness before they consent to let me
alone, I suspect."

"I believe you're two-thirds ri^ht," said

174

godey's lady's book and magazine.

the judge, who saw nothing like the glitter of
dangerous fever in the eyes of his friend.
"Come, Stanley, come, Miss Brier, I propose
that we leave his drink where he can get it
if he wants it, darken the room, and leave him
to take a good nap."

" His best friends may desert him, if they
can agree with their conscience to do so," said
Miss Brier, "but i" sha'n't. What if he
should get np and get a knife or a razor, and
commit suicide in our absence?"

"Good Lord I I never thought of such a
thing," cried the patient, indignantly.

"Of course you hav'n't thought of it yet,"
she said, soothingly; "but if you should be-
come delirious, you don't know what you
might do."

Poor little Emily shrank to her father's
side, and opened her eyes at the fearful sug-
gestion of Miss Brier.

'• But I ain't a going to become delirious,"
was the obstinate reply.

"Poor man! it's awful to see him so un-
conscious of his own situation. I must put
some more ice to your head, dear Mr. Griggs.
There ! how does that feel ? Alas, when we
were at that lovely picnic, enjoying the glow-
ing beauties of nature, and you placed those
wild-flowers in my hair, I never dreamed, Mr.
Griggs, of seeing you thus ! and that I, per-
haps, should be the one, by unwearied assi-
duity, to save that valuable life to those who
cling to it as the child clings to its mother's
hand."

"And who are they?" asked Mr. Griggs,
with a cynical expression.

"Who?" echoed Miss Brier. "Ah!"—
under the pretence of changing the wet cloth
on his forehead, she leaned over him with a
melting look — "it is sad, indeed, in limes
like this, to be without one — one who is more
than friend. You need a wife, Mr. Griggs.
Had you had one, I had not been here."

Mr. Griggs could not refrain from casting a
forlorn look at Emily, who was blushing and
studying the figure of the carpet. The judge,
who saw through the disinterested attentions
of Miss Brier, and despaired of shaking her
off now she was once attached to his unfortu-
nate friend, said, laughingly —

"Well, well, wait till he gets well, Miss
Araminta, and then you can talk to him about
the need of a wife. Perhaps you can per-
suade him to take one."

"La, judge, what a man you are!" cried

the spinster, with an attempt to blush.
"Don't mind him a bit, Mr. Griggs. He's
always passing his jokes on us girls. Don't
think of what he said, at all ; it might con-
duce to the inflammation which we are striv- I
ing to reduce. Don't think of anything agi-
tating— don't, I beg of you, or I shall regret
my coming here. Mr. Stanley, if you feel
fatigued with attendance, you can lie down I
in your own room for an hour or two. I will
watch with your uncle while he sleeps."

Now, Stanley wanted to steal a few words
and looks with Emily so much, that, seeing
his uncle was as comfortable as possible, he
pretended to accept Miss Brier's invitation to
repose, but in reality walked home with the
maiden, her father having business in another
direction. During that walk, Emily showed
him the ring, and told him that Ms uncle had
consented to their engagement, which made
him so very happy that he forgot that poor
uncle's illness, lingering and lingering in the
presence so dear to him, until nearly tea-
time. When he realized how late it was, he
flew back to the hotel to relieve Miss Brier,
who avowed herself not a bit fatigued ; but,
as she wished to make some change in her
dress, she would go home and get her tea,
after which she would return and sit up until
twelve o'clock.

" If you have any affection for me, order a
carriage and take me to our friend's, before
that woman returns," uttered the patient the
moment the door closed on her, with a weak
but desperate voice, which betrayed how
much he had suffered. "Hurry, Stanley;
don't give her time to get back, unless you
wish me to become really ill. Yes, I am amply
able to dress myself. Don't fret about me ;
order the carriage ! ' '

By the time the carriage was at the door,
Uncle Oliver had the drafts on his feet re-
placed by shoes and stockings, and his pan-
taloons and dressing-gown donned ; and with
the assistance of his nephew's stout arm, got
down the stairs and into the vehicle without
much trouble. Soon after, he got into a
snowy bed in Mrs. Perkins' airiest and plea-
santest chamber, where, after a cup of choice
black tea and a bit of perfect toast, he sank
into a sweet slumber, with no over-officious
kindness to disturb him, about the same time
that Miss Brier rushed away from his vacant
room at the hotel, in wrath and disappoint-
ment which threatened fermentation to the

ADVKXTL'RES OF A BACHELOR.

175

glass of currant jelly, and utter confusion to

| this otli^r dainties, witli which Bhe was Laden.

I That night the crisis of Mr. Griggs' illness
was readied and passed safely ; he awoke the
next morning, feeling much better; and no
cept himself and another knew that it
was a violent attack of "first disappoint-
ment"—that cruel disease from which young
people must

■or whooping-cough. In his ease it came late
in life, and was taken proportionately hard.
But lie survived.

We have not hitherto mentioned that Emily
Perkins, like all young ladies of her age, had
a "dear friend." Selin to whom she

confided everything. Selina lived only three
doors removed from her bosom-friend, and of
course had become nearly as well acquainted

'with the two visitors from New York as
Kmily herself. In fact, when Emily had gone
with Mr. 'Jriggs on those many rides and to
ionics and o .in order to

conciliate the good uncle of the handsome
nephew, that nephew had gen rally been left
to escort Selina. He bad not found this at

• all stupid ; it may even be that, if he had met

Miss Series Grst, he should have given her tho

preference. She was as merry a witch of a

■ creature as ever tantalized mortal man, with

i '

( black eyes and hair, cherry lips, and a round,

dimpled form.

Now on the morning after the arrival of tho
I invalid at her house a thought struck Emily ;
ishe immediately tied on her straw-hat and
,flcw over to Mrs. Series, up the stairs, and
'into the chamber, where she knew she should
jfind Selina at that hour putting her room in
'Order.

"Mercy! what is it?" cried the latter, as
;her visitor threw herself into a chair by tie-
window, pushed back her hat until it fell off,
jbreathing fast, and looking straight forward
J at the wall as intently as if it were a black-
i board with a severe problem in geometry
^inscribed thereon.
| "Oh, Sell!" was all Emily said.

"Come, now, you've promised on your
sacred word and honor to never keep a secret
>m me. If you begin to play false already,"
Jsaid Selina, in an injured tone, " I shall know
what it means. But you needn't try to hide
anything from me ; I saw, in your eyes, yes-
terday, that Stanley Griggs had proposed !
Ha! did you suppose I wouldn't see it?"
" Well, Sell, you needn't be in such a

hurry ! i was going to tell you as BOOH as I
had a chance" — here Emily paused, and
looked reflectively at the wall again. There
was a struggle going on in her mind. She
wanted, dreadfully, to tell her confidante all
about Uncle Oliver — she felt as if Bhe should
burst if she didn't; but she had given him
her promise never to repeat what had passed
between them. She realized, now, that she
had made the promise without due reflection,
for, as Selina said, she had solemnly vowed
to have no secrets from her ; and she not only
wanted to let her friend into the joke, but
she hoped thereby to bring about the ultimate
good of Mr. Griggs himself. This latter motive
finally induced her, after extracting the most
positive and binding pledges of profound se-
crecy from the curious and impatient Selina,
to confess to her that she had received two
offers in one evening, and to relate in full,
amid plentiful gigglings and half-smothered
bursts of mutual merriment, the awkward
and ridiculous mistake of her eldest admirer,
with its sad consequences.

Mr. Griggs, at that time sitting up in bed,
making a hearty though late breakfast, won-
dered what made his ears burn so uncomfor-
tably— he thought it must be the remains of
the fever; but if they had been long enough
to overhear the conversation in that little
chamber, three houses over the way, the
burning would have been accounted for.
Also, the fact that both ears suffi red from this
warm infliction, for if the merry creatures —
who couldn't help being full of fun and keenly
alive to a sense of the ridiculous — did giggle
outrageously at his expense, they were also
very, very sorry for him, so sorry that in the
same breath, after nearly dying with laughter,
Emily, with the tears of mirth running down
her crimson cheeks, began to set forth her
plan for the relief and permanent comfort of
the sufferer.

"Since I can't marry him, Selina," said
she, " why can't you ?"

The red lip of the brunette curled in scorn.

"Ha,." she cried, ''you'll be very gene-
rous with me! How that you've got the
nephew, I may have' the old uncle. Really !"

"He isn't old!" said Emily, indignantly.
"He 's in the prime of life. And you must
acknowledge, Sell, that he 's better suited to
you than me ; you 're fully eighteen, and I
sha'n't be seventeen until September. I fan
tell you one thing, he '11 make the best and

176

GODEY'S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

most indulgent husband that ever was ; and
then, you see, Sell, you '11 he my aunt, and
we '11 all live in one house, and you and I
will hold the reins — and, 0 dear! won't it be
famous ? Do, Sell, do say you '11 have him ! "'

"It would he nice to be your aunt," said
the gypsy, growing brilliant again. "What
fun we 'd have ! But supposing I do say I '11
have him, that won't be getting liim. We
women don't do the popping. And, 0 dear!
don't you know, Em, that my ideal has always
been tall, with large melancholy eyes, and a
black moustache ?"

She looked out of the window pensively.
As that fascinating ideal rose before her men-
tal view she felt that it would be impossible
to resign it for a bald crown, a round face,
and eyes that wore spectacles when reading,
even with the assurance of forty thousand
dollars, her own way, and the city of New
York to go shopping in. The struggle in her
mind was great ; she drooped her chin into her
hand, half shut her eyes, and thought the
matter over.

"Come, Sell, say yes, for I'm in a hurry.
If you agree to it, it will be all right. I '11
bring Mr. Griggs over this afternoon, if he 's
able to walk out, and I '11 contrive to put the
idea into his head.''

"Thank you," was the stately response,
"very kind of you."'

"Now you needn't put on airs, dear. You
know, as well as I do, that if he 'd happened
to know your mother, instead of mine, you'd
have had the first chance, and been the
chosen one."

" In that case I suppose I should have had
the nephew, with the privilege of turning the
uncle over to you," was the malicious reply.

"0 no!" cried Emily, quickly, "that's, en-
tirely different. Stanley never would have
loved anybody but me, under any circum-
stances."

Selina laughed so provokingly and incredu-
lously that her friend's face grew still more
rosy ; she picked up her hat, saying, hastily —

"It 's nothing to me, I 'm sure. I suppose
it would be better for Stanley and me if Uncle
Oliver never married. Future possibilities,
you know, might decrease our expected posi-
tion very much."

"Fie!" cried the brunette, in embarrass-
ment.

"But we 're not selfish. I thought it would
be nice to have you for an aunt, and I 'd lay

the plan before you ere it was too late. I
expect Mr. Griggs will make up his mind to
leave, if something doesn't occur to detain
him" — and she moved towards the door.

" Stay,. Em, a minute. I can't make up
my mind at an hour's warning. But suppose
you bring him over this afternoon, anyhow.
There '11 be no harm in that. I '11 look at him
seriously, and if I can overcome the sensation
of the spectacles, and imagine his eyes to be
melancholy, and all that, I may — but I won't
say."

The girls looked at each other a moment
and burst out laughing again. Clearly the
serious troubles of this life had not as yet
affected them.

" Well, Sell, wear your Magenta dress, and
look your prettiest ;" and Emily was off, down
the stairs and across the way, in time to greet
Mr. Griggs as he came down and established
himself on a sofa in the parlor.

'• How do you feel to-day, Mr. Griggs ?" she
asked, softly.

" I 'm much better, thank you, Miss Emily.
But I think that a change of air and scene
will be necessary to restore me to my usual
spirits. Not that I ever expect to be myself
again ; that can never be."

" Don't talk so, dear Mr. Griggs. You
don't know how happy you '11 be before long.
I '11 bet you the wedding-cake, now, that
you'll be married before I am. There 's some-
body thinks a great deal of you."

"Who is it?" inquired the convalescent,
with an air of interest, half rising from the
sofa. "Oh," he added, sinking back with
sudden annoyance, " if it 's Miss Brier you
mean, you needn't trouble yourself. I 'm not
going to marry my grandmother."

"Why, Mr. Griggs, she's three years
younger than you ; though to be sure she
looks older — for she 's thin and yellow, and
you 're fat and fair. ' However, it 's not she
at all. It 's the very prettiest girl you can
think of. I 'm going to take you to see her
this afternoon. I think she likes you, but
I 'm not certain, and you mus'n't tell her I
said so ; but I don't believe she 'd refuse you.
She isn't a flighty thing like me ; she likes
dignified manners ; she never could abide
boys."

"She's a sensible girl," said Mr. Griggs,
emphatically. "What colored hair has she ?"

' ' Black — black as coal and bright as dia-
monds. Now can't you guess f"

ADVENTURES OF A BACHELOR.

177

me see!'' mused the patient, Bitting
I up.
••It 'a my very dearest friend, Mr. Griggs;
smarter and prettier than 1. and a
an be. She's had hall a dozen offers
. and she 's only eighteen ;• hut she
won't have any of these Roseville young men.
Mini. I don't say she will have you; but I
advise you to try."

" Do you suppose that I could thus soon
raise new hopes on the ruins of that glorious
■i the air which I fondly built only to
gee it dashed to the ground I Never, Miss
Kinily. never — at least, not immediately. Is
she good-tempered — as you, Emily t"

"Oh, a thousand times better. A little

quick— brunettes ahvays are ; hut she gets

over it. ami is so sorry and so loving ; it makes

her ten times sweeter than ever. Think, Mr.

. how delightful it would be to have

■xing you to forgive, with that arch

king up into yours ! "

"Miss Perkins, 1 believe you think meper-

iss. I can never be persuaded to

wealth of my affection again, alter it

e 1- n spurned. Did you say siie was

a brunette ?"

"Yes, a real brunette — with the scarlet
lips, the glowing cheeks, and the eyes like

ally, you are eloquent in your friend's
praise. I ahvays preferred brunettes until I
met — you know whom, Eui

" Try and get back your old fancy, then,
dear Mr. Griggs. I should be a great deal
if I saw you interested in a worthy
young lady."

hav'n't told me who it is. Ha ! is it

that roguish Miss Series' I sae that it is,

Emily. I wonder I didn't think of her before.

What a musical laugh she has! I remember

r."

"Yes, and she sings and plays splendidly.

How delightful to have your lonely evenings

cheer>-l by such music! Think of it. Uncle

Oliv-r. and try and get strong enough to

mak. a call with me this afternoon." So

savin,-, the cunning girl, after hanging up

this picture for the contemplation of the louely

pped out into the garden where

was waiting for her iu the summer-

" I don't believe he '11 go away to-morrow,"

I, with a naughty little la

ithin sight of that anxious individual.

VOL. LXVIII. 15

•■I've set a trap for him, anil baited it with

the daintiest morse] I could find. I pi

you a fortnight yet, Stanley, and something

al the end."

"You're a pretty diplomatist," said the
lover. But we shall not trouble ourselves
with what els.- In- said, for it is not pertinent
to tie- aubjeot of Mr. Oliver Griggs' fortunes,
who, being left to himself, immediately tell
into a reverie, during the continuance of
which his countenance gradually
until it wore its usual sunny, shining look,
and the dinner-bell found him murmuring —

"I'm almost sorry I gave that chit the
r I shall need another right away. I
don't suppose there are any as expensive to
he found in Roseville."

At dinner, Mr. Griggs had quite reo
his health and animation. Alas, it w.
tilled to be of short duration! But we must
lint anticipate. As fate would have it, just as
Emily was escorting him across the street to
mak.- the promised call, Miss Brier was driv-
ing past in her father's buggy. She stopped
In' saw who they were, and called out —

"Is it possible you're able to be up, Mr.
1 I n.-vcr saw so sudden a recovery.
I must attribute it to my father's skill and
my own attentions. But it's imprudent —
exceedingly imprudent— for you to be walking
so soon. You may bring on a relapse. A
little fresh air, however, will be beneficial. I
was coming to drive you out, if you should
b • able to go. Get in, and let me -how you
the beauty of the adjacent vicinity."

Iu vain Mr. Griggs explained that he was
only crossing the street, that he was on his
way to make a call which couldn't very well
be put off, etc. etc. Miss Brier, with a perti-
nacity worthy of a better cause, insisted upon
the privilege of making him miserable, and
iu spite of the evident anger of Miss Emily
and reluctance of her victim, she actually got
him into the carriage and drove him off, with
triumph pointed on her countenance.

What transpired during that ride was not

immediately known. She returned him at

eit half an hour after tea-time,

with all tin- glory of his face departed, or,

rather, entered into her own.

■• I shall be it borne to-morrow, in the morn-
ing, Oliver," she i ailed out aloud, as he hur-
ried towards the house.

He answered with a stifle I groan.

"Bless us, are you sick again'" asked

178

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Judge Perkins, as he came out to meet his
friend. " And what 's that Brier-hush, with-
out any roses, calling you Oliver for ?"

"Don't asknie," said his visitor, in evident
distress. "Yes, I believe I feel worse than
I did yesterday. Let me go right to my room.
No, I don't want a mouthful of supper. Tell
Miss Emily, please, that I can't go to Miss
Series' to-night, if she '11 excuse me."

Stanley had to beg very hard before his
uncle would admit him to his room, and when
ha did he could, for a long time, get no ex-
planation of the sullen and hopeless mood
into which he was plunged. Sitting on the
edge of the bed, looking the image of despair,
hi- nephew could get nothing from liim until,
almost in tears, he said — ■

"Uncle, there 's something serious the mat-
ter. I thought so yesterday. Don't refuse
to confide in your affectionate nephew. If
the bank 's broke, and the railroad shares
gone down to nothing, don't be discouraged.
I '11 work for you. These young hands shall
earn a comfortable living for one who has
long supplied my every want."

His uncle looked up with admiration at the
glowing face.

"You reward me for all I have done," ho
said ; but the next moment, as the memory
of his misfortune rushed upon him, he fairly
burst into tears and uttered a few half-choked
words — " Tisn't that," he said ; "I could bear
the loss of fortune ; but, Stanley, I 'm engaged
— to Miss Brier."

Stanley came pretty near saying a loud
word — "thunder" — but he restrained him-
self, muttering in astonishment —

" What an aunt the old girl will make I" —
and he whistled.

"Don't whistle, Stanley; it sounds so un-
feeling."

"I suppose I ought to congratulate you,
uncle."

"If you do, I '11 never forgive you. Do you
suppose I've waited forty-three years for the
sake of having Miss Brier reach a marriage-
able age?"

"What are you engaged to her for, then ?"

"That's what puzzles me as much as it
does you, Stanley. Upon my word, I don't
understand it. If she hadn't wheedled me
into that crazy old carriage, it never would
have happened !"

"Couldn't you resist so near an influence
other charms, uncle?"

"I'll tell you all about it, as nearly as I
can," said Uncle Oliver, bracing himself
against the head-board, and wringing and
twisting his handkerchief until it was split
into strips. "You see, I didn't want to go;
I felt a pfcsentiment of evil the moment she
caught sight of me, but she persuaded me
into the ride some way, and by the time we
were fairly out of town, where she could talk
at full liberty, she set to work at her fell
purpose. She talked sentiment and quoted
my favorite poet, Thomas Moore, until my
ears rang worse than ever they did when I
was in the hardware business. I felt afraid
of her intentions, and tried to be very reserved ;
but you know I 'm naturally gallant to the
other sex, Stanley, and so soft-hearted that
they can pull 'the wool over my eyes as deep
as they choose. I didn't want to hurt her
feelings, and so I wasn't so cold to her as I
should have been ; but I pledge you my word
as an honorable gentleman that I didn't
make one quotation nor one tender reflection
in return; I didn't do anything, in fact, but
sing oue little song. I believe my singing is
my one weak point, Stanley — I 've got a good
voice, and I knew it, and she knew I knew it —
so she recalled all the songs I 've sung in com-
pany since I came to Roseville, and asked me
if I wouldn't favor her with one qf 'Tom
Moore's Melodies,' it would blend so appro-
priately with the sunset hour, or the lambs
in the meadows, or something, I don't re-
member what. Well, I sang the first one that
came into my head, and it happened to be
this —

' If I speak to thee in Friendship's name,

Thou think'st I speak too coldly ;
If I mention love's devoted flame,'

Thou sayest I speak too boldly.
Between these two unequal fires

Why doom me thus to hover?
I 'in a friend, if such thy heart requires ;

If now thou seek'st, a lover.
Which shall it be ? How shall I woo ?

Fair one, choose between the two.'

My voice was yet lingering on the repetition
of the last line when I heard a shrill whi-
between Miss Brier's false teeth — 'IIow could
you doubt, dearest Oliver,' said she, 'which
I would choose ? Love is more appropriate
than friendship to hearts like ours. Let us
be lovers.' I gazed at her thunderstruck,
for a moment I was dumb; then I began to
explain that I was only singing, that I meant
no personal application, that she had mis

ADVENTURES OF A BACHELOR.

170

understood me, and to apologize generally,

in in v good-natured way, you know, Stanley.

•; Bntshe wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. She

I said that she had loved me since the first day

I went to church in Roseville, that she had

. sedulously concealed her feelings until 1 had

basely drawn them from her, for the purpose

of turning them to ridicule. Of all things she

imalecoquettt ! Think of that applied

to your modest and blushing uncle, Stanley I

Shi' appealed to my sense of honor in a way

• made me blow my nose in agitation. I

in a fix. and I hadn't the hardihood to

get out of it ! It 's just that soft-heartedness

of mine that 's always getting me into scrapes.

As I said before, I haven't much more

than you how it came about ; but she bullied

me and worried me, and wouldn't bring me

home, and it was getting late, add finally she

tormented me into saving 'yes,' though I'd

-en my right hand not to have said it,

and she 's stuck to that like a — like a — "

"Brier!" suggested Ids sympathetic ne-
phew.

•• Y s, a sharp, hateful old brown brier,"
cried the usually gentle Mr. Griggs, in aocents
of acutest distress. "Oh, Stanley, do you
think I '11 really have to marry her ? I believe
I'll run away to-night. If yon could stay
behind a day or tovo, to wind up our aiTairs, I
might elope in tin? midnight train. I could
; at the Mountain House, and wait for
yOu to follow me there. But I didn't want to
leave Roseville yet."

Poor Mr. Griggs, indeed! He had come to
Roseville for the express purpose of getting a
wife, and now he was on the point of hurrying
Out of it for the express purpose of getting
rid of one. It seemed as if destined to be a
sad day when the contented bachelor gave up
his snug rooms and peace of mind, at Mrs.
Boardmau's, for a search which threatened
to involve him in continual worry of body and
mind. Thinking of the days of his peace and
'prosperity, when he was only a hardware

E merchant in Court land Street, he fell asleep
at last, and dreamed that he was a huge gold
padlock, about a foot across, and that an
angelic being, with bright, black eyes, came
np and began to unlock him. when suddenly,
a terrible old thing, with Miss Brier's bonnet
on, sprung at the lovely creature and scratched
is out. Then he thought he was s allo-
cating for breath, because he couldn't get
unlocked, and finally, with a great effort, the

padlock rolled over, and Mr. Griggs v.
locked from the arms of Morpheus. But only
to fall asleep again.

LOVE.

nv a. j. c.
Love sits above on the arch of the si
Looking down on tie- enrth wiili his beautifa] eyi
Looking down on this beautiful earth :
And his angel sinilo
Attests all the while

The place of his heavenly birth.

Love dies abroad fn>ru the bliss where he dwells

With Faith and Hope as his sentinels,
The sentinels of L
And his pinions bright
Shine like plumes of Light

In the azure vault above.

lie comes, he comes, our earth to qheer !
Ah, who would not triumph when Love is near,
With Faith and Hope at his side?
Ye blessed three,
O forever be
Our cynosure and guide.

When the tempter advances his magical cup.
When Sorrow has dronk our pleasures
And our heaven is shrouded in gloom,
0 then l ay your light,
With a splendor all bright,
Pierce the darkness that covers the tomb !

O then may you bear us on eagles' wings
T i the Eden of God where Love's melody rings
From hearts that are holy and true ;
And with music like this
We'll think ef the bliSS
Of dwelling forever with you.

GRIEVTNG8.

BY A.VSIE It. BEACH.

There 's a lonesome sound in the wind I

And a weary sigh in my heart ;
The wind sobs out for the faded flowers —
And my heart is grieved for the pleasau I

That were, and are gone for aye.

To-morrow the wind will have ceased its sigh :

But oh, will my heart be gay?
The breezes will whisper to other flowers ;
Shall I tiuil in the shade of their fragrant bower

The joys that have said "Good-by?"

I shall smile to-morrow on scenes the same

As these that I weep o'er now ;
o strange indeed that these human hearts,
Wheu the beautiful sunshine the t

Forget whence their grievings came ?

0 thus, when the light of the "Shining Shore1'

On the spirit free shall break,
In the glorious splendor of endless day
Tie' Shad <ws of earth will be swept away.

And forgotten ferevermore !

GENERALSHIP.

JT ALL IB ALLTN.

I have been very much annoyed, on more
than one occasion, by the fuss and parade
there have been in all the papers and periodi-
cals about the generalship of Meade, Hooker,
Burnside, Grant, and others, as if there was
nobody in the world had any generalship to
display but the head of an army. I am sure,
if it was put to the test, the daughters of Eve
would prove, at least, as great generals as
ever the sons of Adam were ; for I am sure
there is no woman who is married to any
man — I care not who he is— who manages to
lead a quiet and peaceable life, and have
everything her own way (which I lay down as
a fundamental principle that it 's every wo-
man's right to have) ; I say there 's no woman
who manages this, that has not, during her
lifetime, to display as much generalship as
ever was required of all the generals of our
army put together. I am sure I have often
thought, long before I had any idea of author-
ship, that it would make a droll book, if I
were to publish an account of the generalship
I 've had to exert with our John. Now, I 'm
sure our John is just as good a man as ever
was married to a wife, and yet, for all that,
our John has a way of his own ; it 's a queer
John that has not a way of his own, and my
own opinion is that it is about the chief end
of woman to find out her John's way, and
liumor him accordingly.

It did not take me long to find out our
John's way. Our John was very economical,
a great admirer of Benjamin Franklin. He
often said that, if he had not started in life
with a saving principal, he could never have
had so firm a grip on this world's goods at
the end. When we went to housekeeping, it
was in a very humble way, two rooms and a
kitchen ; and if only John's taste had been
consulted, it would have been one. room and a
kitchen. But, like the rest of mankind at
such a time, he was more pliable than usual,
so he agreed to the extra room. But, although
the house was compact and comfortable, I did
not altogether like it, for, from the time I was
a little girl, I had fairly set my heart on living
in a house with a splendid dining-room. Now,
how was I to manage this ? I knew well that
ISO

if I were to propose to John to take such a house,
he would only have flown into a passion, for
our John was very anxious to keep down what
he called our "annual expenditures," so I
had just to watch my time and opportunity.

The first plan I tried was this : I bougM
several books on the hydropathic subject, ami
read them to our John, to see if I could get
him interested in taking a house with a bath*
room in it ; knowing very well that he was
not likely to get a house with that accommo-
dation without getting the dining-room into
the bargain ! This, however, had no effect ;
John only laughed at me. He said that
among his acquaintances who had baths, not
one was ever in them from year to year, but
used the room for a lumber room. John said
that he was sorry to observe that, notwith-
standing the progress of temperance prim i \ lies}
the great majority of the people had a far
better relish for a warm dream in the morning
than a cold bath.

However, by patience and perseverance, I
gained my point. John had a cousin in
another city, a minister — a famous preacher —
with whom he corresponded occasionally ; and
in one of his letters the minister signified his
intention of visiting our town during the
winter months. So John read me the letter
he had written in answer, and asked me how
I liked it ? At that moment a happy thought
struck me ; so I said I thought it was a very
formal letter to be Written to a friend and
relative, and that I thought the least he could
do was to invite his cousin to make our house
his home during his visit. When John heard
this, he put the letter he had written into the
fire, and wrote another, in which he gave the
invitation I had suggested in the most cor-
dial terms. Away went the letter, and in a
few days back came the answer, in which the
minister said that, notwithstanding many
such offers made to him by his friends in our
town, nothing should prevent his accepting
the hospitality of his earliest and best friend.

I thought I already saw my way to a better
house ; but, anxious to test it, put my ma-
chinery to work that very day; so. abont
four o'clock, when I expected John home to

GENERALSHIP.

181

his dinner, I began. There was in the entry
of the house a very convenient closet for
holding pots, pans, and buckets ; so, just before
the hour when John would come, I turned
out all the contents of this closet into the
entry, and by the time he came in I was
pud at work cleaning the closet out. So
■ when John came he put his head in at the

or, and cried —

•• What 's the matter with the closet*"

" I 'in cleaning it," said I, demurely.

■■What for?"

"I was thinking," said I, "that if your
cousin the minister was coming, it's the only
place in the house where I could make him
i up a comfortable bed."

" Bed ! " screamed John. ' ' You would surely
. never ask the man to sleep there."

"Why not?"

"In the first place, it is not long enough,
if it had no other fault."

"Long enough," said I; "could he not
j double himself up .'"

"Double ap the mischief," said John; "the
man can never sleep there."

"Where is he to sleep, then?" I inquired.

"You should have thought of that before
you invited him."

" Invite him !" I said. "John, you forget ;

j it was you who invited him. But, John, I am

perfectly willing to give up our room to your

guest, and you and I can sleep in the closet."

"To the mischief with the closet," said
John. "Come to dinner I"

He sat silent for a good while ; then he
grunted out —

"What did you say was the rent of the
house with the bath in it, that you 've been
talking about so long?"

So I told him, and in a very laconic way
John said —

"Take it!"

"John," said I, "I'm your wife, and if it
is your order, of course I shall be obliged to
'take it; but mind you, John, although it is
| to accommodate your friend, and though it
iwill add to our annual expenditure, I do not
(grudge it!"

I did not allow John an opportunity to
change his mind. I took the house that night;
land when John saw it, he was entirely satis-
fied with the change, and opened both his
heart and purse.

We got a new carpet, a new set of chairs,
and a new sofa, indeed everything that John,

15*

in the simplicity of his heart, thought tin'
room required. But / was not altogether
satisfied yet, for to me a dining-room is not
much more than half furnished unless it has
a handsome sideboard. So the question now
was, how was I to get a Bideboard P I dare 1
not, propose to John to purchase such a piece
of furniture, for I knew the price of it would
fairly startle him ; so I had to scheme for it
after my own fashion. It was about a fort-
night after we were settled in our new house
when I chanced to be in a cabinet warehouse
that was in our immediate neighborhood. I
was buying various little articles when the
proprietor showed me a splendid sideboard
that he had on hand. Said I, in a joking
way —

" I wish you wanted to make me a present
of that. I have a corner where it would fit in,
nicely."

"Just you say the word," said he, "and
up it goes, this very minute."

" And what would our John say ?"' said I.

"Oh," said he, "I leave you to settle that
part."

"You don't know him as well as I do," I
replied, "or you would know he is not so
easy to manage, if you take him in that way.
But," I added, "I'll tell you a thought that
strikes me. If you were to ask me as a very
great favor — as your store is so crowded with
furniture — to let the sideboard stand for a
time in our dining-room, I would willingly
grant the request. And then, if I can con-
trive any way to prevent our John from let-
ting it go out again, I will do so."

No sooner said than done ; the sideboard
was sent.

When John came home to his tea, I told
him what the man had asked, and as he was
very obliging when we moved, I could not
well refuse him. So I made John examine
the sideboard. He said it was a very hand-
some piece of furniture, and if it were not for
the expense he thought it would be i
ornament to the room. I replied that the
expense kept me from even thinking of such
a thing !

We were still standing admiring the side-
board when in came Mrs. M.-Kinlay, one of
my girlhood's acquaintances. She was a
smart, clever girl, but rather saucy in her
young days, and verging on to old maidish-
ness, when she married a stupid noodle of a
man at last. Not prospering in the world, she

182

godey's lady's book and magazine.

has got a sharp tongue and a sour temper,
and apt to he envious when another gets an
article that is out of her own reach. So, as
soon as she spied the sideboard, she fairly-
changed color, turning a kind of green ; after
the first glance, she never looked at it, sitting
down with her hack to it, till, after a hurried
call, she went away. The first place she
went to, after leaving us, she said that certain
parties, whom she would not name, were
fairly going to the mischief with extrava-
gance. With their new sideboards, and what
not, she could not see how things would end.

Well, Mrs. McKinlay was no sooner gone
than in came Mrs. Mclntyre, a gay little but-
terfly of a body, wonderfully taken up with
finery, whether it belongs to herself or some
one else. No sooner did she come in than
she held up both hands.

"Oh, Mrs. Young," she cried, "what a
beautiful sideboard ! ' ' And added, turning to
our John, " It would be a long day before my
husband would find it in his heart to buy me
such a lovely present." Then turning to me
she asked, " What was the price of it ?"

So I told her twenty-five dollars ; and our
John winked at me, well pleased that I had
not told her the whole story of how the side-
board came there, for he knew that, if we had
told, the whole town would have heard that
we were so fond of finery we had to borrow it.

When Mrs. Mclntyre took her departure, I
proposed to John to have a house warming to
celebrate our moving. John agreed in a mo-
ment. I never saw him so ready for a merry-
making. What the new sideboard had to do
with this change, I cannot say, but John, as
I said, agreed in a moment. So we sent out
our invitation cards, which were all accepted,
and when our friends called, everybody ex-
pressed their admiration of the new sideboard.

So the night of the party came, and I placed
all my refreshments on top of the new piece
of furniture. John had come home early to
help me ; so, when everything was arranged
to his taste, there came a ring at the door,
and a very neat note was handed in, sealed,
and addressed to our John. He took the note,
opened it, read it, looked very queer, and then
handed it to me. So I took it, and, as if I had
no idea of its contents, I read it aloud. It
was a letter from the cabinet-maker to the
effect that he had that day received what he
thought a reasonable order for the sideboard,
which offer he intended to accept, and asking

if it would be convenient to let him have the
article immediately.

"What are we to do ?" asked John,

"Indeed, I don't know," I said, "but i!
that sideboard goes out of this house to-night,
we shall be the talk of the town. But, John,"
I added, "it is my opinion that you are just
as well able to pay for the sideboard as this
other man ; perhaps better able, so if I were
you I would send for the cabinet-maker, and
see if you cannot make some arrangement."

John was quite agreeable, so down went the
servant, and up came the cabinet-maker. I
did all the talking, as if I had never spoken
to the man on the subject before. When I
told him all the circumstances, he said it was
a very peculiar situation, a very peculiar situ-
ation indeed ; and as the case stood he was
willing to let our John keep the sideboard at
prime cost, nineteen dollars. When John
heard this — being fond of a bargain — he took
out his pocket-book, paid the man the nineteen
dollars, thanking him heartily. Now. you
see, instead of realizing the fact that I had
wheedled him out of nineteen dollars, our John
is of opinion that his clever wife, by her elo-
quence, saved him six dollars in the purchase
of his sideboard. We had a very pleasant
party. One thing leads to another, especially-
one party to another.

It was about a fortnight after our party
that we received an invitation from Mrs. M.
Arthur, a very stylish person, who had been
at our party, to attend a gathering at her
house. I well knew that she intended to far
outshine me, and conduct her party on a much
grander scale. However, we accepted the
invitation. I went to the store where we deal
for drygoods, and was buying several little
bits of finery to honor the occasion, when one
of the salesmen showed me a magnificent
dress pattern, of the richest silk I ever saw, a
lovely shade of blue, with a golden vine bro-
caded through it. On the spur of the moment
I said I would take one of them ; so he cut it
off for me, and I turned to come away, when
the thought flashed over me: "What will
our John say to such a piece of extravagance?"
So back I went and asked to look at silk
velvet for waistcoats — and a splendid assort-
ment they showed me ; so I selected the I
finest and handsomest piece in the whole I
store to make our John a waistcoat.

When I got home, I put my gown away in
a drawer locked up, and laid John's waistcoat

GENERALSHIP.

183

on the table; bo when John oame home I

l him what 1 had bought for him. He

sai'I it was nonsense spending so much money

on a waistcoat for him, he could just as well

have worn his old one ; but John \sus. like the
rest of his sex, very easily consoled about the
,-i>st of finery to go ou his, own back! So
when the night of the party oame, John's
jjfsistcoat was ready; but not a whisper was
spoken about my gown.

Just at the moment when John wa'; all ready,
a domestic trille occurred sufficient to keep
home a little longer: but John, being
the very spirit of punctuality, I sent him off
to pay his respects at the proper time, prom-
ising to follow as soon as possible. So away
went John, feeling very comfortable in his new
waistcoat.

Well, the party was just what I thought it
would be — a wonderful display of vulgar
finery — everybody trying to outshine her
neighbor. There was nothing but satin and
brocade, velvet and Laoe, with rings, chains,
and bracelets in abundance. As our John
looked on the surrounding splendor, he began
to think that when his wife arrived ill her
antediluvian gown, she would look hut shabby
among these finely feathered birds. He looked
at his new waistcoat with an uneasy conscience,
wishing I had kept the price of it for a gown
for myself. John was very uneasy, for lie
knew there was not a man present who could
better afford to dress his wife well, if he
wished it.

So at last I came, and John's heart leaped
to his mouth; he had kept a Beat in the
corner for me, so that I might not be noticed.
>"ow I had taken good care that my dress
should not shame my ornaments, and every
trimming, head-dress, gloves, and all corre-
sponded with my new brocade ; so when I
walked in, in such handsome style, for I was,
by all odds, the most superbly dressed woman
in the room, and John saw me — he was not so
stupid hut he understood matters in a mo-
ment— his whole face beamed with delight.

"Hey, come here, wife," be said, softly;
"you are not so young or so handsome as
you have been, hut you '11 do yet ; here 's a
seat for you ;" so he slid into the corner him-
self, and gave me the most conspicuous seat
in the room. I took the first opportunity to
whisper to him : —

■' I knew your taste, John, and didn't want
to shame the new waistcoat."

John was delighted with my brocade, ad-
mired it hugely, said it was the handsomest
gown he ever saw, and never once mentioned
the price of it.

Well, the day after the party, John and I
were discussing matters and things, and John
was making me laugh with his quaint remarks
about the party, for, with all his grave looks,
John has a real droll tongue, and Bees every-
thing. John being in a good humor. I thought
it a good time to broach a subject that I had

1 n thinking of for some time. Our daughter,

Mary Ann, was twelve years old, and had a
decided taste for music ; so I thought it was
time we should be sending her to get a few
lessons on the piano. I had never dared men-
tion the matter to her father, for John was
very much opposed to educating girls above
their station.

So I thought now was my time; but as soon
as I mentioned Mary Ann's name in connection
with a piano, John turned his back on me, and
said : —

" You are fairly going to the mischief with
your extravagance between one thing and
another," and then he began to grumble to
himself about its being wiser for her to learn
to wash a gown to her back, or scrub a floor,
and so on ; so I let him grumble his breath
out.

About a fortnight later — thinking it was
nonsense to he overruled in what was right by
a foolish, headstrong man — I made arrange-
ments for Mary Ann to take music lessons,
telling her to keep the matter a secret from
her father. She made great progress, for, as I
said before, she had a decided talent and love
for music.

About six months later, when our John was
taking a walk with Mary Ann, they met a very
stylish acquaintance of ours, Mr. Monro, and
to our own surprise we received an invitation
to attend a party at his house — you see the
Mouros move in a circle, or may be half a
circle, above us ; and John was particularly
requested to bring Mary Ann, for a number of
young persons were invited, and Miss Young's
company would be very acceptable. Well, of
course we went to the party — and a quiet,
cozy one it was — no great display of finery,
just a pleasant company of people, who con-
versed gravely, the principal entertainment
being that the young ladies played on the
piano, and the old folks listened and admired.

One young lady after another was (Jailed

184

godey's lady's book and magazine.

upon to play, and I saw that it would soon be
Mary Ann's turn. I glanced to see how her
father was looking. He was very uncomfort-
able, evidently, getting red in the face, and
unwilling to let me meet his eye. I knew he
was thinking to himself: " If I had taken my
wife's advice, my daughter would have been
able to acquit herself like her neighbors."

At last Mrs. Mouro came to Mary Ann.

"Now, Miss Young," she said, "will you
favor us?"

"I am afraid I cannot," said Mary Ann.

"Come," said I, "youmonkey. I am sure,
if you cannot, it is not your father's fault ;
he has spared no pains to have you taught.
Go! Let us hear what you can do."

Our John looked as if he would have liked
to swallow me at one mouthful. I never saw
him so angry in his life. He looked as if he
would have said : —

"Oh, my wife, have you fairly forgotten
yourself to so affront me in such company?"

"Go, Mary Ann," said I, "and do your
best."

As Mary Ann yielded obedience to me, her
father tried to stop her. You see he thought
she was going to make a fool of herself;
thought she would be like the man who did
not know whether he could write or not till
he tried.

But Mary Ann rather astonished her father,
for, before he knew where he was, she was
seated at the piano, touching it in a style far
surpassing the others, for she played beau-
tifully. When she had played one or two
tunes, she began to sing Sandy Rodger's
favorite —

"My inither wad ha'e me well merrit,
My mither wad ha'e me well merric !"

and our John looked at me as if he did not
know whether he was asleep or awake.

He was so well pleased with his daughter's
accomplishment that the very nest day he
not only called at the teacher's to pay the
half year's bill, but he stopped at a warehouse
and sent home one of the finest pianos I ever
saw. What he paid I do not know, and it is
my opinion that he is ashamed to tell.

Now you see these are small specimens of
my generalship, and the beauty of my victo-
ries consists in the fact that they were won
without any fighting, just by pure, ingenious,
womanly strategy. I never saw a man yet
who could not be managed, if it was done in
the right way, that is, a sober man. Preserve

us all, you, me, or any other reader from
having anything to do with man or woman
that is not sober ; for, when folks begin to like
whiskey, it's my opinion that the devil him-
self undertakes the management of them, and
it 's rather difficult work to take a job out of
his hands.

These Slate-pencil drawings are from Fisher
& Brother's very pretty Drawing- Books. Price
1 2J cents a number.

NOVELTIES FOR FEBRUARY.

CATS, NIGHT-DRESS, AFBON, ETC. ETC.

Fig. 1.

Fig. 2.

Fig. S.

185

186

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Fig. 4.

Fig. 5.

Fig. 1. — Fancy
breakfast -cap, to
be made of muslin,
and trimmed with
embroidered ruffles
and violet ribbons.

Fig. 2. — Fancy
cap, made of mus-
lin, with a high
coronet front, form-
ed of muslin ruffles.
It is trimmed with
white flowers and
('lurry ribbons.

This is one of the
most effective and
fashionable of the
simple coiffures.

Fig. 3. — Dress
for a little boy.
The material is wal-
nut-colored poplin,

trimmed with im-
perial blue velvet.
The back of the
corsage is made the
same as the front.

Fig. 4. — Fancy
black silk apron,
trimmed with bu-
gle T-iassementerie,
and a Spanish pock-
et on the right
side.

Fig. 5. — Short
night-dress, made
with a yoke both
back and front,
formed of tucks and
rows of insertion.
Three tucks and a
row of insertion are
carried down each
side of the front.
The collar is formed
of insertion and a
worked ruffle. The
sleeves are gather-
ed into a band suffi-
ciently wide to pass
the hand through,
and finished with a
worked ruffle.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

1S7

THE MIRANDA COIFFURE.

1st tow. — An (.Ten number of
stitches, and net .1 plain row.

id.— Net the 2d stitch first, and
the 1st second, throughout the
row.

3d. — Plain row.

4th.— Net Est stitch, then 2d first,
and 1st second, net a plain stitch
at the end.

5th. — Plain row.

6th. — Same as 2d.

FANCY WORK-RAO.

(See engraving, page 12S.)
Tuis tasteful little affair is both
novel, pretty, and convenient. The
shoe is of bronze kid, neatly fin-
ished. The sole is detached, and
forms a needle-book ; the heel is a
pincushion. The bag can be made
of almost any bright-colored silk,
such as scarlet, cerise, or blue.
The acorns decorating the shoe
are the wax and emory bag. The
length of the shoe is about five
inches, and patterns can be fur-
nished if desired.

Composed of scarlet velvet twined with gold
■ord. and the ends fringed with gold fringe.
\ network formed of bands of velvet forms a
■ 'jne for the chignon.

iEi'METRICAL OR HONEYCOMB NETTING.

(See engraving, page 12S.)
Materials. — No. 2 cotton ; a flat mesh a quarter of an
ndi wide.

This is adapted for sofa pillows, tidies, or
iiing over the top of a bedstead.

BABY'S KNITTED BIB.

Xaieriate. — Two ounces of knitting cot-
ton, !>'o. 16 j jii"% Ho. 12.

Cast on 30 stitches ; knit G plain
rows.

1st row. — Bring the cotton for-
ward ; knit two together to the end
of the row.

•2,1— Plain knitting.
3d.— Purled.
4th. — Plain knitting.
Repeat these four rows, increasing at the
beginning and ending of every plaiu row, and
you have 80 stitches.

Thread 30 stitches off from each end of the
pin, on a coarse cotton, and cast off the '20
centre stitches. Take np the 30 stitches, and
knit the same four rows, decreasing the centre
side of every plain row ; repeat this until you
have but S stitches left; then knit 50 plain
rows, cast off, and join it to the side of the
bib: this forms the shoulder-strap. Take np
the 30 stitches on the opposite side, and re-
peat this. Kuit a piece of simple lace, and

188

godey's lady's book and magazine.

sew all round the edge. Finish it with one
and a half yard of ribbon, to tie it round the
waist.

NETTED PINCUSHION.
This pincushion can be netted in various
ways, so that, when intended for contributions

to fancy fairs, or even as presents to different
friends, each can be arranged to produce a dif-
ferent appearance. In netting silk or Berlin
wool of two shades, or in white and pink

cottons, or in white alone, laid over a cushion
of pink, the effect is very pretty. To commence
the netting for the top of the pincushion take
a mesh three-quarters of an inch wide and net
49 loops ; the mesh being large, it will not be
necessary to use any foundation. Then take a
mesh one-quarter of an inch wide and net 3
rows ; resume the large mesh and net 3 loops
on 1, aud 1 on 1 alternately all round ; this
doubles the number of the loops ; return to the
small mesh and net 4 rows, then divide the
number of loops into eight, and net eight points,
leaving one loop between each point, and net-
ting each row backwards and forwards, leaving
one loop not netted at the end of each row until
the point is no more than one loop. The com-
mencement of each of these points is made by
netting nine loops, leaving, as we have said,
one loop between each of the divisions. If the
netting silk or the Berlin wool is chosen, the
under cover of the cushion may be a crimson
silk under two shades of French blue, or the
colors may be reversed. If the netted cover
should be of cotton, No. 12 crochet will be the
right size, the points being either in the white
also, or in pink ; but in this case the under cover
may be iu pink glazed calico. When the netted
top has been completed, two rounds slightly
larger than its centre, without the points, must
be cut and made up with a mattress border two
inches wide, being filled either with bran or
wool, the last being, of course, much the best.
This cushion is then to be covered with the
silk or the glazed calico, whichever has been
preferred ; the netted cover laid on and fastened
down with a strong thread passed through the
centre of the cushion, drawn down and tied
underneath, a rosette of colored ribbon being
placed on the top over the stitches, and eight
small bows of the same attached between each
point all round the cushion.

INITIALS FOR A FILLOW-CASE.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

ISO

FANCY PEN-WIPES.
! Six pieces of scarlet cloth, the size and

colored silk. The edges are pinked out. Pu-
plioate pieces of black cloth, rather shorter,
are laid inside the red cloth, and arranged

/"'

Vv/A/V. ' •

lape of pattern, and taken and embroidered
herring-bone stitch with black and gold-
vol. lxviii. — 16

round a fancy stick to imitate a parasol. This
is a novel and pretty design, very easily made.

COALSCUTTLE EMERY BAG.

Tms pretty little novelty is made of black
morocco ; lined with cherry silk. The handle

is of black silk, with a piece of black monv.-o
in the centre. The emery cushion is of cherry
silk, and fills half of the coal-scuttle.

190

godey's lady's book and magazine.

NETTED COVER FOR HORSES' EARS.

Materials. — If made in cotton use No. 2; or if silk be
preferred, fine, flat braid is the most suitable. A large
steel Netting Needle, and a Mesh which measures No. 10
Bell gauge.

THE HEAD-PIECE.

Fill the netting needle with the cotton or
liraid, and commencing on a foundation of 30
stitches, net 20 rows backwards and forwards
quite plain ; then, to form an opening for the
ear, net 15 of the stitches, that is, half a row ;
turn back, leaving the other half, and on these
15 stitches net 18 rows unite plain as before ;
then cut off the cotton. To form the other
fide, commence at the 30th row, so as to
work on the 15 stitches left, and net 18 rows
on it to correspond with the other side. Then

attach these two pieces together and net 3
rows plain ; then 30 rows, decreasing a stitch
at the end each time, to correspond with the
other side.

To make the selvedge firm the cotton should
be folded three times, and using a large steel
crochet needle, work a row of single crochet
round the head-piece, putting the needle into
the threads which form the selvedge.

If preferred, the edge may be made strong
by working it round in overcast or button-
hole stitch.

The Ears. — Commence by netting 33 stitch-
es, and make it round by netting a stitch in the
1st stitch ; then work 22 rounds plain, and
decrease as follows : —

23ti round. — (Net 2 stitches together as one

join these two pieces together by netting a
row along the 15 stitches of each side, and on
these 30 stitches net 3 rows plain. Then net
30 rows plain, but decreasing a stitch at the
end of each row, by taking the last two stitches
together and netting them as one stitch ; this
will reduce the whole of the stitches ; cut off
the cotton, as one side is now finished. Turn
this piece of netting so as to work on the 1st
row, running a foundation thread in the mid-
dle of the 30 rows. To form the opening for
the other ear, net 15 stitches on the 30 stitches
of the 1st row, turn back and net IS rows
plain ; then net 18 rows on the other side ;

stitch, and then net 9 plain alternately three
times.)

24th. — (Net 2 together and then 8 plain
3 times.)

25M. — (Net 2 together and then 7 plain 3
times,) and continue working one stitch less
between the decreases each row until all the
stitches are reduced.

Work another ear the same, and sew them
to the openings of the head-piece. Work a.
row of crochet, or overcast, round the joinings
the same as the outside.

The Tassels. — Wind the cotton about 15
times round a card two inches wide ; sew the

WORK DEPARTMENT.

191

folds of cotton together to form the head of
the tassel. For the Cord, double the cotton
and make a chain, or plait it, for about 12
attach a tassel at each end, and make
four pair of tassels the same; then loop the
centre of the cord into the point of each ear,
and also at the narrowed points of the head-
piece.

LADIES' GIRDLE.

It is made of black silk, and bound on each
blge with scarlet velvet. Through thei

ither band, studded with steel knobs.

The how is of black silk, hound with scarlet
velvet.

CORNER FOR A POCKET HANDKERCHIEF.
Materials. — >"o. 30 cotton.
The outline of the scroll must he run very

neatly with the cotton, then sewed over
thickly. The lined marks must he runued
and sewed over in the same way. The eye-
let holes worked very finely and thickly. The
Sowers and leaves are in satin stitch, v

the h-aves by working half the leaf first. The
name, or any other, may be written in mark-
ing ink, or may be finely stitched.

lit

llliil

«! life,

'«!

The flowers may be omitted, if con . i

too much work.

LETTERS FOR MARKIXG.

°°ooo°'

°°0ooOo^orf'

192

godey's lady's book and magazine.

ISITIAL LETTERS FOR HABKIXG PILLOW-CASES.

THE LADIES' FRIEND.

The skirt of the dress is stuffed firm to I bodkin, scissors, etc. A roll or spool of cotton

answer the purpose of a pincushion. In the
ends of the sash are pockets for thimbles,

is fastened to her back, and the basket on her
head is for buttons, etc.

WORE DEPARTMENT.

193

BRAIPIN.J r.VTrr.u.v.

DESIGN FOR A NETTED TIDY, CAKE D'OYLEY, OR MAT.

The size is varied by using fine or coarser
cotton, and a large or small rucsh. The figures
are to be darned in, and it can be trimmed

1G*

with a fluted ruffle. A fringe of cotton tied
in would, however, be much more service-
able.

194

godey's lady's book and magazine.

A MEW STITCH IN BERLIN WORK, FOR
MATS, CUSHIONS, ETC.

Our engraving represents the canvas in its
original size. It is worked over in a sort of

lighter shade ; each of the sections of these
lighter stars consists of four slanting stitches
for each side — in all, eight stitches for the
whole section, the intervals being filled up
with dark green wool. Worked on very fine

satin stitch in filoselle or wool. The darker
stars consist of four stitches taken on the
cross, in green wool of a middle shade ; the
lighter stars, placed between the sections of
the others, are worked with green wool of a

canvas, this pattern can be used for slippers,
travelling-bags, etc. On middle-sized canvas,
it will serve for footstools, cushions, etc.
Lastly, thick canvas should be chosen if a
mat or rug is to be worked.

SAME FOK MARKING.

EMBROIDERY.

» v\

^A^^^AXr^

co/7j *

RECEIPTS.

105

Receipts, tit.

HINTS T<> HOUSEWIVES.

The first rale of marketing is to purchase from respect-
able tradespeople, who have to support the character of

iness. The second rule Is, not to purchase infe-
rior articles under the Idea of being economical. A bar-
gain Is seldom a prize; and this is especially the om
with regard to butchers' meal The beet meet, and the
arte, are unquestionably the the odd,

Efthnagh the drat sost may be th< In coarse and

joints then Is always too great a proportion of
gristle, bone, and hard meat, to render them truly econo-
mic. Trust only to yourself In marketing.

cleaning. — When you wash paint, do not use
•oft soap an l warm water, for that will take off the paint
as well as the dirt. Always put down same fine clean
draw under the carpet, and lay it smooth and lei
law. may be cleaned by pounding them In soapsuds, and
■ashing the Boap well onl of them. The ends must be
■pry strong and cold. This is done by cutting dofl u the
hard soap and dissolving it in warm water. Bedsteads
■hould receive a complete scrubbing with BOAp and water,
aid not be put up until perfectly dry. Always
commence cleaning at the top of the house, and descend
;.i - ni.' ] i r

muses with quietness ; others make a great noiso but do

work. The grand rule fur facilitating work is
the work to be done, and how it is
tobedon mencing, Bed steads maybe freed

from vermin by brushing them over in the cracks with a
in: xtun- formed of one ounce of corrosive sublimate, dis-
solved in half a pint of oil of turpentine, and the same
quantity of any i as strong gin or whisky ; this

effectually preveuis their harboring. When first applied,
it possesses a disagreeable odor from the turpentlni

t be taken of it, as it is excessively poisonous,

. from its disagreeable smell, it is not likely to

be swallowed accidentally. Constant and unremitting

< sals the beet means "f siting rid of these pests

Pickling — Do not keep pickles in common earthen-

ling contains lead, and combines with the

mid be sharp, though

not the sharpest kind, as it injures the pickles. If you

use copper, beU-met&l, "r bras- vessels for pickliiiL-. never

allow the vinegar ;<> cool in them, as it is then poisonous.

Add a tca.sp.ion t'u I of alum, and a teacup of fait to each

three gallous of vinegar, ami tie up a bag with pepper,

ging-r-root, spites of all the different sorts in it, and you

have vinc^.ir prepared tor any kind of pickling. Keep

pickles only in wood or stoneware. Anything that has

• will spoil them. Stir them occasionally, and

■ there are soft om s, take them out and scald the vinegar,

and pour it hot over the pickles. Keep enough vinegar

to cuV'T them well ; if it is weak, take fresh vinegar and

■Our oq hot. Do not boil viuegar or spice above five

miuuies.

MISCELLANEOUS COOKING.

Lamb Dressed with; Rice. — Half roast a small fore-
quarter, cm it into =t.;aks ; season them with a little salt
and pepper, lay them into a dish, and pour in a little
water. Boil a pound of rice with a blade or two of mace ;
strain it, and stir in a good piece of fresh butter and a lit-
tle salt, add also the greater part of '.be yolk of I

beaten; cover the lamb with the rice, and with a feather

put over it the remainder of the beaten eggs, Bake it La
an oven till it has acquired a light brown color.

Leu of Lamb. — A leg of lamb of four pounds' weight
will take about an hour aud a quarter; if five pounds,
nearly ouo hour and a half; a shoulder of four pounds
will be roasted in an hour, or a very few minnt.

To Roast a Shouldbs of Hcttov. — Flour it well, and
baste it constantly with its own dripping ; do not place :t

lUgfa l.< the lire for the W to DC in the
degree burned, or even too deeply browned. An hour
and a half will roast it, if it lie of moderate size. BtOWCd

onions are often sent t" table with it. a shoulder of mut-
ton is sometimes boiled, and smothered with onloi

Vi:.u, Forcemeat.— Mix a pound of scraped veal with
half the quantity of fat bacon, in a mortar, add
crums of a stale roll, half a tesspooniul of powdered nut-
meg aud mace, a tablespoonful of chopped parsley, and
pepper and salt. Mix this well together with two weil
beaten eggs.

Calf's Kidney. — Chop the kidney and some of
seasou it with pepper ami -alt, and make it, with egg and
bread crums, into balls, which fry in laid ur butter;
drain upon a sieve, and serve with fried parsley. Or, tho
lean of cold veal may be sub>tituted for the kidney.

Fresh BEEP ToKGUB. — Take a green tongue, stick it
with cloves, and boil it gently for three hours ; then brush
it over with the yolk of au egg, dredge it well wtl
crums, ami roast it, basting it well with butter, w ban
dished, serve it with a little brown gravy Savored with a
glass i. ['wine, and lay slices of currant jell; round it. A
pickled tongue, well washed, may be dressed in ti
way.

Beefsteak and oyster Pie. — Prepare
beating them gently with a rolling-pin ; season with pe] -
per, salt, and a little shalot minced very fine,, and put
them in the pie in alternate layers with oysters. Blew
the liquor aud beards uf the ..y>ters with a blade of mace
and a teaspoonful of walnut catsup. Strain it and pour it
in the pie. when it is baked. A small pie may be baked
in two hours.

Veal may bo used instead of beef.

To Bon, Parsneps. — Parsneps are cooked as carrots, but
they do not require so much boiling, and are some:. mi ■»
served differently, being mashed with some butter, ;. Utile
cream or milk, and seasoned with pepper and salt.

Parsneps are also excellent fried.

EfiG3 asd Spinach. — Boil and mince the spinach, and
serve upon it the eggs, poached ; or, stew spinach, or
sorrel, and place the poached eggs round the dish, with
pieces of fresh bread between them.

Meat Pie with POTATO Oust. — Cut beef or mutton
into large pieces, and season them with pepper, salt, and
a finely shred onion ; boil and mash potatoes with mill:,
so as to form the crust, with which line a buttered dish ;
then put in the meat with a teacupful of water, lay the
crust thickly over the meat, and bake about au hour and
a half.

Cold Beefsteak Pie. — Cover a shallow dish with paste,
and spread on it the steak in one layer, well seasoned ;
cover with paste, gbue, and bake. This pie is mo«lly
eaten cold, for luncheon, or supper, the steak and tho
crust being cut together, sandwich fashion.

FishCake. — Cut tho meat from the bones, put then..
the head and fins, over the fire to stew for gravy, with a
pit.: >.f water, and onion, herbs, pepper, and salt KlM

136

godey's lady's book and magazine.

the meat, put to it one-third part of crums of bread, a little
minced onion, paisley, pepper, salt, and a very small bit
of mace ; mix well, and make it into a cake with white
of egg and a little melted butter; cover it with raspings,
and fry it a pale brown, keeping a plate on the top while
doing. Then lay it in a stewpan, with the fish gravy,
and stew it gently fifteen minutes ; turn it twice, but with
great care not to break it ; cover it closely while stewing.

Cake of dressed meat, done in. the same way, is re-
markably good.

To Broil Shad. — This delicate and delicious dish is ex-
cellent broiled. Clean, wash, and split the shad, wipe it
dry and sprinkle it with pepper and salt ; broil it like
mackerel.

To Fry Shad. — Clean the fish, cut off the head, and split
it down the back ; save the roe and eggs whea taking
out the entrails. Cut the fish in pieces about three inches
wide, riuse each in cold water, and dry on a cloth ; use
wheat flour to rub each piece. Have ready hot sailed1 lard
aud lay iu the fish, inside down, and fry till of a fine
brown, then turn and fry the other side. Fry the roe and
egg with the fish.

Cupped Eggs.— Put a spoonful of very nice high-sea-
soned brown gravy into each cup; set the cups in a
saucepan of boiling water, and, when the gravy heats,
drop a fre^h egg into each cup ; take off the saucepan,
and cover it rlo>e till the eggs are nicely and tenderly
cooked ; dredge thera with very fine mace, or nutmeg
and salt. Serve them in a hot-water plate covered with
a napkin.

CAKES, PUDDINGS, ETC.

<~ROQi;pTTiis of Rich. — Put seven ounces of rice in a clean
H . i pan with a quart of milk ; let it swell gently by the
81 "i the tii'". and stir it often to prevent it from burning.
\Vh.in it is half cooked, stir in five ounces of pounded
sugar, a few pounded almonds, and a flavoring of orauge-
Aowei water. Simmer all these ingredients until the rice
is s«>ft and dry ; put it on a flat dish to cool, then roll it
into small balls, and with your thumb make a hole in the
centre of each ball and fill it with any kind of preserve;
rlose it np, and dip it iu egg and bread-crums ; fry them
in butter a light br<>wn color; drain them before the fire
• mi a reversi-d hair-sieve, covered with a soft, clean cloth.
Pile them on a dish in pyramidal form.

Gingerbread for Delicate People. — One pound of
oatmeal, one-half of a pound of flour, one-half of a pound
<if butter, one-half a pound of sugar (moist), one-half p-mud
treacle. The three last-named ingredients must be put in
a pan and left to boil a few minutes, taking care thoy do
not burn ; pour the mixture over the flour and meal, and
mix very well together, adding a good quantity of (finger.
It is the befit plan not to bake it until the following day,
as it gSVee the (aeft] time to swell. Roll it out the tlii<k-
•eBB of TOOT finder, and cut in lengths, and bake in a slow
oven. It must be kept in a tin box. The unbleached
ginL'-T i- best and The most economical.

Srowdoh Pudding— One-halfpound beef suet shred very
fine and small, one-half of a pound of brown sugar, one-
half of a pound of bread crums, two tablespoonfuls of
orange marmalade, three eggs, raisins round the mould.
To be boiled three hours ; wine sauce.

Corn Griddle Cakes.— Almost every one is interested
now in knowing how to make corn cakes most palatable,
vince so much more of it will be used in these straitened
times. The felluwiog :ti s&:d 10 he an excellent receipt;

Scald at night half the quantity of meal you are going to
use, mix the other with cold water, having it the consist-
ency of thick batter ; add a little salt and set it to rise ; it I
will need no yeast. In the morning the cakes will he
light and crisp.

Shortbread. — One pound of common flour, one pound
of fresh butter, one-half of a pound of rice flour; one-half
of a pound of loaf sugar ; heat the butter slightly, then
add the sugar, and heat that well, rice and flour last;
make it into one or two round cak^s nearly an inch
thick, pinch the edges, and if you like, ornament with
comfits or slices of citron. Bake in a very slow oven, and
then dust a little finely sifted sugar over. Instead of
the entire pound of flour, a good part of oatmeal, sifted
through a tine sieve or piece of muslin, is sometimes put
in instead, as it is considered more wholesome i'oi
people.

Lemon Preserve. — Cut the rind of the lemons as thick as
you can without cutting the pulp; put the fruit in cold
water, and boil it iu three different waters until quite soft.
Make a syrup of refiued sugar, and put three-quart-rs of a
pound of sugar to each lemon. Boil the syrup, and then
put the lemons into it, and boil them some time. Put them
all into a basin, and turn them every day for four or five
days. Thou boil the syrup again, aud put the lemons
into separate pots, with enough syrup to eover them.

Apple Marmalade. — Take any kind of sour apples,
pare and core them, cut them in small pieces, and to every
pound of apples put three-quarters of a pound of sugar]
Put them iu a preserving pan and boil them over a slow
fire until they are reduced to a tine pulp. Then pot them in
jelly jars and keep them in a cool place.

Rock Cream. — This will be found a very ornamental as
Well as a delicious dish for a supper-table. Boil ateacupfu]
of the best rice till quite soft in new milk, sweeten it with
pow.h'p'd loaf sugar, and pile it up on a dish. ■ Lay on it
iu different places square lumps of either currant jelly or
preserved fruit of any kind ; beat up the whites of five
eggs to a stiff froth, with a little powdered sugar, and
flavor with either orange-flower water or vanilla. Add to
this, when beaten very stiff, about a tablespoonful of rich
cream, aud drop it over the rice, giving it the form of a
rock of snow.

Orgeat. — Pound three-quarters of a pound of common
almonds, and thirty bitter almonds blanched ; mix them
with five pints of skimmed milk ; boil one pint of water
with half a pound of sugar and a large piece of cinnamon ;
let it remain until it be cold, and then mix it with the
milk. Strain the whole through a sieve, add a spoonful
of brandy and one of rose-water.

Bread Jelly. — Cut off the top of a twopenny loaf, then
cut the remaining part into thin slices, and toast them a
pale brown very hard ; put the bread thus toasted into
nearly three pints of water, and let it boil very gently
until you find it congeal, which you will know by putting
a little of the water in a spoon, then strain it very care-
fully without breaking the toast, or the jelly will be thick ;
sweeten it to your taste. This jelly is of so innocent a
nature that it never disagrees, and is at the same time so
great a streugthener that one spoonful will more than
answer triple the quantity of any other aort.

Ltmox Tea Cakes. — Rub half a pound of butter into
a pound of flour ; add half a pound of finely-sifted sugar,
grate the rind of two lemons and squeeze in the juice of
one, and two eggs. Mix all well together, roll out the
paste, cut into sbapes aud bake in a slow oven.

KECEIPTS.

107

UBCBLLAFBOVa

To TAKE STAINS t>t'T OF UAHOOAirT. — 8pij

■ parts, salt of I.-uk'o, one part. Mix them, and drop a
| little oa the stains till they disappear.

Fr astir as Varnish. — White wax, fifteen ooni
low resin, one ounce powdered, spirits of turpentine, one
» quart- Dt^r*i-t until dissolved. Lay it on with a
loth, aud well polish with a dean pie*
woollen.

To I'resekvk Flks. — Wrap some cloves or peppercorns
with them, aud keep in a dry place.
GasA&a-STAiNS is Silk. — A sure and safe way t i remove
H'-siaius from silks is to rub the sput (juickly with
brown paper; the friction will soon draw out the grease.
Another wiy. — Lay the silk upon a table with an
nting-blanket under it, the right side of the silk down-
wards ; put a piece of brown paper on the top, and apply
i just hot enough to scorch the paper. I have
found this receipt more efficacious than any
ever c impounded.

Cheap Lw alt/able Dbxtifrigb.— Dissolve half a small
■Mpoonful of line powdered borax in hall" a pint of tepid
water, add to it six or eight drops of tincture of myrrh.
I always preserve the gums aud teeth in a clean

and healthy state,

Foa Ci.ea.mm! IfAHOOAXr. — I Take one pint of the under-
mentioned furniture oil, mix with it one-half pint of
spirit of turpentine, and one-half pint of vinegar; wet a
woollen rag with the liquid, and rub the wood the way of
fhegruiu, then polish with a piece of flannel and soft cloth.
FrR.MTT-RK Oit.— -Take a pint of linseed oil, one-half
ounce of gum Arabic in lumps, two drachms of alkanet
i one ounce of shell-lac varnish. Put all these
o'. stand by the fire for a week, and strain. Add
i a sufficient quantity of elbo w grease.

IEardSoap or, Soft. — Take good soft soap, any quantity

-■.bring it to a boiling heat, then add -

nally. stirring it constantly till you observe it separate,

(something likocurds and whey ; then Let it cool, and you

'can cut into bars aud take out, leaving the lye in the

| kettle. To purity it further, put the

id add an equal quantity of water, and for every
jive pounds of soap one-fourth pound of rosin ; make it
I boil, and again add sail as before. When cold, cut it into
j bars and lay it up to dry.

Toilet Soap. — One and one-fourth gallon clear water,
five pounds of opodeldoc soap, one-quarter of a pound of
j sal soda, two tablespoonfuls alcohol, two tablesp
■ ammonia, one tablespoonfhl of lurpentinp, one tableepoon-
jfttlof camphene, do powdered borax. BOap fine,

then boil all together uutil dissolved. If, after it is eohi,
[you find it is uot hard enough, melt again. Make it any

; please. Color with Chinese vermilion. The mode

tends npon your own judgment, as in
cooking. I like sassafras.

Prkmicm Cobh Bbbad. — Scald a pint of Indian meal,
add to it a pint of sponge, half a teacup in
jteaspoon saleratus, stir in flour with a spoon until quite
.'stiff, put in pan, let it rise, aud bake it one hour,
i Catmoifs AOAursr the Ski.v of Rat-in.-, —it has been
noticed that several children have died from convulsions
produced by eating the hkins of raisins. Dr. D
Boston, mentions the deaths of three children from this
. and remarks that there is no stomach, unless it be
of the ostrich, that can master the skin Of the raiiin.

Hint-; OX Makino Gcm. — Procure two ounces of the best
gum Arabic at the chemist's. Take one moderately-siv d
lump of white sugar, aud orush them both together until
reduced to a fiuo powder. Dilute it In eight tnbleepoonfhls
of cold water for four-and-tweuty hours, one ounce to four
tablespoonAils, When tlsflifbruae.

HOW TO MASK GUTfl BO AS tO liKWEATHEK-PKOOF. — AfttT

soaking the glue for twenty-four hours in water until
reduced to a stiff jelly, pour on a desi-eit-spoonful of dry
Linseed oil, and mix well with the jelly before boiling.
It will then be impervious to damp; and woodwork, if
previously mended with the above, will remain si
throughout the winter.

Tq PBBVEH Pi 0* Nails from growiso into thl

QricK. — On the first indication of the nail penetrating the
quick, it may be prevented, if early attended to, ly
bathing the feet in warm water, aud gradually raising up
that part which seems disposed to enter the quick, anil
Introducing a piece of lint under it. The nail will then
take a different direction, aud the evil will be rem. died.
In the adult nails, which take this disposition, the centre
of the nail is to be Bcraped longitudinally, nearly down
to the quick. The foot is then to be placed in warm
water, and the penetrating parts raised out, which will
now be the mere easily effected in consequence of being
scraped. This being done, pieces of lint are to be intro-
duced and retained there until the edge of the nail is
diverted into its proper course.

Treatment of Sprains. — Give the part rest; apply
warm fomentations. If inflammation set in, or a large
joint be affected, put on leeches and cooling applications,
Which may be removed at intervals if necessaryi When
the inflammation subsides, use friction aud stimulating
liniments; bandage with flannel. If \ iry

Misters, or poultices made of bread and vinegar aud
water.

CONTRIBUTED RECEIPTS.

Dear Sir: I inclose a few receipts which I have long
tested, but have never found in any cook-book which f
have seen ; if agreeable, you are welcome to them. Some
of your many lady friends may fancy them. .

To Dress Celery, — Beat up well one yolk of egg ; add
two tablespoonfuls of cream, one of white sugar, three of
vinegar, a teaspoonful of olive oil, one of made mustard,
and a pinch of salt. Cut the celery into bits, aud add the
rest.

Sponge Cake.— Nine eggs, their weight in sugar, the
weight of five in flour, and the juice and peel of a lemon.

Lady Cake. — A pound of sugar, one of flour, a half
pound of butter, the whites of sixteen eggs. Eon Um
butter and sugar to a cream, add a little of each of the
eggs and flour b

Green Apple Ptbb. — Grate raw six good apples, add a
cup of sugar, three tnblespoonfals Of melted butter, four
eggs, a Little lemon-juice, two tableepoonfuls of brandy, a

few dried currants, and a little B]

paste, fill and bake without an upper crust.

Another subscriber sends us the following: —
To Clean a Black Silk Dress. — Take one quart of soft
water and put into it an old kid glove, and boil it down
to one pint ; then take a sponge, or soft piece of flannel,
and sponge it over ; then iron it on the wrung side while
it is damp. It will look bright and new, and will bo
quite ttiff. For light-colored silk take a white glove.

Him' Ea&h*

HOW TO MAKE HAPPY HOMES.

Sfoderate praise, used with opportunity, aud not vul-
gar, is that which doeth good. — Lokd Bacon.

The countless favors and warm expressions of approval,
coming daily from our friends, remind us of this apothegm
of the wisest of Euglish philosophers. In all, save the
first clause — "moderate praise" — the parallel is complete.
Not au "opportunity" is allowed to pass; even short
business letters bring us such delicate compliments, such
hearty encouragements that our hearts must be harder
than granite and colder than ice if we were not incited to
the wish and effort of doing good, more and higher good,
to our readers, while receiving such good reports of the
estimation in which our magazine is held. As we have
not room at present to give selections from these letters,
we will, briefly, reply to a few suggestions which com-
prise the most important topics of inquiry or commenda-
tion.

In preparing the Lady's Book, we aim to do good by
promoting inuoceut enjoyment and cheerful improve-
ment. Both of those objects, we think, belong to tin-
economy of God's providence in this World, therefore
should be studied and practised in our daily life. Our
heavenly Father made the earth to blossom with beauty
ami traitfolnesa ; the air to be pure with life and sweet
with fragrance ; tne birds in bright plumage to sing their
songs of joy; the streams to murmur their soft cadences
of delight in motion; while the great deep sounds the
solemn, yet cheering anthem, of perpetual strength in
duty, as it ebbs and flows in constant obedience to the
laws of God. Aud all God's laws for our world were in-
tended to promote human happiness in accordance with
gooduess.

This, then, is our aim: to diffuse and make popular the
niraple but efficient lessons of home happiuess and good-
ness. Much is in the power of the mothers and wives of
our land to make happy families, and thus insure a happy
nation.

We also furnish literature for thought and reflection,
leading the mind to inquire into the highest troths, to
develop its powers of reasoning, and strengthen its faith
in the good. There are, however, but few minds that
ran sustain, unweariedly, the instruction given in essays
purely ethical or spiritual. The heart craves flowers of
f.ini'y : the affections require sympathy.

In leading our young readers to the consideration of
important lessons, throngh the medium of well-written
fiction and beautiful illustrations, we find that we are
effecting much good. In our widely extended country
many families, living far from city advantages, mast, a ad
indeed should cultivate their own energies to the utmost
in order to obtain the everyday requirements that divide
savage life from Christian civilization. Our ingenious
illustrations, useful receipts, and clear descriptions will
greatly aid all these struggles for improvement.

Young ladies, in the most remote localities of the great
West, may. by the aid of the Lady's Book, cut and make
their own dresses, and those for children, with that taste
and economy which are desirable and beautiful. Tin v
may embellish their homes by the little fancy Works aild
198

cheap modes we teach ; and recruit and delight hard-
working fathers and brothers by wholesome and savory
dishes from our receipts. These are not " unconsidered
trifles;" but arts that, elevating human feelings above
animal instincts, make men and women better aud fami-
lies happier.

The human being is a compound of body and spirit ; the
former must be wisely nurtured as the preliminary for
improving the latter. A family who live in a house kept
neatly in order, and sit down to a pleasant table, sur-
rounded by objects of taste and beauty (even wild flowers
and the work of woman's ingenuity will beautify a
home), with a shelf of books where the Bible holds pre-
eminence^— such a family may dwell in a wilderness;
still their thoughts and feelings will be trained to asso-
ciate with the highest in the land, and they will be ready,
when opportunity offers, to follow paths that lead to
noble aims, and show worthy examples of success.

AN EXAMPLE OF FEMININE HANDIWOKK.

The interests of feminine handiwork carry us to every
portion of the world ; for where is it not the medium of
providing those home comforts which are, in reality,
home blessings? If we travel into regions of Arctic
gloom, passing over bleak and barren ocean tracts, and
pause for a little season on that dreary land of ice. truth-
christened Iceland, we shall find this fact establish! d.

Let us think for a moment of that majestic desert Of
33,000 square miles of frozen mountains, and hope-deserts^
valleys tilled with volcanic ashes, where the desi
of nature is so adverse to human existence as to suffer but
a scanty population to break the stillness of- its dreary

solitudes. Here, in dwellings composed of w I ami

lava, divinely mortal beings fulfil their destiny : they arc
born and die, spending the intermediate term in that hibor
which is appointed as life's best blessing, whether in a
balmy or a barren land. Industry makes its own home,
and in a population of 60,000 persons, inhabiting about
One-eighth of the island — all, in fact, that is found sufler-
able for human occupation — the presence of woman, active
in those duties which are hers by the appointment of na-
ture, brings peace as the fulfilment of her mission,

Under the frown of those sterile mountains the wife and
mother can still smile, and her smile can sweeten life.
Site can labor, and her handiwork pro\ 'ides comforts whege
else the interior of those dwellings would be as dreary as
the mountains whirl) overhang them, whose gloi my sha-
dows might well darken the spirits of those whose daily
COUTSe of life is spent under their influence. Carding and
spinning wool, and thus preparing it for the production
of those useful articles so necessary for the si eurity pi
comfort and even of vitality, fill up the hours that might

ind 1 otherwise be long and weary. After this is a-<u>-

tne materials thus prepared are knitted by the women into
gloves and stockings, an. I woven into the roogh frieze
and flannel out of which those garments are made which
best defend their families from the severities of their na-
tive climate.

But this is not all. When the industrious hands hav.-
thus done their part toward- the clothing of the Icelandic
community, untiring energy demands that it should do
something more towards providing them with foreign
comforts. Itfurnishes goods for exportation ; and among
them we are proud to find that it is at present annually
supplying oOO.OOO pairs of stockings and mittens lor She
European market. These bring their returns of soap, and
sugar, and coffee, and various other articles, coming like
the overflowings of blessings from more favored lands,
where sunshine spreads fertility, and the earth yields op
her produce under the smile of Heaven. Such is the influ-
i-niv .if woman's industry. In fact, the more we are led
to inquire iuto the spread of its usefulness, the more SVa
av- entitled to rejoice with wonder at its power k,s a mean-.
of disseminating benefits aud blessings.

editors' table.

199

VASSAB COLLEGE.*

, THE HEW n.At OF OROAXKATIOS F.WMlVrp; OHLT " 0N*8

■

neral plan proposed with regard I
Co'.h ■-,'(•. though, iu some respects, novel in tins
Country, Ij j ad cious. tl ■

■ .1 - distinguish
.the ordinary a ystem. Instea

extending over four years,
which every pupil mnsl go throu

well, with the certainty . .t degree at the end of

C the university system d.v dee the various I
■ of learning, which are brought into a certain number of
!- ;" and on

icy in a

uly one year Is occupied iu acquiring thi

'."
' tf thes< schools, v ssed : 1. Of Christian

1 BUics : % Mental Philosophy /Es I Normal

u : _''•-> ; 4. Mathc I i Phy-

■
! and Lib

ind Instrumental; and

ted " testimonials" of
examinations in four
- . together with a c Ttain numbei
isMm of pr«*tici"itr-y [that Is, of successful examlnal
ie other schoo

diploma under (he c To extend the

ble, it is

i forbid the

of lull graduation, i! enter any

I may leave .it

J the end of her fii ie should he admitted for less

■■ ■
*tiinonials which prove that
ii which she h
. One may enter the School of Mnsic or of Pa

r she may engage in the study of
■ .r more of the languages, and do nothio j

mng lady who ry weli

; may desire to avail i
: ■ . lie < ■

:
ne. Another may be a graduate of a
Seminary, bul - of a diplo-

Ima from Vassar College. So herself for ex-

U i

■■, .'. Ii'-r decree after ■ ■:. ■

be admirably devised

- the iustituth j beneficial. The pro-

Jpoaed "university system ' is evid mtlyon many accounts

■, f >r :i y mng ladies1 college, totheordlnary plan

Thp latter may be useful in the

tease of y i ho nsnally have to till up a definite

sagi >ol and that of entering

■ • . ecesG I j
worn ■!!, a different sysb m ca a be

ise with great advantage.
i We are glad to see that, while the mo.-t useful modern
!■■ the classical tongues are not

Msnted. Not to speak of the unrivalled literal
(Sacred ami secular, which they open to the student, it
borne in mind that the teaching of Lang
nature the especial province of woman .

■ ir own tongue is derived from

that no one who is ignorant of these
i instructor in English.
i In the n me of organization 9

:; but that is of such a serious nature, that we

l before the plan is finally adopted.

i ihnt not only the Presid I all the

I > bo men. The only w imen for whom

re proposed are some "assistant teachers,11 who

<n in the j anior classes, under the

soserv isi >n ofi

aad Matron. It is imposs ble to understand the ground of

irticle, contributed by a gentleman n hose opp ,r-

(OS have

I if'an of no ler, will, we hope, be carefully read.

m to us so
we feel sure those who have the organization of
:hia important college in th<-ir keeping will thank this
irue'' fr.nl of education,11 who has thus fully and frankly
.^pressed bis ideas on the subject — Editress op the
Lady e Boos.

this disparaging exslusion. It will hurl' ■ a I

that women ci I be found possessing th<

out, <t the intellectual acquirements net ■
the highest p isition in such an institution.

selves on this point, there is do d
for going back to Biblical or ol&ssical examples. We

i
■■ horn i he twelve tribes raised to thi I ■ ■
under whose n I sand vigorous rule "the land had rest
Myp.uia, illnstrious both by nor
talents and her virtues, who sacoseded her Anther in the
government of the famous Alexandi ■ ■■ i Philos >■

phy, anil I switb the greatest success and with

the universal esteem ol the Learned men of hur day.
Neither can it be necessary to dwell upon the Tact that in
more modern times— as President Jewetl himseU n

'. i 'ii' in Knrupe — •■ Italy eonld once

boast of Borne of the chain of her aniversities ably filled
L women ;" that In the last c**utury, for in-
stance, the selected Laura Bassi, eminent
for her attainments in Natural Philosophy, to give public
lectures in their celebrated university j and that, about the
same time, Maris Agnesi (who died so recently as 1

■ d her father as professor of mathematics In the
saine university.

We have n ■ desire thai w imen should occupy political

■ shonld be professors in colleges for youi

But it is peculiarly proper that woman should be the

teacher and guardian of her own sex. The different

qualities of mind and character in the two sexes rendei

this Imperative. Nature enforces this Law in giving the

mother the training and tuition of her daughter; and when

she surrenders this trust, it should be only to a woman

fitted to continue the same important and delicate office

The most sagacious men have discerned thfs truth, and

acted upon it. When Napoleon, who was unrtvalled in

on of the proper individuals to carry his purposes

it, designed to establh h a school for the daughters

and sister* of the immlier; of his Legion of Honor, he

sought, not for an able and learned man, bul tor a judi-
cious and experienced woman, bio selected -Madam.- Cam-

i had for several years conducted a boardin
foryoun? Ladies with success : and under her man
the Imperial Seminary of Ecouen became iu * few years
celebrated throughout Eur

In oar country, with bat few exceptions (among which
must certainly be rant I I ie two Beminarh
Professor Jewett has presided), them istsuccessfal institu-
tions for the education of yuuii^ women have been und-r

the management and instruction of ladies, sol i whom,

from the numbers «if pupils whom they have trained to use-
fulness and excellence, may be justly ranked with Madame
Campan among the benefactresses of their sex.

That the President of the now college should be a
gentleman, like Professor Jewett, of ability, expei
and high character, capable at once of managing the
business and directing the studies of the institution, is
certainly desirable; but tin-re should also be b Lady
sndent, who should have the more immediate
control of the pupils ; and all the instructors should be
ladies, except when properly qualified teachers of that sex
: be round.

We are sattafled that the more the question is considered,

■ the propriety of this arrangement will be evident
Not only are women the best instructors of their own sex.
but if they are excluded from the Professorship, the i

in after yean will Lose the inestimable advantage which
all our older colleges enjoy, of having their staff of
instructors constantly recruited from among their own
graduates, who bring to their office not only genius and
learning, but an ardent love for the home of theirstudieus
youth such as no stranger r-.m feel, moreover, it is hut
right that, as th ps In young m ns<

are held as the acknowledged incentives and rewards
of men of talent, who devote themselves to the la
and ill-paid pursuits of science and Literature, so the same
. ■[■ young women should be regard td
■■■ toe to ladies who, by their talents and ^"■■', ■■■■■

iu the same pursuits, shed honor upon their country and

their sex.

We lay the more stress upon this consideration at
present, as we trust that Vassar College will bee -
parent and model of many similar institutions thro

intry. Surely, the President and Trusts*
College, which i-- designed by the generous Po kn
the elevation of woman, will not comrotinc

her. They will not announce to the world that, owing **

some peculiar delect In the eharaoter or intellect of woman
(a delect now for the tir-t time discovered . they have not
been able to find a lady in theTJnil tali fled t>

Instinct her own sex in the higher branch
iesvrniag, or to take the charge of a. department in a

200

godey's lady's book and magazine.

College for Young Women. The world of Europe will
certainly retort that, if such a delect exists, it is confined to
the boasted Republic of America, and does not exist among
the countrywomen of Laura liassi and Maria Agnesi, of
Madame Dacier and Madame Campan, of Caroline Herschel
and Mrs. Sotuerville.

This amendment of the proposed plan is offered in the
spirit of that "generous criticism" which the trustees have
invited, and with the most anxious desire for the success
of this noble undertaking. We sincerely trust that its
history is destined to confer hereafter the highest distinc-
tion upon the names alike of the generous Founder, and
of the first President and organizer, and to fulfil all their
generous aspirations for tlip benefit of their countrywomen.
And, though persuaded that the prosperity and usefulness
of the institution will depend in a large measure upon the
adoption of the friendly suggestion now proposed, yet in
any case we feel sure that the design and object of Vassal
College will secure for it the best wishes of all who desire
t a promote the education and elevation of woman.

THE SEAFORTH PAPERS: Letters from 1796 to 1S43.

Such is the unpretending title of a volume which seems
to be making quite a sensation in the London world of
high life. It is a selection from private letters addressed
chiefly, to the eldest daughter of the last Lord Seaforth,
who died January, 1815, when this daughter, then a
young widowed lady, became " Chieftainess of Kintail,"
a nd heiress of the estate of the " line of Fitzgerald.'1 The
tetters are mostly written by ladies of noble families,
but who evidently enjoyed gossip and amusing criticism
On the life and literature of that eventful period : therefore,
tl seenM just the book to become popular in these tele-
graph times.

We will give one specimen of the personal criticism on a
remarkable poet, then becoming "famous:" —

"Lord Byron, whose very beautiful poem 'Childe
Harold' will of course be sent to you, is ju->t now Hie
rairo. Ho is a little, sickly, wan, cross, lame youth, who
is reckoned (and not without reason) handsome ; by some,
indeed, qalte killing. He bears on his face all the
oppression of every bad quality belonging to 'Childe
Ilu-old.' They say ho is very agreeable, very lively,
v tv wicked — in short, he i- coqut luchi dt 8 dames j and
( is Mr. Rogers, the poet, told mamma he knew/rowi expe-
i u nee to be too true) has that distinction of being their
favorite, a must transient gratification."

BOOKS FOR HOME READING AND FAMILY
LIBRARIES.

Titk kinds of literature most in demand are now the
serious or the imaginative. During 1S62 the greatest
nuinbor of books sold in England were of a religious
rliaraeter; next in amount were novels. We think a
similar result would be found in our own country's cata-
logue of books sold during the past year. Works of fiction,
if pure in morality, and tending to uphold right principles
of conduct aud character, may he read with some advan-
tage ; still, in our books to be treasured in the family, the
greater proportion should be of the kind that will not
become useless after the first reading.

Such are the works published by Robert Carter & Broth-
ers : a list of some of the latest is given in another place (see
page 203j, which we can commend for Family Reading.

Geographical Studies* is one of the raost remark-
aide books of the age. It is Science Christianized, the
God of Nature and of Revelation shown to be the One True
/ ' The book will do much to counteract the poison of
unbelief in the Bible infused by many late scientific
writers into their philosophy. Therefore, we hope this
volume of Carl Bitter will find a place in every Family
Library in gur laud. The books issued by these publishers
are of the first importance in families.

* By the late Professor Carl Ritter, of Berlin. — Gould
& Lincoln, Boston, Mass., through Smith St English,
Philadelphia.

Shakspeare.* — It seems like advising people to ad-
mit sunshine into their houses when we advise them
to buy Snakspeare. But, as we may, without indiscretion,
suggest the beauty and convenience of certain doors and
■windows for the admission of Phcebus, so we feel that we
are in the line of friendly usefulness when we recommend
this edition of Shakspeare. The convenient size of the
volumes, the beauty of the type and paper, and, above all,
the instructive note-? and interesting preface, render this
work particularly desirable for Family Libraries. Each
book is small enough to be held up to the eyes without
fatigue, and yet large enough to permit a fair sized print I
that any eyes can read without difficulty. It is not ■
overloaded with notes, like Bome spoken of by Washington I
Irving, which he aptly compared to a "shrine smoked into '
darkness by its votaries," yet the dark or knotty points are
clearly disentangled and explained, and no illustration or
criticism of value is omitted.

"OUR SISTERS IN CHINA.''
Under this title a series of letters have appeared from
time to time in a popular English magazine, written by an
English lady to her own countrywomen. In one letter
she gives an interesting account of a visit paid to a Chi-
nese lady of rank and her companions, in which she WW
able by answering their own questions to speak freely of
"Jesus and the Gospel." She was saddened to find that,
though living in a city " where many missionaries had
been for nearly fourteen years daily employed in preach-
ing, distributing books and tracts, these Chinese women
had never bi fore heard of the religion of Jesus." la
closing her account uf Chinese women the writer earnestly
pleads that teachers may be sent to them. She says: —

" They are truly as ignorant of God as the cattle upon
and they die as the sheep die. They are bi yond
the reach of the missionary's voice ; no woman's counte-
nance relieves the crowd which gathers to hear him, ex-
cept it be of the poorest who are found in the streets.

Shall they bo neglected i They have been hithei to. 6 1

Ladies have gone out, but th«*y have devotod themselves
to the education of girls, few attempting to gain access to
the homes and mothers of China. That they can be
reached is beyond a doubt. They court our friendship.
Will you negleci your sisters in China and India, and
allow them to perish in utter ignorance of that Gospel
which has been committed to your charge I Women alone
can reach, tlum."

Our "Woman's Union Mission Society" will take charge
of any donation sent for the Missions to China and India
for the support of " Bible Women." All donations sent
to Mi-,. Hale will be acknowledged in the Lady's Book.

HINTS ABOUT HEALTH. RULES FOR SKATING.
{From Ball's Journal of Health.)

1. Avoid skates which are strapped on the feet, as they
prevent the circulation, and the foot becomes frozen before
the skater is aware of it, because the tight strapping be-
numbs the foot aud deprives it of feeling. A young lady
at Boston lost a foot in this way ; another in New York
her life, by endeavoring to thaw her feet in warm water
after taking off her skates. The safest kimi are those
which receive the forepart of the loot in a kind of toe, and
stout leather around the heel, buckling in front of the
ankle only, thus keeping the heel in place without spikes
or screws, aud aiding greatly in supporting the ankle.

2. It is not the object so much to skate fast, as to skate
gracefully; and this is sooner and more easily learned
by skating with deliberation ; while it prevents overheat-
ing, and diminishes the chances of taking cold by cooling
off too Boon afterward.

3. If the wind is blowing, a veil should be worn over
t; » face, at least of ladies and children; otherwise fatal
inflammation of the lungs, "pneumonia," may take place.

4. Do not sit down to rest a single half minute ; nor

* The Works of Shakspeare. — The text carefully re-
stored according to the first editions ; with introductions,
notes, original and selected, and a Life of the Poet. By
the Rev. H. N. Hudson, A. M. In eleven volumes.
Boston ; Crosby & Nichols, 117 Washington Street. 1863.

LITERARY NOTICES.

201

n&ud still, if there Is any wind : HOT stop a moment after
■ - ;n'.' taken otf; but walk about, so as I*
i atlon about the feet and toes, and to prevent being

dun. -a.

.V It is safer to walk home thau to ride; the latter is
alriii'-i rea cold.

0. It would i for no child or lady to be on

- longer than an hour at a time.
7. rhe grace, exercise, and heaUhialaeas of skating on
b uy of its dangers, by the use
- with rollers attached, on common floors J better,
rod with oil-cloth.

[Those who have read tho very interesting sketch of
"Alice B. Haven" in oar last number, will remember hex
visit to a " milder climate" in LS61. The following beau-
tiful poem was then written ; it depicts so truthfully her
own death scene, asde-scriht'd iu the Memoir, that .t seems
like a whispering from the angels of her own "transition
1 to the land of rest."]

IN THE VALLEY.

Gently atoned the rugged pathway
■ To her tainting, failing tread,

Downward to the dreary valley—

By hot Saviour gently led.
Day by day she ueared the darkness,

Leaning .in th.it steadfast arm;
As a child who (ears no danger,

Shrink* n->t from approaching harm,
Till she walked within tin' shadow,

Litcte dreaming where she trod —
Knowing not— the "staff" sustaining— •

That she parsed beneath the " rod ;"
Knowing xmt bow short the distance

To the home she Inuged to seo;
Thinking, iu the far-ntf future,

There WOTC E-'iT.-r- yet l<> DO.

F^r the love in which she trusted,

Upward drew her waiting eyes ;
Till we saw them change and brighten

With a smUe "i" glad surprise.
She had gBQesad not ■■:' the darkness,

- ie saw th.- breaking day.
Caught no ltImiip-.- of deal Irs dark shadows,

Till they changed and fled away.
<■■ i e [ifa, with gentlest closing,

Could we wish for aught more blest!

Could we ask nmre BWeet transition

!Po the promised laud of rest?
yassau, X. J'., 1862

To our Correspondents. — We have accepted th.1 fol-
lowing: " Grace Howard" — " Lines'* — " Dew-drops" —
and "The Little Tet."

These articles are not needed. Some are worth publish-
ing, but the greater portion are nut suited to our "Book."
"First productions" are. rarely found fit for general
reading. Young writer? must be willing "to work and
wait." " Remembrance" — " The Undying Oue" (too
lung) — "A Sermon at St. Mark's" — "Alice Morton's
Elopement" — "The Dying IVniteut" (the subject not well
chosen) — " How Jenny Hard got a^Husband" — " Haud'e
Fan" (and the other poems) — " Winter" — "The Halls Of

Fancy" (with the other poem] — "Lost" — "Amy's Re-
lease"— "Harry Desmond's Choice" — "I'll never Forget
Thee" — "A True Heart History" — "APagefrom my Life"
— " About the Fine Arts" (well-written, but we have no
room for it. nor for the other articles)— " Song" — "To
Angie" (pleasant fancies, bat not finished poetry) — "The
East Offer" — " A. Wonder" — and "The Way-worn Lover."

We return a number of articles as requested. Those
who desire this service from us must send stamps In
advance, or a stamped anvelapn directed, that we may Let
them know we do not need the MS. We have articles oU
band to be reported next moaib.

We do not undertake to retnrn MBS. even if stamps are
sent. Authors mn«t keep a copy. This may appear sin-
VOL. LXVIII. 17

■ many ; but if they consider the vast amount of
Mis. we receive U will not be in any way peculiar. Wo
allude to tins particularly in one case. A man
sent us was declined in the, Karen number, L863. The
author sends for U Ln December, LS6& it maj be a mat-
ter of some mouieut to the author, but it is not to us. We
cannot keep a record of the writers. Every three months
We make uu aitto iUi/i.

yUuarg Xloiins.

From Petkrson A; BBOTHBHB, Philadelphia:—

THE FATAL MAKUI ACE, By Mrs. Emma D. E. N.
S.oLthwortb, author of "Missing Bride," " Love's LatoOl
Won," etc. A highly interesting and exciting romance,
written with Mrs. SouthWOlth's characteristic poWOZ iu
depicting passii.-u. Bar stories have ever been favorites
With American readers, and this, her latest work, Will
meet with a kind rco-prion.

THE RUNAWAY HATCH, AND THE DEAN OF DEN-
HAM. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of " The Castle's
Heir," "The Lost Dank Note," etc. This book contains a
third story not included in the* title: "William Allair;
Off, Kuuningaway to Sea." These three novelettes areall
interesting, with axeeUeni morals, as Mrs. Wood's tal--n
always have.

THE DAYS OF BHGBDY. A Novel of the Great BAi I-
lion in 1881. By Henry Morford, author of "Shoulder-
Straps." This is an American novel, of course, and treats
of a certain class .if characters which recent events havo
rendered conspicuous, dealing with them in no flattering
manner. The author displays perfect familiarity with
at pelitics, hterntnre, and art. HisK.uk is lively and
sarcastic, and bids lair to create something of a sensation.

From FHBDERXCK Lfa'poi.dt, Philadelphia : —

HEINE'S BOOK OB BONOS. Translated by Charles 0.
belaud, author of " Meister Karl's Sketch-Book," and
"Sunshine in Thought." This is a spirited and axeaUeflJ
translation of the poetical works of oue of Germany's
BWeetest singers. Full of beauty and pathos, with occa-
sional playfulness, ins songs will find full appreciation lu
the hands of all true lovers of poetry.

MODERN ESSAYS. NoA. Brinrick Heine. By Mat-
thew Arnold. This book is a fitting companion to tho
work just noticed. It contains a sketch of the lile,
career, ami character of Heine, combined with a brief yet
comprehensive criticism of his works.

IMMEX-SEE. From tho German of "Th. Storm," by
H. Clark.

GRANDMOTHER AND GRANDDAUGHTER. From the
German of "Louise Esche," by Mme. C. R. Corson. Vhase
two stories, included in one volume, are excellent ones iu
their way, and deserve the favor of the public.

THE ICE-MAIDEN, and otter Tales. By Han* Chris-
tian Andersen. Translated from the German by Fanny
Fuller. Possessed of a brilliant and poetic imagination.
and a whimsical fancy, Anderson ran throw a charm
around the simplest story. This little collection of tales
is not unworthy of him.

From the Protestant Episcopal Book Society, Phila-
delphia:— ,

THE OILED FEATHER. By Rev P. B. Power. M. A.
This little book is intended to illustrate to children, iu an
attractive manner, the great power of kind Wttff&l and
gentle Way*.

202

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Prom .1. W. Boughaday, Philadelphia: —
DARING AND SUFFERING. A Htt&ry •>/ the Great
Railroad Adbi rdt'.re. By Lieut. William Pitlinger, one
of the adventurers. With an introduction by Rev. Alex-
. uiei <. lark. This is a spirited histury of one of the most
rt ■jiiariialjle. and daring adventures of the. present rebellion.
This was a bold aud perilous expedition by railroad iuto
the very heart of the enemy's country, by a little more
Lhan twenty men, eight of whom were executed at its
disastrous end, eight succeeded in escaping, and six were
anally exchanged after languishing through the winter
>n southern prisons,

From Harper & Brothers, New York, through Peter-
60 & Brothers, Philadelphia: —

Hi KJM DABi TTPAPERS. By W. SI. Thackeray; authorof
"Vanity Fair," "Adventures of Philip,'" etc. With illus-
irations, These papers appeared originally in the "Corn-
trill Magazine." They are witty, philosophical, common
place, or cynical, according to the author's mood, while
the subjects which give them their titles are the only
ones he does not write about.

A PRACTICAL GRAMMAR OF THE FRENCH LAN-
QCtAGfi, By William J. Knapp, A. M., Professor Of Mod*
ern Languages and Literature in Madison University, New
York, and author of " A 1 n-ucli Reading Book.'' This is a

carefully and judiciously prepared work, containing in
addition to the grammar, reading lessons aud a complete
vocabulary. It vriil meet the wants and receive the ap-
proval of the student.

RACHEL RAY. A Xovel. By Anthony Trollope,
author of " Orley Farm," " Framley Parsonage," etc.

MARY LYND.-AY. .1 N&oeZ. By the Lady Emily
Ponsouby, author of "-The Discipline of L,fi ,'' etc. We
tind these two novels among the unusual number of pub-
lications which the mouth has brought, but have had no
time to examine further than their title pages. The name
of Anthony Trollope as the author of the former, is a
guarantee i t more than usual excellence in the book;
while the fact that thi y both belong to Harper's select
library of novels is sufficient commendation of itself.

From Sheldon & Co., New York: —

HUSKS. roLoNEL FLOYD'S WARDS. By Marion
Harland. These two stories are included in one book.
The first of the two has already had a wide circulation in
the pages of the Lauv's Book, and our readers need no
assurance of tta superior merits. The second is in no
wise inferior, and will be read with equal interest.
Marion Harland is herself a uoble woman, and lor ideal
of womanhood is a lofty one. She possesses true ideas of
life, with a delicate aud keen perception of its duties, and
when she writes, it is not merely to amuse, but with the
intention that her stoiies shall inculcate a moral as well.
Soon women as she have a limitless sphere for doing
good.

From G. P. Potham, New York • —

HANNAH THURSTON. A story of American Life. By
Bayard Taylor. We tee} slightly inclined to quarrel with
this author over his title. If our neighbors abroad take
this as a veritable "story oi American Life," they will
receive the idea that Americans are principally spirit
rappers, Fowierites, "strong-minded women," and other
f .'-called reformers. Nor is this the only point on which
•.'. ' :ii at issue with him. His book is well-written, his
characters clearly defined, and his plot, though simple,
yf-r ingenious. But while, he has sot out to expose the
failings of a class QisofrdiSwU reformers, and not without

most excellent grounds for so doing, he goes further, and
contemns many most praiseworthy movements, sucu as
foreign missions and the temperance reform. His hero,
Maxwell Woodbury, is represented as a noble specimen
of manhood, but he is emphatically a man of the world,
better perhaps than the majority, but not so good but that
he might be improved. Hannah Thurston, a strong-
minded woman, is an admirable character, and tolerably
well managed ; though in reading of her, we are reminded
of Gail Hamilton s saying, with which we fully concur,
that the wisest and best of men, when they attempt to pro-
scribe and describe a woman's place in the world, "always
make a muddle of it."

From D. Appleton & Co., New York, through Ashmead
& Evaxs, Philadelphia;—

HISTORY OF THE ROMANS UNDER THE EMPIRE.
Vols. I and II. By Charles Merivale, B. D , late Fellow of
Bt. John's College, Cambridge. History will always read
a lesson from the past to the present, but which is, alas, too
often disregarded ! The history of the Roman Republic
and the Roman Empire has especially furnished themes,
equally in the mouths of young students fresh from col-
lege, who consider it their duty and their privilege to give
the world the benefit of their newly-acquired knowledge,
and with men of deeper calibre, who know what chey are
talking of, aud fully comprehend the subject in aii its
breadth and depth. The study of a nation's history, pro-
fitable at all times, is especially to be commended now,
when the pages are being filled so fast in the ftcords of
our own country, and when there is no knowing what
event of overwhelming importance tno coming day or
year may bring forth. Tins book differs materially from
many other;* of its class, inasmuch as, while uccessarily
referring to the external history of the Empire, its main
object is to furnish its readers information concerning the
interior political and domestic history of the Romans as a
people. The work will be embraced in seven volumes.

QUEEN MAB. By Julia Kavauagh, author of "Natha-
lie," " Adele," etc. Three volumes in one. Miss Kava-
nagli is an author whose, merits entitle her to a far greater
reputation than she seems to have. She is one of the most
talented of English writers, interesting in her plots, origi-
nal in her characters, and pure in her diction. "Queen
Mab" possesses all her best characteristics. The scene is
first laid in Loudon, then changes to Ireland.

KEEP A good heart. A Story for the SSsrry Cftrtet-
mas Time. By Cousin Carrie. A pleasantly written,
finely toned, and prettily illustrated story for young
people.

BOUND THE BLOCK. An American Novel. With
illustrations. This book, without being remarkable either
for plot or characters, is one whicli will nevertheless re-
commend itself to the taste of the reading public It is
well written and shrewd, with occasional dashes of hu-
mor. The "boy Bog," a young bill-poster, plays a pro-
minent part in the story, aud is the subject of a very inge-
nious romance.

From Carleton, New York, through Peterson &. Bro-
thers, Philadelphia: —

PECULIAR. A Tali of the Great Transition. By Epes
Saruent. Mr. Sargent has, iu this romance, prepared %
rare dish for the critics, if, with all the crowd of other
literature onstheiX hands they have leisure and inclination
to discuss ir. Judging from the various foot notes, it is
literally a compilation of incidents and facts bearing upon
the subieet of -lavery, united by a lively fancy to form a
story. Rut lor a book of its apparent pretensions the work

LITERARY NOTICES.

203

U. bunglingly done, the patchwork too evident, and the

too raw. Wo mv this iiun.il of It m -i literary pro-

rits morally and potfUeally we do nol

(eel \va The heroine a

y.-uiiL' wlii to girl who is Kohl into s1.iy.tv. n ml aftsX Ban*-

;: rough various adventures and perils, she ri*u;t :«•<
hex freedom through the Instrumentality of Peculiar 1 1
tnttou, ;i very wonderful and frentlemanly negro, from
■] m the book derives it- title. She author display! all
the facility of a vaudeville in moving hta characters ac-
•erding to his own convenience, in bringing ahout Mir-
counters, remarkable Identities, and dram
; and we almost wonder thai he did not,* I n i
of bis bo »k, bring (brwardGlara, supported on either hand
by Peek and Mr. Vanne, bo make a closing speech aud
bow back as he drops the curtain.

THE LIFE OP JBSUS. By Ernest LVnan, Merubrc de

L'laatitat. Translated from the original French, by

Charles Edwin Wttbonr, Translator of " Lea Hlserables."

Tin- 1- the first of s contemplated series of books whose

general name shall be the " Origins of Christianity." This

reats of the life of thi ianity,

■ ■ tasing in one ( I ■■■ Lnfurjnattoii thai ft lid

1 e gleaned from every source. Tin- author says: " Five

tionsof writings, not I , . . : niuUitudoof

other leattered data, remain bo ns in regard to Jesus and

me in which he lived. First, the Gospels and the

writings of the New Testament generally : second, the

compositions called the ' Apocrypha1 of the Old Testament :

third, the works of Phllo; fourth, those of Josephns;

fifth, the Talmud."

LOUIS'S &AST TEBM AT ST. MAF.Y'S. By the au>
Ihor of •' Butledge,11 " Frank Warrington," etc. The de-
mand for this book since its publication lias called for a
1 edition, which is UOW issued in a very neat and
attractive sty i .

THE RUSSIAN BALL; or. The Adventures of Ms*
'■/. A humorous description in verse.
By a New Tort Editor. We do nol know which is the
most shocking, this bail with its various scandalona inci-
dent-, or the doggerel to which it lias given rise.

LIGHT ON SHADOWED PATHS. By T. S. Arthur,
author of "Steps towards Heaven,*1 "Golden Grains,"
etc. A collection of beautiful and touching stories, with
golden morals, such as Arthur alone knows how to write.
We trust he will bear the lesson of his first story, '-If ho
ouid know." In hie own heart. Though in this wot d
he will never know a tithe of the blessings with which
his works have been crowned; wo trusl in the future
their measure will he counted out, and he will receive his
full reward.

WAS HE SUCCESSFUL? A Fowl. By Richard B.
Kimball, author of "St Leger," "Under-cunente,
tceessful literary effort of one whose nami
(unknown to American readers, it is a series of skilfully
■i pictures of city and country life, giving the
various phases presented by society In each.

From Charles Scrtb5BR, New York, through Ltppin-
cott A Co., Philadelphia :—

LETTERS TO THE JONESES. By Timothy Titcomh,
anther of " Letters t i Young People,'1 " Gold Foil.'' etc.

hese letters, didactic in character, and full ofsonnd Bom-

mon sense, are deserving a place in everyone's Library;

:n ly of Joneses, aud we wish ho

ctended his. correspondence etill further. Those

whom he addresses he deals with severely, yet in the

spirit of kindness, and we trust they may profit .

From Trenton k FiBLDe, Boston; through PKBHSOl

Bkotiu nu, i :. i| bia>: —

BOUMDLROS FROM THE ATLANTIC By Oliver
Wendell Holmes. Weknom of no more genial companioa
for a leisure hour than the "Autocrat, ' This vorntme
ten difl! p ■:' b! an si and assays. The first ii
"Bread and the Newspaper,'1 which ha doelares to be th ■
only absolute necesBUiea of the times, His " Search aJU r
the Captain" takes as to real places, and acquaint! a

With living men and Women. And the articles whir b

follou ■< re no less I nstructivo and entertaining.

THE THOUGHTS OF THE EMPEROR M. AURELIT >
ANTONINUS. Translated by George Long. We fee] a
fldonf that this translation will receive the approvals."
all readers of the classics.

i.v w'ak TIME, and other Poems By John Greenleaf
Whittler. Filled to overflowing with the spirit of patriot-
ism and the love of liberty, Whittler has embodied the
sentiments In fa Is verse

TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. By Henry Wadsworth
Longfellow. With the name, of America's poet Laurea' ■
gracing the title-page of thia book, praise Is a w astefnl u- ■
of words. It opens with a desi ription of the wayside inn.
in the parlor of which are gathered the landlord, a student,
d Spanish Jew, a .Sicilian, a musician, a theologian, and
a, poet : —

"And though of different peech,

1. 1. ii had bis tale to tell, and each
Was anxious to be pleased and u i

MY PAYS AM) NIGHTS ON THE BATTLE-FIELD
A Book/or Boys, By "Carieton." This book is designed
to fhmisfa to the yonth of our country, a clear and & nc«
account of the present rebellion ; its causes, even to the
most remote, and the moreiniportant points in its history.
Descriptions of the battles of Bull's linn and Pit$abusg
Lauding, and other engagements equally interesting, are
given with the minuteness and fidelity of an eye-witness.
He promises, if this book proves acceptable to bis young
readers, to tell the stories of tho terrible battles ofAntietam .
Fredericksburg, and Gettysburg, in a future volume.

FLOWER, FRUIT AND THORN PIECES; or th> Mm
rUd Lif<, D'-ith, and Wedding <■/(/,,- Advocate of tic
Pour, Fvrmian Stanislaus Steb&ikas. By Raul Friednch
Kichter. Translated from the German by Edward Henry

Noel. With a Memoir of the Author, by Thomas Carl;,]

In two volumes. There is a growing taste among> our
reading public for German productions. Kiel iter is one of
the corny etest, and at the same time most difficult to 1 ■
translated, of German writers. Obscure in his own lan-
guage, it is doubly hard to render him intelligible in
English. He Is mystical, metaphysical, whimsical, ami
nil; with an elephantine playfulness, and with an
elaborateness that remind- us of a Flemish painting.

From J. E. Tilton & Co., Boston, through aBHMB*B-4
Evans Philadelphia:—

ADVENTURES OF DICE ONSLOW AMONG THE RED
SKINS, A Book for Boys, With illustrations. Edited
by William H. G. Kingston. A book whoso wild and
wonderful adventures cannot fail to rivet the attention l

its youthful readers.

From Louxg, Boston, through Lirrrxrorr & Co., Phi-
ladelphia :—

JEAN HELIX: or. The J
Boy. By Alfred deBrehat. Translated from the Frenc '..
One of the exceptional books which, whilst intended
peetally for children, are capable of awakening the in-
terest and BUgCOSBSBI

204

godey's lady's book and magazine.

THE NOSE OF A NOTARY From the French of Ed-
mund About. This is a humorous novel which iu France
has obtained wide popularity. We predict for it equai
success in this country.

TWICE LOST. A Novel. One of the most ingeniously
constructed stories we have had the pleasure of reading.
If its readers are not misled as completely as we were in
the early stages of the story, they will possess unusual
acumen.

A BUDGET OF FUN FOR LITTLE FOLKS. By Aunt
Maggie.

VERONICA ; or, Tlie LigH-House Keeper. By the au-
thor of " Karl Keigler." Two juvenile books, neither of
which will fail to give delight.

From Roberts Brothers, Boston, through Lippixcott
&Co., Philadelphia:—

HEAVEN OUR HOME. We have no Saviour but Jesus,
and no Home but Heaven. By the author of " Meet for
Heaven. ' ' More than seveuty-fi te thousand copies of this
work, have been called for in England, proving with what
favor its publication has been received. The author treats
of heaven as a material habitation and a home, where
there are joyful meetings between friends and kindred,
and eternal and ever-growing love.

POEMS. By Jean Ingelow. This poetess is one who
reads nature as an open book, and knows how to interpret
her to the understanding of others. Whilst reading one
hears the gush of the waterfall, sees tho nodding of the
harebell, the glisten of tlie dew-drops, and the flicker of
"light as it falls through trembling leaved upon the grass.

From A. Wiluams & Co., Boston: —

EDITH PRESCOTT; or, Lessons of Love. Being Aunt
Bertha's Vita't to the Elms. By Emma Marshall, author
of "The Happy Days at Fernbank," etc. A well-told
story for children, both entertaining and instructive.

From Crosby & Nichols, Boston:—

LETTERS OF ADA R. PARKER. From a numerous
correspondence furnished by many friends of the late Ada
R. Parker, one huudred and thirty-four havo been selected
and arranged for publication. "They show the growth
of her mind, and the steps by which she gained that supe-
rior intellectual cultivation, and that saintliness of cha-
nacter, for which her memory is precious.'*

From T. 0. H. P. Bitrnham, Boston, through Peterson
& Brothers, Philadelphia : — ■

THE WATER BABIES. A Fairy Tale for a Land
Baby. By the Rev. Charles Kingsley, author of "Two
Years Ago," etc. With Illustrations by J Noel Patoa,
R. S. A. A book that will be wonderfully taking with the
little ones, while their parents will smile at the quaint
conceits and satirical allusions with which its pages
abound.

RUMOR. Ry the Author of "Charles Auchester."
"Counterparts," etc.

DEEP WATERS. A Novel. By Anna H. Drury, au-
thor of "Misrepresentation," "Friends and Fortune. "
These are both well-written and excellent stories, as the
publications from this house always prove to be. This
publisher displays rare judgment in his selection among
foreign works for reprinting.

From Frank H. Donn, New York, through J B. Lip-
fincott & Co.. Philadelphia :—

MILTON'S PARADISE LOST In twelve Books. This
is the initial number of a series of select works of standard

authors to be issued in uniform style. It is t pocket
edition in green and gold, witn neatly arranged and
beautifully clear typography.

From Robert Carter & Brothers New York through
Wm. S. and Alfred Martien, Philadelphia —

We have the pleasure of acknowledging tbe receipt cf a
number of excellent works from this popular establish-
ment since we have given their books particular notice.
The characteristics of the publications sent out by tne
Messrs. Carters are instructive, moral, religious, and of
sound Christian philosophy: so strictly ?s this arrange-
ment adhered to that we do not know ot a single vojame
from their press which should be marked as uusuited to
family reading, or put out of the reach of c'rrldhood. Where
such moral purity is sustained by the highest intellectual
gifts and the rare culture of scholarship in the authors,
we may conscientiously commend the works we name to
all our readers. Those who desire books for children can
find ail they would desire The "Libraries'* put up m
this establishment are, in the selections of hooks and
beauty of style, valuable presents for the young Among
their publications, the following are the latest — and all
possess interest and excellence of a high order.

THE JEWISH TABERNACLE AND ITS FURNITURE,
IN THEIR TYPICAL TEACHINGS, by Rev. Richard
Newton, D D., Rector of the Church of me Epiphany,
Philadelphia. A work of deep interest, and beautifully
illustrated,

THE SAFE COMPASS, AND HOW IT POINTS By
Rev. Richard Newton, D D., author of "Bliss from the
Fountain of Life, * " Giants, and how to Fight mem," etc.
A book fur bovs that can hardly be overrated.

MEMOIR OF THE REV EKSK1NE J HA WES. Fastor
of the Congregational Ctiurch. Plymouth, Conn. By hia
Mother. A beautiful tribute of maternal love to the me-
mory of a Christian son.

AN ESSAY ON THE IMPROVEMENT OF TIME. By
John Foster. Edited by J E Ryland; M A, With a
Preface by John Sheppard. This book has been long
published, but the subject is new with every new reader,
and the preface will be new and usefu! to all.

THE TWO BROTHERS AND THE TWO PATHS.

THE THREE CRIPPLES.

THE LAST SHILLING.

By the Rev Philip Bennett Power M A These three
books, designed for the young, are sure to become popular
with their readers and do good- All are interesting.

BERTIE LEE is a charming story for Sunday schools
and children's libraries.

FAITHFUL AND TRUE: or, The Evans Family By
the author of " Win and Wear. " " Tony Starr's Legacy "
etc. A very instructive and pleasant story

THE LIFE OF ARTHUR VANDELEER, Major JRoyai
Artillery. By the author of " Memorials of Captain Hed-
ley Vicars,1'' etc. The writings of Miss Marsh, the author-
ess of this work, are worthy of the high praise and popular
favor her books have won throughout the Christian world.

From the Authoress, Chicago, Illinois-—
MYRTLE BLOSSOMS. By Molly Myrtle. We do not
know which most to commend, the contents of this book,
or the generosity which has prompted its publication ;
for the entire net proceeds of its sale are designed for the
benefit of sick and wounded soldiers. Its author, Mo'tiy
Myrtle (Miss Agnes Leonard), has already acquired a le-
putation as a contributor to some of the leading papers
and periodicals of the day : and this book is a collection

GOPEY S ARM-CHAIR.

205

of the b*»i of her fugitive ptooiw. We have oik- won) of

her; thai she give "i' writing

which ah< i mil torn her attention entirely to

Her mental school ;

and Bowing, U almost sets

It-.-lf to mnsli ■ $fiOO. Babaertptions maybefbr-

to Dr. 0. L Leonard, Chicago, Illinois.

U FLOWERS. Wo hare received from G. W.
. Ml of those very pn tty p
) ipb Albums. There is ipi ptlon of

nor.

6 o ben's J nn- (I bair.

FEBRUARY, I I

In* pursuance of our design to make this a great year of
Hie Lady 's Book, we present ti ■ number as an Illustration
ofthefact. The February number ia one that publi
n.'t usually make any demonstration with, having depond-
ajupon their extra numbers in December

and January to secure subserftM rs for the year; but faithful
to our promise t" make one onmber as good as another —
always excepting the til at are in D< cemb< r and

—we hare doi or best to make the February

number as good as that of Deo mber or January.

I -TKATinvs IN Tnis ffTJMBBB ABB AS FOLLOWS:—

St. Valentine's Day, engraved by Ilfrnan and B
— iliai fraterna] household [too tains four!
and is a splendid Ulusl i Feast of St. Valentine.

■ . ]\- hy Miss Annie Frost,
tmr Colored Fashion-plate — the only one of the coun-
try— containing six figures. Fashions, real, fashions far
the month.
Bead Watch-Pocket — printed in colors. A very exqui-
sign.

ng <m the Schuylkill. An original design, engrav-
ed expressly for the Lady's Book.
The Hebe Dress. Th< B Psyche. Two original do-
om the celebrated establishment of Messrs. A. T.
Stewart a ad Co., of New York, famished only to the Lady's
Book.

The Saracen. Furnished hy the celebrated Br I

Gaul Street. X York, only for the Lady's Boob.
I other fill) pageand full dress flgu
■ and original designs made expressly for the lady
■ . ■ ■

"JTobodY. to Blame" Is continued in this number, and
the interest in it increases as tin- story progresses, and
that unfortunate gentleman, " Mr. Origgs,M seems En a bod
■way yet. We hope his fortunes may improve in the next
nnmher. Many other admirable stories will he found in
this number, real Lady's Book stories.

rVpRErEnENTET). — Wo are sending off as fast nswe can,
but our increase this year ia about twofold any previous
■ e ?.-k the patience of our subscribers. We loall
that human ingenuity can do to send to them in I
what can we do with such an Increase of MbsCr

An Aqkbbablb Valbbtexb. — Any lady receiving' B r"^
Mtit of the Lady's Book for one year would consider it a
most agreeable Valentine.

17*

"Tun CB9UBTI MiNsTUiT, SUPPBB" in OfR Jam

Ni Mm k — To >!i"» to our subscribers ii iw much they
gain In their subscriptions to the Eady*s Book,wewUi
(•imply state this fact that the slipper in the number, they
got, wail all other matters, at the small subserlpl
priea, was hi,-,, i out in New York at 60 cents i day, and
our subscribers receive il for a mere nothing. Tii.uk ■
ladles — hired out at 00 cents. Lady's Book only j.;> .,
with all tho other attractions.

FttBianTo:? Letters or PreMTCHs ok DltAFTS. — We wanfc
our subscribers distinctly to understand that, when they
s< ml their letters hy cxpres

expense. We receive a letter conl I, upon which

there is $l freight; of course we cannot suffer that dis-
count. We undertake and promise to send .six copies of
Lady's Book for $10; but $9 is not $10, and in all such
cases we will not send the La ly*s ci

I'its onless'we receive the balance we have to pay for
freight, be that $1. 75 cents, or 50 cents. And now ab< at
drafts. We advise our subscribers to procure drafts —
they are the only safe way i I" remitting. The premium
on a draft must be defrayed by the subscribers. It inw-i
not fall on us. For instance, we have received several
dmfts, lately, for $9 7."-. purp >rt present $10, this

will not do; twenty-five cents distributed amongst -v

suhscrihers i< a smull anion nl e:i eh, hut when we have to

suffer the loss of twenty-five jymts upon about a thousand

$lo drafts, the aggregate is a large amount. Instead of
paying 20 cents for mgUAerin • a letter, you had better

pay -<< cents tor a draft. It is infinitely more ceiLain.

W. Prescott StfTTH, of Baltimore — Every one who
knows this gentleman knows thai he even beats Philadel-
phia in punning, and as ;i story-teller — don't mistake the
phrase — we mean what the French call a "Raconteur" —
he has no equal. It will ho seen ly the following, that
Smith — that indomitable Smith — a member of which fa-
mily lives in London — has been at a christening. The
only objection we had to the matter ""^s thatthore should
have been any additions to the Smiths; but wo found on
investigation that it was another auajr, and wo give it.
A line of railroad has been established between Now York
and Washington, and vU i wr*4, to run through without
stopping, of which '. j heartily approve, and

here is what we have been trying to come to. We had
an invitation to participate, hut the heavy pressure of
husiness at this s, ■;,., ,n . ,|" i ho •.-■■., v pr. vented the accept-
ance of the very kind and flattering invitation.

"Mr. Smith, of the Baltimore and Ohio Road, it will he
seen, has christened this route as the National T i
Railway Trfne. tt is certainly n - ni' i itisfac-

tion to our citizens, »s wetl as tho«e of the north and ea-r,
who have to take this Boutfi IB Ho ir intercourso helween

Baltimore and New York, that it is being so rapidly re;

tieved of the drawbacks I i public comfort for which it has
heretofore been remarkable, but which wore mainly
owiol' to its peculiar location, in traversing bo many
broad rivers, and so many populous cities."

When- will authors and others understand that an article
for any nnrtn ' r must ho sent to us three months

in advance. Our attention was called to this matt
having josi recoiled an article intended for th< DeceiubcjT
number. It would be jnst in time for the April number.

To Potts. — TTavinir sn much poetry at present on hand,
we must he allowi d tils y. ar t i use some of it : then
duri;i- and the Lady's Book in pi.yment

ticaJ coutrihutions.

206

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Youno Ladies' Seminary for Boarding and Day
Pdpils. — Mrs. Gertrude J. Cary, Principal, South-east
corner Sixteenth aud 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, miud, and heart, and the formation of habita 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 Duffield, Jr., Adrian, Mich.

Circulars sent on application.

A Subscriber having a sewing-machine, has a number
of spools ou hand. She has heard that something orna-
mental can be made of them. Can any one give a sugges-
tion for what useful or ornamental purpose they can be
used?

Gettysburg. — Respectfully dedicated to Gen. Meade,
by Robert Morris, Esq., Philadelphia. Published with
appropriate music by Lee and Walker, Philadelphia. A
splendid and patriotic ode, which we advise all to pur-
chase. Mr. Morris as a poet and a gentleman is well
known amongst us. He is the very able president of the
Commonwealth Bank of this city.

" Martha Washington," by J. C. Bnttre, of New Tork.
— Here is an engraving that ought to command the atten-
tion of every one as a work of art. In this respect, we
have no hesitation in saying that it has never been equal-
led in this country. It is a credit to the genius and me-
chanical execution of America. Mr. Buttre is an Ameri-
can, and we have no doubt if he would only cross the
watei*, he could make a fortune by his burin. It is a full-
length picture, engraved on steel in the best style of mez-
zotint, from a painting by Mr. Oliver Stone, after the ori-
ginal portrait by Woolaston, painted more than a 100
years ago. Terms, prints, $3; India proofs, $.». It is
only published by subscription by J. C. Buttre, 48 Frank-
lin Street, New York, and J. P. Skelly, 90S Arch Street,
Philadelphia. It is a superb picture, aud every household
should have it. A neat biographical sketch of Mrs. Wash-
ington by Benson J. Lossing, Esq., accompanies each
copy of the engraving.

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.

Schuyler Colfax, Esq., has been elected Speaker of the
House of Representatives at Washington. A most admir-
able selection. The right man in the right placo.

Grover & Baker's Sewing-Machines — There are none
better, and we can recommend them personally.

We publish this month a number of complimentary
letters that we have received from ladies forwarding us
clubs. We have many thousands of the same kind.

I think my list, sixteen subscribers, is a good test of the
popularity of the Lady's Book. I hope it may be accepted :
with our compliments and Kindest wishes for the success
of your valuable Book. Mjss a. B., Mo.

Here ia a very sensible letter: —

The time having come again for sending my annual
club, I have got it together. And after your having so
liberally reduced your prices to what they were three
years ago, when everything now is run nearly treble in
price, I felt called upon to try to make every effort to
compensate you and increase your list, if that could dq
any aid to you. I am happy to say that I send about
double the names I have any year before, aud if every
one who forms a club could do as much, I think Godey
would be as it seemed to be before in every household.
I send twenty-three names. Mrs. K., I'll,

Mr, Godey : I have been a reader of the Lady's Book for
eight years, and during that period I have never been
without it, but one year — the Lady's Book is with me an
indispensable article. I think that every lady should have
it, and not borrow it — that is doing the publisher aud sub-
scriber an injustice. I have quite a liking for the Lady s
Book, and my children will highly appreciate it when
grown. Mrs. F. Te.nn.

Tour book has afforded us so much pleasure for the last
two years that I have found very little trouble in making
up a club. I recommended it to all my friends for its
moral purity and ennobling sentiments; they make it
worthy of a place in every family. Mrs. K., Indiana.

Club of $10.

Your book 1b one of onr fixed institutions, and we
■would almost as soon think of getting along without our
husbands, as without the Lady's Book Nothing is more
welcome to our fireside than it is, or more warmly
received. May you and the Book both live a thousand
years, and we also to take it ! M. M.

"The Commander of our Forces," too late by threa
months for a notice in this number. We have received
from Mr. C Eastman, of Concord, N. H., a copy of this
very exquisite game, and we earnestly recommend it to
parents for onr young friends. Mr. Eastman is also the
publisher of "Eastman's White Mountain Guide/' A
work which no person should be without who contem-
plates a visit to that magnificent spot. Send for it ail who
intend paying an early visit. We shall again refer to this
useful work.

The Needle true to the Pole. — Some kind little milli-
ners have, out of their scant earnings, subscribed, wo
observe, in aid of the victims at Warsaw. This is, indeed,
a pretty illustration of the needle Deing true to the Pole.

Club 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 3
Magazine, one year, $6. No cheaper club than tbis
can be ofl'ered. Godey's Lady's Book and Hoiioway a
Musical Monthly, one year, $5. For Canada terms, see
cover.

Opening Ball at the Great Hotel, St. Louis, Mo.— |
Very much obliged for the kind invitation, but our duties ;
will not permit us to leave home at this season of the year, i

"A Favorite Air from Lucia di Lammermoor" is the j
title of a piece of music received from W. A. Pond & Co., I
New York. It is for the guitar.

Our Paris Letter.— Want of space obliges us to omit
our very interesting Paris correspondent's letter in this
number. We will try to make room for it in March.

godey's arm-chair.

207

OITR MUSICAL COLUMN.
Italian Opera >>t Vw Academy. — Though probably not

i the management, >
tou *>f Italian opera at our Academy was one of the most
brilliant we have had of lata year*. Since the days of
Salvi an<l Steflanone, and the gloi loos Truffl, wo have had
w> batter artists (baa U ifedori, and Bellini, and

iwayed by the master baton of Uax
—he of the white cravat — left us but little to dec
opera managers only would keep mail pxomlseal But
they wcii'l! So many new operas held up to the fancy of
the faithful, and so few forthcoming. True, thi

the Italians; and Rntat, by the Germans; aud
after them, nix. Well, we are thankful for
perhaps by aud by we shall have OUT i.-ward. As will

be seen below, we gh i - a taste of both these

beautiful new operas iu the February number Of the .Mu-
sical Monthly.

Tt*e Musical Monthly for 1SG4. — If every one of oor

musical readers couid bavo a glimpse of the elegant

double number of tho Monthly with which we Ina-ugtt-

aew year, or the equally attractive .February

number, which is also ttOW ready, we believe that very

IbV 'would hesitate an instanl agin their sub-

scriptions, aud thus, for the trillin*; cost of three dollars,
secure the regular monthly visits of a companion that
should bo found on every lady's piano in the laud. Wo
have already given th< oi the January double

number (see our last month's "Column"), containing1
nearly two dollars' worth of sheet music, with all the
title-pages thai usually accompany sheet music, engraved
expressly for this work. Tin- is a valuable and costly
feature, and one w,hich no other musical periodical has
I to attempt. Our friends will remember that

ect of music in every number of the Monthly is
prefaced by a handsomely engraved title-page. The Feb-
ruary number contains Briuley Richards' la-t new beau-
tiful melody. The Listening Mother, a perfect gem ; Tho
King of Thule, ballad, the gem of Gounod's opera of
Faust, which has produced so remarkable a seusation iu
Taris. Philadelphia, etc., the present season; and a grand

M.irziale from Petrella's charming opera of lone,
introducing the Brindist, Cantt chi vuole, and L'amo,
Tamo. Subscribers to the Mouthly get all this exquisite
music f<>r 23 cents, as part of the yearly subscription,
Single numbers 50 cents. The January and February
numbers will be sent free of postage, on receipt of $1 00.
If, however, we may believe the concurrent testimony of
our friends, the be£t way to secure the Musical Monthly
is to send in $:J 00 for the year's subscription, and
the work regularly. No one will regret it Four copies
bus year for $10 00. Address all orders to J. Starr Hollo-

ibtiaher, Box, Post-Office, Philadelphia,
.v. 0 Shed Music.— The Parrel Polka, by Rudolph, bra
new and sparkling piece just Issued by Mr. D. Lawton, of
this city. Price, 30 cents. S. Brainard and Co., CI
publish four beautiful new pieces, Serenade des Anges An-

«nade) ; Polymnia Polka, aud Le Postillion
d* Amour, Valse Brillante. by C. Kinkelt, each 35 cents ;
and TEtranger. Horcean de Baton, a very pretty piece hy
Stedman ; 50 cents. Also, a lively humorous song, Row
Are Tou, Telegraph ? which has become very popular ; O
I Wish the War were Over, the best reply we have seen
to When this Cruel War is Over ; and a new and pleasing

Had, No Irish Xeed Apply, written and sung by
Miss Kathleen O'Neill, each 2o cents.
Any of the above sent free, on receipt of price. Address
J. Staer Holloway.

BQLLOWAT'S MUSICAL MONTHLY FOB I
Wi are glad to learn that this excellent pi
edited u I bj our well-known musical editor,

ered npon Its second year with the most D

prospect-* of success end oseruluesa. It is already a wel-
come visitor into the families of many of our own snb-
Boriben, aud it richly daserveaa plat
when there la ■ piano, end a lady to sing or play. To
those of our friends, no matter whether learners or profi-
cients at the piano, who have not yet seen a copy, we
would say that, if they will read Mr. Holloway's Musi-
cal Column, in either this or the January Dumber of the
and inclose him the price for the January ox
February number, or both, or three dollars fox a year's
subscription, we will assure them they will not regn t it.
So much music, of the same class, and published in the
auUful form — the popular form for handling at
the plane — was never before given for the money.

Mr. Holleway's enterprise Is a costly and important
one, and deserves the most abundant success. The at-
tempt to popularise Drst-elaae music, bo that for a merely
nominal sum it may reach en ry household in the land,
should be encouraged by every means the musical public
can command. We have seen many letters, written in
the wannest terms of approval of Mr. Holloway's under-
t tkni-'. some of which ought to be given to the public, to
show in what estimation musical people hold bis work.
ag feature of the Monthly this year will be the
gems of opera which it will contain, as Gounod's won-
derful Faust, Peri's Judith, Petrella's lone, Balfe's Armo-
rer of ilfentcf, etc. Distant subscribers can thus fami-
liarise themselves with the beauties of the opera, as cer-
tainly as though they lived in Philadelphia. In (act, the
Uionthly will always be foremost in advancing a
correct and refined musical taste among the masses. Let
each of our musical friends, whether amateur or profes-
sor, see to it that Mr. Holloway has his or her individual
aid. We will send the Lady's Book, and the Musical
Monthly one year for $5 00.

Photograph of Mrs. Alice B. Haven. — We have added
to our extensive collection a photograph of this much
lamented lady.

Msaeus .7 E. Tiltox * Co., Boston, have for sale all
materials for the different styles of Painting aud Draw-
ing taught iu their book, Art Rbouuatfows. They will
send a price list, if requested, and answer necessary
questions, and will furnish, post paid, the bo..k foi |2l I.
It teaches Pencil and Crayon Drawing, Oil Painting of
every kind, Wax-work, Leather-work, Water Color
Painting, aud hundreds of fancy kinds of drawing,
painting, etc. etc.

ARTnrR's Hom Magazine. — This very excellent and
best of the ^J magazines is the only magazine that can
be introduced in a club in place of a copy of the Lady's
Book.

The Queen has appointed his Highness Ser&mudi Hav-
jaliye, HIndostan Raj Sree Maharajah Dheeraj

Sewaee Ram Si nur, Bahauoor oi Jyepore, and His Highness
Furzund Dilbund Rasefcool Itahoad Dowlut-i-Eqglishia

Rajah Snroop Sing, Babadoor of Jheend, Knights of the
exalted Order of the Star of India.

We would like her Majesty to pronounce these names
and titles rapidly. We have tried it and cannot do it.

208

godet's lady's book and magazine.

JUVENILE DEPARTMENT.

MOTHER GOOSE TABLEAUX.
(Conti7iucd from January number.)

TAELEACX XI, XII.

"Sing a song o' sixpence, a pocket full of rye,

Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie;
When the pie was opened the buds began to sing ;
Was not that a dainty dish to set before a king?
The king was iu the parlor, counting out his money."

In the centre of stage is a table, and upon it the won-
derl'ul pie in a large dish. The table is covered with a
cloth iliac reaches to the floor. To the left of foreground
is another smaller table, with money piled upon it.
Behind this, facing audience, is a little boy, with the long
n be and grill paper crown of a king. One baud is over
Che money, the other raised as if to listen, and his face
full of astonishment is turned to the pie. Behind the cen-
tre table, facing audience, is another little hoy with the
white apron and cap of a cook. In his hands, upraised
with wonder, arc a knife and forte. His face expri ffies
astonishment and wonder. Rising from the centre of the
pie are the heads of the blackbirds, their months open.
Concealed under the table is a little boy with a bird
whistle, which he blows until the curtain falls.

"The queen was in the kitchen, eating bread and honey,
The maid was out of doors, hanging up the clothes,
Along c&me a blackbird, and snapped off her nose.'1

The sceue is a kitchen with half parted off to make a
background scene. The clothes-horse stretched across,
or it liue with shawls hanging from it, divides a stage
very nicely. Leave an open door. In the foreground is a
tal Le, upon which is placed a loaf of bread, plate, and
knife, and a large jar marked honey. The queen, in a
long train, high collar ruff, and gilt crown, is seated before
the table, just raising a slice of bread and honey to her
lips. Through the door in background, the maid, iu a
dress and cap, is seen hoi din- up a white apron as if
hanging it on a line: at her feet i*> a basket of clothes.
In the air above her (suspended from the ceiling) is an
artificial or stuffed blackbird, with outstretched wings
an-1 open bill, flying at her face. She is starting back as
if to save her threatened and doomed feature.

TABLEAU Xin.

"Jack Sprat could eat no fat.
His wife could eat no lean,
So 'twixt them both, they cleared the cloth,
And licked the platter clean."

In the centre of the stage is a table covered with awhile
cloth. Upon this is a largo empty meat dish, two plates,
one with an immense piece of fat upon it, the other a piece
i [i meat. These plates stand at each end of the table.
In fnmt of them, at either end, profile to audience, are
seated .T;irk Sprat and his wife, a little hoy and girl The
little boy wears a cumtry dress of old fashion, large lay-
down collar, swallow-tailed coat, and broad-brimmed hat.
The wife has a cap, kerchief and stuff gown. In front of
Jack is the plate of lean meat, in front of his wife the fat.
Bach holds a knife and fork, and appears to be eating
with voracity. A pitcher, enps, or tumblers, and bread
may also stand upon the table.

TABLEAU XrV.

"See saw. Margery Daw
Sold her bed, aflG lay upon straw.
Sold her ease for a bed of dried grass,
To buy herself a looking-glasss."

The stage is arranged as a meanly furnished room, in
the centre of floor is thrown a large bundle of straw.
Upon tin"' rickety chair is a handsome dress, and upon a
b bonnet and shawl. Margery Daw is lying on the
bundle of straw, fast asleep covered with a large shawl.
1 ■ centre'of background is a handsome mirror hanging
on the wall.

TABLEAU XT.

"Pussy cat. pussy cat, where have yon been ?
I 'ye been to London, to see the Queen.
Posey cat, pussy cat, what did yon d o there?
I frightened a little mouse under a chair.''

One of the little boys must play pussy. His pasteboard

mask, with large green eyes and long horse hair whis-
kers, and his long tail of gray worsted scarf, will make
him a ferocious beast. Upon his hands and knees, he
must remain centre of foreground motionless. In the cen-
tre of background sits the Queen upon her throne, sur-
rounded by courtiers waiting for pussy to pay his respect^.
The Queen wears a gilt crown, holds a sceptre, and sits very
erect. Her silk train sweeps the floor. Grouped around
her are gayly dressed little hoys and girls for courtiers.
To the left of foreground stands a chair, and under this is
the poor frightened little mouse at whom pussy is lifting
one paw.

tableaux xvi, xvti, xv m and XIX.

"When good King Arthur ruled this land
He was a goodly King ;
H'3 stule three pecks of barley meal,
To make a bag pudding."

The scene is a dimly-lighted room, fitted up for a miller's
store. Barrels and sacks of meal stand against the wall.
A little boy with a long robe and gilt crown represents
King Arthur. With a bag o! meal in one handand a darfe
lantern in the other, he is just stealing on tiptoe off the
stage.

"A bag pudding the King did make,
And stuffed it well with plums,
And put in two great lumps of fat,
As big as my two thumbs."

The scene is a kitchen. Iu the centre of stage is a table
upon which stands the kneading trough. Plates of plums,
flour, eggs, and the immortal lumps of fat are al! on the
table. Behind the trough, facing audience, is the King',
his sleeves rolled up, and a Large while apron before him,
He is pouring plums, well floured, from a large bowl into
the pudding.

"The King and Queen did eat thereof,
And all the court beside."

Scene same as before. Upon the table stands an immense
dish, and upou it the large, round pudding. Seated around
the table are the courtiers (the more extravagant the
dresses the better), each with a plate before him. The
King and Queen sit at each end of tl*e table, being each
other, profile to audience. All the performers hold up a
knife and fork, and look with hungry eyes at the pudding.

" And what they could not eat that night,
The Queen next morning fried." .

Scene same as before. Upon the table stands half of the
pudding, and a large frying-pan. The Queen with her
crown on, and a large W hite apron before her, is cutting
the pudding into slices ; one hand holds a large knife, the
other is just putting a slice of pudding in the pan.

tableau xx.
"Eock-a-bye, baby, thy cradle is green,
Father 's a nobleman, mother 's a Queen,
Betty 's a lady and wears a gold ring,
And Johnny's a drummer, and drums for the King."

The scene is a nursery. In the centre of stage is a
cradle, with a green top and green quilt, and in the
cradle is a baby (or big doll). Beside the cradle is seated
Betty, in a handsome silk dress, playing with a gold ring
on her finger. Coming in the door, centre of background,
is the "nobleman,'' a little boy in a fancy court dress,
leading in the Queen crowned and sceptred. In the fore-
ground is a little hoy, dressed in a velvet suit, with short
trousers and short socks, who has a big drum strung
round his neck. His lists hold the drum-sticks raised up
to strike the drum.

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.

Blitz at the Assembly Bun-Dixo.— The best magician
and the best man to be found. Everyone should patro-
nize him as a conjuror and a Christian. Here are - x-
tremes ; but they can be reconciled, if any one wiU call
upon us for an explanation, or upon the various charitable
associations for whom he performs gratis.

GODEY 8 ARM-CnAIR.

209

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.
No order attended to unless the cash accompanies it.

lUSl .-'till a

Eoavoni* ' '"' sent
, pa must !»■ peol to pay retui a i

. u ten wrtti ag, Bo mention the tMvn,
county, and State you reside iu. Nothing can be made
out >'i p oil-marks.

Mrs. J. A. («. — Sent gloves November 21st.
M,s. H. 0. H.— Sent pattern SLat,

H ■. s — s»"Lit pattern 31st

Mrs. S. II.— >. .; » \. ring -ilk and braid 21st.

Mrs. E. J.— Seat pattern 93d.

Mr*, t. p. T.— Sent plumes and braoelett S td.

Urs, J, & B. —Sent in, x of articles by express 28d.

Kiss A. V7, — Sent design for embroidery and chenille
SOth.

Km. E. a. P.— Sent gloves SOth.

M. A. C— Sent child's socks 3'»th.

M iss a. L. s. — Sent cs>p pattern 30th.

Mrs. il. A. C. — Sent braiding pattern for dress and uee-
d - I nh.

Hiss K. M W — Sent pattern Fonrpeian cloak 30th.

E. B. — Bent pattern boys1 clothes 30th.

S. — Sent pattern Pompaian cloak SOth.

Mrs, S. 0. — S.nit pattern December 2d.

Mrs. .T. C. It.— Sent pattern 2d

A. W.— Sent pattern 2d.

Mr-, v. 15 B. — Sent box of curls, etc. by express 2d.

Mr- I. A B — Sent bundle of goods by express 2d.

I,t. W. -S. X. — Bent haiz ring nth.

Mrs. E. B. J. — Sent hair rin_- -"- 1 li .

C. R. J. — Sent hair ring oth.

M ■--. r. C. P. — Bent wnrrlrube by express 5th.

W. N. D. — Bent trimmings Ear eloak 6th,

Mrs. G. C. E. — Sent box of flowers, etc. ath.

Miss M. A. G.— Sent gold ring 8th.

Mrs. B. 1>. M.— Sent hair-work LOth.

Mrs. M. H. C— Sent hair ring 10th.

M. J. 1>. — Sent pattern 12th.

Mrs M s ( _-, . r patterns sUx, etc. by express 12th.

Mrs. J, a L — Sent hair chain Hth.

Was M. J. v. — Sent pattern Hth.

Mrs. M. A. C— Sent socks Itith.

L. E. H.— Sent articles f,_,r bonnet ISth.

Mi" V. W.— Sent lace 16th.

O. P. B., M. P — Bent box of articles by express l»>th.

Bliss F. L. B.— Sent lead comb 19th.

B. H. — Albums cost from $o" to $ij 60 ; we do not send
them.

Eureka. — Sayjast what yonr own sense will dictate,
only .I,, not wish the newly-wedd ■ ay happy

returns " In answer to the secoud question, they are
home at all times.

M. E. U. — Parting — Slip the right hand needle through
a loop in the front of the left hand one, -
Is nearest to vox The thread puss.-* between the two,
ii mghtronnd the right hand, one, which indrawn
out to forma loopnponit. The thread isatways brought
to the front before purl stitches, unless particular direc-
tions to the contrary are given.

WasD. R. — Tour questions as to silk mittens and wool
nuts shall be attended to in a future number.

J.G.J. — We recommend "Chapman's Book ofDraw-

ings," published by Harper and Brothers. New York

ias we published only appeared in the Lady*8

Book, and none will appear elsewhere. Every eoinpll-

- been paid to ns, but we will not publish them

In book form.

" A Subscriber" is informed that we cau furnish a copy
of July number, i sen, fox 25 cents.

Mr. II. W*. C. — "' BVJOU." is pronounced Bogew, or Be-
Jew, not " By Jo,' as mt ounce it.

Mr. S. H. W. — In a business ;is extensive U OUTS, it is

Lmpossibie to attend to the rerun ol USS. whether stamps
am>8ent or not El ■ iuhj seam from the notioeol I
mnnloations ere receive, mat every one supposed that
is the only UBS. sent us, and as such must be
Italy attended to. It' we were to stabs the num-
ber of art.cles .sent to us, it would prevent any one bom
sending u* any more ; but we don't want to do this. Wo
must entreat theiu to keep Copies Of such as they value.

We endeavor t<> return those for which we cau find no
use, as well as Vfl are able, bat really cannot undertake
to be answerable For the Baft custody of document
find their way into out possession unsought. Ladies
know that during the months of December, Janu-
ary, and February, we L'-t about .'»(.» J letters a day, and
have but little lime to attoud to any other than mon.y

U U S. P.O. — We never answer letters containing
poetry, orgtve our opinion about the merits of any ar-
tlcla; we either accept or return without remark. See
" Notices to I loneapondents."

.Mrs. W. B. L. — We have no diagram; any oarnuntef
can make the form by looking at the plate. Wo stamp
sent Cor reply.

asjiious.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Bavihg had frequent applications for tlie purchase cf
Jewelry, millinery, etc., bj ladies Living at a distance, the
Editress of Vu Fashion Department will hereaftei execute
commissions for any who may desire it. with the charge of
a small percentage for the time and research required.
Spring and autumn b mnets, materials for dresses, jewi

. ps, hair-work, worsteds, children's a ardrobes, 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. Eur the last,

distinct d must be given.

mied by checks forth rpen-

careoflt. A. Godey, Esq.

.\v» order will be attended to unless the money is first
reset/a ' W ith* r tfu Editor nor Publisher will be acvount-
■ losses that may occur tn 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 B
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, bress
goods from Bvans & Co.*s ; mourning goods from Reason
& Son ; dry goods of any kind from Messrs. a T. Stewart
& Co., New Fork; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, from

Brodie's, 51 Canal Street, New York; boaaets from the
most celebrated establishments ; jewelry from Wriggena
& 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 PTEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR

FEBRUARY.
Fig. \. — Dress for a dinner party. This dress is com-
posed of a white brocade -; Ik The eoraagc is a long tu-
nic, with a jacket front, trimmed with a ruffle of the silk,
i i Thecumt, Dollar, and vest are of Ma r-

gnertte-eolored -ilk, which contrasts charmingly with the
white. The skirt is made en tciLlizr, with Marguerite

210

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

silk inserted and crossed with alternate rows of white and
Marguerite ruffles. A Marguerite ruffle edges the entire
skirt, and a white one placed above it extends up each
side of the tablier front. The coiffure consists of a black
lace barbe, Marguerite velvet, and roses.

Fig. 2. — Mauve poplin dress, with plain corsage and
tight .sleeves, which are trimmed down the outside seam
with a gimp trimming. The girdle is of green velvet,
madewith ajockeyback, and trimmed with jet and gimp.
The skirt is trimmed with green velvet sewed on in tri-
angles, also trimmed with gimp and jot beads.

Fig. 3. — Misses' dress of a light shade of oak poplin,
braided with narrow black braid. A full white muslin
waist is finished at the throat with a fluted ruff. The
girdle is made with bretelles, and trimmed with a narrow
ruffle and braiding.

Fig. 4. — Dress of green Armenicnne, braided up the
front of the skirt and corsage with very narrow black
velvet, and trimmed with buttons. The sleeves are in
the cnut style, and very small. The collar and under-
sleeves nro of embroidered liuen. Fancy lace cap, trimmed
"With scarlet.

Fig. 5. — Little hny't; dress of pearl-colored poplin. The
skirt is edged with a llutingof scarlet velvet, and is richly
ornamented with applications of scarlet velvet and em-
broidery. The Zouave jacket is embroidered to suit the
skirt.

Fig. 6. — Dinner-dress of a very light tourterelle silk.
The corsage is square, and has two long sash-like ends,
both back and front, trimmed with bands of lilac silk
and edged with ruffles of the silk scalloped on the edge.
The sk!rt is trimmed with alternate bunches of rullles
and bands of Iliac eilk. The coiffure is a Charlotte Cor-
day cap, with a very full niching, and trimmed with
green ribbons.

BEAD "WATCH-POCKET.

(See riatc printed in Colors, in front.)

Materials for one pair. — A quarter of a yard of canvas,
No. 40: half a row of the large peari bends; hair an ounce
of ebalk br^.is; oueKnmce of crystal ditto; oneotmooof
large-sued crystal for the edge ; one skein of aznline blue
filoselle : three-quarters of a bunch of steel beads, No. 7 ;
a small piece of blue silk for lining'; and cardboard.

These watch-pockets may be worked in two ways,
either on canvas or velvet; the latter being by far the
most elegant and effective mode of making" them. A piece
of canvas must be cut the size of our cutire illustration,
and a piece the size of tho little pocket. These must be
worked with the beads, the pocket lined with silk, and
the back with cardboard and silk. The two pieces must
be sewn together, aud the wholo of the pocket edged
rouud with the larger-sized crystal beads. Sometimes a
small piece of wire is put in the tup of the pocket to keep
it '»nt nicely. We would suggest, too, that a fringe of
beads sewn round the bottom, instead of the plain row,
would be a decided improvoment. Half of the leaves are
in chalk and half iu crystal bead-, whilst the stems are all
in chalk. Down the centre of each leaf there is a row of
steel beads, put iu after the other portions are worked.
Each brad is not threaded separately, but a sufficient
number is threaded to form one row of the leaf, and so on.
A piece of white paper cut to the shape of the two large
flowers, should he laid on the canvas before they are
work.-,], Tlit- crystal beads are then threaded over in
rows, and filled in with a star of large pearl beads. The
pattern is formed in precisely the same manner, whether
done on canvas or velvet — that is to say, the heads are not
pnt on singly.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA
FASHIONS FOR FEBRUARY.

It has been said that a woman may be an angel of good-
ness, a Minerva in wisdom, a Diana in morals, a Sapphb
in talent, yet if she wears a soiled dress, or an ill ar-
ranged bonnet or headdress, her virtues and taleuts wilt
be forgotten, and she will cease to be agreeable even to
the eye of affection. We are no advocates for expensive
dressing. Thai is not at all requisite. What we desire is a
harmonious whole, which may be obtained at the ex-
pense of a little good ta^te.

Fashion, though born in Paris, happily for many, soon
reaches this side of the water; it is never stagnant. In
some respects, it resembles the political world : there is
always some new discovery, which furnishes food for
endless discussions.

The latc&t Paris creation we have heard of, is a bonnet
with a fancy net attached, in place of a curtain, and so
conveniently arranged that the hair can be immediately
placed in it, or relieved at will. As the hair is still worn
in the waterfall style, we should think this resille, or net
bonnet, an admirable contrivance; we have not, how-
ever, seen any. We chronicle all the fashions as we get
them from the Paris journals, frequently long before they
appear in this country.

To amateur milliners we would say that the most fash-
ionable bonnet cape is almost a complete horseshoe, mea-
suring at the back five inches, and at the sides three and
a half. This allows for a tiny frill at tbe top, and two
very shallow plaits at the back. We can answer fur the
set and style of this cape — always the most difficult part
of a bonnet to arrange.

Small nets are now made for waterfalls which are
found exceedingly convenient. They are of a very fine
silk, either black or the color of the hair. Indeed, nets of
any kind are still in vogue, some very highly trimmed with
flowers, lace, or ribbon, for dinner or small companies,
some of bright colors, forming the Scottish plaids. Wbile
white nets of a strong cotton, or, what is still better, a
flat linen bobbin, have now taken the place of the night-
cap. They answer every purpose, indeed, a better pur-
pose, for the bead is kept much cooler, the hair is kept in
place, and the pillow-cases are not soiled by the grease
of the hair — the last a great item in tho consideration of
housekeepers. For invalids, nothing can be nicer tba
these white nets, which can he made quite tasteful by
running a bright ribbon through them, and tying it
either on top or at the side of the head. Merely a bow on
top relieves them, and is very pretty. This certainly is
an improvement on the nightcap, which seldom enhances
the beauty of any one, but frequently detracts from their
natural good looks. These nets are to be had of all sizes
for children find ladies.

Outer garments, of which we gave so full a description
in the November number, are every day more varied in
material and style. It is truly a pleasure to walk through
the show-rooms of Brodie, and examine the many sam-
ples of exquisite taste there displayed. Cloaks ofeverv
description are there to be seen, from the elegant velvets I
to the simple black cloths suitable for mourning. So I
much is there displayed, that the selection of a cloak is I
really a perplexing matter.

In cloth, there is the rich velours coteld, chinchilla, and 1
lamb's wool, in the richest shades of maroon, Humboldt
purple, blue, and plum-color, besides every variety ofl
gray and cuir.

A novelty in the way of cloaks, is, for instance, a hlifti
veiours, with richiy-:ined hood, which is merely hooked J

FASHION'S.

211

on. The cloak la then lined throughout with on

so that at pleasure a blue or cuir cloak can bo if >rn, by

simply tarn: ng tic garment. The lamb 'a

faced, one lido light, fot instance, a white

ed with a delicate violet or blue spot, suitable tor the

and the other ride dirk, suitable tot the
The hoods are gouurally pointed, lined with very heavy
silk, and napped with velvet, In oiher words, the outside
of the ho

nJlie, which combine very richly. The circles jasl ineot
in front, oath are sewed two strips of cloth

from the neck to the wrist, pointed at the ends. The bul-
lous aud button-holes are on this strip, which has a vest-
Uke appearance, and la both pretty and warm.

>, are trimmed with
; pe of galoon or velvet, arra with good

particularly ou the cull and gray cloth.

Every style of scarlet and Magenta cloak is still worn for
the opera, aud we have soon them of orange and yeli >w ;
rngh Looking n ir admire.

>] ■. ets are but little
so exceedingly rich, and we may m that but

little is required ; but when trimming Is used, it i* clie-
nllle fringe, bead trin org ilpure lace.

The Tan tenia which new rages so furii

Paris foreTery article of dress, i- not so generally adopted
i, though we think it will be more generally
intr nlnced in the spring.

Both boys ai wearing long sacks of heavy

soft cloth, frequently b red velvet

Braiding is still used for children's cloaks,

T be prettiest style of dress for children just walking, is
made with a tiuy yoke, from which ii hangs full, not

alined at the waist at all. Of course, the
should be of while mu-din or pique, with short ai
and low n«'ck ; tin' yokeand sleeves are ornamenti 1 witJi
fluted ruffles, embroidery, hue tucks, aud insertion in
braiU'ng.

A Btyle for which we have no word of praise hut Is

much worn, \> a -.mug or double string of large black

.. wi rn over the paletdi or wrap.

Th-'V are graduated iu size, the largest bei>i_* the size of a

and they :-.r-' >fjet, glass, or imita'.ion

jet. They are part cularly fancied in mourning.

.- -;.i m ;»♦ A in lace-lik
Come of various colors, to match th ■ .1 '.■■- Small leav
laments, such s h J.i.t», or ilowors, are to

be had for oruameutiug neck-ties.

Skating is now so universally recognized as an institu-
tion ain.iu,' ladies, as well as gentlemen, that not a little
tasie and ingenuity are exercised iu getting up costumes,
Which will be ill th>1 same lime warm, couifortab'e
nient, and picturesque. To be sure, niust ladies i
themselves with draw: lien and merino

erergayly striped and ornamented underskirts;
hut not a few Invent, or have Invented for them, charming
skating costumes, specially adapted to the requtr--m->;ns
<>i tii..-. graceful and healthful exercise, and also
and graceful enough to suit the most exacting taste.

The most suitable and admired of these costumes are
made iu French flannel, and consist of a 'iaribaldi, Turk-
ish pants and short skirt, which Leaves the limbs
exercise. The body part of the material should be dark
gray, brown, or black, and the bordering iu a
color. Gay woollen plaids, the Stuart or 42-1, makes
a very pre;cy relief to auy color. S

trast to gray andcr:ni>:a, or Magenta ;j browa, either
Will d*> with biac'k.

Very handsome <osiumes are made of Humboldt purple
flannel, trimmed1 with bands of black velvet The bauds,
r i olored or black, are niuch haudsouier put uu iu
or m waves.
We have seen a costume of culr-colored flannel, orna-
mented with bands of red leather, with steel ornaments,
Anoih'-r «>f black flannel, with band
elegantly braided. One of gray merino, with Bolferino
flannel bands, flntahed with narrow black velvet with a
,; ■ ■ ■■.'.. )■•■ made by Madam* Demon t,

although with patterns and a little ingenuity, they <

The panto A be pretty

wide, and drawn with an elastic band Whew It is not
convenient to procure s costume, an ordinary walking
dress, drawn up over the B tlmoral ^kirt with one of M.t-
dame i1 ■■■ tcelleni elevators, of which we gave

our r aderfl a description last month, answers ju-t the

purpose. The only advantage of the regular
tome Is, thai there Is less weight to carrj , and It is eer-
tainly more effective, a long skirt is.ol course, w m
over ;i skating drees in going to aud from the place ofren-

A novelty has just appeared in the way of combs. They
arc of tortoise-shell, highly ornamented with raised de-
vices of various kinds* some having luxurious hunches

of grapes and foliage, or sprays of ivy, with its berries.
Another new comb is a kiud of long gold clasp, orna-
mented in great variety of style, and exceedingly pretty,
for the p - of coiffure.

A new coiffure, becoming to bul few, has the hair drawn
off from the face, and gathered into a kn eta at

th.- lack, while just in froul are two small bunohea of
short curls, in which are flowers, or knots of ribbons.

Veils are much Worn, drawn tightly into the face. For
this purpose, (he veil must he cl

elastic at the sides, or else .the. n ■ reil, which

is almost round, should be worn, it is, however, too
maek-1 ke to be pretty.

So '■■■■ ch Is the waiter, or looped-up sty!.' of dress in
i, thai the underskirt is now quite a consideration.
A* it is difficult to draw up a dress when heavily tr. turned,
the French modistes are now making both skirts of the
same material, but the brimming, whieh was f. rmerly a
the outside skirt, is now applied to the shi rl underskirt,
ie outer skirt drawn up just above It, which makes
•a v.-ry elegant costume.

A great variety of Balmorals have appeared this season,
many of them very handsome. Some are strip-d with
1 rillian ly mixed silk stripes, while others are rttt i i 1 . ■ i

with silk designs, woven through them. The modeskirta,
however, we think the favorites. Various materials como
expressly for the purpose, some of the bright Scotch
stripes, ack aud white, of vai

These are made with a narrow box-plaited raffle on the
edge, botmd-withablackoi colored braid, and above ihhi
can be la d a band of silk, velvet, or alpaca, ornamented
with braiding or chain-stitching.

There are bui few novelties to record Indeed, the
French joaznabj afiknit that there la ely nothing

but plaid, plaid, from head to foot. It is plaid silk, vel-
vet, or i aid bonnets, ribb ns, cloaks,

parasols, umbrellas, and fan>, while all the fringes are
plaids. If this be the case in Parts now, dear readers, we
may certain y . XOecl Very B lOD B similar frenzy i"'ti thi/
s.de of the water; and we doubt nol, that before the cr
euses blow, we shall find or, Broadway a repn -
. ery Highland clan that figures ia the pa

verley or Hob Eoy.

Faaa "

FEBEUAEY, 1864.

Emtoellislmieiits, Etc.

THE HEBE DRESS.
THE ROBE PSYCHE.

ST. VALENTINE'S DAT. Engraved by Illnian & Bro-
thers.

GODEY'S DOUBLE EXTENSION COLORED FASH-
InX-PLATE. Containing six BgnrM

WATCH POCKET IN BEAD-WORK. Printed in colors.

SKATING ON THE SCHUYLKILL. An original design.
| Forms lied by Messrs. A. T. Stew-
art &Co., New York, express-
ly for Godey.

THE SARACEN. Furnished by Brodie of New York,
expressly for Godey.

VI81 I'iNG OR DINNER-DRESS.

WALKING SACK.

MARIE ANTOINETTE FICHU.

ITALIAN CORSAGE.

GIRDLE. WITH BRETELLES.

FANCY FICHU Two engravings.

MORNING-CAPS Two engravings.

GEOMETRIC \L OR HONEYCOMB NETTING.

FANCY WORK-BAG

BABY'S BRAIDED BIB.

ALPHABET OF FANCY LETTERS Formed of ribbons

SLATE-PENCIL DRAWINGS. Four engravings.

NOVELTIES FOR FEBRUARY Caps." Dress, Night-
dress, Apron, etc. etc. Five eugravings.

THE MIRANDA COIFFURE.

NETTED PINCUSHION.

INITIAL LETTERS FoR MARKING PILLOW-CASES.
Three eugravings.

FANCY PEN-WIPER. Two engravings.

COAL-SCUTTLE EMERY BAG.

NETTED COVER FOR HORSES' EARS.

LADIES' GIRDLE.

CORNER FOR A POCKET HANDKERCHIEF

THE LADIES' FRIEND.

BRAIDING PATTERN.

DESIGN FOR A NETTED TIDY, CAKE D'OYLEY OR
MAT.

A NEW STITCH IN BERLIN WORK, FOR MATS,
CUSHIONS, ETC

NAME FOR MARKING.

EMBROIDERY PATTERNS. Five engravings.

Contritoixtors and Contents.

Skating on the Schuylkill {Illustrated), 117

Robe Psyche [Illustrated), US

Hebe Dress (Illustrated), 119

Visiting or Dinner-dress {illustrated), 120

Walking-sack (Illustrated), 121

The Saracen, from Brodie [Illustrated), 122
Embroidery (Illustrated), 123, 124, 125, 126, 104

If ario Antoinette Fichu {Illustrated), 123

Italian Corsage {Illustrated), 124

Inserting {Illustrated), 125

Girdle, with Bretelles (Illustrated), 136

Fancy Fichu (Illustrated), 12S

Morning-caps (Illustrated), 127

Geometrical or Honeycomb Netting (IlhtsVd), 12S, 1S7

Fancy Work bftg {Illustrated). IBB, 197

Baby's Braided Bib (Illustrated), 129

Music — Life's Answer, by W. Belesdernier, 130

Alphabet of Fancy Letters {Illustrated), )S2

"Nobody to Blame/1 by Marian llnrhmd, 1S3

The Casket of Temperance, by Willi* K. Pahnr, 142
St. Valeutine's Day, by S Annie. Frost (Illustrated), 143

A Few Thoughts on Changes, by J !■., 1-17
The Story of Wealthy Leight'ou, by Virginia F.

Twtmsend, 149

Benevolence, 167

An Old Man's Memories and Hopes, 158

Beneath the Snow, by J. t! Burnett, loS

Marrving a Fortune, by Belle Rull.dge, 159
A Sketch for St. Valentine's, by Miss M. A. D. Cap, It>4

Tears, 170

Speaking Well of Others, 170

Smiles, by Lu I.iglil, 170
Adventures of a Bachelor, by the author of " Miss

Mi/nmens," etc., 171

Love, by .4. J. C,

Grievings, by Annie M. Beach,

Generalsh ip, by ATHe Allj/n,

Slaie- pencil Drawings (Illustrated),

Novelties for February (1 llnsh-aled),

The Miranda Coiffure (Illustrated),

Baby's Kuitted Bib,

Netted Pincushion (Illustrated),

Initial Letters for Marking (Illustrated), 1S8, 191,

Fancy Pen-wiper {Illustrated),

Ooal-Scnttle Emery Bag (Illustrated),

Netted Cover for Horses Ears (Illustrated),

Ladies' Girdle {Illustrated),

Corner for a Pocket Handkerchief (Illustrated),

The Ladies' Friend (Illustrated),

Braiding Pattern (Illustrated).

Design for a Netted Tidy, Cake D'Oyley, or Mat

(Illustrated),
A New Stitch in Berlin Work (Illustrated),
Name for Marking (Illustrated),
Receipts^

Editors' Table, containing —
How to Make Happy Homes,

An Example of Feminine Handiwork,

Vassar College,

The Seaforth Papers,

Books for Home Reading,

'■ Our Sisters in Chi na. "

Hints about Health. Rules for Skating,

lu the Valley, by Alice B. Haven,
Literary Notices,
Godey's Arm-Chair,
Juvenile Department,
Fashions,

17S
179
ISO
184
is:.
157
187
181
102
189
1S9
190
1 91
191
192
1S3

193

194
194

195

198
198
199
B00
200
20C
200

201
2' 15
208
209

Elegant Cartes cLe "Visite

OF NOTABLE PERSONS, CHOICE PICTURES, AND WORKS OF ART.

|2g^ Sent by mail, postage free, at 15 cents each. Eight for $1. Twenty for $2,

The publisher of the Lady's Book has made arrangements to furnish, through his Philadelphia Agency, an exten-
sive variety of these elegant Photographic novelties, m>w bo widely popular. They are of the highest toue aud finish,
aud all who order through this source may rely on getting the best.

A printed Catalogue, embracing several hundred subjects , will be sent on application. Among these subjects are the
following : —

Officers of Vie Army and Navy.
Geucral Scott.

Hallpck.
" Rosecrans.
" M.ti,.||;,q.
11 Bu'nside.
" Onuit.
" Fieniont.
" Aud'M-son.
" Butler.
" Banks.
" 3nel.
" Heiutzelrnan.
" Hunter.
' Lyon,
Sninaer.
. Hooker.
.< Mitchell.
• < Meagher.
*» 'orcoran.

-»x.
At tilt

General Lew. Wallace.

" Curtis.

11 DoubledAT.

" McDowell.

" Pops,

" Mansfield.

" SUel.
Dix.

" Wool.
Admiral Dupont.

" Farragut.

" Koote.

" Gold^borongh.

Civil Officers.
President Lincoln.
Vice-President H;imlia.
Secretary Chase.

" Seward.

" Whiles.

" Stanton.

Authors, Artists, and Distin-

gztiahed Personages.
Wm. C Brvant.
H. W. Longfellow.
Tennyson.
Robert Browning.
Mrs. Browning,
N P. Willis.
Theodore Winthrop.
Bayard Taylor.
Walter Scott.
Shakspeare.
Vandyke.
Raphael.

George D. Prentice.
Mud. De Stael.
J. <i. Whittier.
Nath. Hawthorne.
Edward Everett
Marie Antoinette.
Mary Queen of Scots.

Isabella of Spain,

Auua Boleyu.

Washington, from Stuart.
" " Peale

" " TuunbuH.

Mrs. Washington, by Stuart.
" " at twenty-

five.

Napoleon I.

Euj:f oi*1

Queeu Victoria.

traits and »,ove 'ow Pr^ce ladies can furnish their Albums
J'-tures.

it a et

Copies of Pictures.
Mercy's Dream.
Evangeline.
May and December.
Infant St. John.
Longfellow's Children.
Madonna, from Corregio.
Madonna San Sisto, from Ra- '
phael.

uparatively small cost, with a variety of choic- poe 1

v*S\

>7X

■«"i

IP*'

41«!>*

vp'ewelt & /runnel Sc

i:©aj)EYqS FASMH

A.VJ k

housekeeper's chatelaine.

eei&Es mas reuu.

COMPOSED AND ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO FOR GODEY'S LADy's BOOK,

By HENRY L. RAYMOND.

&
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THE FANCHON JACKET.

{Front view.)

W-mKm

This jacket can be made of the same material 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 fur a young lady.

224

THE FANCHON JACKET.

{Back view.)

}-*

-_•

DRESS FOR A YOUNG LADY.

It is made of amethyst-colored silk. The skirt is trimmed with four flounces edscd with hlack lace. A grradnated piece of

blank lace, trimmed with lace, velvet, and buttons, extends down the front of the dress, -and five sash-like strips of difl'ereul

lengths are arranged found the skirt. The irirdle and hretelles are also of black silk, trimmed with lace and velvet

220

THE DABRO.

[From the establishment < '1 Canal Street, >'ew York. Drawn by L T Voil;t, from actual articles

of costume.]

I , hat recommends itself at a glance. Poasesranir such elegance and Unit* refinement, in conjunc-

tion wit', parison with any OfitS] «eors. The trsrnv -» = r nr be made in 'Several

me or two different material" The front an.i sides of Bleev '- "•' M

ra«W antique, whilst the body of the partes • - loth. The trunmlng eoneists of brandeboorga and cows.

227

EMBEOIBEEY.

<b /o M /o /o /o Jb Jq

NEW SPRING CLOAK.

(Front view.)

This cloak is made of a fine soft blue and green plaid clotb. It is trimmed witi a heavv twisted won] clienille fringe.
2-2S

EMBROIDERY.

4&§M4&&i&i&z

NEW SPRING CLOAK.

(Suck view.)

The ho id i n email shawl L'racefnllv draped rrmnd the shoulders, and trimmed with a narrow chenille fringe.

228

LA FKIV01ITE.'

VESTE EN MOUSSELINE.

A innslin jacket, to weai"vrith ji ln^-n^cked dress. It is trimmed with mOFlin pnffs and a worked re
^ame style of jacket may be made of either black or white lace, aud the effect is extremely pretty.

230

231

NAME FOE MARKING.

EMBROIDEEY.

C=><C> Q <cz><r^ Q <^

^=^=^^J^k^^k^^J^

232

GODEY'S

S aWs ^oolt aito JJIapp*

PHILADELPHIA, MAKCn, 1864.

"NOBODY TO BLAME."

3 T MAR10K IT A It L A X D

[Holered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 18SS, by Lncis A. Godht, In the clerk's office of the District Court
of the United Stale*, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.]

(Continued from page 141.)

CHAPTER V.
We will pass over the scone that ensued in
the carriage, when the trio recovered from
ithe amazement produced by Mr. Cleveland's
'jmexpeoted adieu, and present ourselves in
■Miss Dupont's private sitting-room, just as
!the little party gathered around the fire, to
■ talk over the matter already discussed at some
i length in the course of their ride.

Haggle was paler than usual with excite-
ment, and there was a droop of the eyelids
(and an occasional quiver of the lip, that
Bowed a mind ili at ease. Marie drew her to
la 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 ?
J 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
i you, but that she was very sorry when she
I found out that you were troubled about it,
1 and promised not to do the like again. What
! is easier r"

" Nothing, I svfppose : 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. UXVIII. — 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 (ISbut. 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
hi' Seemed ever inhaling, had suddenly grown
stronger, when, to borrow Dickens' inimitable
description of the like effect, "his moustache
went up and bis nose came down." Yet he
was, to a casual observer, a splendid-looking
man, tall, well-made, with dark eyes, a lull,
silky beard, and a Romanesque nose. Marie
had repeatedly declared to Maggie that be 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 mant.l 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 yon are not sure of. Yor, 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."

"You see, my darling," resumed Marie,
"Albert came unexpectedly in thesis o'clock
train, lie 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 I" 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, lor
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 Albert's frequent companionship
with yourself more than is necessary? And
your god-f*ther, my dear! that unselfish
adopted brother of yours, what would he have
sai I to your moonlight Hitting ?"

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

' ' Xous verrons ! For the nonce, he is use-
ful to us. Now, as I can guess how unwelcome
1 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,
oh 1 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
It • is "

"Is he well?"

" Very well in body, trig malheureux et trh
Jidi'.e, selon Us r/yles !" said Marie, without &
blush, and evidently thinking that the foreign]
phrase was a very modest veil for commur.i-I
cations upon so delicate a subject. Anil she I
danced out singing, " Toujoursjidlle! Toujourtl
fidile!"

Uncomfortable as John Cleveland's reveri.-sl
were after Maggie's abduction, they weiel
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 wordi
fell fast and low from his 'ips, 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 mora
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 tha
gentle, pretty creature thrown sedulously in
his way, a love far inferior in quality to tha
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 sayings, 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 oT a stroi g 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
Hock was helped by Marie's mother wit to

1 XOBODY TO BLAME.

2*0

heat and evade teachers in class hours,
nl walked, ate, and slept with her d
he rest of 1 1 1< • twenty-four. She spent moro
lolidays and Sabbaths at Mrs. Dupont's than
l her own home, and noon.' vetoed the ar-
Htgement. Tiny's. jealousy of her growth in
Mare and beauty made her presence at her
iflier's irksome to both sisters, and while
larian regretted that this was so, she could
ot chide Maggie for preferring Marie's so-
iety. Albert Lorraine was always in atten-

on these fete days, and nobody
'-herefore this should not be. Mrs. Dupont
ail her friends, and her daughter had hers,
nd they were best pleased when the house
*ras full of a giddy crowd of pleasure-seekers,
{hose chief object in existence was the cn-
pyment of the passing hour.
"• It was impossible that an impressible girl
hould retain, in this atmosphore, that rccti-
jade of intention with respect to the right and
ihe wrong, that nicety of discrimination be-
ween the true and the false, which is requisite
'a guide her safely through tin' labyrinths of
nhionable life. Marie's pupil charmed her
Instructress by her proficiency in dissimulation
'fter her acquaintance with Lorraine had ar-
[ived at a certain Stage, the interesting
uruing-point between niutu.il and evident
dmiration. and a more absorbing, hut more
hy emotion. "Maggie never could hide
nything in her life," was a proverb in her
onie, and the faith of her f-nuily in its truth
'as never stronger than when she wore what
Its supposed to he a present from Marie, but
i'as, in reality, the publicly displayed pledge
.faseeret betrothal. But why secret .' Because
llarie so willed it. and Marie knew best what
•as to be done for her in this, as in every-
' ling else, because Albert seconded Marie,
'nd Albert was infallible, thought Maggie,
eeause it was so delightfully romantic, and
ad the enchanting smack of mystery that
|'ie relished; because it was grand fun to
ury the matter on without being suspected
r a soul beyond their little circle, and the
enouement would be splendid ! thought Marie,
Jleefully. All women love the post of privv-
;>unsellor and manager-general. With her,
lis liking was a passion. Because it was
mnd wisdom to secure the young bird before
ying to ensnare the old one, and Mr. Bey Ian
as a very sly old bird, one whose investiga-
tes and calculations were likely to be nn-
leasautly close. It was not every fellow

whoso everyday life could bear such an airing
as must be undergone by any one who ol
i " become his son-in-law. The thing mu

confessed at last, but where was the huuy
This was a much more agreeable fashion ol

love-making than a hum-drum courtship,

ited under the prying eyes and t
ish nose of that fussy old maid sister. And
when it should "come out,'' what a -
tion the news would oreate ! how the
would envy her. and the men hate him for
having so cunningly stolon a march upon
them !

Thus Lorraine had secretly reasoned hith-
erto, but the.e were certain grave reasons
now why he should alter his policy. Past
horsi 9, champagne suppers, and cards, the
luxuries enumerated by Mr. Carvcll, 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 au en-
gagement with the daughter of a rich merchant
would keep these troublesome creatures at
bay until he could "raise tie- wind." It was
an agreeable way to get out of his difficulties,
this marrying tin' girl he worshipped. Tills
was not exactly the way he stated his i
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
ran over her, bom of what strange presenti-
ment, of what inward recoil, she could not
tell.

Lorraine frowned — a look it was as well she
did m>t 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

GOPEY 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 I That means came down
pretty handsomely with the rhino, I hope I"
thought Lorraine. " What is your objection,
then t" 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 1"
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 !"

" The end !" Maggie seized his hand. " 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 party, 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."

" A very good idea I Just as it should be !"
responded Marie. " And, for pity's sake, dou't
have a long engagement 1 They are forlorn
affairs when they are public. How much
attention would I receive in society if it were
believed that I was fiancee t When poor, deal
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
cieur 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 toil
and sunk down into a chair, her unbound
hair streaming over her white dressing-gov
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, aud 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 ol
saying "Farewell" to John, the steadfas
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 wouid not bt
likely to meet his supposed rival, except as ;
common acquaintance. Why was it so hare
to reconcile herself to the thought of thii
separation 1 She couid not endure to pictun

'NOBODY TO BLAMK

237

Julius approach to her without the lighted
eve, the beaming smilo, the outstretched
fund, and the deep, n that made

liii simple "Maggie!" a more heartfelt
ing, a more earnest assoranoe of his interest
iu her than the most lavish professions from
other tongues.

And Marian I Maggie had never realized
before her belief in Marie's representations of

Mrs. AinshVs designs for her hest-loved
She had repelled, laughingly <>r seri-
ously, as the invasion required, MissDupomt's

intimations of Mr. Cleveland's sentiments
with regard to his whilom playfellow, and
the favor that these met with iu the eves of
his partner's wife.

" Marian likes him. just as I do. She never
dreams of bringing about a match between us.
Bm 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 slid it inwardly, now, but very
faintly, and derived no comfort from the re-
What if Will and Marian were
alienated by the disclosure of her attachment
to Albert .' Would she have to resign them
Bot And Tiny would be mortally offended
at her {'resumption in daring to be enf
before herself, and her mother would cry all
day — " lleigho !''

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

. ic hurst into a flood of hysterical tears.

'• 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-
iroom, whither her husband had come to seek
her.

" I am glad to hear it !" she said, sincerely.

"lie is always welcome, never makes any

difference in my arrangements. How did yon

upon him to deviate so far from his

lixed principles as to visit us upon two suo-

■ d IV9 ?"

'• 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
(torn drinking that punch last night, that
would not have hurt a fly. but 1 saw through
it all. I told him the quiet and purer air of
the country would cure him, and in spile ol
a desperate show of rcsistan ce OS his part, I
brought him along. I tell you what, Marian,
he is pretty far gone! Can't 1 recognize the
- .'"

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

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

'• I 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 he 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. ' '

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

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

" To both, if you choose. He dreads pepper
and temper alike. That is why Tiny never
caught him. That reminds me! — did lever
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."

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

238

godey's lady's book a\d 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 I"

Marian exchanged a swift, triumphant
glance with her husband.

"Why should he not he where you left
him?" she said. " We have only to imagine
that Miss Dupout'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 peuitence.

"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 iaiy, "

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

" 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 1
regret more than I can express, the dislike
that you have all conceived for her."

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

" Hut our best friends have faults," re-
sponded Marian, " and you must confess, dear
Maggie, that it was neither friendly nor lady-
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 I" 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 n ann-
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

NOBODY TO BLAME.

239

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

New Jehu never intended to imply any
such thing. That Maggie could grow into a
■mnterpart of Miss Dupout, lie did not believe;
th.it she might sustain much and serious
injury by her intereourse with this wild girl,
!ly feared. But this was not the time
fer him to apeak. He saw that Maggie was
already wounded to the quick. The grieved,
not sulky pout of her red lip, her downcast
nd varying complexion, were a pretty
and touching -ijlit. lie 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
Duponi'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 eves 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
v. its. " I had no suspicion 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 1" resumed Marian,
somewhat curiously. "What did Mr. Lor-
raine, the usurper of honest Thomas' dignities
aud overcoat, say about his part in this re-
fined species of amusement t"

" All that a gentleman could do !" answered

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

"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 Mariau, 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, to me, more the air of a chevalier
d'industrie."

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.

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

" I 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 hei
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 1'Oth 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."

1 my 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 Uie if he knew
all ?" she asked herself. " Oh, if it were over,
aud I could see what was before me I"

" 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 ehaperone 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, tiiat 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

nu if W
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 hail been sorely tried by
the conversation that preceded Tiny's entrance,
and ere her oheeks had cooled, or her heart
ceased its alarmed tremor, this direot question
]>ut her returning composure to flight. With-
out a thought of the after oonsequenees 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 tirmuess, " Yes,
that is. I believe that she is."

" I did not say to Albert Lorraine I" she ex-
herself in her own mind, at the ezola-
i of eoii-t donee against tliis falsehood.
It was a quibble worthy of Marie's scholar,
and a part of its punishment was not slow.
"In three day., they will all know you have
told a deliberate untruth;" said Conscience,
sternly. " Will tliis 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, gavly. '-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 tlie shrewd reader
Of the opening chapter, but he is expected
to keep his suspicious 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
until e from herself; Tiny tickled by the very
frail straw of his appeal to her upon tliis
interesting subject. Suoh 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
sheerfol 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
Balled forth by the hilarious converse in wliieh
he was a participant. Tiny manoeuvred care-

fully, but vainly, to make him wait upon her
home, lie [nit 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
aeross 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 oseillatod
like that of a fretful colt under a curb, ami
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.

" What a lazy walker Maggie is !" snapped
Tiny then, sending a jealous gleam of her gray
eyes down the street to where the Hood 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
baste 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 aim 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 oue signal failure of his
hack 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,
hut 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 meauiug.

242

godey's lapt's book ant marazine,

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

" No, nothing !"

Then came a pause.

" I wish I could tell 3'ou, Maggie, how fer-
vently I desire your happiness — how precious
in my sight is your peace of miud, 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 ;
hut 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 anil 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 eannot endure a brief period of suspense.
You will hear me at another time, will you
not ?"

Maggie's heart beat so violently that she
could 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 he false to Albert! Yet John
thinks that I have encouraged him. 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 POTTI.V03.

243

nml I'vrryl'i idy else in the world. " I do love
him ! I could not hare engaged myself to
him if 1 had not Loved him pas&ionattly" 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
upou 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, tfhe
remembered the respectful fervor of his ad-
dress— the very simplicity of earnestness ; his
delicate allusion to his long attachment j 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 1 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
lirst time since it was put upon her flag
fell asleep without kissing the charmed ring.
(To be coutiuuod.)

PORTFOLIO DOTTINGS.

ET ttuv. K. 6. 0 ASS A D T .
THE POWER OP KIKO WOKDS.

Sympathy in a man is indeed a high and
holy attribute. Its sweet and enoouragixtg
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 tint heaves under the pressure
of life's accumulated sorrows aud atflictions.

It cannot help carrying gladness and sunshine
with it in every direction, and awakening
gratitudes thatdivo 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 follows
have in this respect an inheritance that is
imperishable. Acting upon the principle
that

"Tlie drying up a sing.e tear ha-* more
01" lioueat lame tliau aliedd.il.,' seas of core "

the glory of Alexanders and Caesars of history
falls into insignificance before the peerless

majesty of their deeds !

LABOR THE GREAT LAW OP LIFF..

As Jehovah has embosomed the precious
gold deep down iu 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 on ■■
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 maybe 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. Loth 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 PrRPOSE 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 thousan 1
failures which are made all around us show
very forcibly that more' than splendid dream-
ing is necessary to success in any cause.
Ilea 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 suceess, must

24-4

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 ha 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-conqueripg purpose made him equal to a
triumph over almost insuperable natural de-
lects 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 niany
have acquired wealth, learning, position, and
tame, in fact everything by it to teach us
that

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

NECESSITY OF FAITH IS 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, 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

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

Falls to the earth no sufferer's tear.'1

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. Att 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 seU-
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 of art
are only beautiful in the same proportion that
they embody a just conception of the natural

TOETRY.

2i7

ami the real. Only bo far aa they "hold the
mirror ap to nature, >>» that nature can look
in and see herself," can they inspire the emo-
tion oi 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
ity itself. Who t;m paint it ' or who can
throw its true proportions an 1 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-
to attempt it. It is simply beyond
ription. in the language of a gifted
poet —

" It is not id the power
Of painting or of sculpture to express

- the fair form of Trctii!
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
iu 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.

3 T JOHN P . MITCHELL.

me to forget him, t.> remember him no
That his rows of love were transient as footprints on the

shore :
That he trifled with affection as pure as angel's prayer ;
da v iws were fleeting as the arrow in iho 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 ia the anguish of a spirit he has wruntr
In the wail of severed heart- strings that to himself have

■lung.
0 you tell me he is cruel, that his heart is all deceit,
That I uo more most love him, for we ne'er again shall

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

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

laughter ring,
While de-pair its darkest shadows may o'er her spirit

In the world she may be joyous, and no being ever know
H m her weary heart throbs onward beneath a weight of
Woe;

VOL. lxviii. — 20

As the fairest flowers may bios*.

dead, %

As a gorgeous crown may glitter upon
A- the billow of the ocean in their
Above the buried millions who hAveperism
So a woman's face may dazzle in its beauty i
While within hex bosom live the dark memoi l< - yore.
She may smile on all that meet her, while the heart, in

■
la draped in sable mourning for the love of long ago.
Ah, bow vain the dream that woman can target the happy

hours
"When love her pathway scattered with ever blooming

flowers I
Oh, how well do I remember when he told me of Ma lore,
When I dreamed thai I was <
in vain were < wry effort to bide from memory's sight

ye 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 aevi
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 ia fh<
When the shadows of life are darkest these days will ever

be.
St will learn the fearful anguish of an unrequited love,
Vainly will his tired spirit so . — -
And far upon the distant pa=t he will gaze in deepest

Wop,

His memory still will linger on the love oflong ago;

He will '. G otion that he won but to

When all his hopes are blighted and his joys all tlown

away.
But vain were every effort to hate him, or I
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 .<f

woe :
But the pasc will ever linger in my memory as before,
And tell me, as 1 sorrow, " Love is love for evermore."

THE PLTSES.

BY A. M. F. A.

Is their perpetual green the stately •

rtear their round columns on the mountain's side,
While lowland trees, with their meek, cl

Unsightly all, amidst the tandscap a

Are bared of every robe and wreath of |
Yet little - >ve or ]■■*■-

Which rests upon the emerald cr iwns th;-.t hide
Those regal heads ; uut" the lowl
Mourning the palest leaf of summer days,

We turn aa saclly from their living sheen; —

Sternly unyielding it hath never l a

Faded, and from our anxious watching strown,

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

241

A PAIR OF MITTENS.

BT MART W . JANVR1N.

"Gfoop-MOKXiNG, 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 trend,
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 J. 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 1"

" 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 MITTEXS.

2i7

Idforl You must have something new
for the party, Dora, and send over for that
little seamstress. Mi" Garry. She gets ex-
cellent tits for you, you know!"

Bweet Fanny Gerry I the pretties! girl in all
■Testville, hers was a hard, bitter lot, the
poor orphan's !

Fanny's father had heen a farmer, "well to
lo in the world," as the country phrase is, and
it had been his pride and joy to give his one
ewe lamb every fostering eare and advantage
of education, while good old aunt Dorothy,
his maiden sister, took charge of household
cares and filled the plaoe 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
vejit 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!"
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, aud sickness made greater
ravages where disappointment had under-
lined 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
Ithey had saved from the wreck in a few hired
iTOOins 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, aud the
•many little elegancies of needlework she was
/engaged upon at the time when their misfor-
tunes came : hut she sacrificed them all most
'.nobly. An 1 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
loarding-sehool ; but ah, how long to the
Micate sewing-girl, from whom the freshness
>f youth was fast departing, and her life
nerged into sterner woman toils !
Let us follow Fanny on the day of which we

write — that preceding Mrs. Judge Cooper's

to the house of Mrs. Sutherland,

where she had been for two 'lavs 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 Blender 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 1" 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, 1 see !
Well. I am glad ; for I had Bet my heart on
having something different from anybody else
in this stupid town. But pray, can't you ftn 1
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 yon can do it — and it won't
take more than an hour or so — it '11 save the
trouble of your coming again to-morn'W.''

"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 1" exclaimed the heart-
It as giil. " 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-dressi r 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
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 tie- 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 1 ' '

"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 1" 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 ran 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 ! "Fwould
be mighty small, you know, not to come to a
soldiers' benefit. But fairs, in general, are
bores to an old man like me 1" 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 I — will coin hundreds. of dol-
lars from this festival, to mitigate and alleviate
the hardships of our gallant soldiers," replied
young Doctor Vane. "Bnt 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 vis-H-vis at a cake table. "I
wonder if he is coming this way 1 There ! he
sees us !" bowing and smiling through the
crowd.

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

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

A PAIR OF MITTEN9.

249

girlish (.') Margaretta Osborne, darting from
her station at a plethoric "grab bag," sta-
tion. -.1 near a Bpruce tree laden with tiny bags
of gauze well stuffed with confections (or the
lomic temptation of the juveniles ; and
in another minute sin- had caught hold of the
"dear doctor's'' arm, and was likewise ex-
tending the batteries of her languishing blue
(yes 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.
IrCome along, Vane, and make a monkey of
yourself, too!"

"Oh, dear doctor ! Not to please us ; but
all for the good of our poor, noble. Buffering
.'" 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!"
i the did gentleman, thrusting his hand
deeply into the mysterious receptacle, and
bringing forth a package, whose contents,
after sundry unwrappings, proved to be a
tiny china baby.

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

With a little affectation of a blush, and
shaking her linger at the "naughty doctor,"
who now retreated among the crowd of children
congregated in the vicinity, the fair Marga-
oilingly assisted the younger gentleman
in tie. mystery of " grabbing." And shortly,
t>i the intense delight of the juveniles, Doctor
Edward Vane extracted from his package a
f 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
aing 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

2<i*

ears for them during the reruuant of the eve-
ning, the group around her fancy table had
thinned, leaving young Doctor Vane in his
chosen position as attach? 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 spirit-; 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 1 " he chuckled fa-
cetiously.

"Why, I believe everything is sold, doc-
tor!" said Miss Sutherland, with one of her
most winning smiles. "Everybody has b a
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 a 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

godet's lady's book and magazine.

and his keen Mack 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 curls ? 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 I"

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 Westtield, 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 I"

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 I 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 scrt and she 's
better than is a loadstone to the scattered
particles of steel. But l suppose, according
to Westtield gossips, you 're fairly on the
route, eh?" and he gave a keen glance into
Vane's eyes.

"Nonsense, doctor! Don't believe all you
hear!" laughed Vane, evasively.

"Weil, 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

DONTT FRET.

251

varnd anil serious aspects than he had done
tering those last few months of idle leisure
since his return.

"Only one more visit to-day, Vane!" said
the old gentleman, jumping into his
briskly as a school-boy — "and that, over to
Aunt Dorothy I lerry's, to see her young niece,
isc> worries me more than any other
ft U itfield. You see, she's a delicate little
ender 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 Bet of heartless, fashion-loving
creatures — I won't call 'em women! — who'd
work their lingers off to get np a 'Charity
Fair,' or some such 'Mrs. Jelryby' perform-
ance — but leave the sweetest young girl in
V. Id to stitch herself into a consumption.

Come in, Vane ! Ib-re 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
with two occupants whose personnelles
dill'-riil as widely as youth and manly vigor
can ever differ from hale, hearty old age, but
thoughts and reflections were not dis-
similar.

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

" No ; but she is in a low, weak states — 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 sowing she did was to make a party
dress for the belle of this village — who, for
certain reasons, shall be nameless here, and
■ten they ground down her price into a paltry
pittance. All this, old Aunt Dorothy told
BB. i tod 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
■Biding 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 lit id tine- to work a little,
now she was getting better."

Late that evening, instead of finding him-
self a welootned visitor in Mrs. Sutherland's
elegantly-furnished parlor, which he
much frequented of late, Edward Vane sat in

his own library at "The Klnis." with the
vision of a poorly-furnished, but neat and
tasteful room, enshrining the sweetest young
he had ever seen, rising before him.
And though, at intervals, an indignant Hash
would lighten through his dark eyes, the
softened, tenderer mood predominated ; and a
very fair chateau d'Eepagne it was that rose
from the glowing rod 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,
ami tender, that a man might find therein his
glimpse of heaven ("

Later he added, decidedly aloud and ener-
getically—

"Old Doctor Quinine is rir/ht.' 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 last 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 oame hack 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 myn
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, an.l
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
fid 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 I"

DON'T FRET.

Fretttng is probably productive of more
nnhappiness 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 ! 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
t i.-r^ 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 aud 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.^-poetky.

253

cess — the rely paving to the paths of useful-
- contained in two words : 0 man ! by
all your cherished hopes : by all you hold
■ear, for yours. -It" and those you love, for time,
aiul for eternity ; don't fret I

When I see a woman, with that beautiful
countenance which has won the heart of her
husband, darkened by a frown, oonstantly
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
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, perehauce 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 fret fulness 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 "had boy;" has taken
to the streets, impatient of restraint, and
Bates his home. Her beauty is departed, her
health ruined, she has grown prematurely old,
is nervous, listless, and dispirited, and the
grave already yawns to receive her. Ohl
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 I

Whatever you do, keep up a good heart.
Put away the fault-rinding spirit, and as yon

prize the love of your friends, the esteem "■

your neighbors, the reputation of those who
arc near and dear to you, your own pi
mind and happiness in life, be patient, and
don't fret '.

NIGHT AND JIORNINGr.

BY PnlLA EARLK EABOT.

Wk feel no pang when daylight

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

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

"We patient bide the dawning,
F ir well we know that light and song

Will waken in the morning ;
Bat 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 lift d,
That every cloud which o'er the sky

In deepest gloom lias drifted,
Still has behind its shadows

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

Not in despairing sadness.

That every sleep, however deep

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

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

To chase away night's shad iwa ;
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 Bweet smiles and soft breai

Or with cold hands o'er throblesg he
Ho smiles the p ' le Lipfi wreathing,

They all will wake — some in the morn.

With, On tiieir glad lips, laaghti I —
The others sleep till angel hands

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

Faith to onr 1> Igomfi taking,

at and long the sleep.

There is a morn and waking.

PERSEVERE: OR, LIFE WITH AN AIM.

BY LUtlE.

An aimless life 1 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-bos close at hand, and took from
thence a thimble just tiny enough in its pro-
portions to lit 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 cacoethes
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. ' ' AVhat
made you think so, John f"

"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 ; shfl
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

pkrsevere: or, life witti an aim.

2:15

in consequence, and as she know that nothing
short of coaxing would elicit from him what
she wanted to know, sin- 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
tffered to grow on the face of bachelor
John, she insinuated: —

" You will tell me where .von found that,
won't you, Johnny dear f"

This was more than John was ever proof

- • iking both his sister's hands, and

_ her at arm's length, looked at her

blu.-hiug face with an amused air, then drew

her with him to the sofa.

"Will you forgive me, Mina, when I tell
you r"

w can I promise yon that till I know

what I Lave to forgive." was the laughing

reply. " Tell me first, and then the forgiveness

may follow. Nothing but curiosity could

■i 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
. 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.

'• W- 11, 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 wore 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
Hlbstitute 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 eyvs, 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 ol
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 than did his "little sister," as he 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 even 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 onpe 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 stupic1

PERSEVBRJ?: OR, LIFE WITH AX AIM.

207

Beep, and listening with ■ heavy heart to the
Hnothered irregular breathing, bo different
', from that of his healthful slumber. Oh, was
I there nothing that she could do — no remon-
strance, nor reasoning shu could employ ? A
new thought Hashed immediately across her
iniu.l. 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 w ould try.

ng 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 theni-
: thoughts, fancies, and realities flitted
alternately before her, only to be received
fad repulsed in quick succession. She had
.-ecu imt little and experienced far less of the
ternicious 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
itseif into her own home sanctum. So, if
v t all, as she resolved she would, it must

be a more statement of facts, with here and
;there perhaps a slight embellishment to ren-
der tlo- sketch a little more acceptable in the
. 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.
IKarly as it then was, the sofa was v;i

- occupant gone ; she felt glad that the
■fa of meeting him there and then had been
'avoided, though the neoessity she knew had
|oot beeu removed but only shifted. She did
not forget the determination at which she had
arrived on the previous night, but somehow
jit looked scarcely quite so feasible when
viewed in the cold gray light of morning. It

t to be shaken, however ; something
was to be done, and that something was re-

ipon. But now she was neither in a
frame of mind or body to enter upon her
ask : head and heart were both aching, and
she could only go to bed and sleep till din-
rer-tiine, and then it was but another painful
iwaking to meet a dreaded necessity.

The meal passed off very quietly. John
vas grave and silent, and 'Mina, as a matter
)f course, the same. Before going away,

r, he came up to her, and having

I the hair from her forehea 1 kissed it,

V'/L. L.Will. — 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
shoots 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, Mina?"

'■ Oh certainly !" And without tho 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-
ci-t 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 Bi i ;-
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 1
will, and it shall never happen again I know."

"No, never, never, Mina, as long as I live.

258

godey's ladt'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
uiay 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 tht Third.)
THE IVORY 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.

AH 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
Wore 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 snch 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 iu 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. Monarehs 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 mftch. He who has once pos-
sessed it would not barter it for all on earth
besides.

"SHE IIATII DOXE TYITAT SHE COULD."

i V S . LWBIE FROST.

CHAPTER I.

"Site was always different from the rest of
the girls ; there s .Miss Blanche, now, that
was her mother's darling from the hour she

now the pride of the b
ifar and near j"» won't Bnd Bach a white skin
itnl Buoh long, beautiful black curls, and if
leatrice is darker, sh» has roses on her
■leeks that make up for a few shades of
brown in hex complexion, and though her
hair don't curl, it > thick and long, and a
flueen might wear the crown she makes of it.
s, the' twin- that died, you remember,
(were bonny, noisy Lads, with big black eyes
and curling hair, an 1 there s Miss Laura,
jwho is fair as a lily, with yellow hair, and
big blue eyes, will be as pretty as her
HMD she gets hi r growth. All tine, healthy,
jbright girls they arc too. but this one. and
(she was sickly and ailing from the first.
.NYver played like the others, but moped in
■men, and after she learned to read was
without a book in her hand."

"Then she 's not Btupid."

"Ho, she's smart enough, I believe, but
■111 lr and quiet."

'• Well, she won't trouble any one long, I
;u.'s-."

"Trouble! she was never any trouble, for
|l quieter, more biddable child never lived ;
(but she 's not like her sisters. With all their
proud airs and grand ways, your heart goes
put to them; but Miss Eflie aint lovable,
ijfobody here cares much about her, and 'to
(lev thinking nobody ever will."
| "There 's the second bell ; we can go down
■gather, fox she 's asleep still."
J Tie- speakers, two servants of Mrs. Mar-
shall's, the nurse and chambermaid, moved
ttway softly from the room, leaving the only
Other occupant alone, but not, poor child, not
hsleep.

I Two large tears were coursing each other
llown each pale cheek, as the cruel words
liank 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
ooked to sec if there was in that fourteen
fears of sickly childhood one contradiction of

the nurse's statement, and in the retrospect
■■. . ,-t Hint Uer's fondni ss lavisbe

!y upon the three i, Mer si-ters; 1
lather's proud praise given freely to them.
and one pale little face raised lor a good night

\en 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 1.. I
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 bed

There have been from time immemorial sni b
instances of parental partiality, ami here there
seemed some grounds for the favor shown to
the elder si.-ters. Mr. and Mrs. M
might be described in one word, worldly.
With both, position, wealth, and fashion wet"
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
lifted 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 till their cup of proud love, and then a
fourth chiM was born.

Eagerly the parents watched for the opening
beauty which had before ere. ted them. Hi. !i
health, brilliant complexions, large eyes full
of intelligence, were nature's gifts to th
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

to wateh for the missing beauty, and
the little one became more and more the
nurse's charge. What wonder that the hired
woman took hertone from that of the mother,
that, as the child grew older, she becami
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 ceas

259

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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
Eflie'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.

"Nobody will love me, ever!" 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 lovelier 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 soma
body would only tell me how to be good and
make people love me."

So, over and over, the weary thoughts ken
up the same burden. Longing for Ioy-,
striving with the simple faith, learned (oh,
mother!) from boohs, to be content with h.r
lot, the little girl conned her heart lesson.
The return to health, or rather the wearing
off of 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, Eflie 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 Effie's sole use. Laura was
still at school, but Blanche and Beatrice wen'
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 her sister a large volume or
Shakspeare, Milton's works, and other vol-

"SHE ITATII DONE Wn.VT SnE COULD.'

261

of standard literature of which ahe had
Bade use in studying elocution, and these
were Effie'a

privilege of a private bedroom, she found
■parage to ask her father for the library bey,
aii'l in its bookcases found more food for her

lonely I is. It was not very well at

Mr. Marshall was not a reading man, and his
wife oared for no books beyond the onrrent
novels of the day, which Blanohe and Beatrice
read, and lent or tossed into the bookcases
unread as the mood swayed them. Hut Etlio
found souie volumes of poetry, a few hi- .
and many works of fiction. These were
devoured in the intervals she allowed
from tli lurse of study which was to

le love now denied her. She had sorted
out the school books, and portioned her time
with a rigid exactness which would hai
amusing, had not the spectacle of a child so
thrown upon hi rseli been pitiful. So much
feme she allowed herself for geography, so
much for history, arithmetic, philosophy,
chemistry, piano practice, and all the various
Undies she h*d portioned out for the day's
work. These over, there was the delicious
poetry to dream over, or sometimes, needle in
haul, the girl sat by the window sewing and
Breaming. 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
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, inweaving fictitious
tales lior 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 satne 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 j i she1 gladly

on. A large party was
a new event in her monotonous life, and she
tool ed Goto ard to it with a i b -mess.

No thought such as filled tl of her

sisters disturbed Bffle; tie' expeotai
admiration, the fear of rivalry, or the doubts
as to which color or style of dress was most

Bg, were all matters which «
vital importance to them, while they never
occurred to her bumble heart. To look on at
the moving panorama of faces, to listen to
the music, to see tie enjoyments of others.
were all sufficient subjects of anticipation tor
her.

As they were not yet "in society," Laura
and Bfile had dresses alike prepare,! for them,
and while the spoiled beauty fretted over the
simplicity of the costume, her sister aei
thankfully the white robes, stifling hei
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 dtf
escaped the notice of maid or hair.!
While they arc yet without guests, let mo
describe my heroine and her family.

Mrs. Marshall is a tall, stately woman,
whose black velvet dress and diamonds sit
off to advantage a beauty which, even yet,
is regal in its character. The rich, dark
complexion, abundant black hair, lai _
not coarse features, and brilliant, black eyes
draw their fire from her Southern bio, I.
While a life of wealth and such happiness as
rises from gratified ambition have Stl
upon her carriage and graceful manners a
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 lias a wil-
lowy, wavy motion that makes her the best
dancer of the season, and she dresses in the
light floating materials which will 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 Eflie !
Unlike 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
could 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 tlu'U
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 eye's
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 Marshall*,
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 knew all your
sisters very well, yet I think, nay. I am
certain, that I have never met you before."

"she hath doxe what she could.'"

203

••nil, I am still in the nursery. "' said Bffle,
with a Bmile. "1 am not very stron
; seldom rum,' into the parlor in the evening."
A little pang would wme, as she thus
explained the seclusion which sneers and
nnkindncss made a matter of choice; hut
'even in her own heart there was no blame
lai'l 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 —

'■Vet 1 hope, now, that we shall be better
friends.''

"1 shall be very glad,'' was the honest
reply.

" And now tell me of what you have bees

.thinking in this quiet corner. I was watching

your face, and could sec that you had more

lent here than many of the more active

Ipartakers of the occasion."

'• 1 do enjoy it. So many happy faces, and

so much beauty. It is like a tine painting,

j only that here there are life and motion. Bvery

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 lingers I would cherish many groups I

■ have seen to-night to make pictures an I

scenes for masterpieces. See, now, near the

door that leads into the conservatory is a

group to make a scene from Undine. Blanche

ileaus so gracefully, on that marble pedestal,

i playing with the flowers, while the fountain

■ Been enough through the open door to fill

•in the background. The gentleman talking

jto her is surely handsome enough for the

lover-knight, though his costume ruu-t be

tattered, while Laura is just near enough to be

ipainted in, the fair mortal who wins the woer

from his true faith, I — I beg your pardon,".

Bhe said, abruptly, blushing deeply.

"For what?"

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

" You do not weary me. You looked so
happy over here, that I could not resist the
temptatiou to come over and learn your secret.
Row, will you let me tell you a secret I"
■■ A secret ?"

"Yes, as yet. No one knows but Blanche,
though yon 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. Effie f"

Bh looked up into the manly, handsome

face that Kent OT« her. Little recked she of
the "great match" which her sister would
make ; she knew nothing of the gentle birth,
the toll ooffers, and tie- high position which
Blanche had that night Won, but she saw
clear, honest eyes, a sweet, loving mouth, and
a soul-lit face, and .-lie 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 month to mouth, till
tiny reached the master of the house.

Other merchants were in the room, whose
own places of business were in close proximity
to tie- 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.

CUAPJER 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 bis kind, manly voice, his gen-
tle tenderness made him a fit companion for
their anxious watch. There had been a fixed
ashy paleness ou Mr. Marshall's face as he

264

godey's lady's book and magazine.

left the crowded parlors, and to his wife he
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^on-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 yon 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. He was
warned that it was too late to save these, but
he went hack. 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 biow 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 HATII DONE WIIAT SHE COULD.

2G3

It was broken tenderly, this bitter news,
but (he Bcene called for all his manliness.
.Mr-. Marshall was in hysterics, the elder
I girl? screaming and weeping, and his betrothed
half-fainting and sobbing as she cluugto 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
wasill preparation for suchaniorning greeting.

Only one faee was e.ilm, though the grief
terrible. He ha I nol been a tender
t to t!i" 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 lore
pltmced 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-
strieken, hopeless child thus stand mot i
Bon self was thrust away, and with a quiet
she came to her mother's side.

She knew no word of comfort for the heart
that had always shut her out, hut she softly
I 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 tho
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
j 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
(Bide her mourning dress to take her place as
a bride, and in the meantime something must
be done.

CHAPTER IV.

" I WONnnn if Horace left any directions
about the letters!" said Blanche, a- the

family assembled for the tirst evening in tho

small house which was to be their future
home. Horace, bo it known, was Mr. i
iiiLr. absent for a week on busin.

The violence of sorrow had sw.pt over the
mother and the older daughters, leaving them
paler and .saddened ; but, as is often thi
with such demonstrative sorrow, still looking
forward to much pleasure in life, when their
black dresses should be doffed. Effle had
crept back to her old place in the family,
nursing her Borrowing disappointment, as she
had nursed all her other emotions, in solitude.
Always pale and grave, there was no outwai I
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
Lipwhenevei herfather's name was mentioned,
but there was no one to heed these muti
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 lire reading ; Blanche was sewing
on a rutHe, of which Beatrice held the other
end, twisting it in her idle fingers, despite
her sister's half-angry remonstrance ; Lama
was fretting over a lesson, and far away, in a
corner, Etlie was dreamily watching the fire-
light and communing with her owu sal
thoughts. The heavy black dresses, the dim
shaded light, the small room and qui
ness suited her mood better than any of the
former gay meetings of the family would nave
done ; yet she longed unutterably
her mother's feet, and there sob forth hi I
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 direct. 1
to Mrs. Marshall. She glanced at the signi-
ture, and her face brightened. "Turn up
the gas, Beatrice ; it is from your Uncle
Charles. '

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

■■ i -. you never knew him, but your I. ..r

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 baehelordom, 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
beeja 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
fiancie, 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 fornow ?" said Blanche.

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

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

and 1. 'ft his family in want, I write to make
yoa 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 upou 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 five o'clock, stop in 0 all

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

Charles Maksuall.'

"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.

"0 no, mother, don't send me away to
that cold, hard man. 0 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.

"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 yon*
part will make us all comfortable. If you are

"SHE HATH HONK WHAT SHE COULD."

■elfish enough to stand in their light, 1 shall
rce you to
"Nonsense, mother; who else can go?"
bud Blanche. " My engagement will pi
in.', .mi yon cannot live without Beatrice un-
til Laura grows up. Besides, they will uot
wish to live old maids, but anybo
that Effie is cut out for a single life, little
lit."
How would Horace Lovering have relished
erous speech from the woman who had
ktich soft loving words of her poor, .1
or his ear .'

till to-morrow. Only one night,"
pleaded poor Effie.

•• Well, think it over to-ni
Think it over. All the long weary night
in: now sickening with, dread
:-.' the thought of a new unloving heart, then
herself that any sacrifice could
to place her mother and sisters
in comfort. The thought of working herself
brought no fear ; but that her beautiful deli-
sisters should toil was terrible to her
bruised heart. It was no common
e the child was called upon to make.
True she was a neglected, coldly treated mem-
the family, yet this was her home. All
ady of her life had been to win love
there, and since her father's death, th
ing had grown doubly intense to win her
r's heart. Here, they had become ac-
■ her want of beauty, her moping
but this cold, morose man who wrote
so chillingly must be struck with her want of
instantly, and shut her out from
i forever. No hope of a nr\r love
omforted her, no bright spot gilded the
- picture her mind drew of this offered
Yet would not her refusal steel the
at home mure sternly than ever. How
■ i old She hope for love where her selfishness
brought poverty upon them all? how endure
] lily toil her hand might avert?
Think it over ! 0 mother, how bitterly, in
nely, uncomforted night watch the child

thought.

"I will go!"

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

Thursday found her starting on her journey.

One of lor lather's old friends was going to

(i , and he t

and hei ; and leaving a loving message

for Horace, and smiling through her tears.
lest tiny 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 (j — . The gentleman compan-
ion of her ride had slept and read, and mad-
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
I 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.

8he 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-hy.

" 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 Haresdale."

•■ And how tar is Mill's Ferry?"

" Over twenty miles, sir."

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

(To he continued.)

A trite woman will be a true friend, and
those are the best and finest friendships that
have been born in adversity and nurtured In-
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 refre-
in the simple act of loving, and by it* ve;
constancy is a beautiful example of that Scrip-
ture which saith, 1; It is more blessed to give
than to receive."

268

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

WIDOWS: PART VIII.

widows' sons.

Home 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.

Hose a nurse of ninety years,

Set his child upon her knee ;
Like summer tempest came her tears,

"Sweet, my child, I live for thee."

Tennyson.

T ■ patient! Oh be patient! go and watch the wheat-ears

errow !
S • imperceptibly, that you can mark nor change nor throo;
1> :y after day, day after day, till the ear is fully grown,
Aii then again, day after day, till the ripened field is

brown. R- 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,
i i their sons in their manhood were to be such
a i 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,
jigged outlines of unformed boyhood. Con-
< tit 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^ier will to his. If
he 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
d ispair 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
i 1 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 1 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 hare 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 his

WIDOWS.

269

broad shoulders rise higher and higher, he,
in a manner, bears you upward upon them,
till ho raises jrou at last to the sacred position
lof some statned goddess of old. Your words
become to him the savings of an oracle ; your
pore counsel is reckoned just next to inspira-
tion ; jronr prayers are his talisman and your
his most coveted reward. The very
work of your hands lias 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
Igrown 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
road there the record of what widows' sons
have been, an 1 yet may be.
j "Ah!" says the sorrowing mother, as she
■hides her unbidden tears. " Ah, my son has
DO 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
touch' d the bier. He raised the dead, and
jgave him unto his mother, more precions than
[when the hoy was first born in her arms.
i"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,
jto be returned unto the Great Bishop and
(Shepherd of souls.

1 We have spoken only of widows' sons, yet
•her daughters must not he 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
Ibefore her time by her knowledge of care and
Borrow! How true, and unselfish, and beau-
tiful is her affection.

Widows' daughters 1 Purest, loveliest of
their sex, bearing the yoke in their youth, to
vol. lxtiii. — 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 90
guarded, and defended, and made precious 1
How strange it seems to her to he 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 if 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 "garments of
praise."

DEAD.

BY CHARLES STEWART.

0 dream! O change! Mate of my summer time.

Where art thou now — where art thou now ? AIa9!

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

Would I were with them in yon depths serene.

Where all nry joy hath flown. Oh that the dream
Of JEns, 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, 80 loved, no beautiful — she is dead !

Gone in the glorious promise of her youth ;
Tet 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.

*Y DAISY HOWARD.

" My dear uncle, I am delighted to be at
home again. What splendid easy times we
will have, and egad 1 what dinners ! Uncle,
I will tell you (under the rose) it don't pay
to go ' abroad ;' hut 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."

' ' 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."

hadyx Vaughn's daughter.

271

■ N. \"r-r mind,uncte, only don't forget it at
dinner."

Tom Trevanion took unusual pains with his
l 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 loos.- knot at the
la. k of her head, was superb and indifferent.

^Around the fair throat was a tiny collar of

'the softest and finest lace, fastened byasmall
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.

" I am 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.

.1 believe she heard what I said about Louise

IVilliers. 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

yVilliers, 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
Mack 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.

jBrave old Uncle Hal, I would not step be-
tween y..u 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 him 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 keening it com-
pany. For onco Bell Vaughn was sad. I
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.

"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
taw the proud, red lip quiver. Tom Trevan-
ion was a noble-hearted fellow, and he pitied
the poor motherless, sisterless giil — 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 ho 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 havo 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 U3
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 1"
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 j she cannot, and
yet there is but one short month between this
and her wedding-day ! 0 woman ! woman I
man's blessing and his curse ! I will leave
New York to-morrow ; it is all that I can do."

Ho returned from his 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.

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

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

Mr. Trevaniou laid down his 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. Tho
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 b«
dishonor t Bell made a movement as though
she were going to leave the room.

"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 ;n

ITADYX VAl'GnXS DAUGHTER.

273

twain, ami now, for I hoar 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 bis honorable foldings to prevent
him rushing back and claiming Isabel. That
M bad no right to do so he know, 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.

"(bt y^ur pipe, Tom, and let ns 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
Diust go to Norwich to-morrow."

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

"No matter, uncle."

" Tom, I am the only father yon have ever
known. I command you, by a father's right,
to tell me what this means. Are you in debt,
luy boy ? If so, speak it out ; if it is one
tio'U-and 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 de"bt or difficulty of that kind. It
is only a private matter of my own."

" I must know it, Tom."

" Undo, it will grieve you."

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

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

"Does Isabel love you?"

"I have never asked her, uncle."

" 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 Isahel's
room. He knocked softly.

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

22*

She came to the door, surprised at Ibis 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 uot her guardian caught lor
in his arms. I

"You see, Isabel, the foolish fellow has
fallen in love with you, and as ho 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.

" I will try, gua?dy."

" 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, savo 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 Hash 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 m/
loving, tender Isabel Trevanion."

Dear reader, good-night.

The Venom of "They Sat."— "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.

ADVENTURES OF A BACHELOR.

BT TKE AUTHOR OF "HISS SLIMHENS,'"' "THE RASHER FAMILY," ETC.

(Conclndcd from page 179 )

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 Ms hand,
paused to admire the benign aspect of the
kind and benevolent person who, *ven 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.

Stanley Oliver Griggs, junior, did not want
S. Oliver Griggs, senior, to leave Roseville
just yet. He knew that he 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, nncle, 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 donbt 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

ADVENTURES OF A BACHELOR.

i D

We I'lily know that when Uncle Oliver said
he was afraid "she would be too much for
him," his nephew carelessly responded that
•• lie didn't Bee it." Both gentlemen confined
themselves to the house, and as nothing
occurred before dinner, which was an excel-
lent one — for Mrs. Perking was a good house-
keeper and meant her .laughter 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 I"

'• 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 .all upon him if anything is the matt, r
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 somo
packing to do. Please excuse him."

"But he will see me," 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 '11 take the law of
him, sir!"

"How high will you set your damages?"
ask.-d 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
was losing. "He's treated me shamefully,

276

GODEYS LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Mr. Stanley, shamefully ! 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
Jit ; 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."

"I'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 ceaxingly 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 udgrnent. 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 — "

" He could — he would 1"

" 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.:!
said Miss Arammta, 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?"

" I would, unhesitatingly. But why wait
until you have finished your studies f 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 cail 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 I"

"Engaged to that child I 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!" breathed Emily to her-
self) between us, but I went be forced to
marry a person I don't like, not if I lose every
cent he intends to 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 I 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

.t). "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, mora
-ive than any words, lie 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
fathmit to be called, in open court, to defend
a suit for breach-of-proiuise. Otherwise, he
would have settled the affair, at the expense
of half his fortune, if necessary ; and as Stan-
ley did not think that ho ought to suffer to
that extent for unwittingly consenting to sing
"How shall I woo?" he exerted himself to
pefend that respected uncle to the last.

" 0 Stanley, what a naughty boy you are !"
cried Emily, coming out of her retreat. ' ' IIow
couhl 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 como
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. Ho
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 ; ho 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-ofliee ; 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 liirn, 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 I 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 epistie to ' ' Mrs.
Bell."

No mistake could have been more Hkely to
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 f

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. An rtvoir.

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 rne !"

ADVENTURES OF A BACHELOR.

279

■ Did I'" said he. "Bless ine ! I had no
it : how ?"

" Why, you know how, of course. Oh, you
'want to pretend before all these people. Bat
we can have a cosy chat at any time to-
imorrow 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 ; hut wondering how
she should have said something so very near
like what he was thinking about.
i 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
Beeping her appointment, he resolved to make
Jus way to her table. Doubtless it was her
bashfulness kept her away, thought the joyous
lover as he approached her, expecting to see
ithe 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
lequally pained and delighted. He admired
lier wit, but he was afraid she was coquetting
jwith him. However, he took up his stand by
her side, and the're he stayed until she was
jready 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
lafter them, giving a strange and doubting
|look, as the two gentlemen passed out with
[them to the street.

j Uncle Oliver asked the engaged couple to
iwait on the porch for him, until he saw Miss
Selina safely to her mother's door, which they
promised to do. Under other circumstances
ithey might have found the time rather long,
,for it was a full hour before he had accom-
jplished that important undertaking : but as
|it was, they could not have told whether or
/not it had been over ten minutes.
I Mr. Griggs returned in a dream of bliss.
jKot even after he had got into Stanley's bed
linstead of his own, with his stockings on and
jhis nightcap off, and had closed his eyes,
steadied his whirling brain, and tried to think

Jof it calmly, could he realize the full splendor
of his happiness. He snapped his fingers in

Jthe 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 Uncie 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-

2S0

GODEY S LADY'S BOOE 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 you t" 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 end read it together, both looking puzzled
and grave.

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

" /( 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 1" 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 l
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 — <jn 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

APVEXTURE3 OF A E ACIIELOR.

2S1

ret and the eagerness of his ex
ing that he wished to conceal the nn-
;1 fact of his wearing a cap at night.
'•And in the meantime, ancle, yon shall
have me for body-guard whenever you walk
abroad. I 'ra not afraid of this ' big brother.'
If he attempts to injure you, my dear uncle,
it '11 be the worse for him."

' there was a great excitement again;

nily didn't want her bean to be run-
ning any risks, assuring him that Mrs. Hell's
relative was as ferocious as a tiger and
powerful as two Heenans : but Stanley had
leaned boxing on the college grounds: he
had plenty of nerve and sinew, if he was rather
. and as for his courage, it was suffi-
cient to awaken the admiration of the softer
;cx. He avowed his determination to watch
iver and protect his guardian, at any peril to
Himself. After this the little party regained
.nimity. all but Mr. Griggs, who, ab-
■nt-miaded as be was, could not wholly
■push the idea of the "big brother." It was
lot that he was lacking in mental or moral
•ourage ; these rose to the sublimest pitch,
I the difficulty, but a man,
".hort of stature and of breath, fat, and totally
■[acquainted with the arts of self-defence,
night well be deficient in that physical cou-
cessary to meet calmly such an emer-

Well, several days slipped along. Uncle
•liver did not dire to venture any distance,
■less accompanied by his nephew; in fact,
|ie was not even free to traverse the brief
Barney between Mrs. Perkins and the house
■f his betrothed, without some thrills of fear,
lie always paused at the gate and carefully
econnoitred the street, before venturing upon
ho walk — if he saw no one of suspicious
■pearance, he stepped out and walked briskly
ver, flourishing his gold-headed cane in an
pparently careless manner; while, if any
large man, with whose countenance he was
iot familiar, was visible in any direction, he
ingered on the lawn, pretending to be i o-
rubbery, until the stranger
I out of sight.

During these days there was a change going
n in the public sentiment of Roseville. Mrs.
iSell's brother had gone about, talking largely
t the street-corners — report even said that
e was known to constantly carry a horse-
'hip — the mention of which be fore the Gri __-■-
lade the elder turn pale, and the yoinger one
vol. i.xviii. — 2;3

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

1 n 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 ami
Mrs. Series could be thinking of I 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. (Jriggs' 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
tliis; Stanley laughed at it as^a good joke;
but Uncle Oliver, despite his 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 pii
music across the street, to practise with his
betrothed, a man stepped suddenly out from
behind the trunk of a large tree on the eppo-
of the way, and laid hold of Mr. Griggs'
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
ns 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. Th« l^rs^--

282

GODEY S LADY S ISOOE 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, witli a little note of
dismissal, to her astonished lover.

The next day Mr. Griggs shook off the dust
of Koseville 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 a
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."

BY M. W. G.

I 'vb been dreaming of my childhood,

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

Where my footsteps loved to roam ;
And the schoolhonse 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 off " 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

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

My darliug 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 aro ever teeming

With memories of the past ;
If this he 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 PUAWIXO-MASTER.

THE FAMILY DRAWING MASTER.*

IX A SBRI8S OF FAMILIAR CONVERSATIONS.

[The following article is the first of .a series
on the elements of drawing, which,
anil unpretending as they seem, are ea
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 (he memory.
We know persons who call themselves artists,
and actually get money for their drawings,
lwho, from ignorance of the principles t
,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 you 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. Well ! If I
could not draw, I must sit down and write a
llong 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 ?

Imi. Then I should have understood it much
better, for I should have seen it witli my
eyes.

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

L. He would make an image in his mind —
(that is called "imagination," I suppose.
! P. And if I hal wanted to send my descrip-
ition of this wonderful thing to all the nations
in the world, I should have to write it in
[French, German, Persian, Sanscrit, Chinese,
jand many other languages ; but, the draw-

§*-

foil. It would be understood by all people,
[without being translated.

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

* Published in the Lady's Book, in 1S.17. Sinre that
time we have been repeatedly requested to issue it Lnl k

firm. We r.puMish it in the Lady's Book, as the unly
eray in which it can reach onr many new readers.

forget them; but when I see the places
the map, I mi remember them easily.

II'. 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 «...
"Make me a very curly scroll, with two flow-
ers sticking out on the right side, ono growing
from the middle, and half a dozen sprigs at
the end."

Ton. Oh, of course ! They could not under-
stand : they must have a pattern.

P. No, they could not imagine it con
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 tho difference between
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 ; tin
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 vou 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 othi r.
They differ in "shade."

P. Here are two lines exactly alike, and
yet they differ.

W. How can that be ? They are i
some length, breadth, and shade.

L. There is no difference in the lines them-
selves, but they have different directions.

28-4

GOPEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Ion. Then we will say that they differ in
directions.

P. Can you tell me a difference in the three
dark lines in this drawing of a shed ? They

M—l

have the same length, breadth, shade, and
direction.

L. I can. Their direction is the same, hut

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 hottoui.
They differ in their position.

W. What a numher of differences ! I wflp
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 air- correct. The

No. 1.

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 ! 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 ?

H*. They are all wrong together ; they are
falling in the wrong direction.

P. Now let us say the lesson.

LESSON NO. 1.— Lifts*

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.
IIow very slowly I shall make my lines ! I
shall have to ask each one five questions.

P. That will be quite right, . Willie. I:i
drawing, if you want to improve quickly, you
must work slowly ; and it is so with every-
thing else.

SERVANTS.

BY AUOFSTA It. WOBTHEN.

Whex, 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 her
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.

235

of guests ; but surely, in this country, work-
ing girls are not expected thus uselessly and
lly to display their agility; of course
dot, Btill, the entertainment I speak of is
none the les< agreeable. It is more than that,
verting, 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.
Hldeed, I have sometimes thought that the
last mentioned are the very persona who, on
us, 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, anl 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 he 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 affirm
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 one- 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

hearing, and she did not see the solemn shake
of the head, the dismal lengthening of feal hi
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 h r
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 toller betters in the parlor ?
That her blunders are laughed at, her failings
magnified and multiplied, till her poor homely
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 snot 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 or
"malice aforethought," it seldom fails to
produce in the speaker a feeling of ire i
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 then' is
a degree of meanness in thus exposing the
error's of one who has no opportunity to defend
herself; but in her attempts at self-justitica

286

GODEYS LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

tion she 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 hetter 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
:'ailure 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 $
want of those qualities which under all cir-
cumstances command respect .' Is not her
very jealousy a humiliating ackno%vledgment
that in her position lies 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.

2S7

of their condition as servants, wholly and
absolutely bad. '

ither 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 went to rehearse at the tea
table the story of the servant's misdoings
through the day. On sueh 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
Udls him he owes a debt of gratitude and
sympathy to the humble personage who,
during so many hours of the day, stands
between himself anl her irritability. But he
seldom ventures upon any attempt at pallia-
tion of the conduct of the offender. lie 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 exj
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 censu;
the commanding officer .' Ladies, if you have
failed to make your households what you
wi>-h, do not spoil your credit by going about
to proclaim your defeats. Your task may In-
difficult ; you may have a tough subject to
work upon ; your material may be intrinsically
illy 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 tie- 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 Hies 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
love — is 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.

THOD ART GOING.

BT NETTIE.

Trior art going, and leave no parting token ;
Fast my burning tear-drops flow ;

well word, though coldly spoken,
W raid break this t -miring chain of woe.

No longer with chill silence grieve me,
E tk once again, kindly and low;

lu thoughts of anger do nut leave me,
te ere you go.

If with thoughtless words I grieve thee,
Think not my love for thee i- "'er;

ve me
Till, whisper

Coldly from my gaze thou rt turning,
T i eyes that bright* r beam in thine;

Bat hex soul's worship is not burning
With the fond idolatry of mine.

Going, forever, without kn

This torturing pain I cannot tell,
Going, 0 grief — forever going,

rat one w >rd, one kind farewell !

NOVELTIES FOR MARCH.

Paletots, wraps, headdresses, cellars, sleeves, aprons, etc. etc.

Pig. 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 for march.

289

a
—

—

290

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Fig. 5.

Fig. 6.

i^l

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, S, and 9. — Morning collar, with two

1 |

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 U

1 i- an insertion of black lace laid over white Fig. 12. — Fancy sack for an invalid. It is

Bilk. This is edged with three more pinke 1 made of fine muslin, ornamented with rows

ruffles, and the bottom of the apron is finished of insertion.

by a rich thread lace. Fig. 13.— Little Red Riding Hood.

292

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Fig. li

Fig. 13.

Fig. 14.

Fig. 14. — Fancy girdle.

WORK PEPAP.TMEXT.

293

r,-. lj

Pig. 15. — Epaulet to match the girdle.

/;t of MAKING featoer flowers.

A vert simple, cheap, yet beautiful art may
1 scribed a follows : —

of geese and duck feathers, the finest
and smoothest, and those which have small
i ither long and slender or short, both
J sizes are required. With a very fine-pointed
sharp scissors cut out leaves of any de-
. and notch the edges, notch one
si : fi-'. then the leaf, and do the other side,
. [icing always at the lower part of the

i I at the petals of any flower desired

ling to nature. Select the most delicate
i- to make curled flowers, which are
painted. They are curled by drawing
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 mis your paint in it tho-
then thin with a little alcohol. Take
of the stillest of the feathers, or a very
smnll bristle brush, and holding the leaf by
stem, paint it and lay it on paper to dry
re there is no wind nor dust, laying it
I down in such a manner that the paint will
adhere to the paper. When perfectly dry,
fine, soft wire for the stems, cutting off
most of the feather stem. Insert the wire
I a- the lower part of the leaf, winding it finely.
Then select green tissue paper to suit the
eolor of the paint, and wrap the wire stem in
the same manner as for wax flowers.
vol. lxviii. — i4

Prepare all the colors used for painting in
the same manner as the green, with fir and
alcohol. The colors must all be tine, dry
paint, and are: Rose madder, for pink; for

blue, ultramarine; lor yellow, gamboge; for
scarlet, carmine. Taste might govern the
ohoice of colors.

The stamens cau bo 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 (irmly 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 bo used, natural or
otherwise. They are also adapted to the
decoration of baskets, bird-cages, etc.

INITIAL MONOGKAM.

294

GODET'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

BROWN HOLLAND SHOE BAG.

Material*. — 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
snoes, and in the materials we have given
will wash very nicely. It is always necessary
in packing to wrap np 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.

Tue penwiper is so useful an article, both

: he 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 t hi
color of the beads may also bo 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 barge 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 tho
same color as the top, and tho whole fastened
together with any slight ornament stitched
on through the centra of the penwiper.

I.VITIAL LETTEU YOR MAKKLXG.

296

godey's lady's book and magazine.

LEAF IMPRESSIONS.

Covek 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 CP 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

| NOVELTY IN HUODERIE A LA MINUTE,

To UK nullKKU UN ANY DoCKLK MATtlUAL.

Tub very simple style of embroidery known
by tlie name of " Broderie a la Minute" is
worked either in thick fiat 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 3
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 Bhape nf stars. To make each
n 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, ins -rt the needle
in the same place as before, an 1
make one long stitch at the back,
so as to bring out the needle at the
top of the loop, in which pla le
work one small stitch to keep the
rm. 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 iu any
bright-colored tloss silk or twist.

EHnnolDEKT.

ntrriAL letters for netting.

298

. godey's lady's bock asd magazine.

GENTLEMAN'S SHIRT FRONT IN EMBROIDERY,

.C\

Co°

li p

ALPHABET OF FANCY LETTERS.

(?> -N~

RECEIPTS.

299

Receipts, #r.

DIRECTIONS FOB FRYING.

Fbtinh is often a convenient mode of cookery; it may

wed by a fire which will not do f->r roosting or

and by the introduction of the pan between the

ire equally dreeeed.

a frying- pan should be about four inches deep, with a

Q{] thin bottom, twelve inches long and

Bn« broad, wiih perpendicular sides, and must be half

Had w i'li lal ■ good frying is, in fact, boiling in fat. To

bke sure that the pau \< quite clean, run a little fat over

it, and then make it warm, and wipe it out with a elean

ry particular In frying never to use any oil, but-

■r, lard, or drippings, but what is quite clean, fresh, and

fr.-.' from Bait. Anything dirty spoils the look ; anything

lila the flavor ; anil salt prevent* iU

brown i ■

Ive oil is the most delicate for frying; but tho
- expensive, and bad oil spoils everything that is
',■ '.rli ii.

Poi general purposes, and especially for fish, clean fresh
bird is not near so expensive as oil or clarified butter, and
■tea almost as well. Butter often burns before you are
aware of it ; and what you fry will get a dark and dirry
appearance.

Cooks in larije kitchens, whore there is a great deal of
frying, commonly use mutton or beef snet clarified: if
from the kidney, all the better.

Dripping, if nicely clean and fresh, is almost as good
a--* anything; if not clean, it may be easily clarified.
Vhstevet fat you use, after you have done frying, let It
remain in the pan for a few minutes, and then pour it
fatough a sieve into a clean basin ; it will do three or four
times as well as it did at first, that i», if it has not burned:
but the fat you have fried fish iu must not be u*>ed for any
other purpose.

To know when the nit is of a proper heat, according to
what you are to fry. Is the groat secret in frying.

To fry fish, parsley, potatoes, or anything that is watery,
your fire must ho very clear, and the fat quite hot ; which
you may he pretty sure of, when it has dune hissing, and
is still. We cannot insist too strongly on this point: if
the fat ij 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-
■fee the fat is so long before it becomes ready, and de-
mands such attendance to prevent the accident of its catch-
Bg Rre, 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.
Uhatevex is so fried will be pale and sodden, and offend
tlic palate and stomach not Less than the eye.

Have a good light to fry by, that you may eeo when
y\.u have got the right color.

After all, if you do not thoroughly drain tho fat from
what you have fried, especially from those things thataro
fuM dressed in bread crams, or biscuit powder, etc., your
ag will do you no credit

The dryness of fish depends much upon its having been

fit of a due d ; it is then crisp and

dry 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 tish as long m this
before you want them, for fear yon may find this ttSBSB*
sary.

Prying, though one of tho moist common of culinary
operations, 1b one that is least commonly performed per-
fectly well.

MISCELLANEOUS COOKING.

To Stfw a Breast of Yeas. — Cut a breast, or a portion,
in pieces ; fry them with a little butter, an onion, and i
cabbage-lettuce Bhred small ; when browned, add a Lit I
flour, shake it well together; thou 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 gtavy frotn the veal,
and put in the peas. When both arc done add pepper,
salt, and a little pounded sugar; thicken the peas with
Hour and butter, dish up the veal, and pour the peas Offer.
There should be very little sauce with tho peas.

To Broil Piofoxs. — Cut the pigeon down the back,
flatten and truss it as a fowl for broiling. Egg it on both
Eides; 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
crams. Broil it a light brown. Serve with the following
sauce: Chop fine a few shslots, boil them in a table-
spoonful of vinegar, then add gravy, thicken with flonr
and butter, scald the liver, mince it, throw it into the
sauce ; add pepper, salt, and a little ketchup, and two or
three mushrooms chopped.

AN BXCEELBST WAY OF PREPARING TOKOTTES TO WT

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 pick).-.
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.

Beef 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-
crunis, all beaten in a mortar, and mixed with an egg;
lay a little over each- steak, and roll it np tightly, fa-t- a-
ing with a skewer ; dip them in the yolk of an egg, then
in crums of bread, and fry them of a pale brown ; dith
them with brown sauce, in which put a glass of white
wine, with some strong gravy, seasoned with cayenne.

MfTTOx-CnopPrf— 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 theiu : if
the fat falling from them should cause a blaze, remove
the gridiron for & 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 ofl
cut off a good deal of the fat, hut do not pepper Or fi- or
the chi js; and serve them one at a time, iimned-
they are done.

300

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

To Dress a Leg of Mutton wrrn Oysters. — Part boil
some well-fed oysters ; tako olf the beards and horny
parts j put to them some parsley, miuced onion, and
sweet herbs, boiled1 and chopped fine, and the yolks of
two or three hard-boiled eggs. Mix all together, and cut
five or six holes in 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 throe hours, according to the size.

Or : Braise it, and serve with a pungent brown Niuce.

Veal rolls are cut from any cold joint, or prepared in
the same manner from the raw meat. Cut thin slices, and
spread on them a fine seasoning of a very lew cruras, a
little chopped or scraped bacon, parsley and shalot, some
fresh mushrooms stewed and miuced, pepper, sait, and a
small piece of pounded mace. This stufflug 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 oaten with roast
beef or mutton, and are made of any portion of the mashed
roots, prepared without milk, by mixiug with them a
good quantity of very finely miuced raw shalot, powdered
with pepper and salt : then beating up the wholn with a
little butter to bind it, and dividing it into small loaves
of a conical form, aud placing them under the meat to
brown, that is, when it is so nearly dono 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. ft 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 ofT 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 dono.

They are a constant accompaniment to corned beef, and
are excellent when both are eaten together cold. They
frequently also form part of stows and hashes, and make
admirable soup when boiled down to a purOe, in making
which it shuuld be observed that unly the outer or scarlet
rind of the carrot is to be used ; the inner part should not,
however, be lost, as it may he cut into small 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 ruast 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, tnrow in some salt,
boil up the water, and then add thespiuach; 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
tabiespoonfuls of boiling cream. Let all stew together
until the liquid cream is absorbed into the spinach, and
it is tolerably dry, when serve hut.

FISH SAUCES.

Lobster 8 accb. — Take a large fresh lobster, carefully I
pick out the berries and all tho inside, cut it small ; mako
a sauce with a lump of flour and butter, a little milk or
cream, a very small quantity of essence of anchovy, a '
very little mace boat fine, and Cayenne, then pulltiie.
rest of the lobster to pieces with two forks ; add toe sauce
by degrees to the berries, and put in the lobster, (rive it
a boil, stirring ail the time, and it is ready to serve.

Brown Sauce por Fish. — Melt some butter In cream
(instead of flour a. id water) with as much wainut Ketchup
boiled in l< as w;il make it of a nice light brown.

White Sauce for Fjsh — Boil some cream, tnicken ic
with flour and butter, then lot it simmer till smooth; add
a teaspoonful of essence of anchovy to a tureenful, and,
If it is liked, a little wamut or mushroom ketchup. For
cod sauce, omit the anchovy and ketchup, aud add a little
giuger. If cream is scarce, use milk aud the yolk of an
egg-

Fish Sauce without Butter — Simmer very gently a
quarter ot a pint of vinegarv and naif a pint of water
(which must not be hard), and then add an onion, some
horseradish, aod 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 yolks
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 baud, into which
toss tno sauce to and fro, aud shake 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 egg*, one tcaspoonful essence
lemon, one of saleratus dissolved, in a little milk ; beat
welt, hake 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, naif teaspoonful soda.
By using sour milk the cream of tartar may be omitted.

Batter Pudding. — Four eggs, well beaten ana strained ;
lour tabiespoonfuls of flour, beaten up with the eggs; a
pint of milk added, and ail well beaten together. Fill a
basin, tie buttered paper over the top, then a cloth, put
it in a saucepan of boiiing water only large enoagb to
hotd 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 buttor 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
peei of a lemon and boil it in the eream and take it out
when cold. Add to this tour eggs well beaten, sweeten 10
taste with Loaf sugar, pour it into cups and set it in cold
water, taking care that the cold water does not get iut«
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 paddings out upon it. They are excellent,
either but or coxd.

RECEIPTS.

301

Roxbcrt Cakk. — Two pounds or four eoffbe cups of
. >ur, one and three-quarters pound or ihroo ovfTeo cups
,f nk'sr, three-quarters pound or one. ooffce cup of butter,
vo pounds of eurrauta, odc piut of milk, tax eggs, ouo
jaspoouful s.ili r.iiu.-.
Gek.ma\ Kii'akis — Rasp the cru*t well of* loot, cut tho
mm Into pieces about an ineh thick and throe inches
jusro; soak these well in custard for about two honrs,
iroink' tin 11 them in the raspod

fnwt and fry in :i pan with lard. Serro with the I

Boat the yolks and whites

. ] During in all tho time very gently

and sugar to taste. It should

is finished, as being all in a troth

. nil "j1 di if ii

■dMaj -ham. — When the milk comes from

,he c-'\v. put it in :i tin can, and place the can in a sauco-
«in of boiling water, so that the latter comes nearly to
he neck ol I k it eon-

»ins. Let the water boll till the milk would scald tho
jBgcr ou touching it, then pour the milk into a milk pan.
j«C it remain in a cold place for forty-eight hours (when,
f the vessels have been well scalded, the milk will be
weeti, then skim the cream off iu a mass, which Will be
Jtn^; thick enough to cut with a knife.

Jd« tntus- Cake. — One cup of sugar, two eggs, half cup
Hitter, half cup of milk or water, two cups flour, one tea-
,qx>onful cream tartar, half teaspuouful soda, nutmeg.
1 Brf.akfa.-t Cake, No. 1. — One pint of milk, three eggs,
' *alf cup melted butter; stir in flour sufficient to make
*i thin batter. Pake iu enps. Thin will rise a great deal,
:ps should be le»s than half full when put into
Iboven.

* Blasoiance. — Break one ounco of isinglass in very
Wall pieces and wa^h well; pour on a pint of boiling
■bar : next morning add a quart of milk, and boil until
il strain it. Putin two ounces
i < blanchfd almonds pounded, sweeten with loaf sugar,
tad turn it into the mould. Stick thin flip* of almondl
fewer the blancmange, and dress around with eyllabub
Kf whip i r

Apple Ptddiwo. — Take one quart of stewed apples, a
i quarter of a pound of butter, four eggs, .some grated
[bread, a nutmeg, a little rose-water. Sweeten to taste,
md bake in puff-pans.

[ Trie Snt prise Prpnrxo. — To eight ounces of fine flour
mnees of currants and fix ounces of snet chopped
iflne. Make these into a crust with a little water, and line
it 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. Feat all those
ther, and pour the mixture into the
ll.ncd mould and boil it for an hour and a halt

MISCELLANEOUS.
I Ctxfry Plavorwo. — Soak for a fortnight half an ounce
■ lery in one pint of brandy. A few drops
iof this will flavor a pint of s oup very nearly as well as
(If a head of eelery was Btewed in it.
} Hard brushes should be used as little as possible In
'cleaning clothes : if wet and dirty, the spots should be
(robbed 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, ic, will con-
ivert it into a nourishing soup.

Tirr. Glasses fob a Maotc Lismut. — The plo«»os for a
magic lantern are painted in oil with canniue, lake, Prno-
olan blue, and other transparent colors; they arc laid on
nj thickly and el curly as possible] and In their use require
no other directions than such as are familiar to all persona
acquainted with drawing. Should change of motion be
roqnired, two glesfl1** must be employed; on the front
glass should bo painted the correct design tliat is first to
be exhibited, with blank spnees left opon it for the arms,
lag*, or head, in which the alteration is to take, place: on
tho back glass, which should slide in n groove, moat be
delineated Quae parts only, with outlines or dots, which
may be necessary to prevent the appearance of both at
tho 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 statne ; this is to be depicted on
tho back glass, and the space on which it is to be shows
nuut also bo darkened as directed, before it is permitted
to appear.

Starlet Berlin wool, with white feathers, tied at inter-
vals amount tho threads, and BWtenwl from point to point

ui" the twigs ol (joojieberry, eunanl and cherry-tree*, pre>

vents the birds from attacking tho 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; soma pi < use peart
ash, or potash, but this costs something, and ib very apt
to injure the texture of the cloth.

Balsam for CnAPPrD 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 ; thou, after the undis-
solved portion of the lime has settled, draw ou" thee
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 minute* ; set aside to harden.
For complete success with the above, great care must l>e
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 •
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 ami
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 tne
firet 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 cotmd, clean, and dry, and perfectly free
from the least mnstiness or ether odor; the corks should
be of the best quality, and before being placed in the
bottles should be compressed by means of a '*eork>
squezeer."

Htflu' Eaih,

OPPORTUNITIES AND DUTIES.

Stern daughter of the voice of Godl
0 Duty ! if chat mime thou love,

Who art n light to guide, a rod
T<> 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 sum 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 ouly coming on the world, but are even
now upon us. We allude, particularly, to the new and
enlarged opportunities of education, aud 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 charac.er, but also influence, in a great
degree, the destiny of the nation.

We have before us three pamphlets* relating to what
maybe siyled " Hmne missionary work.'' Each one of
these records, written by men of large experience, en-
lightened rieWA, 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, mauy 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 — Gui the Sunday School reaches the
homes of tin- scholars very imperfectly, while those
meetings and the visits or 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 ia 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 ON 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 fuli 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 vaine 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 |ra
taught to fulfil their trust? Our church must adopt this
or some other means to reacn the masses, for with boifeej
of profanity and debauchery, we cannot reasonably
anticipate a large blessing on our Sunday teaching to
little ones who spend all hut two or three hours each
week under these blighting influences. Our long-neglected
women have a high appreciation of tne Christian syin
pathy evinced by the members of the committee , and this
feeling is the more intense from the unlooked-for evident »j
that ladies of cultivation have so much in common whit
them, aud are equally dependent on the grace of our Lord
Jesus Christ. The poor women are tnus helped to tell out
their story of trials and troubles to those whom they now
feel to be real friends, and not mere teachers It can
readily he 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, aud tidy wife ; the.
faces of the children and every article of doming testifying
to the change. '■
********
Here is a glimpse of the good influences women can use
in their Bible teachings of the other sex. The writer
acknowledges tnat "the spiritual condition of women
is superior to that of men in the same ciass '" and after-
wards observes: —

"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, webelieve, is a va-t
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, rejuice in multi-
tudes."

We see, by these examples, that Christian men, learned
scholars, aud guiding minds in the churches and in
society, are comprehending tne neea of woman s aid, not
only in tne moral renovation of social iife, but in tha
religious cnaracter 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 tceir
thoughts earnestly to these ways of doing good. Seeds
of kindness, and lessons of Bible instruction co tne igno-
rant aud poor whom they can reach and benefit should do
their pleasure, oecause it is not omy making those whom
they assist better, but increasing tueir own happiness
The true greatness of humanity is oniy true goodness, or
love which prompts to good works, Because these show
our hearts aie 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.'1 Or, to give the beautiful pas-
sage:—

" In aspiring to ihe throne of power, the angels tians-
gressed and fell ; in presuming to come withiu the oracM
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 pm io
motion or applied) neither man nor spirit natnevei trans-
gressed, or shall transgress. ':

editors' table.

303

KILTER SCOTT AND HIS LITTI.K PET MAKJOUIE.*

Thk kinship of genius, and the joy Mid mirth of gifted

nind* when under thlt instinctive sympathy together, aro

rmong the wonderful mysteries of human nature. Diffcr-

ix, ag -. oxp irieuee, education, seem no obstacle

ympathy, or they were not In the loving and

renial intercourse of Walter Scott, the strong man of forty,

ing with worldly knowledge, aud the llttlo,

\ :rl iu hor soTeuth year, Margaret Fleming;

wn a* Pet Marjorie, or " Maidie."

It was in the winter of 1S10, when Walter Scott was just

! jeginniiu' to feel the matchless power of his wonderful

on, which inaki«s his novels even now Beem

r-atlonsof genius, that we have the first picture

two friends. 1 1 ■ - had been trying to resuscitate

his manuscript <•( Wayrley ; but could make nothing of

.• w>rk aside, he hurried to lira. Keith's,

_iit home Marjorie in his own shepherd's plaid,

i \>r the day was stormy. Then, snugly settled in his own

in tin.- mirth aud enjoyment of the scene. He

tad first r.' recite to hor some child's "melody" of the

rder. which he had before studied with

''»er. This done repeatedly till she was pieced, she gave

,iun Us new lesson, gravely and slowly, timing it upon

. I lingers — he saying it after her —

•'Wonnry, tw. iery, tlekery, seven;

Alibi, craekaby. ten, aud eleven ;
Pin. pan, musky, dan ;
Tweedle-una tw >ddle-um,
Twenty-wan ; eerie, orie, ourie,
You, are out "

He pretended to great difficulty, and she rebuked him
I eomical gravity, treating him as a cMld. Ho
ised to say thai when he came to Alibi, Craekaby ha
ttfke down, and Pin -Pan, Husky Dan, Tweedle-um
Ywoddle-um made him roar with laughter. He said
\Uutfcy- Dan especially was beyond endurance, bringing
up an Irishmau and hi* hat fresh from the Spice Islands,
ad odoriferous Ind ; she getting quite bitter in her
Uapleasure at his ill behavior and stupidness.

Then he would read ballads to her in his own glorious
jray, the two getting wild with excitement over Gil
sTorric**, or, the Baron of Smailhnlm : and he would take
\er on his knee, and make her repeat Constance's speeches
n sing John, till he swayed to and fro, sobbing his filL

■Bott need to say that he was amazed at her power over
ngt Mrs. Keith, " She's the most extraordinary
{mature I ever met with, and her repeating of Shakspeare
'werpowors me as nothing else does."

Ibis wonderful child, who died when about eight years
>ld. left a diary, several novels in manuscript, and
jB^Uerons letters to her mother, her sister, and other
Viends. One extract from her diary will show her Bible
;.ore; she had been reading the Book of Esther,

I ''It was a dreadful thing that Haroan was hanged on the

. iws he had prepared for Murdecai to hang him

'tnd bis ten sons thereon, and it was very wrong and

ana] to hang his sons, for they did not commit the crime;

■Jesus teas not then come to teach us to be mer-

This is wise and beautiful, has up<*>n it the very

! u [ youth and holiness Out of the mouths of babes

mgs He perfects his pr;»ise.

One more scene with these loving friends.

a "The year before Marjorie died, when In Edinburgh, sbe

VU to go to a Twelfth Night supper at Scott's i

tenet The company had all come; all but Marjorie.

least's familiars, whom we all know, wcr* there — all were

•ome but Marjorie; and all were dull because Scott was

lull. 'Where's that bairn f Whatcanhavecomeoverher?

11 go myself and see.' And he was getting np and

• Pet Marjorie : A Story ol Child Life fiftv yean ago.
Edinburgh.

would have gone; when the bell ran^,', and in came
Duncan Hoy aud hi* henchman Toiigald, with the sedau
chair, which warn brought right Into the lobby, aud its lop
raised. And there, in its darkness and dingy old cloth
aai Maidie in whites hex ayes irleaining, and Boot! bending
over her in ecstasy — 'hung over ber enamored,' 'Sit
yo thcro, uty dautle, lill they all see you;' aud forthwith
he brought tln-m all. Y"u can fltney the icene, And he
lifted bar np, and marched to hi* seat with her on his
stout shoulder, and sei bar down beside him: and than

began the night, and such a night! Those who knew

Scott b«»t said, thai night was never equalled . Maidie

and he were the Stare; and she gave them Constance's

- and H' h-.-lit/n, tin- ballad then much iu vogue —
and all her rvperfoin — Soott showing her oif, and being
ofttimee rebuked by her for his int< nti.'ual blunders.

■• But this dainty, bright thing is about to Boa, to some
'quick to confusion.1 The measles seised her, and she
died ii the 19th of Deeamber, 1811. The day before bar
death, Sunday, she sat up In bed, worn and thin, bar aye
... i using as with the light of ;i ••■ miug w orld, and with a
tremulous, old voice repeated the following lines by

Burus — heavy with the shadow of death and lit with the
f&ntasy of the judgmeut-soat — 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 suushiuo mid renewing Btorms.1 "

THE BROTIIEKS.*

That our sons may be as plants grown up in their
youth. — Psalm cxliv. 12.

As plants, that claim a parent root.

Are formed and strengthened by each other;

So human minds bear richer fruit
When brother leans on brother:

Life's pureal joys must come uubought,

The pearls of love, the gems of thought,

The soul's beat earthly treasure shines,

Uncounted, iu 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 n seems the plants had birth
In the poor, arid sands of earth.

And was it strange the soul thus taught

In earth's dJvlneat 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,
i Blestta) glory evermore!

As latent heat, from earth's control,

Set free in air is flame ascending ;
Thus love, God's Image iu the soul,

Is ever up wand 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
3e mis to his sorrowing sisters saddened.

The form beloved can never come,
The vojee, the smile that gladdened

Aro gone ; and oh, the hopes that fall,

Whan 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;

I, iok np ! the black eclipse is gone,
A glorious light revealing !

Thu - Faith— a moment dark— will rise.

Above the sun, above the skies ;

Till in the wondrous vision given,

It &eea the precious "plant grown up" In heaven '
EUkab Joscpba Hale.

* Inscribed to Francis De Ha™ Janvier, on the death of
his only brother, Albert Wilson Janvier

804

godey's lady's book AND magazine.

PHOTOGRAPHY AND ITS ALBUM.

Bleat be the art that can immortalize,
The art that bathos Time's tyrannic claim

To quench it.

And while the wings of fancy still are fr.ee,
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.

Cowpee.

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
tiie 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. Tilto.n & 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 he
accessible to thohousehold. It isa very beneficial change
for the nation. A writer in the American Literary
Gazette says : —

" Contrary to fears entertained on the subject, thecheap-
euing of books, periodicals, and newspapers has in no
perceptible degree deteriorated literature. On this sub-
ject, we 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., ld.t
and 1 l.2d. each, 20 in number, aggregate issue per mouth,
1,436,500. Two periodicals of the Religious Tract Society,
of London, one sold at Id., and the other at \]/2d., ag-
gregate issue per month, 804,000. Temperance, at %d.
and Id. each, 9 in number, aggregate issue per month,
208,000. Useful, educational, and entertaining literature
at Id., \x/2d.. and 2d. each, 7 in number, aggregate
i>sue 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-
Chinking and irreligious, 2 in number, with, it is believed,
a comparatively limited circulation. According to this
view, the cheap periodical literature may he 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
mouth, probably under 80,000.

" The classes of hooks 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 suoject requires

ail ministers and justices cf the peace to register in the
County Clerk's office eacn and every marriage solemnized
by them, within three months after such maiviage, under
a penalty of $50. to De zocovered in an action of debt, to-
gether with the costs. This is rendered all the more im-
portant at the present time, as in me case of the death of
a soldier, ihe widi w must have a certificate of marriage
from the clerk before she can receive a pension. Upon
searching the records within the past year for marriages,
nearly half of the unfortunate widows have been turned
away with the remark " Tho clergyman performing the
ceremony has neglected to comply wUh the law.-

A Learned French Woman —The ladies of France have
no need to complain of their being dented the honors of
academic distinction. The Lyons journals state that
among the candidates for the degree of Bacnelor of Letters
during the present academical session in that city, is a
young lady who; being 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
Oacheliere 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. '■

Miss Tonge is writing for the "Churchman's Family
Magazine" a new novel, entitled "The Clever Woman of
the Family."

Miss Jane Ingelow. 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 MMical
College, gave to the New England Female Medical College,
in 1857 the sum of $1000, as the commencement of tho
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: or, The Young Mother* 8
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 arc conveyed in
the simplest aud most direct form, and tney relate to the
every-day matters of physical aud 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 doos 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, aol
commend its use to all who read it.

" Music refines the taste, purifies the heart, and elevate
our nature. It does more, it soothes in sonow, tranquil-
izes in passion, and wears away the irritabilities of life.

* By Mrs.
page 307

C. A. Hopklnson, Boston. See Book Notices,

LITERARY NOTICES.

305

v, it fires patriotism, nn.l makes the altar

. bum n nit a purer, holier Same, Not
■ lie brutes themselves have I aed

the bewitching power which it i
\ And in the still twilight hour, « beo sweet, sod memories
Uint past, and hover lovingly about
re played and the porsoua n bom we
. in their youth and I
ntv. '. ■ return u" more, who

. of the saddt i. ■ when it

>ut in tbo soft, low n I

■ ms absolutely

;i tcdi ins die ipened the lires

ling aud written 'vanity' on

faith, aud feme, and worldly

Moor ;ire felt to be nothing ; when the aims, and anibi-

ad aspirations which were wont to reus

towards thoir accomplishment fall

p iwer, music renders the burden of

and makes us all oblivious of pain aud

-, that parent lias largely ue-

;;;.-, has been strangely forgetful of

.ill obligation! - to afford

1 his children, while yet yonng, all the facilities In his

rin_' and cultivating whatever tute i r

\ music thei her vocal or instrumental; for

t in after-tire, and through all its vicissitudes, those who

it, iu the love of it. when young, Will And in its

■i ade :ii seasons of boisterous mirth.

\ and thus increase the joy: in times of despondency, its

mepression will give encouragement; when difficulties

ippose, it will inspire strength to overcome them, and

t when clouds of trouble gather around and above, hedging

' op the future, shutting out the blue sky of life, music can

Egyptian darkness, and tet in upon Che

Eknosl broken heart the sunshine of hope, of gladness,

|nd of joy." — Hall's Journal of Health,

To our Corrbsponi>e>ts. — The following articles are
accepted: "An English Go verneBs" — "Smoke" — "To my
Wife ou the nineteenth Anniversary of our Wedding" —
" A-; h del Flowers" — "Bachelor's Hall" — "Geodes" —
•*An Arctic Landscape'' — and "Love vs. Fancy."

Theee 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'1
(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-
j Dying each article, the title of the same.

Inclose a sto, .,><, if an answer is requested.

Then wait patiently, and a reply will be sent as boon as
Kme to reply.

fittrarg JUtices.

Fi >m LirpiNroTT & Co., Philadelphia: —
POEMS. By Henry Peterson. We are grateful to the
author for this copy of his poems — poems which, while
Bay 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
tbe Saturday Evening Post having made his name almost
VOL. LXVIil. — 25

ahonsel throughout the country ; and his book

will And welcome wherever M fees.

HELD IN' BONDAGE; orfOrai A Tak

of the Day. By "Ouida." in two volumes. V7e wl h
the author of this novel had written it entirely Ln French,
Instead of a considerable portion of it, as he has done; as
1 1 lie friends might consider it a valuable addition to
their literature, whim we cannot look upon it as such to
our own. The argument of the book is against the sacred-
uess of the marriage institution, and against early mar-
riages in particular. Its characters are wealthy young

men in the LilV-iiuards, gamblers, libertines, almOBt

drunkards, skeptics, vUliflen of women, and scoffers at all
that la good and pure; yet, according to the author's idea.
noble and modol specimens of manhood' aud in every
way suitable, when their youth is passed, and they ar._-

blnzi, to become the husbands of young aud innocent

girls.

From Pbxsr80s & Brothers, Philadelphia: —

THE LAWYER'S SECRET. By Miss M. E. Braddoo,
author of " Aurora Floyd," etc. This book Is comp
of two of Miss Bradduii's shorter stories, from the K
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
sine-- the breaking out of the rebellion.

WEBSTER AND HAYNE'S SPEECHES. This is a thick
pamphlet of 1 16 pages, containing the famous speeches ot
these intellectual giants in intellect, Webster aud Hayne,
on the resolution of Mr. Foote. The work is well printed,
and will form a cheap and useful volume of reference to
the great debate which, in iu day, so agitated the country
and its legislation.

Fmm SmERMt-RnoRN, Bancroft, & Co., New York and
Philadelphia:—

HAND-BOOK OF CALISTHENICS AND GYMNAS-
TICS, A QompleU DriWxxikfor Schools, Families, «>,■}
Gymnasiums ; with Music to accompany the Bxera
Illustrated from original designs. By J. Madison Wat-
son. We have examined this book with great can

are happy to 'give it our unqualified approval. It
to us the completes! 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 hook, will be found of vast benefit
to the careful reader; while the excellent poetical selec-
tions which Ibrm the conclusion of these, aud the music
bom the heat composers introduced at Intervals through
the Calisthenics, are no small attraction of the work.

From Frederick Lettolpt, Philadelphia:—
MOTHER GOOSE FSOM GERMANY. Illustrated fmm
designs by Iiudwig Richter aud others. A book very
neatly printed on hot-pressed paper, with fine illustra-
tions. The rhymes are instructive, amusing, aud 00m
in turn.

From F»her & Brother, Philadelphia: —
THE NEW HISTORICAL GAME on >
logical, i '■': ■ Historical. By a Lady

MR. AND MRS. JOLLYBOY'S PICNIC. These are

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 IYORY-
TYPES, PHOTOGRAPHS, TALBOTYPES, AND MINIA-
TURE PAINTING ON IVORY, ETC. Together xcith
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 o*
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 I overs, hut 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 Worthiugton 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 MAUCHMONT'S LEGACY. A Novel. By M. E.
Bradd'm, 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
tJie 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, Soot-

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 the Heroic Little Beggar Bog who afterwards
became the great German Reformer. By Henry Mayhrw,
author of "Benjamin Franklin,'' etc. This little volume,
intended more especially for youth, will not be slignted
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
woU 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-
sel. Translated, with permission of the author, by Emily
Makepeace. With illustrations by Charles Beuuet. An
amusing little story for children.

DICKENS' NEW CHRISTMAS STORY. Mrs. Lirriper's
Lodgings. Everyone looks for Dickens' Christmas stnry
with impatience, aud of course most of our readers have
seen the one for the last holidays. Those who nave not
have missed a rich treat.

From Dick & Fitzgerald, New York, through Peter-
box & 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 t)ie 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
bitter, aud possibly give to the world something that Bhftl]

LITERARY NOTICES.

307

to remember her; but she will never write so
■ t Bho need feel ashamed of this her first literary
i n ■ i i* breathe tend< r and womanly sen-

patriotism, and religion, uuJ their rhyttu

and mu

from M. W. Donn. Nov York, through II, II. 1
|n .v Co., Philadelphia:—

CHRONICLES OF THE 8CHONBERG-COTTA FAMILY.
By Two of Them Ddenvor to give

of ih<- times before the breaking out of th

church i .! | I'.irm more attractive I

HUad than history. It i* in the form of diaries or chron-
icles bj different memben of the BehBnberg-Gotta family,
Mailing the religions events and Benttmenta of I

and presenting Martin Lather familiarly to the
from the time when he first appoared a young ) ■
'-. h, and kind Ursula Gotta took a fancy to him, op

to the period nil ■ arned doctor of divinity, and

*. - In the Protestant movement. Fritz

and Eva enter convents, and the glimpses of convent life
given In their JMiim.iN will engage the reader's attention.
We are not prepan l to say how strictly the author has
: confined himself to history. At ail events, it is an ln-
1 foresting, a suggestive, and a thoughtful work.

AMY CAEE; or. The Fbrtwu-IMkr, By Caroline
-< bro. A pretty story for girls, with an excellent
.:, showing the diflerencelw tween the fortune- telling
of the gypsy and thai i f the Bible.

From G. P. Pi*tnam, Hew York, through Lipplvcott &
i hlladelphla . —

LYRICS OP LOYALTT. 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 ha- 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
ime, and arc expressive of every shade of patriotic
teniiment, 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 tho authoress of *■ Wide, Wide
World." IV i volumes. Miss Warner lias already a
world-wide reputation, which this new work will bright-
en if it cannot extend. "The Old Helmet" i- better
written than any of her previous works, and while the
literary character is thus improved, the tone of sincere
piety, which always pervades her writings, is sustained
with more cheerful faith; and tho excellent Christian
us will be not only useful but deeply interesting to
the young. The descriptions of natural scenes are very
fresh and pleas - of the characters win at once on

onr affections: Aunt Caxton and little Julia — childhood
and age — both actuated by pious feeling and sanctified by
Christian ■.Tar" ; the noble-hearted missionary, Rowland
Rhys, is an example of the good that may be affected
by an earnest self-sacrificing man among the benig
heathen, which is very beautifully portn <1. v.". think
'wide, wide" circulation.
CLAUDE THE COLPORTEUR, By the author of « Mary
P well." We have here a very valuable contribution to
Sabbath school literature. The story of this Bible-distri-
f fervent faith like the old Geneva C

Hans, Is dee] I tar has succeeded in

[th thfl popu-
lar feeling of what a true Christian should be and should
leach.

THE BALE OF CRTJMMIE; and other StorUg. Also
THH BURIED BIBLE, an seven-

teen tales in the book, each one with special Interest,
Children will love this i k,

the man of GOD; or, Spiritual Religion, ByOo-
tavni- Window, D. D. The i il io widely known

and highly esteemed to require a commendation for bis
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— iu some of the essential and prominent features of
his character. Each of the twenty-two chapters has a
tinctive oharacterlfitio, while the consistency of spiritual
unity in the portrait is shown as only the Bible Bcholar,
feeling the truth of inspiration in his own soul, can portray
the real Christian.

From LEONARD ScOTT ft Co., New York : —
THE BRITISH REVIEWS: London, Edinburgh, North
British, and Wtstminsttr Qu<irUrlu:s ; also Hluckicoud'x

M.ijnzine. The-- live publications, unrivalled of their

kind, deserve a Hide 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, Bond to the publishers, 3S Walker Street, New
York, for a circular.

From .T. E. Tilton & Co., Boston:—

DREAHTHOKP. Essays written in (he Country. By
ander Smith, author of "A Life Drama." "City
Poems," etc. The author of this beautiful volume has
long bean known to the reading public ns a poet of celeb-
rity. In this country as well as in his uative England,
his "City Poems,'* and "Life Dramas" have established
hi- claims to rank high in the literary polity. The adage
that ■' poetfl 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-
M the country village In which the writer has taken
up his abode, and from which ho 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 flite-flpnn platitudes of sentimental theorists on
"country life" will have sunk into oblivion.

From Littt.e. Brovtx, k Co., Boston: —

HINTS FOR THE .NURSERY; or, The Young Mother's
Gvfde. l'p. 168. By Mrs. C. A. Hopkiuson. 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 welt as instructive. The loving sympathy of the
mother is felt In every page (he author d u-t

and hex good sense, earafol observation, and judicious
tel will make many a nursery happier where bat
thoughts are present in this dainty little volume.

Prom TtcKsoa A: Fields, Boston, through Peterson k
Brothers, Philadelphia : —

LITTLE anna A Storyjbr Pleasant Little Children.
By A. Btein, Translated from the German. A neat little

308

godey's lady's book and magazine.

booh in blue and gold, with numerous il lustrations, telling
how Anna played with her doll, and amused herself, aud
behaved very much like other little children.

From Loring, Boston, through Lippincott & Co., Phi-
ladelphia : —

SUNSET STORIES. Helen Rothsay: A Book for Boys
aud Girls. No. 1. This is the first of the stories which
gx&ndmanuna tells to a little circle of hearers, to pass
away the sunset hour. It is an excellent oue 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 Atthor, San Francisco, California: —
SOMETHING ABOUT COINS. By E. J. Barra. This
little pamphlet give* brief histories and descriptions of
various American and foreign coins, and embraces a list
of the coins in the author's owu 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 aud 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, aud portraits of
distinguished men. From original designs by Darley,
aud 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.

6 ob tji's ^nit-C|air.

MARCH, 1S64.

As the year progresses, we try to make our Book more
and more interesting. The spring fashions will be found
ni 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.

t Mir colored Fashion-plate contains six beautiful figures,
true exponents of spring dresses.

"Great Expectations" — not by Dickens, more in the
i^berry 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-
',.■■ i pers. There is a place for everything, and everything
in its place.

t »nr 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
i the only magazine used for a premium at agricul-

tural fairs.

Fkeight on Letters or Premtums on Drafts. — We want
our subsci'ibers distinctly to uuuerstaud 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, aud 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 ou 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 ceuts 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.

Ora 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.

Hollowat'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 names. 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 ladt who sent a club complains that her letter was
not answered. We cannot answer 500 letters a day. We
cau uow only reply to those letters that positively require
it. The receipt of the first numbers is evidence that the
money has been received.

UkprrcrpsbTBD. — 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 cau 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 thai you did not receive them.
Well, then, send for them at once, when you miss them,
aud we shall be better satisfied in supplying them.

GODEY S ARM-CHAIR.

S09

Ukcmved. — We liavo received the following from
Waters, 481 Broadway, New York, and 0. Diuon
a Street, Boston, Haas, : —
Beaut;

by Mrs, ParkhursL
- ng.
Was my i-r ithor ttt tlie Battle? By James Bellak.
■

there,
.-[ namber ofthe "Musical Mm-;" has been re-
published by J.i>. W. Fortune, New York.

Tiiv. n ays: —

•• w have received Godey's Lady's Boole. I; is ■

of ■.'■ ii) thing

, in th ■■ :ir; of printing. It Isthcinosl perfei I and beautiful

of art in America. Evory lady should baveacopy "

We kindly thank the Whig, and also the Alma Jour*

i mat for the following: —

- i< the best Lady's Book published. If yon
< don't believe it, take it a year — bat we confidentially
■ advice you ool to lend ;i single number, as when I
Eherthey makra splendid volume — and yon will ■

Ion. Any one in comfortable circum-
in ird i" subscribe for it."

Two Irlshmon 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 coinpauion that

they should rest on a large Btone that lay at the base of a

mile board. His companion threw as mucb severity in his

tenance an possible, and answered: "What, will ye

desecrate hallowed ground! I - here. Ills

and his name was Miles T.1 Watertown !"

r ' 's :i of Erin." at Work on the same plank

was eating his dinner, \. 1 partly of

-. from tbe invariable tin pail. A passer by,

observing that he ate the shells, as well as ihe inside,

asked him why he did so. "Xow faith, mon," was hi*

••and isn't thothcU a* strong as the egg?"

Xor/irg LIddu1 SRMtKA&Y for Boardisu a.vd Day
Pcpils — Mrs. Gertrude J. Cary, Principal, South-east
corner S.xteenth 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 higherbrauchesofa 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. Sir-. 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. II. A. Koardman, D. D., Rev. J.

Jenkins, I> D., Rev. M. A. De Wolfe Howe, D. D., Louis

A. G dey, Esq - Philadelphia; Rev. J. N. Candoe, D. I).,

•burg, 111. ; Louis H. Jenkins, Jacksonville, 111. ;

Rev. George Duffield, Jr., Adrian, Mich.

Circulars sent on application.

Wb venture our reputation in saying there K next to a

beautiful copyof the Holy Script ti , priate

Sew Year's riierto a son, from a brother to a

r, if he has one, or somebody's else if he has not,

ihan Godey's Lady's Book. — Comet, Oweu Sound.

Ttte Double Fa6HI0x-Plat& — Let it be remembered that
y originated the double fashion-plate, as he has
originated everything tluit is valuable in magazine em-
ment.

25*

LL COLUHaT.
Bottott ' Hnnthhj. — Tin* March nnmber of

our n.-w n

containing one dollar's worth of .■>■■'■ grith four

beautifully engraved tUle-j pnt up in

ivers, and furnished ■

In this Dumber is given another

-<■■-,(, which has

created bo marked s sensul on In Paris. London, and

Philadelphia. This la the Soldiers1 Chorus, a beautiful

only brilliant and effective by tbe

B hands the trim made,

Brinley Richards. It will he remembered tii.tr we nave
already . .. chards* new p

our new volume. In the Marrh numb pnbUsh

an exquisite new ballad by Blumenthal, and a new and
attractive Polka Sehottisehe; the whole of which are
furnished In our beautiful periodloal at a Less pric
I Lece 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
pros nfc, to sell numbers for $100, freo of

In order that all our friends may see how cheap
and beautiful a periodical we are publishing. It will be
remembered tb;it Holloway's Musical Monthly G

(features thati ther musical periodical has <*ver attempt-
ed. All others are printed from type, while this is printed

tt on engraved plates, as sheet music is printed. It Is also
l on extra heavy sheet me id not on

ordinary news-paper, while its beautiful and numerous
costly engraved title-pages form a II I dnent 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 Poet Office, Philadelphia.
In no other way can tho monthly bo procured, as we have
no agents, neithevcan it be obtained at any music store.

Afett Shed Ifuetc. — Tho following new and beautiful
pieces are published by 0. Ditson k Co., Boston. Shadow
Bong Polka Redowa, from Meyerbeer's brilliant opera of
Dinorah, 25 cents. Maj. Gen. V. S. Grant's Grand March,
'. with handsome lithographic title, 35. Hurrah
Galop, in honor of Geu'l Grant's victories, 50. Seme
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 Baumbaoh'fl
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 P-nrella'scharming opera of lone. Good Morrow,
Love, Good Morrow, by Blumenthal. Thy Mother will
Hock Thee t>> Sleep, a sweet and simple melody. Tarry
ii | Long, beautiful song by F. Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
0 Wert th.'Uiu the Chilly Blast, with Gennau 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, flew York, publisher two beautiful trans-
lations from the German, Remembrance, and What
Will's! Thou, Heart, each 30 cents. Tell Mother I Die
Happy, touching song and chorus, SNK Gracious

Spirit, adapted from the favorite melody, The Maiden's
Prayer, 30. Rally Round tbe Flag, Boys, a patriotic song
and chorus, 85. Alee On live (A dream), a brilliant and
effective melody for advanced players, by Ravina, 50.

All orders filled if addressed as above to

J. Stakr Hollowat.

310

godey's lady's book and magazine.

PARIS CORRESPONDENCE.

The Duke de Mouchy's grand / tc at his .superb domain
of Mouchy Noailles, came off on Saturday with all the
* '-hit 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 iu hath
chairs, called vinaigrettes. The gardens were brilliantly
illuminated. The performances were V Hi.st.aire d' u n 8ou
and an occasional piece called Les cascades de Mouchy^
written by the Marquis de Massa. All the performers
were Prince^, 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
gnat 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 1 -
past seven A. M. that the lights were put out, and the hist
train left for Paris.

The f te 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 tbe 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 Cazcs and her sister, M. and
Madame Contas Desfontaincs, Madame de Belleyme, M.
Fould, the Prefect or the Oise, Baron Finot, MM. de Saint
Pries, de Merlemont, Reiset, Lupin, de L'Aigle, Auguste
tie Belleyme, de Ballcroy, Talleyrand de Perigord, Ponia-
[. \y>ki, de Miramon, Hottingeur, de Belbeuf, de Montreuil,
etc.

The Empress gave a grand f&e 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
<>rani.''-ry. were lighted up with myriads of lights and
Chinese lanterns, and thejiewly-constructed yacht, com-
manded to ho built for her Majesty, which had arrived at
St. Cloud only a few days previously, played an impor-
tant part iu 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-
in:.' expeditions a very handsome gold-headed cane, which
a lady about her Majesty's person had previously told me
0 was her constant habit at Biarritz. But there the Empress
Eugenie is supposed to live completely without ceremo-
nial of any kind, and confines her suite to a very small
number 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, hut 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 must expensive description.

A correspondent of a proviucial 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, 17P3, when Sanson descended from the scaffold
after executing- the unfortunate Queen, he saw one of tlie
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 hoy with the handkerchief was
taken, and was only saved from the guillotine by his
tender age. The other hoy got off with the shoe, which
he and his son kept as a relic till I860, 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 shoo 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 — anywhere so that the roof does not slant —
will do for the home, so that the bonnet and the flounces
are of the newest. The fever is catching the very poor, to
add to their straits. The snow-white cap nf 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 Beunet, 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 Jardinh'-re, 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 bacrifices they are compelled to
make.

Several books have lately been received at our post-
office addressed to Mrs. Hale , some with $1 Oft and others
$1 25 and $1 36 postage on them. They have not been
taken from tbe post-office. Some were done up mi '■ sel
at both ends, and others with letters inclosed, which .sub-
jects them to letter postage.

godey's arm-chair.

311

Characters. From am Old Letter: —

"I saw brUtes — chiefly political, and

- in-- foreigners of more 01
was there, with her mother, it Madrid
i beauty, Mdlle de M— — o. [Tin iprses of

] France, then Mdlle. Muntisso.] She Is lair, with
ad, though Dot (to my ts it<

fill. In* in ,i;

■ your nt t 11 g is something about liei i

: ■ I very difficult to d

»*jrt of little, quiet, half-indifferent, half-pensive ;»ir. as if
Be knew she v. g, but carol little about the

in itter, still less ahoni making those around her think bo.
tlai bees nse it w as bo strongly
bposed to the man tiers ••! the Frenchwomen around her.

i She tuv* a charming bust and hands."

Aiid here is Madame Dudevant: —

"We dined to-day at Madame E. de G-

-n's. and
First, there was Madame
■ O. Saad. Cover her ej ohow else

■tall y 'ii And in

i — mure especially the order of

i -lies bor. She i- short and stout,

iwer part of which \a very coarse,

eyes that are handsome ami expressive,

i tmarkably Bmall, and,

at Lng in Besfa I i ma

. and what she say- is much

; . - of plain, strong common sense than

i>r brilliancy; while her manners are perfectly

: I free from affectation — indeed, from an

For another specimen, here is Dumas: —

"Alexander Puma- was there; very amusing', but I

y capable of being i xtrcmely overpowering'. Se

n Ufa frantic gesticuLv

ybody, ""'/ ('i seema

Bterly deficient in the tact thai should teach him v. nom

ho may or may not be familiar and demonstrative with,

or what - Imissiblein general

■nversal sactly like a huge, boisterou

ad puppy let into a drawing-room
to display his ii i accomplishments; these,

no doubt, axe re and highly amusing ; but the

bolt is, yon feel that the witnessing the expenditure of
iut of animal life and superfluous energy pro-
ensation of fatigue marly as gTeat 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 may be separated, and each portion
hand"! to the parsons to whose departments the subjects
may belong. Frequently poetry is sent us in letters
■daring Lady's Book, commenced on the back of the hu.-.i-
Eem ; ige. We have not time to copy it, and ther
Is filed away with business fetters, and no notice taken
i 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.

Clcb Katks wiTn other Maoazises.— Godey's Lady's
Book and Harper's Magazine, one year, $4 60. Godey's
Lady - Iwok'aud Arthur's Magazine, one year, |3 60.
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
Mus.cal Monthly, one year, (5. For Cauada 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 ont to
|gj tfae sexton's wife, who asked whether it was likely the
child would be long dying, as her husfa&nd wanted to go
owt, but would delay his departure if it was thought death
-hortly Like place!

IitESTiTT Asveutaixkiv— The identity ofths dead

who was Grand on the bloody field ■ I : ■ with the

■ il his three pretty little children tightly i
fail bands, baa bo d ascertained within a day or two, Tim
wide pul through

n produced tfc tlfe. The

name of the deees ad was Bummiston and bis widow
and threo child r. ii reside at Fori

Now fork. Largo numbers of photographic copies of the
picture upon which the dying«yas of the warriorrfather
closed have been sold, and the pr I
sale win be appropriated t-> the benefit of the children.

It is hoped that a Miltici.-nt sum mi Bd iu this

way, and by future aalsfli to aid materially in the educa-
tion of tho liulo onea who wore made orphans at Gettys-
burg.

New York.
Dear Mr, Gottey: For some time past 1 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 ciime either to beg, borrow, "i ask you to
publish for me, so my letter can wait.) ITorj mo
that a few weeks ego, I went to visit ,i friend of mine in a
pleasant country place, and there she and I " got op" this

■ on ;" we called it so, because wo did not know
any other inoffensive name for it; to have called it a
theatre, would have horrified the people in these parte
h was for the benefit of the Ladies' Soldiers' Aid Society ;
and was a great success. We i larly $25 00, and

should have had a great deal more, but our bouse was
very small, and our admlsion fee only twenty cents, and
children half price. Everybody thai could get in was

d and the house was literally jammed. Now,

what i want to say is, that for tins BUCCess, I want to

thank ynii and Hiss Marian Douglas, her for tprtfin^fand
you fox publishing, "The Comedy of an Evening" in the
July, and "The Village with one Gentleman' in the
r number of your magazine; they are both ex-
cellent pieces, aud with four tableaux, a charade I wrote
for the occasion, and some singing, comprised th
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 tho two plays — excuse me, I mean pieces. As Lt was,
one gentleman had to take both "Mr. Leroy," and " De,
Henningway;" we had only two more, and one of them
was married ; we had plenty of girls, and 0^-y all acted
exceedingly well. There is ..m.- 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 bo 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 iu which you have indi-
rectly helped "the soldiers. If yon have an opportunity,

please to tell her that we all wish sh<
write something more. Yours truly, M. M. McB.

Crisomnes Abroad. — An African negress having been
presented with a crinoline, caused no little amusement to
the English, etc., at Acra, by wearing it tho wrong way
up, i. e., with the waistband round the ankles, and what
should have been tho bottom hoop suspended from tlm
nock by cords. In this guise she strutted about as proud
as a peacock.

lErasnra NcsnjERS. — If any subscriber fails to receive
a copy of Harper or Arthur, thoy 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
&s received, to tho publisher of the magazine ordered, and
Uie numbers aro sont from their respective offices.

Has. IlAT.Ri* fully supplied with '-Sketches of American
Life" and "Traits of American Character."

AflK*ctE3. — We have no agents, and no persons solicit
ing subscribers for us. Let this be remembered,.

312

GODEYS LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Women and Street Cars. — A Cincinnati paper published
an item the other Jay to the effect that the editor heard a
lady on a street car thank a gentleman who gave up his
seat to her. A correspondent appears to doubt the state-
ment. He say-: "I have no desire to question your
veracity, Mr. Editor, hut did not your cars 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 wituessed 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,
ajid 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 sittingbeside
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 autic trick."

To Poets. — Having so much poetry at present on hand,
we must be allowed this year to use some of it ; therefore,
during 1S64, we cannot send the Lady's Book in payment
for poetical contributions.

Postage on the Lady's Book, according to the late law
paused last winter.

Station 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 arc required to takeoff their bonnets,
before ontering 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 goiug 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 good 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. We would like a joke department; no old Joe
Miller's. We have an original copy of that venerable
joker, hut dou't use bim.

" Putting tour 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. Iu 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,

Bfar 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, 1
should be greatly obliged to you. A. C, 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 J
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 i
find yonrs 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 licerary superiority. The fashions also are iutiuitely
superior to all others. The receipts are invaluable. My
wife took one receipt from your book for making a
certain kind of oake, 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 Boob),
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 ihe 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

turning 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 geutlemau by the name of Stone. Mr. R

furnished oysters.

Godeys 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 in the
JVew 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,

In if"?! there were in the workhouses In England, a
half-pay officer, a clergyman, 10 solicitors, 15 surgeons
an author, 38 schoolmasters, and 79 schoolmistresses.

GODEY S ARM-CHAIR.

313

Juvenile department.

Wi print something new f..r our young Mends, always
Ihvtng .1 special eye to their amusement, it- we
i pro Yemen t of their elders.

FLOWERS FROM FRVIT.

7 — Oranges, Almonds, bunches of I
'" Whale-1

w.— \ FIuwi - Id witter r,.r a

the skui carefully all round, except u

i he thinnest ends. Spread the skin oat gently on each

lie Almonds, and suspend them from raisin stalks.

•r Flower, Take a few raisins "is a Long branchy

i-taik. and here and there fasten small pieces of orange-

Jpeel. The effect will be very pie -

-I Tctlips —From the stalk-ends of on ag e looa a the peel
dips, nearly to the bottom, bnt do
loot take them off. Open the orange at the top, as
[Von intended !•• quarter it ; bnt open it only about half
way down. Stick the lower part on a piece of whalebone
which yon can almost cover with leaves made

- i a* for tho tnlip, making the

fewer, ami, of course, much wider; open them

■ pan- of (lve ora age. Set are

i did the tulip', to a pi-re of whalebone or cane.

\ ReoIA . — /?-■. aired — An Orange.

i' -. tutus, — Cut off the top p;irt of the oransre-peel,
large a piece as would cover a penny. Pass the
{blade of the fruit-knife between the peel and the fruit, so
•that yon can turn down the peel. Open the oran :

y as- for the tulip, but much wider
upart. Between the parts you can pnt slips of orange-

kt. — Having made as many different flower- as
j'tn can, place them together in a small jus; or vase. Ton

can 611 it iu with your cuttings, which will also serve tu
ikeep the dowers where you wish them to be.

A LITTLE girl who had not behaved properly at church,

I, on her return, the dress of a lady who \y

at it had a tuck very near the hem, when her

_.y: "I should think you would

cond act, that

youconld not have rais the floor.'1 "So

1 w.i". ma," was the ready nswer, "and havi

, lown caused" me to observe the bottom of 5Ir.->.
hVsdre*-

HOTHSB GOOSE TABLBATJX.

(CotU in it. (!/v, in February numb r.J

TAUI-RAt* XXI.

" If I'd as much money as I could «pend,
i i.. vex would cry old chairs to n

lain to mend, old chair-. t>> metld,

I never would cj y mend.

"If IM as much money m i could tell,
1 never would crj old rags I
Old rags to sell, old ra ■ to Bell,
1 never woold ery old elL"

L--: the curtain ris^ on a stage perfectly
empty. From one side, behind the n

com.'s the cry. "Old Chairs tO mood ! Old

chairs to mend ' " l rum the other side tho
, ■• Old rags tii se] 1 1 < Hd i

merchants inihl wear old I

. j, overcoats, and gloves without I
" shocking bad hats," and gapi ug boots. One
carrie-. on bis head a pile or chairs, the other
shoulders an immense rag bag. After th
off the Btage

- come on th stage I >m op]
sides, each crying their wares. Meeting in
the centre Of tin- foreground they 'top. eye
each other, and bow. Then the rag man
sarcastically the flxst 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 C MtemptUOUS
manner, also emphasizing the I, sings the

second verse. At its conclusion, with every

gesture of contempt, the merchants turn ( luir
backs upon each other, and go out at the side

opposite to tine on.- at which they entered,

in a loud, defiant tone, crying their
"Old chairs to mend!" and "Old rat's to

TABLBAD XXII, XXtlT.

"Simple Sim m met a pieman
Ooing to the fair ;

Said simple iSim.'ii to the pieman,
Let iin.- taste your ware.

Said the pieman i" simple Simon,
Show me first your penny.

Said simple Simon to the pieman,
Indeed I have not any.*1

In the centre of stage stands the pieman, with a white
aprou and baker's cap on. Upon his arm is a Large Bquare
basket covered with a white cloth. Iu one hand he holds

out a small pie, while th<' other is extended open for a
penny. The boy, who takrs the pari of Simon, must be

capable of putting on a perfectly vacant stare. il< is

standing left of pieman, facing audience, staring eagerly

at the pie, his pockets turned inside out, and his bauds
feeling them for the missing penny.

"Simple Simon went a fishing
For to catch a whale :
All the water he COttld get

Was iu his mother's pail.1*

In the centre uf foreground stands the pail of water.
In the centre uf foreground, exactly being the pail, simple
Simon is seated upon a chair placed npon a table. He
has a long fishing pole, the line from which falls into the
pail, and bis .-yes are fixed with eagerness upon the hook.

The best dress for simple Simon is a pair ■•! ,-ummer
pants, I io -loot ami too tight . i ;'.:r boy U besi for the
part), a long gingham apron with sleeves, a hat wil
a brim, low shoes and colored cotton stockings. Ail his
clothes should appear to be outgrown,

TAELEAt* XXIV.

"Pat a cake, pat a cake, baker's man,
Bo 1 will, master, a- last as 1 can.
l'at it, and prick it, and mark it with B,
Ami toss ii ia the oven for baby and mo."

In the centre of the staL'f have a table, upon which is
the kneading trough. Behind the table facing audii ace U
the "baker's man," with his white apron and cap. pat-
ting a piece of dough. In the I taml- the

master, with the baby on bis arm Crying babies are

b.'-r for tableaux, as. [f broken, they ar-; not quite so im-
portant U M 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 fur
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 Ins famous feats, and the more absurd
the dog, the greater the fun. Lord Batemau'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 theeveniug.
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. Tiltox & 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 aud Crayon Drawing, Oil Painting of
every kind, Wax-work, Leather-work, Water Color
Painting, and huodreds of fancy kinds of drawing,
painting, etc. etc.

The following is from an English paper, no one in this
country 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 Vie kept playing, and subscribers arc 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, bnt 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, aud that, with a proper miinber 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 payiug servants to do it for them ?
The labor of ' practising' at the piano will, if this scheme
succeed, he 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 miidi;
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. W. 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,

Mis. 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 Dth.

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 14lh.

Mrs. F. M.— Sent pattern 14th.

E. L. D. — It is not proper to call a gentleman by Ins]
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, auything to indicate that you have1
not forgotten him.

Miss H. S. A. — " Echoes" will not answer.

W.'J. P. — "Reveriesof a Bachelor," $1 2.3. "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-1
fourth finger of the right hand (counting the thumb as al
finger) ; the wedding ring is worn on the fourth finger tf]
the left hand. Whether people introduced to each other|
should shake hands, depends entirely on circumstances.

J. F. — In a dinner & la Russe, the (fishes are not cut upl
on table, but on a sideboard, by the servants, and ara
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 yoflj
want an answer.

•

FASHIONS.

315

/asjjions.

NOTICE TO LADT BUB8CRI BBBS.

j hsd frequent applications fur the purchase of
;
■'■

any who may desire it, with tlie clinr^i- of
a small percentage tor the time and r-!<>.tr.-h required.
■■ aterial* for -1-. •
hair-work, worsteds, cbildn
Ullas, an<i mini n with a view I

trwarded
;:y j'jtri of the couuiry. For the last,
■-: be given.

tor I tte proposed expen*
- . Esq,
money ia first
'tlivher will be a
■ in remitting.
of the Lady's Book has no Interest in
■a department, i of the transaj

And whether the person sending the order is or la not ;i
ir to the Lady's Book," the Fashion edit pi dot a
not know.

minute as Is possible, accompanied
oy a note of the height, complexion, and general

- n, on which much depends in choice. Dress
■ 'a : mourning goods from
A Sou; dry good* of any kind from Messrs. A T •

:- u- Y >rk ; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, from
a nets from the
brated establishments ; jewelry from Wriggena
v ' Caldwell's, Philadelphia,

-.''■»ods are ordered, the fashions that prevail here
govern th< therefore, no articles will be taken

Wh«i the goods are sent, the transaction must he
! final.

RIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOB
MARCH.
fiy 1. — Gray figured silk poplin, trimmed with a box-
pUu.vi ruffle on the edge of the skirt, and black braid
I in a pyramidal form on the front and Bides of
,the skirt. The sleeves are trimmed with braid to match.
Irhe small camail is finished with a row Of heavy chenille
The bonnet is of apple-green silk, trimmed with
rid the capeiaof white crjMoovered with
I nee.

— I>rr>s of rich Napoleon pnrple silk, richly

with black velvet edged with guipure lace. The

with a very deep square jockey, trimmed

^rith chenille, velvet, and lace. Fancy cap, trimmed

• :et roses and long white streamers edged with

ukjack lace.

—Dress of a golden oak silk, with long jockey

■at the back. The dress illy trimmed with che-

urille tassels and black silk braid. White silk bonnet,

I with scarlet velvet. The Inside trimming is of

j frocy straw an.: m arlet velvet.

green silk dress, trimmed with graduated

jtmo.U of black velvet, finished with buttons on the edge

skirt. Long circle of heavy black silk, ric

1 with chenille and black beads. White er'pt

cr »ss©d with crystal beads, and trimmed with

rlet berries.

a dress, trimmed with black velvet
(trranged in licked diamonds on the skirt. Pal

■ ike gravel,, ih, slushed at the sides, and laced
)w;th black cords and tassels. Fancy pockets, calls and
|>41ar, trimmed with a narrow black velvet. White
Jirawn silk bonnet, trimmed with blue ribbon.
I Fig 6. — Child's dress of a cherry silk. Sack of a bright
red cloth, edged with ruws of narrow velvet
»traw hat, trimmed with scarlet velvet and fancy

CHILDREN'S FASHIONS.

jravinij, jxr;
Fig. 1. — Dp-
bands of sea-green silk. Fancy jacket, faced and turned
back with green silk. Veal of gzeeu -ilk. White straw

hat, with a black velvet ribbon tied at the

Fiff.2. — Bluesiik.il rilk edged

with a narrow Anting of '. ■

Pig. 3. — ; White piquA dross, richly braided with
ta. Whil I bat, trimmed with Ma

Plff. 4. — White pi'/ut dress, braided With a bright blr.y
braid.

Pig. ~>. — White alpaca dress, trimmed with bands of
bias blue silk. Straw hat, trimmed with field Aon en an l
black velvet.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YOBE AND PHILADELPHIA
FASHIONS FOB MAR< H.
Cols blustering March brings with it few nov<
The general character of the mouth forbids our casting
aside winter habiliment -.

Zet in her reign of blast and storm
Smiles many a long, bright Bunny day.
When the changed winds are Bofl 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 iu the way of fashions. The first thing to be done,
however, La to lay aside furs. As the neck reqnln
little protection, we would suggest to the fair Penelopes
(who, at this present day. are as great adepts with tlie
crochet as the sewing needle) the bright little Roman
scarfs now bo 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 B fine needle, and c;in be made in shells - D

the single Long crochet. Twenty-live stltc
width, and they can be made of any or all colors. But
i of our readers have never seen these little affairs,
we will give the colors of a very pretty one we have
in. It was made of scarlet, green, purple, and
euro-color, three rows of each, and separated by a row of
black, two of white, and another of black. Tlie (rings
was formed of strands of all the color- 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. Mu-lin half handkerchiefs
now come for the neck, scalloped round with white or
colors, having an embroidered bunch in the point at the
hack. As a protection for a oamel's-hair shawl, nothing
can be nicer. For as the hair is still worn very low on
the nock, if the shawl Is white, or of a light color, it is
almost impossible not to soil it, unless something is won
unite high round the throat, nud the shawl allowed *o
fall slightly.

At Brodic's, in Canal Street, thoneavier cloaks are being
laid aside, and all the clans from Loch Lomond to John
O'Groat'a 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 Em pre--, of the French and thfl

Duchess de Horny 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, ■
match, or of gay colors. Many are cut with a Beam d^wn
the back, and in this case the plaid- must match, or the
affect will be shocking. Others are loose io front, but aro

316

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

sloped somewhat to the figure at the sides and back, 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 hack,
and ornamented with heavy cords and tassels. A very
eSegant cloak was of white plush bordered with scarlet
ciienille 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 pp., 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 Fully 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 arc 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 scam, and the
waist is laced under the arm. The trimming can be of
velvet, leather, or bead gimp, nlged pn 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
oecact information, we think they cannot do better thau
to send to our Fashion Editress for a pattern. It is cer-
tainly the prettiest waist we have seen, decidedly new,
aaid will be fashionable all summer.

We cannot forbear mentioning two very pretty sashes
which wo 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, aud tho 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
U'tTulty; 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 pluma Inside
pi ire Scotch flowers, consisting of tufts of scarlet, green,
nil blue berries with gold spikes, interwoven with
g -ld«u veined ivy. The tout ensemble of this bonnet was
charming.

In headdresses we saw many exquisite novelties. The
coronet is stdlthe prevailing style, but a pretty variation
of it was a double wreath. The first rather mure than a
quarter of a yard in circumference, tho other still smaller
and linked in it It was formed of an exquisite bunch of
ruses and buds, which was to be placed just over the fore-
head between the puffs, and the rest was of small buds
aud leaves. A large rose in the second wreath was in-
tended to ornament the tup of the waterfall coiffure.

Another headdress was of very large pansics 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
Sowers. 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 wo 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
bo done. The ladies are never satisfied, novelties must
be had. Like Oliver Twist, they still ask fur more.

Artificial flowers are in great demand, and are exqui-
sitely perfect ; and when arrauged with tho taste peculiar
to Mme. Tilman, nothiug 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 tho
centre of it

The most suitable style of headdress for this coiffnto
is a ba&deau of velvet starred with brilliants. Another
style is a small diadem advancing in a point upon tho
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
v hatever ornaments are on the bandeau.

Fancy combs are still the rage, and very economical
ones may he 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 tho plaiting ot dresses. •Hiat
is rather a difficult question to answer, as most ever?
dressmaker seems to have a style of her own. We see
large bos plaits, one large plait and tnree small one*,
also French gathers.

Dresses are still faced with leather, and in New Tork,
which is considered the Pans of America, hoops are not
discarded nor are they worn so small as in some of b<*
sister cities. Fasinox

CcupeweZl I 1 1 5 c .

umwTh e&smiots.

ROBE DRESS.

(From the .celebrated establishment of Messrs. A. T. Stewakt & Co., of New York.)

„„ K°bV?r.eS8 "' "'one-color delaine, with black bands, on which are printed (ray (lowers. These bands extend lencthwise
on the skirt and also torm the tnmmms for waist, sleeves, and pockets. Plain round waist, finished hy a belt the trim-
Mil ""Odin* up the front and around the neck ; cap of same to tight sleeve ; deep linen cuffs, standing linen collar, and
black velvet how. Headdress of pink rose leaves and black velvet. »*«««, »"u

328

DINNER-DEESS.

Dinner-dress of amethyst color silk, the bottom of skirt trimmed with a plaited ruffle with scalloped edge finished by a
narrow black thread lace. Above the raffle is a black lace insertion, lined with white silk, and put nn in waves ; in each
wave are leaves cut of a darker *hade of silk, edited by a narrow lace ; the leaves are fastened on by an ornamental silk
button. Plain round waist, cut low in front ; sleeve partly loose ; the waist and sleeve trimmed to correspond with skirl,
the leaves forming an epaulet on the shoulders. Sash made of the silk, trimmed with lace insertion, and edged by a narrow
Anted ruffle, the sash simply knotted in the back. Full white cambric sleeves ; chemisette to correspond. Hair crimpea
and rolled off the fac«, with Grecian carls at the side. Black lace headdress, arranged in coronet form, with flowing ends
behind.

26*

329

L'ELEGANTE

A rich black silk circle, embroidered and braided in black and white, and trimmed with two rows of guipure lace.

330

THE ALBUERAN.

[T"roiu the establishment of G. Buodie, 61 Carnil Street. New York. 1'r.iwn by L. T. Voiot, from actual articles

of costume.]

This parmpnt flu easily to tbe fl^nrp. It In made in Mack taffeta Tbe ornament constats of braid-work, forming a
double line of links, and with epaulet* to match the design.

331

332

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The design for this simple bnt elegant adjunct to the writing-table, or the work-table, is drawn to the proper scale
for working. The envelope itself is made of card-board, covered with silk, embroidered with silk braid. Rlue and
gold contrast well for an article of this kind ; but the colors may be varied to taste. The card-board will not need to
be particularly stiff; but in order that the gold may bend easily, it may be cut a third of the way through or bent well
down. Hut a" belter plan is to make the bend of a strip of linen pasted on either side. This envelope will be found
very useful for holding cottons, scissors, and other necessaries of the work-tabie.

335

EMBROIDERY,

DESIGN FOR A CARD-BOX.
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A shallow cigar-box will answer as well as any more costly. Along the inside and outside of the coyer paste a
piece of calico Iglue would be better than paste) ; then cover the box with quilted silk, and line it with the same. Or
a pretty cover for the outside is to join blue ribbon and black velvet together, so as to form stripes. The cards are
worked on canvas, either in white beadsor white Jifosel, the spots on the cards of black and red purse silk. The cards
should be outlined with brown. The ground must be either black beads, or of black Berlin wool, worked in, tent-
Btitch. The outline of the whole should be overcast with black silk, and the canvas cut close to this ; then the work
glued on to the cover, and round the outside a row of rather large black beads should be sewed.

336

GODEY'S

%i\h}$ %aak anb jjjapp*

PHILADELPHIA, APRIL, 1864.

"NOBODY TO BLAME."

B T MARION H A B L A >' D .

'Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the jrear 1863, by Louis A. Godey, in the clerk's office of the District Court
of the United States^ in And for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.]

(Continued from pas^'e 243.)

CHAPTER VII.
Oxe of the minor indulgences which Mr.
oylan allowed himself, in consideration of
is advau ing age, was a later breakfast, and

msequently, a later appearance at his place

bnsine8S than he had esteemed proper and

ry in former years. The morning

■weeding Miss Dupont's party, he was in no

Bte to be off. He was not, at heart, an

tkind. although often outwardly a harsh
rent, and when in a good humor, he liked
I bear tie' .iris talk over their frolics.
'Tiny was in high feather all breakfast-time.
'r. Cleveland had come out of town early in
le evening to escort her — she made no men-
pn of Maggie — to the festive scene. He had
ulced twice with her, and introduced her to
Succession of delightful partners. These
iked out. of their own weight, through
■r descriptions of dresses, supper, people,
c, which etcetera comprised an elaborate
icount of Mrs. Dupont's flattering hospitality,
id Marie's tttention to herself, the eminently
pserving Miss Boylan. Tiny was egregiously
»iu. as both her father and Maggie well
lew ; hut the one was too much amused by
;rflippanj gossip, and the other too abstracted
■k her egotistical prating. She had,
.us left to herself, gained such headway,
, at when Marian walked into the breakfast-
On and informed the party at the table that
- there on purpose to hear news of the
|ll, Tiny remained spokeswoman. She flirted
vol. lxviii. — 27

her head defiantly, as if prepared to retort
with double force, upon whatever of innuendo
and raillery Marian might feel herself called
upon to enunciate, and held on her course i
' ' The Dashaways were there in great strength.
They never miss an invitation. There is such
a brood of them that some must leave the
lest soon, or they will have to shed their fine
feathers. Mr. Lorraine said they appeared in
the character of a rainbow, mistaking it for a
fancy dress ball. Sophie was in yellow, Emma
in pale pink, Julia in blue, aud little Pauline
in white."

"Only two of the original prismatic colors
in the party!" said Marian. "Why do you
pity them ? They outnumber us by one
only."

" One in a family makes a great difference,
when that one is a fourth daughter, to be
settled in the world," rejoined Tiny. "Par-
ticularly, as it seems to be uphill work with
them all to get husbands."

"Ah! that alters their case. Any woman
in such a position has my commiseration. I
see now that they have every reason to envv
our family. But go on ! You had a fair re-
presentation of foreigners — ' Jews, Turks, and
Infidels,' I suppose?"

"By no means! The company was as
select as so large an assemblage could be. Mrs.
Dupont mingles in the best American circles.
Why should she not ? She is not French, if
her husband was."

337

838

godey's lady's book and magazine.

"A sharp fellow ! " said Mr. Boylan. "A
keen business man, and bore a good cha-
racter."

"Then there were the Vanderbiggs, and
the Van Phlats, overdressed, blouzy, and
stupid, in everybody's way, mute as fish, and
loaded with jewelry. Mr. Lorraine whispered
to me that an amicable arrangement had been
entered into by Mrs. Dupont, and Ball, and
Black, whereby they — Ball and Black — were
allowed to furnish several walking advertise-
ments of their wares, for her parlors, and
that this was their great show evening. I
nearly died with laughing at the notion."

"A witticism that has the merit of origi-
nality, certainly," said Mrs. Ainslie. "I do
not recollect to have heard it above a hundred
times. No wonder it came nea-r being fatal to
you ! ' '

Tiny dashed on. " But the richest sight of
all was the bride, Mrs. Uxor."

" Ha ! I heard the old man had made a
goose of himself for the third time," com-
mented Mr. Boylan, helping himself to a hot
muffin. "He is rich enough to afford it,
however. If he has a fancy to take another
dip in purgatory, nobody need hinder him.
Who was she?"

"A poor sehoolma'am, whom he picked up
last summer, among the White Mountains,
with nothing but health and flesh to recom-
mend her. She stared about her, as if she
were at a cattle fair. I told Mr. Cleveland
that the tale of her birthplace must be a
mistake. It was plain that she was raised in
the Green Mountains, instead. He! he I"

"Whereupon lie nearly killed himself laugh-
ing, of course!" said Marian. "Poor John!
But I have not heard yet how this silent girl
acquitted herself," she added, changing her
manner as she turned to Maggie. "Did you
have a merry and a successful evening,
Puss?"

"A merry and a pleasant one. I say
nothing of its success," returned Maggie,
smiling.

"That we will take for granted. Who
were your most irresistible and attentive
partners ?"

Maggie named some half-dozen gentlemen,
as having been very polite and agreeable.

"You do not mention our friend, Mr.
Cleveland," said Mrs. Ainslie, secretly pleased
at an omission which might proceed from

maiden bashfulness. " Did Tiny monopolize!
him to the exclusion of every other lady ?'

"There was no monopoly in the matter! "I
put in Tiny. "The attentions he rendereq
me were voluntary. Thank gracious ! I anq
not dependent upon the pleasure of any ons
man when I go into company. Mr. Cleveland
waited upon Maggie quite as much as was
consistent with his duties to others."

" I was not aware that he owed duty to any,
one besides her. If you are right, however,
this may explain some things that have per-
plexed me heretofore, I refer to his polite
notice of those persons to whom inclination
certainly could not be supposed to direct him,
He is an unselfish fellow."

"A fine young man!" said Mr. Boylanj
not at all discomposed by the spirited passage}
between his daughters. "If you can catilj
him, Tiny, you will do well. I give my com
sent in advance."

Tiny tried to blush and not to look tot
pleased. Marian laughed — a low laugh oj
sarcastic incredulity, that required no words to
second its meaning.

" You were speaking of Mr. Lorraine 4
while ago," she said. "Was he fascinating
as usual, last night ? as gay a butterfly as hi;
chains would allow him to be ?"

" He conducted himself admirably ?" Tinj
became his advocate, the instant Marian'!
tone seemed to decry him. " His relation t«
Marie authorized him to act as one of thj
family, and he played the part of host well)
I can't see why you are eternally sneering a|
him. He is an elegant man, a thorough genj
tleman. I would set my cap at him, if ]i\
were not already pledged elsewhere."

"Hey?" exclaimed Mr. Boylan, suspending
the operation of breaking a second egg
" That is the chap who waltzed so long witl
Miss Dupont at your party, isn't it ?"

Tiny replied in the affirmative, somewhaj
startled by her father's manner.

' ' He is certainly engaged to be married u
her, is he?"

" I believe there is no doubt of it, sir."

"She is a fool!" he rejoined, cracking thi
shell with his spoon, and speaking witlj
deliberate energy. "A great fool to think 0|
marrying that scoundrel. She will end he!
days in the poor-house, and he his upon tl
gallows, or at Sing-Sing."

"Why, pa!" ejaculated the amazed Tiny
while Maggie shaded her eyes with her hand

'NOBODY TO BLAME.

339

ml watted, with pale, averted face, for what
■ rnMe disclosure she could not guess. "You
m<t be mistaken in the person."
I "' I mean what I say ! His name is Lorraine,
tnd he is a book-keeper with Lawrence \- Co.,

tall fellow, with blaok hair and whiskers,
■•18 a short moustache, dresses like B prince,
r a dandy gambler, which he is. He is a
pat rascal. If I had not understood cer-
-aiuly that he was engaged to the French
•irl, I should have warned him off these
68 Weeks ago, Be is a wild, dissipated,
rilling adventurer, whose character is not
,-orth that" — snapping his lingers — "among
i nbstantial, clear-sighted men. I would horse-
,-hip him if he ever presumed to pay his
Addresses to one of my daughters. So, Miss
iny. lei us hear no more jesting about setting
four cap at him. I won't have his name
:joupled with that of either of you girls, even
n fun."

■ The blood was slowly freezing around
■aggie's heart. But for her intense desire
(o hear all, the worst that remained to be
aid. her senses would have deserted her.

"This is very strange!" said Mrs. Ainslie,

iecply interested. "I cannot see how he

1 to gain a foothold in good society."

j "Through his brother, I hear," answered

■Ir. Boylan. " He is in business with Ward

tnd Parrish, and possesses a handsome pri-

ate fortune. He is a steady, enterprising

I lan — older than this fellow, and is uow tra-

elling in Europe."

I "Can it be possible that Marie is ignorant
\[f her lover's true character?" marvelled

ilarian. "I never liked him from the first,

t '

ind I know that she is indiscreet, but I had
no idea that matters were so bad as you say.
•She has a sad life before her if all this, or the
lalf of it be true."

' "It is true, I tell you! I have had it from
-t authorities, and much more of the
lame nature that will not bear repeating,
ks for this girl, she must hear it as well as
ihe can. It is all her own doing, and nobody
dse is to blame."

j " I beg your pardon, sir ! Her mother and
triends are much to blame for suffering the
Engagement to he formed. Some one ought
o warn her. She is no favorite of mine, yet

feel disposed to speak to her myself. It
vould be an act of common humanity!"

"You will do no such thing!" retorted Mr.
Joylan, positively. "I don't choose that you

shall mix yourself up in the affair, nor that
you shall bring me into trouble. Let other
people manage their own matters ! you are
not the regulator of public morals."

Marian was obstinate. "Then, sir, you will
do all that does belong to your province —
protect your daughters from the dangers of
association with this person? They may re-
pent it some day. It cannot be right in us to
countenance persons of bad reputation."

Mr. Boylan laughed at the absurd sugges-
tion.

"And go through the world demanding
certificates of character from every man,
woman and child whom you meet ? We must
take life as we find it, only looking out for
number one, and let our neighbors do the
same. If a young man visits here, I institute
private inquiries as to his standing in business
and in the social circle. If all is right, I let
him alone. If he cannot stand the test, I
manage to convey to him the knowledge that
he is not welcome, unless I see that there is
no risk in his occasional calls, as in this in-
stance."

"It appears to me, nevertheless, papa,
that every young, pure girl should shun the
companionship of a wicked man, although he
may be engaged, or even married to another,"
said Marian, steadily. "There is such a thing
as unconscious contamination."

"Oh! if you are off upon the ' highfalutin'
string, I have no more to say ; I do not com-
prehend your overstrained theories," replied
Mr. Boylan, rising. "I am a plain, practical
man, who only knows enough to take care of
himself and his household, without trying to
turn the world upside down."

Maggie slipped out of the room during this
speech, and sped up stairs. She could not
seclude herself in her chamber, for Marian
would soon seek her there, and to meet her
sisterly eye, while she was in her present
state, would inevitably betray everything.
Up one, two, three flights of steps, she ran,
fear lending strength to her feet, to a small
room at the very top of the house, seldom
visited by any member of the family, and
where no one would dream of looking for her.
She bolted the door, and then, as if still
dreading detection, couched down behind a
pile of boxes, shaking and panting like a
hunted hare. She had cause for alarm. This
was the day — this the forenoon, in which
Lorraine was to call upon her father and

340

godey's lady's book and magazine.

communicate the tidings of their mutual
attachment. She had heard, for herself, what
answer he would receive. That it would he
more favorable than her father had declared
it should be in his imaginary case, she could
not believe. How could she endure the agony
of shanie — the just recompense of her deceit
and imprudence, that hung over her? She
was ruined for life ! disgraced in the eyes of
her family, the object of her father's wrath,
her mother's grief, Marian's indignation,
Tiny's sneers, John's silent contempt! Oh!
if she could run away until the storm had
passed; if she could hide, far, far from the
gaze of any who had ever seen or known
her ; if she could die and be forgotten!

She did not weep, her terror was too great.
She grovelled on the floor, and wrung her
hands, with inarticulate moans pressed out
of her quaking heart by the load of anguished
apprehension. At last, a word escaped her
writhing lips — "Marie!" repeated ever and
again, like an invocation to a superior being.
"If she were here, she would do something
for me — would prevent this in some way."

Piercing this blind trust in her friend, there
darted a sudden thought. The telegraph !
A message sent now might reach Lorraine
before he had time to see her father. The
idea brought her to her feet on the instant.
Then arose a question. How should the dis-
patch be sent ? What messenger could she
trust? Clearly, no one except herself ! She
must contrive to elude Tiny's cat-like espion-
age, and Marian's affectionate watch, in leav-
ing the house, and run the risk of encountering
some inquisitive acquaintance in the telegraph
office. For perhaps three minutes she stood
irresolute, then the image of her father's
angry face arose before her, and she hesitated
no longer. Her room was vacant, but she
heard her mother's plaintive tones recapitu-
lating some tale of woe to Marian in a neigh-
boring apartment, and as she tied on her
bonnet, she distinguished the click of Tiny's
heels in the passage and on the private stairs
leading to the kitchen. The coast was clear,
for a little while, then ! She glided down the
steps, passed the door and gate unchallenged,
and gained the street leading into the town.

There happened to be no one in the office
but the operator, who was a stranger to her,
and gathering courage from her success thus
far, Maggie sat down at a table and tried to
compose her thoughts sufficiently to indite a

message. It was no easy task to convey the
warning she desired to send, in few, yet satis
factory words, without the introduction of.
proper names. She pencilled several notes,
which were torn as soon as written, being
either too obscure or too explicit to he for-
warded with safety. The operator sat, mean-
while, at his post, apparently unobservant of
her, the incessant ticking of the mysterious
machine aggravating her nervous disquiet. A
man entered presently with a dispatch, and
said that he would wait for the reply. Here
was fresh trouble ! What if there were othe
telegrams that were to precede hers, and thus
delay it until the fatal interview had com
menced. Prompted by desperation, she wrote
hurriedly — " Do not speak to iny father until
you have seen me. We are in danger. M. J. B.

If the operator were curious, or unfaithful
to his obligation of secrecy, he might surmise
and expose everything from the single line
she placed in his hand, but there was no
alternative. Every downward step in deceit
is necessarily an advance into danger. Poor,
misguided Maggie was feeling, if she did not
acknowledge this fixed law. She glanced at
the clock as the man quietly laid aside the
slip of paper to abide its time. Her father
must be Bearing the city at 'this hour.

"0, sir!" she entreated, "cannot you send
it at once? It is very important."

"There are two ahead of it," was the cool
rejoinder. First come, first served!"

The ticking went on, but, as it seemed to
Maggie's agonized ears, more slowly than
before.

"I am willing to pay any sum to have that
message forwarded immediately," she said,
her voice shaking with the extremity of her
solicitude.

It was a sweet, pleading accent, and the
face turned towards the inflexible official was
too girlish and pretty to be blanched by sor-
row or anxiety. So thought the third person
present, a ruddy-cheeked farmer, who lowered
his newspaper, as the petition reached him.

"Let the lady's message go before mine;"
he said kindly. "I can wait."

"Oh, thank you, sir !" exclaimed the grate-
ful girl. "You are very good."

"You are welcome," he rejoined, and in
his large, soft heart, he conjectured whether
the dear child's father or mother were ill, or
was it an absent brother she was longing to
hear from ?

'NOBODY TO BLAME.

341

Fire minutes more by the grini dial-plate
impended against the wall, and the momen-
tous message passed over the wires. Draw-
Big a long breath, when she was assured that
she had done all that she oould, .Maggie bowed
silently to her Btranger-friend and departed.

CHAPTER VIII.

Tiny was not half through her morning tour
of overseeing and fault-finding, the next day,

when the Dupont carriage drove up to the
jdoor and Marie alighted. Her inquiry of the
servant who answered her ring was not, as
usual, for "the young ladies,'' but vcry
i pointedly for "Miss Maggie." Yet it was
Tiny who appeared in the pallor to welcome
her.

"Yon will excuse my dishabille, I hope?"
.said Miss Boylan, glancing at her tidy wrapper.
'No apologies, 1 beg, my dear girl; 1 ought
to ask your pardon for calling at such an
(unconscionably early hour, but, you know,
Maggie and I cannot exist apart for two days,
/and I have a confidential matter I want to talk
(over with her this morning — something about
[my own personal affairs, and I had not pia-
jtience to wait longer. (That hint may keep
her meddling ladyship out of the room while
ll am with Maggie)," she added, inly.

'■Certainly. I understand!" assented Tiny.
" You may not have heard that the dear child
has been sick ever since the night of your
delightful party.''

" I have not. What is the matter ?"
"A feverish cold, with headache. She is
not robust, blooming as she looks. I always
listrust that peculiar varying flush iu the
cheek. It has a hectic appearance to me. I
am pale : I never had color, even when a
child, yet I am rarely sick."

"She can see me — can she not?" queried
(Marie.

"Iwill run np and see how she is, just now.
Perhaps I can smuggle you in. although the
doctor talks about nervous irritability, and
enjoins quiet."

Maggie was alone, heavy-eyed and dejected.
She turned crimson, then very white, as she
heard who was below.

"Well," saiil Tiny, impatiently, "will you
see her, or not?"

"Let her come up," answered Maggie,

faintly.

"Then you -take the responsibility, you
understand, anil if the dootOr lias anything
to say about over-excitement, Marian will
charge it all to me, and I am tired of bearing
false accusations. I wash my hands of the
whole transaction. And I </« sincerely hope
and trust, Maggie, that you will have the
sense to hold your tongue about what pa said
yesterday at breakfast. If it is true, you can
do no good by telling it to Marie. She is to
marry the man, not you, and she is supposed
to know her own business best. Mr. Lorraine
is an agreeable gentleman, and Marie a most
desirable acquaintance — just the stylish girl
one likes to visit. As pa says, it will not do
for us to bo more nice than wise, if we expect
to make our way in life. You will be pru-
dent— won't you ?"

"Yes," murmured Maggie, turning her
burning face to the pillow.

Tiny was bustling around the room, setting
chairs straight, jerking at curtains, pulling
and smoothing the bedclothes. "You must
see for yourself how ridiculous it would be
to tell Marie what kind of a man she will
have for a husband. Even if he is dissipated,
he may get over it. I have heard that these
gay young fellows often make the best mar-
ried men when they have sowed their wild
oats. At any rate, it will be time enough to
cut them when we see that they are going
down in the world. For my part, I am apt
to be charitable towards the failings of those
I like."

She reappeared, by and by, conducting
Marie, and saying, playfully — "Remember,
now; no exciting conversation 1" left the
friends together.

She had no sooner gone than Maggie threw
herself upon her confidante's bosom, and wept
long and uncontrollably. Marie petted and
pitied, and coaxed her back to a calmer mood.

"Now," she said seriously and affection-
ately, when she had laid the tired girl upon
her pillow, bathed her face with ran de cologne
and brushed her hair, "tell me exactly
what has happened to put yon into such a
state, and why you sent that dispatch to
Albert."

"He did get it, then, and in time!" ex-
claimed Maggie, clasping her hands.

"Yes, yes; but what possessed you to
write it? He was half crazy about it last
ni.lit. He was sure, he said, that something
was wrong."

27*

342

godey's lady's book and magazine.

"I am so glad — so relieved, to know that
it reached him !" Maggie went on as if she
had not heard the last clause of this remark.
"I went to bed with a sick headache as soon
as I got back from the office, and here I lay
all day, dreading for pa to come home. If
Marian had not been with me, I should have
fainted away when I heard him in the hall.
I expected every minute that he would
burst in upon me and order me out of the
house. Then, he was talking with ma in
their room, and I was certain that it was
about me, for I knew from her voice that she
was crying, and I thought she was persuad-
ing him to let me stay until I got well. It is
a great comfort to hear that they don't know.
It makes everything else so much easier for
me. You have done me good already, Marie."

";They don't know' what? 'Everything
else so much easier!' You are talking in
riddles ! Do quiet yourself, and tell me what
all this mystery is !" insisted Marie, in a fever
of curiosity.

If Maggie had lent any heed to Tiny's ad-
monitions of silence, she totally forgot or
disregarded them now. She gave Marie a full
account of her father's unflattering portrait of
Miss Dupont's supposed betrothed ; the pre-
dictions of ruin in store for him and for her,
if she married him, dwelling longest upon
the asseveration that he would horsewhip
Lorraine if lie ever presumed to lift his eyes
to one of liis daughters.

Marie listened attentively to the recital,
and at its conclusion, sat still for some time,
absorbed in reflection.

"I am sorry that this has happened for
your sake, my darling," she said. " I had
thought your father a man of more correct
judgment than he has showed in condemning
our dear Albert, upon mere hearsay, most
probably upon the evidence of some jealous
or prejudiced person. Albert has his enemies.
What man of mark in society has not ? To
you, the noble fellow needs no vindication
from these vile reports. His defence is writ-
ten deep in your true, womanly heart, and
this undeserved, this cruel persecution of so
much excellence has but made him dearer to
you, bound you to him by indissoluble ties.
It is the common lot of those who love most
fondly, dear Maggie, to have their mutual
devotion baptized by tears, sealed, sanctified,
made immortal by sorrow. I wish that it
had been otherwise with you, for I would

spare you every pang, yet the strength and
purity of your love will sustain you through
this tribulation. You will, in the end, be
stronger, happier, and a more dearly loved
wife because of this bitter trial."

"Wife!" echoed Maggie, bewildered by
this breathless flow of sentimentalisms. "Did
not I tell you that it was all off? that pa
would never give his consent ? I could not
marry without it, you know."

Some confidantes would have been vexed at
this ready submission to parental authority,
and the evident failure of their exhortations
to constancy towards the maligned one ; many
would have felt astonished at the preponder-
ance of fear over affection, in one who had
confessed to such fervor of attachment. Marie
was neither angered nor amazed. It is ques-
tionable whether she had relished any previous
stage of this affair as heartily as she did this.
On the topics of fathers' tyranny and the
fidelity of ill-used lovers, she was perfectly at
home, and she backed up her arguments by
examples, cl propos, and inumerable — from
the standard authorities upon these points, to
wit, French and Frenchy-English novels.
Maggie saw to what she was being drawn,
but lay in a kind of dogged paralysis, unable
to struggle for liberty of will. Marie was a
specious talker and an artful flatterer, and her
soul was in her cause. Before her. coming,
Maggie was sad, but tranquil, and as she
believed herself, free — Marie left her excited,
miserable, and bound by a solemn promise to
hold fast her troth, in defiance of parents,
friends, evil reports, the world !

Miss Dupont came regularly every morning
for a week, with presents of fruits and flowers,
ostensibly from her mother's conservatory
and hot-houses, and concealed beneath, or
within each dainty offering, lay a tiny note,
the serpent that lured the deluded girl still
further from the path of right and honor.
None of these appliances were superfluous.
Each one was needed to keep Maggie true
to her pledged word and false to filial duty.
Never before had home been so delightful.
Marian was her tender nurse during every
afternoon and evening, and Will's pleasant
face showed itself in her chamber each night,
enlivening the patient with merry sayings and
fresh anecdotes. Her father looked in upon
her twice daily, to kiss her, inquire how she
was, and if she wanted anything. Even her
mother's inefffcient anxiety touched Maggie,

" NOBODY TO BLAME."

343

>'•'

for she knew it to be sincere, and that she
■M bei favorite child.

There were other Hon] visitors besides

Ithose introduoed by Marie, tasteful and eta-
Iblematic groups, presented bjF Will, without
a syllable of banter, and reoeived by Maggie,
with a strange, shaking beart-aahe. These

,were usually set out of sight before the time
for Marie's visit arrive. 1 — why, Maggie scarcely
psked herself. On the sixth day of her siek-
iness, she inadvertently omitted this pi
tion. A bouquet, eonsisting of a white
camellia, surrounded by heliotropes, stevias,
and leather-sprigs, stood upon a stand beside
the convalescent's chair, and attracted Marie's
attention directly.

"Ah! here is something new!" she said,
taking it up. " How pretty and fragrant!
(Who sent it, Mignonne ?"

Mi _'de's cheeks were scarlet. " Mr. Cleve-
land."

"Constant as ever! Poor fellow!" smiled
Marie, putting down the vase. "You are a
icl'-v.r little conspirator, my pet."
" A conspirator ! I !"

•• Fes, you ! Do you mean to tell me that
our acute brain — which is only stupid when
lit imagines itself to be silly — has nut perceived
what an invaluable assistant this faithful
'John' may be to us in maturing and con-
cealing our plans ?"

I have never thought of him in that light.
I have no plans, as you know, Marie. I am
only waiting, by your advice, to see what
time may do towards righting this sad, sad
affair of mine," said Maggie, dejectedly.

But Marie shook her head, and looked her
applause at the diplomacy that hid its end
leren from its co-workers.

I don't see what use I can ever make of
[John's liking for me," persisted Maggie. "I
(only regret that it exists. It can bring nothing
but pain to us both."

" He will never break his heart for any
(woman alive," returned Marie, carelessly.
]•• He is too matter of fact in head, and too
lively in disposition — toomueh of a lady'sman.
jThero is no passion about him, nothing grand
jaud deep, as there is in Albert's character. I
cannot fancy Mr. Cleveland's wife ever being
awed by him."

j "She would respect him!" said Maggie, in
la low tone.

'Perhaps! /never could. I have no re-
spect for the man who could love a woman for

four years, and never take the trouble to
let her know what his feelings were. It argues
a want of heart or a looseness of principle,'
replied Marie, growing severely virtnons,

•■Hut he has — " .Maggie commenced, in

eager vindication — then stopped and hid hoi
face.

•■ Voila, i/ui dement interessant 1" cried Marie,
in her high, gay voice. " No half-way confi-
dence with me, my beauty ! I am dying to
hear it all!"

That simple " all," Maggie was constrained
to confess, feeling the while, very much as it
she were guilty of sacrilege.

"Better and better!" said Marie, when
assured that she had no more to hear. " He
is in no hast e lor the answer to this impassioned
proposal. Let him wait ! Gentlemen of his
temperament can be kept in suspense, ad in-
Jinitum, without injury to their appetites or
digestions. You have only to quiet any
feeble symptoms of impatience he may think
proper to affect by the sugar-plum of a soft
word or a bewitching glance, and there will
be no difficulty in deferring your reply until
the right moment of revelation arrives. Leave
the management of all that to me ! A better
means of blinding your father and the Ainslies
could not have been devised. Fortune smiles
upon us, Petite!"

Mrs. Ainslie came over, as was her custom,
about three o'clock that afternoon, and was
electrified by Tiny's announcement — made
with malicious glee — that her patient had
flown. She had been carried off by Miss
Dupout at noon.

" Whose plan was that ?" inquired Marian,
indignantly.

"Marie's invitation was warmly urged by
allot' Maggie's friends," Tiny said, dignifiedly.
"I telegraphed for pa's sanction, telling him
that the doctor prescribed a change of place.
We did not think your consent necessary
before concluding upon the arrangement.
Maggie left a note for you."

Marian did not open it until she reached
home. It was short, and penned unevenly —
in weakness, haste, or agitation — probably all
three.

" Dearest Marian : Do not be vexed at my
leaving you so suddenly. Marie is very urgent
that I shall pass some days with her, and the
doctor says that I need change of air and
scene. Papa and mamma have given their
consent, so you see I cannot help going. My

344

godey's lady's book and magazine.

only trouble is — ' ' she had drawn a pen through
these words and substituted — "The principal
objection I have to accepting Marie's offer, is
the fear lest you should disapprove of it.
Dear sister, do not be angry with me I You
know how dearly I love you, more than ever
of late, for your goodness to me during my
sickness. I am so unworthy of it all, but I
do feel grateful ! Kiss brother Will for me.
Thank Mr. Cleveland for his kindness. I shall
always remember it. I write with Marie and
Tiny talking around me, as they pack my
clothes, and my head is in a whirl. Again,
forgive me, if I wound you by this abrupt
departure. Marie is so determined that I
cannot deny her anything. Lovingly,

Maggie."

Marian shed tears of wounded feeling and
pride over this epistle, as she showed it to her
husband at night.

"That French girl's influence over Maggie
is unaccountable. I, for one, will never try
again to counteract it. I had hoped that
Maggie appreciated my love and desire for her
real good, but I see that it was all thrown
away. It was unkind and ungrateful to you,
as well as to myself. I will not go near her,
or write a line to her, while she is with the
Duponts."

"Gently! gently!" interposed Will.

" I say I will not ! She does not need me.
She withdrew herself from my charge, and
she may have her way. I believe, in my
heart, if that Marie was to tell her to jump
into the river to-morrow, she would say,
' You see that I must do it. Marie is so deter-
mined that I cannot deny her anything!"
(To be continued.)

FAITH.

What a word of great and enduring import,
beginning as it did with the earliest annals of
antiquity, and li<*ing as it will till time imme-
morial, " when all shall cease and this world's
system's o'er!" What a marvellous depth
of feeling and expression in the small one-
syllabled word, importing to us, that by
treasuring it wholly, regulating our life's
duties by its rules, and indemnifying our-
selves with it, we are safe in the path to
possess our souls, not temporally alone, but
eternally ! Through its power and magnetic
influence qualities of worth and virtue are
engendered in the mind, so plastic in mould,
and ever ready to receive new impressions.

It is the good man's watchword or standard,
by which he regulates his actions, and from
whence his motives proceed. Its influence
over moral man is unbounded, helping to !
raise him above his tangible self into the
spiritual belief of another life, and urging him
to regulate his present existence by the dic-
tates of conscience.

So many err by repelling its earnest warn-
ings, and not abiding by its truthful counsel.

When allowed to act for good upon the
soul it is the connecting link between earth
and heaven, and offers to its fortunate posses-
sors a foretaste of the eternal happiness they
shall enjoy hereafter ; but when sin enters
the heart, and stifles its cries, the evil prompt-
ings of the unfortunate overbalance virtue,
and he becomes a prey to torturing emotions
that disturb forever his peace of mind.

Our faith should not be given to God as to
erring and human mortals, in part, or doubt-
fully, requiring proof to assure us of our
safety ; but as the ship's crew place them-
selves blindly, without question or demur, to
the helmsman's guidance, without knowing
whether he will bring them to their desired
haven in safety, thus, unhesitatingly, should
we faithfully resign ourselves into our Father's
merciful, all-providing, and right-directing
hands.

Faith should be the basis of our hopes here
and hereafter. 'Tis the rock whereon we
should adventure our whole, cling to it
through life, and pray for death to overtake
us through its benign influence.

Yet what erring mortals we are ! Let but
one great sorrow arise in the midst of our joy
or prosperity, when we, with a selfishness
inherent, forgetting to be thankful for benefits
received, murmur, and often think our fate
worse than that of others.

Every one, for his or her own good, must
be subject to trouble on earth, or else we
might be prone to forget our mortality. Thus,
as the Eastern king in former times kept a
servant to remind him every morning of his
liability to die, so our Father caused us,
through the medium of our feelings when
tempest tossed, and our hearts are overcharged
with grief, to remember we are but dust.

When we lose any one dear to us, let us not
think we have received unmerited punishment,
but when the outpourings of the heart have
been assuaged, reason thus with ourselves : —

FAITn. — POETRY.

345

"Thy God hath Niut 'ii-- - 1 i".-r ilif-

To walk by faith, and not by Bight ;

T.ike it i'ii trust ii liltl.' n In le,

s.-Mi shall thou rem! (It.' tu\ -i* ry right
In tlu- bright sunshine of His smile."

Strong unwavering faith is an attribute very
rarely existent. Man fears, trembles — nay,
Boubta ; then comes the straggle between the
better arid worse self; for surely, as fast as
doubts gain ascendency in the human mind
faith dies out, and leaves a void, a longing, a
Vacancy, that makes us yearn for its re-
possession.

Yet when we look around us we cannot
repine, seeing as we do the many instances of
Olear, unshaken faith. Men who have pre-
served theirs inviolate, through tortures that,
only viewing from the distance, and looked
at with the retrospective glance taken into
past ages, cause a shudder to run through our
veins, and the exclamation involuntarily rises
to our tongue, "Could they have endured all
misV1 Aye, and more. Those good, pious
men were martyrs to their Father's cause ;
and my imagination sees them reaping their
reward, clothed in angelic purity, looking
down from above, to bid men, if required, go
and do likewise. Faith is enduring ; it gives
life to the soul, and warms the heart, blessing
its fortunate possessor with gems of untold
value. How touching is it to witness two
loving beings devotedly attached, yet, when
young, separated from each other by the tide
of fate, cheerfully working, waiting hopefully,
patiently at miles' distance, to one day see
their desires completed, never despairing,
always believing in their re-union ; but grad-
ually getting old, the bloom of youth dying
out, the freshest hours of their life waning,
yet waiting, living in the fond hope of meeting
once again ! Many more such instances could
we give you from our own youthful experience
of those who have stood upon the steps of
faith and borne unflinchingly the heavy bur-
den ^it has pleased God to fix upon their
shoulders, biding their time cheerfully, often-
times with smiles ; such we call true courage,

" That can wisely suffer
The worst that man can hreathe, and make his wrongs
His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly ;
And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart,
To bring it into danger."

Bunyan has admirably depicted the life of a
faithful one in his sweet, touching allegory of
the "Pilgrim's Progress," making Christian

travel through many roughly-hewn paths, but
who eventually arrives at his journey's eud
true to his mission.

"Faith,"' says St. Paul, "is the substance
of things hoped for, the evidence of things not
seen." In plain words, 'tis a blindfold belief
taken on trust, and the only sure comforter
human beings can possess.

I KNOW A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN.

BY MRS. FKANCE8 DE GAGE.

I know a beautiful woman ;

But she 's not of " sweet sixteen,".
Full sixty winters have come and gone,

The "Now" and the "Then" between.
Yet every year hath added

A something so fair and true,
That to me she 's the sweetest woman

I think that I ever knew.

Her eye may be dimmer growing,

It hath lost the glance of youth,
But up from the inner fountains

It is flashing love and truth ;
II. -r cheeks have not all the freshness

Of the rosebud's glowing red,
The purity of the lily,

Full-blown, has come in its stead.

And her voice is low and soothing

As the hum of summer bees,
Or twilight rustling 'mong the corn,

Or the song of autumn trees;
She moves with a grace so gentle

Among her garden bowers,
A brighter radiance than their own

Seems falling on her flowers.

All over her face of beauty

There are lines of days gone by —
Of holy loves and earnest hopes

That have wrought there patiently ;
They are lovelier far than dimples,

For I know that each was given
To mark the years of dutiful life

That have fitted her for heaven.

I never think of that woman

But my heart throbs high with love,
And I ask, "Can she be more beauteoas

In the blissful realms above?"
I can scarcely in my dreaming

See her face more fair and bright,
She seems to me now, with her radiant brow,

A spirit of love and light.

The poet may sing his praises

Of the glow of "sweet sixteen:"
But there 's a holier beauty

Of sixty-five, I ween ;
For the girlish face that 's moulded

By a true and loving heart,
Will brighten as the heart throbs on,

Kechiselling every part.

KEEPING COMPANY.

BT MART FORMAN.

(See Steel Plate.)

"Ned! Ned I" The call rang out from the
house door, floating over the garden, till it
came faint and weary to the barn door, utterly
unable to penetrate the barred portal.

"Ned! Ned!" nearer and nearer came the
cheery voice, and a pair of light feet carried
it down the path, to ring out again clear and
strong, as a little doubled fist pounded an
accompaniment on the wooden barrier.

A frank face and head covered with crisp
curls, now decorated by long straws stuck in
with a promiscuous carelessness suggestive
of Lear's crown, was popped out of the win-
dow of the hay-loft.

"What is it, Katie ? I 'm giving the beasts
their breakfast."

"Come down! You must come down! I've
got the best news for you."

" What is it ? Wait ! I '11 be down ! Why,
Katie, what are you all dressed up for ?"

"You'll never guess. Susy Willis has
come home. She sent me over word this
morning to be ready for church early, so we
could have a long walk before we went into
meeting. She 's coming over for me."

"Susy home!" That was all Ned said,
but there was no doubting the accent of con-
tent in his voice.

" Her father has written that he is coming
back to Allentown next month, and Susy's
mother sent for her to leave school ami be
here to meet him. 0, Ned, aint you glad ?
She 's been away more 'n two years."

Glad ! If there was any faith to be placed
in beaming eyes, smiling lips, and trembling
fingers, Ned was, to say the least, not sorry ;
but he said nothing, only hurried the pre-
parations for leaving the barn, his face the
while speaking his pleasure, while Katie, her
tongue doing the work of two, ran on with
her gleeful chatter.

"I wonder if she's altered, prettier or
smarter. I wonder if she '11 let you beau her
now, Ned. Perhaps she '11 want to keep
company with some smarter fellow, now she's
had so much schooling. Hurry, Ned, so you
can go with us !" and flying up the path again,
Katie entered the neat farm-house, and went
346

to her room to add some trifle to her dress.
Looking wistfully up the path for her ex-
pected companion she tried to be patient,
but the fingers would fidget, the feet beat
tattoos, the eyes flash with eagerness, while
her father's comments, as he leaned over the
gate smoking his Sunday pipe, did not di-
minish the fever.

"Ay, Katie, don't drum a hole in the win-
dow! Are you dancing a jig, Katie? Come
down here and talk to Jack!" and the mag-
pie's hoarse voice, calling "Katie," echoed
the invitation. Suddenly both comment and
restlessness ceased, while the two faces, beam-
ing with loving mischief, watched the path.
Coming from the barn, round to the front of
the house, yet in his blouse and round hat,
was Ned, the idol of both the warm hearts
watching him. His pretty bunch of flowers
told one cause of his delay, and his lingering
step was explained by the second figure now
advancing from the path Katie had watched
so eagerly.

Slowly the two came toward the house —
Ned trying to summon up courage to address
the pretty, neatly dressed maiden, who had
grown from a little girl to a young lady in her
two years' absence ; while she, her loyal heart
fluttering at the sight of her old sweetheart,
tried to look unconscious of his presence.

Nearer and nearer to the farm door, the
distance between them narrowing every mo-
ment, they sauntered on, till at last they
stood opposite the old farmer, neither daring
to speak the first word. The pretty posy
was in danger of being eaten up, as Ned bit
nervously at the stems of the pinks and roses,
while Susy's pocket-handkerchief was rapidly
becoming transformed into a rabbit in her
gloved fingers.

How long they would have remained thus
can only be guessed ; but a clear ringing
laugh from Katie, seconded by her father's
hearty bass, broke the spell, and Ned said —

"I'm glad you're home again, Susy!"
and managed to present his posy and hold
open the gate, before her blushes had faded
away.

KEEPING COMPANY.

347

It did ii"t need much urging to turn the
long walk into a talk iu Katie's room, while
the farmer and Ned assumed their "go-to-
nieeting" garl>. and by some sleight of hand
Katie found herself transferred to her father
while Master Ned escorted the fair Susy to
church, and not a week passed before all
Allentowu knew that Ned Clarke and Susy
Willis were <till "keeping company."

Ned and Katie Clarke were the only children
of old Farmer Joshua Clarke, whose wife had
long before died, and left him to be both father
and mother to her handsome boy and girl.
They were still little ones when they became
motherless, but Aunt Kate, Katie's godmother,
had filled her sister's place at the farm-house
until Katie was sixteen, when, thinking her
nieee trained for a perfect housekeeper, dear
Aunt Kate consented to go brighten another
home, whose master had waited for her since
her sister's death. So the three in the old
homestead were left to link their love still
closer in the absence of the wonted house-
keeper, and Katie's pride was to let no com-
fort be missed, no deficiency tell of their loss.

In easy circumstances, devotedly fond of
his children, finding love all around him,
Fanner Clarke was the most cheery, bright
old farmer in Allentown. Universally re-
spected and beloved, his old age brightened
by his children's happiness, he was ready to
enter heartily into any youthful scheme, to
give his full sympathy to all the young boys
and girls who came to him for advice, and
above all to watch with almost boyish glee
all the village courting. Katie, being a uni-
versal belle, had as yet selected no Special
favorite to torment, so the old man had full
leisure to watch Ned, visiting his room for
sly remarks, dropping words that brought up
the frank blush so becoming to a manly face,
or even, at times, letting his sympathy bring
the roses to Susy's cheek.

Never did the course of true love promise
to run smoother. Susy's father was a travel-
ling peddler, whose journeys often led him
hundreds of miles from Allentown, now east,
now west, north, or south, as his fancy or
pack suggested. His earnings were good, and
Mrs. Willis rented a pretty cottage and lived
in comfortable style, while Susy could boast
of two years' "schooling" at the academy of

II . miles away from her native village.

It is true that Jim Willis the peddler was
counted a hard man, one keen at a bargain,

and close-fisted in business; but no one
doubted his love for his wife and Susy, their
only child. There had been always kindly
feeling between the family and the Clarkes
from the time when Ned drew Susy and Katie
to school on one sled, or tossed apples from
the bo\ '- bench to the golden-haired lassie en
the girl's side. Mrs. Willis knew Ned's worth ;
his sturdy uprightness, his frank generous
heart, his bright intelligence and faithful
love, and she wished no more brilliant future
for her darling than the life of Ned Clarke's
wife premised to be. So the long summer
walks, the confidential talks, the thousand
devices to win favor that the youthful swain
proffered his love, were all smiled upon by the
inhabitants of farm and cottage, while Susy's
gentle, loyal heart never dreamed of coquetry,
but let Master Ned read in every look and
blush the tale of his success in wooing.

The summer months sped merrily, and it
was well understood in Allentown that when
Jim Willis returned there would be a wedding,
while not a "boy" in the village would have
dreamed of daring to court a smile or word
from Susy.

The long evening shadows of August were
falling from the houses and trees, when Katie
Bat dreaming in her little room. Tea was
over. Her father had gone to town the day
before with provisions, and would not return
until far into the night. Ned had gone to see
Susy, so there was no one to interrupt the
musing. She was thinking whether, when
Susv came to the farm-house, she might not
think of quitting it, and the various pros and
cons of Bob, Harry, and Will, flitted through
her coquettish little heart, as she deliberated
on their several cases, her heart free to choose
from all of them.

Suddenly, looking up, she saw Ned coming
slowly down the path from the cottage. He
reeled from side to side as if intoxicated,
while his faltering step, his bowed head and
drooping figure, terrified his sister greatly.
He must be ill '. Very ill indeed he looked as
he passed the gate she had hastened to open
for him. He made no answer to her piteous
inquiries as he passed her to enter the kitchen
where he sank down upon the floor, resting
his head on his clasped hands, and sobbed
the hard dry gasps of a strong man in agony.

"0 Ned! dear Ned! what is it? You
frighten me so! Ned, Ned, dear! is Susy
sick?"

348

godey's lady's book and magazine.

He looked up at the name, his face ashy
pale, his eyes burning and dry —

"Don't speak of Susy, Katie! Don't; it
kills me !"

"But, Ned"—

"I'll try to tell you, Katie. We never
have had any secrets."

She had seated herself on a low stool, and
drawn his head to rest upon her breast, and
her gentle touch, her face of tender love
seemed to soothe him, for his harsh choked
voice softened as he spoke to her.

"Jim Willis has come home, Katie. He's
made a heap of money speculating, and bought
a house in Cincinnati, and is going to take
Susy and her mother there to live ; and he
says I can't have Susy — she 's going to be
rich, and a city girl — and I 'm only a poor
country clodhopper."

"Ned!"

"He said so. She's to go to Cincinnati
and make a great match ; and I can never see
her again."

" But, Susy — what does Susy herself say ?"

" He wouldn't lot me see her, except when
he lifted her into the coach to go away — all
white and dead like — where she fainted."

"Go away '!"

' ' They 're gone. He came home this morn-
ing, in a coach he 'd hired in town, and he
made them pack up and get ready to go right
off — wouldn't let either of them come here —
tried to get away before I came, and drove me
away as if I had been a loafer. 0 Katie,
how can I live !"

The loyal heart was nearly breaking. Every
word came in a gasp, and the pallid face and
quivering lips were faithful witnesses of the
terrible agony of this unexpected blow. From
a boy to a man, he had cherished one dream
of future happiness, and it was a pain that
no language can adequately describe, to see
it thus ruthlessly dashed from him.

Katie was powerless to console him. The
shock was to her only second to his own, for
Susy had been to her in the place of a sister
from their childhood, and she loved her brother
with a passionate devotion that made every
tone of his voice, every quiver of his pale lips
a blow on her tender heart.

Far as Cincinnati really was from the quiet
New England village, its actual distance was
nothing oompared to the vast space their
simple imaginings threw between. Susy was
to be carried away, far from her home, far

from them, and if the destination had been
Egypt or Constantinople, the shock would have
gained no force. Ned's heart dwelt on the
pale, senseless face as he had seen it carried
by him, till his poor brain fairly numbed under
the burden of its grief, and he lay silent, only
sometimes moaning as the sorrow became
more poignant in a new light. Night fell, the
long hours drew out their slow length, and
still the two remained mute and motionless,
trying to realize and bear this strange fortune.
Daybreak stealing in, and the sound of the
farmer's heavy wagon in the yard, roused
them at last, and poor Ned, xmable to meet
the cheery voice and face of his father, stole
away to his room, leaving Katie to tell the
news.

It is impossible to describe the farmer's
wrath. Hot words of burning indignation
poured from his lips, and, for the first time,
Katie heard an oath from her father's lips, as
he cursed Jim Willis for his miserly, cruel
heart. Then came gentler thoughts. Susy,
his little pet, second only to Ned and Katie in
his heart, lost, carried away from them, torn
from her home and lover — and here the thought
of Ned's grief conquered every other, and the
old man strode up the narrow staircase to his
son's door. It needed just such fatherly ten-
derness as he brought to win Ned from his
tearless agony, to the relief of tears and
speech, and far into the morning the two sat
talking of this hard turn in fortune.

The morning duties called them down, and
if Katie's heart ached over her brother's un-
touched breakfast, it was comforted by seeing
how deep was his father's sympathy.

Days passed, and weeks, and Ned tried to
bear his sorrow like a man. There was no
want of sympathy at home, where the loving
eyes watched his pale cheeks with a tender
interest that was almost painful, and the
brave heart that would have given Susy its
full wealth of love, was generous to the home
circle, and for its sake tried to live down the
pain of disappointment. I know that to be
a proper hero Ned should have moped and
drooped, snubbed Katie, been savage to all
human nature, and finally have left home to
work out his spleen in some new life. But Ned's
heroism had a strong element in his pure
Christian faith, which taught him to do as he
would be done by, to honor his father, to bear
his cross patiently ; and so if his merry
whistle had ceased, his voice gradually re-

KEEPING COMPANY.

349

sumcd it- olear cheerfulness, and his manner
grew doubt) tenderto Katie as Iil- marked her
sympathizing love. Not a word dropped from
any of them that could give one shadow of

ii to Susy, and some vague ideas of a
mally suggested themselves to
Ned, where his love might win her from her
father's tyranny, or melt his obstinate resolve.
The idea that Susy could ever be bis wife with-
out that consent, never occurred to him.

The winter had set in before one word of
the fugitives reached Allentown, then Katie had
a treasure to show, a letter from Susie —

"Dear, deab Katie" (so it read), " I may
m doing very wrong to write to you after all
that father has said; but mother has given
in i amission to write once, so I am now
King to tell you that my love for you — for
Ned — (here a great blot told of a tear) and
your dear father, is just the same, though we

I shall never si ach other again. I have b len

'very sick : so sick on the road here, that we
had to stay nearly two weeks at a town where
father had some business, and that is why I
did not write before. 0 Katie! I must mind

•father, who says I must never think of Ned
again ; but it is terrible hard not to. Nights
1 lay awake and think of all 1 1 1 • - nioe days in
Bentown where we were keeping company,
and my heart seems breaking when I think
we may never meet again on earth. 01

iKatie, comfort Ned, tell him that I will never,
never let any other boy court mi — tell him I
nevii can forget him, though I must try; tell
him I did love him with my whole heart ; and
don't let him quite forget me, even if he
Barries some other girl. Don't write to me —
■other saj s not ; but think of me sometimes,
and give my love to Ned and your father.

Susy."

That was all, but Ned felt when Katie told
him he might keep the letter, that miues of
wealth could not purchase it from him.

Five years passed, and no word came from
Ciueinnati. Katie was a. wife now, and
Esther to a bouncing boy erawding about the
floor, but Ned was true as steel to his old
love. No word of courting had ever passed
his lips sinee Susy left him, and if his tall
figure had developed to manliness, his voice
grown rougher, his frank face older, the
boyish love still nestled down in tie i ipths of
his heart, and he resolved to live ever a bache-
lor for Susy's sake.

Katie's new cares had somewhat clouded
her pain at Susy's departure, and the name
that had once been so sweet a household
word, was now rarely heard in the farni-
ititase.

VOL. LSVIII. 28

There was something very touching in the

manly courage which Ned brought to beat

upon the sorrow of his life. Never, s

the one night when the suddenness of the

blow prostrated him, had he given way to the
passionate grief in his heart, and his calm
pursuit of the weary routine of lie- evinced
more mural courage than i- often given to great
deeds that make the world ring.

It was Sunday morning, and everybody at
tlie farm-house had gone to church except Ned
and the baby. Tie' junior member of the
household was fast asleep on a rug before the
fireplace, and Ned was reading, when a shadow
fell upon the Boor, and a voice low and sweet
spoke his name.

lie scarcely dared breathe as he looked up.
So pale and thin as to be almost spirit like,
dressed in the heaviest mourning, the large,
earnest eyes hollow, the lips white and trem-
bling, surely that could not be Susy ? lie had
pictured her living in wealth — forgetting him
perhaps — but never, never this pale, grief-
stricken woman.

" Ned, don't you know me?"

Still doubting, he rose and came to meet her,
till with a glad cry he opened his arms, and
folded her closely, as if never again to let her

g°-

"Susy, my Susy! Oh. how can I ever b 1
thankful enough.' 0 Susy!" and the hot
tears fell on the sw . as he marked its

white, wasted lines.

"Father took to drink after lie got rich,
Ned, and it is three years since mother died.
W$ were very wretched, Ned, for city folks
did not care for us, and we were not used to
their ways ; after mother died father was
scarcely ever sober, and I had a hard time
taking care of him, till about two months ago
he was taken sick. We 'd spent nearly all
the money long before ; but I did sewing, and
sometimes father earned something, until he
was sick. Then we were very poor, but just
before he died somebody sent him some money
they owed him. He gave it to me, and told
me to come here with it, and ask you to
forgive him for parting us ; so after he died, I
came to see if you still cared for me, Ned ?"

"Care for you! 0 Susy, I will care for
you all my life if you will stay, Susy!"

But the wdiite lips gave no answer, the
head fell back nerveless, and as lie had seen
her on that heavy day of parting, he held her
now. The weary, overtasked frame had

350

gopey's lady's book and magazine.

given way under its load of sorrow and
trouble, and it needed all Katie's tender
nursing, all Ned's loving care, to win the
invalid back to them from her long, long
illness. For days her life hung on a thread,
but at last the color came Hitting back to the
pale lips and cheeks, and when the year of
mourning had passed, there was not in Allen-
town a prettier or more winsome wife than
Susy Clarke.

THE CASKET OF TEMPERANCE.

BY WILLIE E. PABOR.

{Pmvl the Fourth.)

SOWING AND REAPING.
(Founded on Fact.)

The moonbeams lay along the street
Where foes and friends and strangers meet,
"With loitering step or hasty feet.

Hard by the beaten path there lies
A young man in a drunkard's guise ;
His senses steeped in rum's surprise.

To some he is a theme for speech
Made sharp*by wit, that fails to reach
Its victim ; there are some who preach

A sermon on the ills that wait

On those that enter through the gate

Of certain sorrow, certain fate.

And some there are who pass him by
With stately step and scornful eye,
Who such a destiny defy.

So some with pity, some with prayer,
Pass by the young man lying there,
Unconscious of the lips that wear

A scornful sneer, or of the eyes
That fall in soft and sad surprise
On manhood in such shameful guise.

But there is one among them all
Whose feelings rise above his fall,
Nor thinks him quite beyond recall.

Her memory goes back to hours

When, free from wine's enslaving powers,

He stood upon this world of ours

Strong in the strength of buoyant years,
Strong in the faith that conquered fears,
Strong in the love that life endears.

A worshipper at beauty's shrine,

A votary of love divine,

And honored in life's chosen line.

Now, deep and dark the shadow lies
About him, and her sad surprise
O'erflowing from her tender eyes,

Takes form as pity's self would trace ;
She spreads her kerchief o'er his face
To hide his features from disgrace.

Then goes her way. And while he slept
I warrant that the angels wept
For joy as they love's vigil kept.

For I am one of those who hold
The sweet belief that young and old
Have angels, whose bright wings enfold

Them evermore ; and in the day

When most they feel the tempter's sway,

Their still small voice pleads for delay.

And if we make the wiser choice,
And hear and heed the warning voice,
Our hearts have reason to rejoice.

The young man from his drunken sleep
Awoke. With shame sincere and deep,
He woke to wonder and to weep.

As reason shaped his thoughts, they grew
Into resolves to dare and do,
Until once more to manhood true.

And if his thoughts went back to her
Whose pitying act new hopes did stir
To being, 'twas as worshipper;

But not until his life had shown,
By proofs sincere, the altered tone
Of being, wrought by her alone

Whose simple act, by pity wrought,
Fame out of deep disgrace had brought
And unto men a lessou taught ;

That as the oaks from acorns grow,
As rivers from small streamlets flow,
As pebbles make the mountains, so

A single word, a single deed

May plant within the heart a seed

Whose bloom a world shall see. Full need

There is of truths like these to-day,
When passion holds supremest sway.
And men the tempter's calls obey.

For us the work grows with each year,
To warn, to cherish, and to cheer,
Dispel each doubt, uproot each fear,

To comfort hearts that else would break,
To lead the erring back, and make
Their lives a blessing for love's sake.

The Present Moment. — There is no moment
like the present. Not only so, but, moreover,
there is no moment at all — that is, no instant
force and energy, but in the present. The
man who will not execute his resolutions
when they are fresh upon him, can have no
hope from them afterwards ; they will be dis-
sipated, lost, and perish in the hurry and
skurry of the world, or sunk in the slough of
indolence.

— Angry friendship is not unfrequently as
bad as calm enmity.

UNCLE nUGH.

BY BOSK WOOD.

"Abb you going out to walk, sister? Do
Dease let me go with you, 1 am so tired of
being shut up here, and I ilon't believe it
Would hurt me one bit."

•■ Why, Lulu! I thought yon were asleep.
What wouM the doctorsay if he should emu. ■,
and find his little patient gone f"

" I hope he would say there is no need of
any more bitter medicine for Miss Lucy,
■either is then', for I ate a whole egg for my
breakfast, and I feel as strong as can be."

"You forget, dear, that you have not yet
walked across the room without help."

" But I can, though I " and the little form upon
the lounge sprang up, and ran rapidly across
the room ; as she returned, her feet faltered,
the room swam, and had not her sister's
watchful care prevented, she would have
fallen.

•• I thought I could walk, but I can't," she
sobbed out.

"You must not be discouraged, darling.
Boese little feet need a little more strength ;
but you are gaining now every day. Next
Week I think I may promise you a walk. I
will stay home with you now, if you wish."

." Oh no ! The day is so pleasant it will do
you good to be out in the bright sunshine.
But tell me where you are going."

"Only to see about my music class. It has
been three weeks since I have seen any of my
pupils, and I fear that — grown weary of wait-
ing— they have employed another teacher."

" I hope so, Anna, for then you can stay
with me all the time. You don't know bow
lonely I used to feel those weary music hours
when you were away."

Anna sighed, as she bent over the little one
and stroked back the silken ringlets which
shaded the pale brow. " It is not inclination,
hut necessity that takes me ever from you,
dear," she answered.

"I know it, sister, and I am a naughty girl
to complain when you are always doing so
much for me. I am keeping you here now,
but before you go, won't you please draw my
chair to the open window, and prop it up so
that I can look over into that beautiful garden.
There — that is just high enough — now I can

sec all over the garden. How sweet the air
smells ! Just look at those roses 1 llow full,
and how many. If I could only have just one
of those white ones. They make me think of
dear mamma. How she loved flowers 1 Don't
you remember when she was sick we used to
gather and carry fresh flowers to her room
every day ? I did not know then how near
death was coming."

Anna's tears mingled with her sister's, as
she replied, "Those were precious hours;
though I knew they were fleeting, for I saw
the dark shadows approach long before it came
upon us — we never can forget our sainted
mother — but you must not lookback too much,
Lulu. Now that our Heavenly Father has
spared your life, and you are getting over
this trying fever, I want my little sister to be
cheerful and happy. Thank God that you
have eyes to see those sweet flowers, and do
not murmur because they are not yours. I
must go now, but first I waut these tears
away. ' '

"Then sing to me, sister, please sing, 'I
have a Father in the Promised Land.' "

The rich melody floated out upon the air,
and filled all the room, as Anna's sweet voice
gave utterance to the words of this beautiful
little song. Ere she had finished the tears
were dry, and a happy light from within
shone on the beautiful face of the lovely
child. Anna stooped, and kissed both eyes
and lips. Then with a cheerful " Good-by,
Lulu," left the room.

It was a plainly furnished room, in a cheap,
hut respectable boarding-house, of one of the
large cities of New England. This one room
was all the place that these two sisters now
called home. The memory of another happier
home, in the past, was still bright and fresh.
A home overshadowed by roses and honey-
suckles without, and within by a mother's
loving care.

Anna and Lucy Leslie were orphans. Their-
father died when the youngest was a babe,
leaving only sufficient property to maintain
his family with strict economy. The sickness
of their mother was long and protracted. At
her death, after discharging all the debts

351

352

godey's lady's book and magazine.

incurred during her illness, only a small sum
remained. These debts Anna scrupulously
paid to the last cent. Then came the parting
from the well-loved home, and the removal to
their present place of abode. Another home
in the future they looked forward to, where
dear friends meet never to be separated, and
where death cannot come.

Anna had supported herself and her sister,
for a year past, by teaching music, for which
she was eminently qualified. But for the last
month Lulu, whose health was always deli-
cate, had been prostrated with a fever. Very
near to them again the King of Terrors had
come. Anna's music had been given up, and
all her time devoted to the little sufferer.
This unwearied care, with the blessing of Him
who is a Father to the fatherless, had kept the
silver cord from breaking. How thankful she
was, this bright summer day, that her prayers
had been answered, anil she was not left alone
with none to love in this great city of strangers.

One hour, two hours passed, and again
Anna drew near her own door. The class of
twelve she found reduced to two ; but these
were her favorite pupils, and she hoped to
increase the class soon ; at any rate she would
not be discouraged, now that her darling sister
was almost well again.

As she passed the last house, she remem-
bered Lulu's wish for flowers. The owner of
the garden was a stranger to her. But surely,
she thought, no one would refuse a flower to
a sick child, and without further hesitation
she ascended the marble steps and rang the
bell. It was answered by a servant. Not
wishing to intrude, Anna would have sent in
by him her request for a single flower, to
gratify a little invalid. But without waiting
to hear, he closed the door with the insolent
reply, ' ' I have orders to clear the door of all
beggars."

"Open that door, sir!" called a firm, stern
voice, from an adjoining room ; and quicker
than the door had been closed, was it opened
by the frightened menial, who stammered
out au apology.

A gentleman advanced to the steps, and
called after Anna who had reached the pave-
• ment. "Stay, a moment. Did you wish for
flowers ?" Anna turned, and saw such a
pleasant faced old gentleman, that all her
anger vanished.

" A rose for a sick sister, sir," she replied.

" Come in, come right in, and help yourself.

The windows were raised, so that through the
blinds the boy's insolence reached my ears.
He complained to me this morning of the
beggars at the door, and I foolishly gave
him money, telling him to clear the door with
that and send none empty away."

At the word beggar, the blood again crim-
soned Anna's cheek ; without noticing it, he
continued : " How the scamp treats the poor
beggar I should like to know, if this is the
way a lady's simple request for a flower is
met. I know not how to apologize for having
such a fellow about the house. But here we
are in the garden. Now pick for yourself such
as you like, and as many as you wish."

"It is this rose," said Anna, "that my
little sister admires so much, she can see it
from her window." As she spoke, she broke
off a branch of the delicate white buds, to
which she added a cluster of china roses, a
spray of beautiful fuchsia, a geranium, and a
purple pansy.

"I admire your selection," said her com-
panion.

"They are all so beautiful," she answered,
" it would be hard to choose, if beauty were
the test, but I have taken those that remind
me of pleasant scenes in days gone by.
Thank you for your kindness in permitting
me to gather them. My little sister loves
flowers so well that this gift will make her
very happy. ' '

" No thanks. You are welcome to as many
more. Come again, when these are withered."

Anna thanked him again, as he opened the
street door for her to pass out. Then hasten-
ing on, she was soon softly opening the door
of their own little room. Lulu was asleep. A
tear still glittered on the long lashes which
shaded the flushed cheek, while a smile
lingered on the lips ; pleasant dreams had
chased away sad thoughts. Quietly, Anna
arranged her floral treasure in a delicate vase,
and then placed it just where Lulu's eyes
would rest upon it when she first wakened.

The sweet perfume stole over the senses of
the little sleeper. Dreamily she uttered
"Flowers, sweet flowers," then opening wide
her blue eyes fixed them wonderingly upon
the beautiful bouquet before her.

"0, 'Anna! where did you get them?
Those lovely white buds are just what I was
wishing for. I am almost sure they came
from that splendid rose-bush over the wall.
But how could you get them?"

UNCLE III- (ill.

353

'• I gathered them, I.u : gathered them all for
you. And now, if yon can keep right still, I
will tell you all about my adventure."

While Anna is amusing Lulu with a graphia
account of the surly servant and the kind
o!<l gentleman, this gentleman himself, alone
in his library, is sadly thinking of days
ues away hack iu Iris boyhood's time.
In his hand is a miniature of a little girl with
gunny ringlets and dimpled cheeks. Her
blue eyes seem to look smilingly upon him
as lie speaks, partly to himself, partly to the
little pictured fare : " Ah ! my little Ella, still
bright and smiling, while I have come to be
an eld, gray-headed man, a lone old man
with none to care for, none to care for me.
Forty years since 1 hade good-by to my
Britisli home. All that made England dear
to me was the grave- of my parents, and the
• of my dearly loved, only sister. I
left her happy in the love of a kind husband,
and this little olive branch, my pretty, petted
ni' lee. Fears passed; I heard of my sister's
death, and that her little Ella was cared for
by her father's friends. She grew up and
■tarried, before I returned, with the fortune I
Bought. Then, when I inquired for lier,
Hone could tell me. I learned that her hus-
ban I. an officer of the Crown, had been sta-
tioned in Canada. There were rumors of her
death. I have written many letters, and would
go a long distance to find you, bright-eyed Ella.
If living, you too have grown old, and this
little face must be greatly changed; still, it
could never lose that winning smile. One
thing more 1 can do. and if that does not avail,
then I shall give up all hopes of ever seeing
you again." As he spoke, he took a pen
from the desk and rapidly wrote these words :
" If Ellen Russel, or any of her descendants
are living, they will confer a favor, as well as
receive a benefit, by addressing II. L. H.,
Boston, Mass. llox 210." This he at onco
dispatched to the Montreal Herald, and the
next w-eek received a copy of that paper con-
taining his advertisement.

Weeks .passed, weeks of solitary loneliness
to the gray-haired man, and of tedious conva-
lescence to the bright-eyed Lulu. Before the
hue of health had quite returned to her cheek,
his garden was gay with autumnal flowers, and
the rich clusters of purple grapes drooped
over the trellis. Each day it was the child's
delight to watch the bursting of bright buds
and the falling of faded flowers, Wil she

2S*

knew anil loved each plant as well, or better,
than did the kind old gentleman hiuiself.
He one day caught a glimpse of a pair of
Wistful eyes intently watching him a- he

trained over tie- wall a truant vine. Pausing
in his work, he rapidly severed amaranths,
dahlias, roses, and verbenas with a lavish
hand. Throwing all together in a paper, he
added a few large clusters of his finest grapes,
and sent them by the hands of a servant to
the little girl at the window.

Lulu was in raptures over both fruit and
flowers. Anna was away with her music
nd this was one of her weary hours.
She arranged and re-arranged the fruit in her
own little basket, and the flowers in the vase
upon the table with admiring delight, until
her sister's return. Anna was pleased with
Lulu's happiness ; but her spirit's sadness
was too deep to be chased away with flowers.
Her music class continued so small that she
feared she should be unable to pay the rent
of their room. Besides, her wardrobe needed
to be replenished, must be if she continued to
meet her .lass. Very dark seemed the way
before her, but, with a smiling face, she hid
from Lulu's eyes her aching heart, as she
praised the fruit and admired the flowers, even
to her sister's satisfaction.

"But what have you here?" she said, as
she turned away and picked up a paper from
the floor.

"Oh, the paper they were wrapped in!
You see they were all just huddled together
in that newspaper, and I have had such a
pleasant time picking out and arranging
them."

"Why, Lu, it's a Canada paper! I be-
lieve 1 would rather have the paper than the
flowers, this time," she said, as she seated
herself, for a rest after her long walk, with
the paper in her hand, over which her eye
rapidly glanced. "Not much in it but ad-
vertisements," she continued. "But as it's
from Canada, I believe I '11 read even those."
As she spoke she started, drew the paper
nearer to her. then laid it down, then lifted it
and read again and again the advertisement
inquiring for Ellen Russel.

"Can it mean our mother?" she said to
herself. "That was her maiden name, and a
long time ago she lived in Canada. Montreal
was my birthplace. It can do no harm at
least to answer the inquiry ; but I must not

354

godey's lady's book and magazine.

tell Lulu. If it should prove a mistake, she
shall not share the disappointment."

That evening she wrote and sent to the
post-office the following note : —

"The children of Ellen Russel may he found
at No. 612 S Street."

The contents of Bos 210 were the nest
morning left at their kind neighbor's door.
Among them was Anna's letter. He opened
the envelope, read those words, and started
to his feet. " The same city ! the same street !
the very nest door ! and I not know it ! "
Not until he was ascending the steps of 612
did he reflect that he knew not the name of a
single inmate there.

Hurriedly retracing his steps, he rang the
hell for his housekeeper, who quickly an-
swered his summons. "Martha," he said, as
she entered the room, " can you tell me who
lives nest door above us ?"

"Do you mean the hoarding-house, sir?
That is kept by Mrs. Wilmot. A nice old lady
she is, too."

" Do you know any of her hoarders ?"

" None, hut the little dear you sent the
flowers to. She and her sister have the room
overlooking our garden. Her sister is a music
teacher, a sweet looking lady, though I think
from appearances they are very poor."

"I would like to see this little girl. I dare
say the child can tell me the name of every
boarder there. Can you contrive to bring her
here?"

"Oh yes! she will he delighted to see the
garden, and I will be glad to go and fetch
her ; for somehow I took a mighty fancy to
that child."

" You may as well invite her sister to come
too; a breath of fresh air will do them both
good," he said, as he turned towards the gar-
den, and there took his favorite seat in a
rustic chair half hidden by a climbing vine.
He had not waited long when the patter of
little feet and childish esclamations of delight
announced the approach of his little visitor.
Soon a turn in the path brought her full before
him. Involuntarily he called out "Ella," so
striking was the likeness to the little play-
mate of his boyhood. The same hair, and
eyes, and smile.

Lulu started, and ran towards him. "Did
you call me, sir?" she said. " My name is
Lucy, but I love best to be called Lulu. My
dear mother's name was Ella."

He drew the child towards him as he asked,
" Where is your mother, dear?"

She shook her head sadly, and the tears
gathered in her eyes, as she replied : " She is
gone — gone home to heaven, where dear papa
is. Anna and I are all that are left here,
now."

Pleased with a stranger's sympathy, she
went on to tell all that she knew of their past
history. Her childish prattle, to which he
eagerly listened, was at length interrupted by
the approach of Anna, who had promised to
come for her at the close of a half hour.

"There is my sister Anna coming for me,"
she esclaimed, as she sprang away, and
bounded down the path.

Her companion followed her flying footsteps,
and estending his hand to Anna said : "From
what your little sister has told me, I infer
that the reply to an inquiry in the Montreal
Herald was written by yourself; and if so,
you are the children of Ellen Russel."

"We are, sir. That was our dear mother's
maiden name. Our father's name was Leslie."

"Did you ever hear her speak of an Uncle
Hugh?"

"Often and often ; but he went away from
home, and died when she was hut a little
girl."

" No, he did not die ; he is alive and well,
and at present a resident of this very city.
Come to my house to-morrow afternoon, and
you shall meet him here."

"Would he not come to us, sir?" said
Anna, with a quick glance at her rusty dress,
which she felt was not very suitable for an
evening visit.

"He is an old man, full of whims, and to
meet you here would be more agreeable to
him."

"Please tell me," interrupted Lulu, who
could keel) still no longer ; her blue eyes had
dilated, under the astonishing news, to their
utmost capacity. So many questions she
wanted answered, but only one she ventured
to ask. "Has he any children? please tell
me."

Long and earnestly he looked at the sweet,
eager face upturned to his, and not until the
question "Has he any children?" was re-
peated, did he answer. "Yes, he has two.
You shall be introduced to-morrow. I can
answer no more questions now." '

Anna was glad to say " Good-evening," and
seek the retirement of their own room, there

UXCLE IICGII.

355

to think and talk with Lulu over the strange
j of the day. Lulu asked question upon

u, and it was long after her usual bed-
tore the excited child could be si
■

The morning came. The music hours had

I longer to Lulu. A box v.

at the door directed to herself. On the inside

read these words — " Uncle Hugh

is in first im pt and wear

his gift for your : ike."

How Lulu's little lingers fluttered over those
beautiful dresses ! She knew not which most
to admire, the soft gray, with its beautiful
trimming, for Anna, or the pretty blue cash-
: for her own little self. How often she

uncovered the box for just one more peep,
and how often she looked far down the street
for Anna's comii

At length Anna came ; but to Lulu's sur-
: to view the gift with more
of pain than pleasure, and to hor oft-repeated
m "Are they not beautiful?'' only re-
plied: "I would rather not wear the dress.
I don't like such odd whims."

"Why. sister, you haven't anything near
so pretty to wear. I think Uncle Hugh was
very kind to send them," was Lulu's reproach-
ful reply.

Anna saw that her sister understood not the
feeling which shrank from receiving such pre-
sents, from an unknown hand, even though a
relative, and not wishing to cloud her joyous
anticipations, proceeded at once to array the
little |irl in the dress intended for her. Very
lov.lv Lulu looked, and as Anna smoothed
again and again the soft glossy cm.
thought more kindly of Uncle Hugh's idea
about first impressions. Her own toilet was
quickly made, and pronounced perfect by the
admiring child.

Anna's beauty was not striking as Lulu's.
And yet their new friend, as he met them at
his own door, thought he had never seen two
more lovely faces. His kind manner soon
made them feel at home in the luxurious par-
lors where they awaited the arrival of Uncle
Hugh. At his request, Anna seated herself
at the piano, and, accompanied by the sweet
Toice of Lulu, sang her favorite airs. Lulu's
impatience, at length, could be no. longer
controlled. Breaking off in the midst of a
song she abruptly asked: "Why don't Uncle
Hugh come ? Do you know he will be here
this evening?"

"No doubt of that. But while you are
waiting let me show you his portrait," tie-
old gentleman said. And rising be led the
way to a full-length portrait which OCC

in the opposite room. Drawing up the
blind, he throw a flood of light on the face,
saying, as he did so, " Tell me what you
think of him. Does he look at all as you ex-
po, ted?"

"Why, this is your likeness I" exclaimed
Lulu ; while Anna, guessing (he truth, looked
anxiously at him for a solution of the mystery.

"You are right, my child. I am the origi-
nal of that picture, and I am Uncle Hugh."
As he spoke he lifted the bewildered child in
his arms and gave her a shower of i
"Just this way," he said, "I used to kiss
your mamma, when she was a little girl like
you. and I a great teazing boy. You are the
exact image of your mother, Lulu. But come,
I must, as I promised, introduce you to my
children." Disengaging one arm he placed it
around Anna, and drawing them both before
a large mirror — " Here they are," he play-
fully said, " Miss Anna and Miss Lulu Leslie,
adopted daughters of Hugh Hampton."

LOVE OF LIFE.

How instinctively the prayer for length of
days goes up from the heart of man ! Chris-
tian or pagan, groping in the darkness of
ignorance and superstition, or walking in the
full light of heavenly wisdom, it has been
always the same, even from the hour that
Hezekiah turned his face to the wall, and
wept sore at the death-message of the son of
Amoz. It is natural that thus it should be,
and it is well also. The earth is our present
home, and it is reasonable that we should be
fond of it, that we should delight in its beau-
ties and enjoy its blessings ; for it is no scene
of bliss to many : and so bitter are the
sorrows and sufferings often permitted to its
inhabitants, that were not this bond of union
n them, and their abode both strong
and elastio, utter disgust ami discouragement
would soon paralyze every energy, and turn
each individual into a hopeless, aimless ghost,
flitting about and searching for some avenue
ape from its wretchedness. Honest,
downright love of life, too, is conducive to the
easy and effectual performance of its duties ;
a child constantly craving for home will

356

GOPEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

seldom profit by his studies ; a servant per-
petually longing for the close of his engage-
ment will scarcely give satisfaction to his
employer.

Yet good and beneficial as this appreciation
of existence is, it may be carried to unwise
extremes, or be retained too long. It is a
fearful sight to witness that blind clinging to
life, that terrified deprecation of the idea of
death that the worldly-minded and the irreli-
gious exhibit ; it is a sad spectacle to behold
the very aged, those who have long past the
threescore years and ten, or even the four-
score years assigned to man, still longing to
live — still choosing this low earth as their
proper sphere. Youth dreads a blight upon
its flowers ; manhood's schemes ask time to
bring them to perfection; middle age draws
its home-loves around it, and feels as if it
could not part with aught so dear ; but age,
trembliug with weakness, deprived of almost
every active power of enjoyment, often alone,
if not desolate, what is there to chain it to its
ruined home ; or rather, to that foreign land,
on whose shore it has long dwelt, an exile
and a wanderer ? What but habit ; what but
that dislike to change, that shrinking from
entering into what we only know by report,
that so many of us experience in our every-
day concerns and undertakings ? Yes I but
there is something else that comes in to com-
plete the work. I think we do not realize the
actual fact of heaven — the positive existence
of another life beyond the grave — as we ought
to do. We deal too much in generalities on
this, as on other subjects ; we believe it is
true, but is our belief as deep, as genuine, as
fruitful of result as becomes our Christian
profession ? We need not fear to encourage
such vivid conceptions ; the hurry and the
wear of life will too constantly dim their
brightness to allow them to unfit us for our
daily task. If, for one short hour, the veil of
sense seems removed, and we see with clear-
ness and rapturous triumph the glorious future
laid up for the redeemed of the Lord, the ex-
perience of the next will show us wholesomely,
but humiliatingly, that we are still flesh and
blood, still prone to commonplace plans and
subjects, to human requirements and infirmi-
ties. Duly cultivated, this anticipation of the
coming time will serve as a counterpoise to
any undue love of earth ; while the inherent
instincts of our nature will never fail to keep
our feet firmly planted on our daily road ;

one principle compensating the other, and
producing harmony of thought and action ;
giving us, even in the full vigor of youth and
health and strength, to remember our latter
end with quiet hope, and enabling us — when
the day's work is nearly finished, when the
shadows of evening are lengthening around
us, when lover and friend are almost all
gathered to the silent house, when the silver
cord is nearly loosened, and the golden bowl
nigh unto its breaking — to await our summons
patiently, tranquilly, but triumphantly ; for

" If the call
Be but our getting to that distant land
For whose sweet waters we have pined with thirst,
"Why should not its prophetic sense be borne
Into the heart's deep stillness with a breath
Of summer winds, a voice of melody,
Solemn, yet lonely?"

BY THE SEA.

A BALLAD.

My cottage fronts the sea so wide —

A shoemaker am I ;
Tet those who sit my bench beside,

Are only those who buy.

I hammer, hammer, through the day,

My lap-stone on my knee,
And folk who pass me often say,

" A happy man is he."

But they do not know when the foamy sesma

Of the midnight ocean frown,
How a goodly vessel haunts my dreams —

A vessel that went down.

Nor have they seen within my breast

My heavy heart beat on,
While my cry is ever, "Come, 0 rest '.

The light of hope is gone!"

Though oftentimes an olden tale

Or song is on my lip,
'Tis but to drown the dismal wail

That riseth from that ship.

So when they say, in pleasant fit,

" A happy man are you,"
Although I give assent to it,

Their saying is not true.

But, smiling ones, who read this rhyme,

It was not always so ;
My years have had their golden time,

And now must have their woe.

Oh do not think because to-night

You heave no weary sigh,
That grief will never come to blight —

That joy will never die.

For ere to-morrow's clouds are gay

Around the western hill,
Some storm may take your life away

Aod leave you living still.

"SHE EATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD."

BT S . AIT If XB F K n s T .

(Continued from page 267.]

CHATTER V.

It was a long ride ; yet with a pair of fine
horses, a warm covering over her, and that
ferrous dread of the end of the journey, it
did not seem long to Effie. It was still earl;
in the day when the driver, turning on his
seat, said, respectfully —

"That 's llaivsdale, miss, iu that clump of
trees. You can't see it from here in the sum-
mer, when the leaves are ou the trees, but
now it \s easy seen."

Effie looked, and her heart gave a quick
hound of pleasure as she looked at her future
home. All the cold dreariness of winter could
not make it look desolate. The house was
square, and moderate in size, with a wide
porch on the lower story, long windows, open-
ing to the ground, and a deep arching roof.
From each of the upper windows a small
balcony jutted out, and ErBe's imagination
covered all with summer verdure. The dark-
gray stone looked home-like and comfort-
ing on this cold day, and the bright sun,
shining on the icicles depending from the
roof, made a setting of brilliants for the house.
Stretching away from the four doors were
avenues of trees, now covered with ice, and
glittering with prismatic colors, and from the
wide lawn at the back the sun shone on a
large sheet of water.

The carriage stopped, and the beauty was
lost in the nervous dread which bad haunted
the journey. She trembled as she left the
carriage and went up the steps. Some one
was on the porch, but she dared not look up.
Pale, trembling, faint with terror, she stood
with downcast eyes. A baud raised the heavy
Veil, and left the pale face in its black frame
exposed.

"You are welcome, my child I"

This greeting was in a tone deep and rich,
hut soft ami gentle as a woman's. Effie looked
np. A tall figure, a face with large features,
florid complexion, blue eyes, and white hair,
met her eyes. Not a handsome face ; but
there was something there that made the
child give one gasping sob, and then spring

into the outstretched arms, sure that her sore
heart had found its home at last.

lie was an old man, some sixty-five years
of age, but of a tall vigorous frame, in perfect
health, and a temperate life bad made him as
hale as most men ten years younger. Some-
thing twinkled in his eye as he wrapped Effie
closely in his embrace, and then carried her
in his strong arms into the house.

He drew a chair to the fire, and, still holding
her, sat down. An unaccustomed, but not
awkward hand took oil' the cloak and bonnet,
and then he raised her face from his shoulder
to look long and earnestly into it. With
truer eyes than often rested upon it, be read
intelligence m the broad brow, tender sensi-
tiveness in the sweet mouth, and loving hu-
mility in the soft eye.

" Tell me your name, my child."

"Effie."

" Aud your age !"

"Fifteen! I am very small, but I am not,
never have been very strong."

"And they have petted you to make you
worse."

The hot blood rushed into face, neck, and
throat, and the shrewd old man read the tale
it told.

" So they didn't pet yon !"

"It was my fault," she said, earnestly. "I
was cross and ugly, and unlike the others."

"What others?"

It was a relief to talk of something besides
herself; and Effie told him of her beautiful
sisters, lingering with a gentle love over every
detail of their loveliness and their accomplish-
ments. Then her mother was described till
the old man wondered at the depths of love
the words conveyed.

"If you were so fond of them, why did you
come here ?"

The abrupt question did not disconcert her.
With a simple frankness she said —

" You promised an income if one would
come, and mother could spare me best. Blanche
is to be married, and Laura is still at school.
Besides, they are all beauties but me."

357

358

• GODEY S LADY'S BOOE AND MAGAZINE.

"Oh!"

There was a long silence after this exclama-
tion. I know not what instinct assured Effie
that it was pleasant to her uncle to hold her
there in his arms ; but she felt that he liked
her to remain there, and she looked into the
firelight till, tired with her long, cold ride,
her head drooped, and for the first time in
her life she fell asleep with loving arms around
her.

Mr. Marshall sat very quietly. He did not
like his nephew's wife. He knew her only as
a gay leader of fashion, and his letter was the
result of deep calculation.

"There !" he said to himself, as he folded
it, "if she loves her children she will indig-
nantly refuse to sell me one of them, and I
will send her the income to support them ; if
she does not love them, I can try to make one
happy at least."

His heart was very full as he looked upon
the sleeping child in his arms. He read in
the quiet little face the traces of long physical
suffering, of painful thought and early sor-
row, and he read, just as truly, a promise of
rare intelligence and sweetness.

It was a new thing for Effie to he wakened
by a warm kiss upon her lips, and the sunny
smile that parted them, as she opened her
eyes, was as great a novelty on her face.

"Dinner is ready, Effie. The warm fire
was too much for your politeness ; but wake
up now and eat something."

"Most gratefully. My appetite will alarm
you, and make you repent offering me a
home!" was the laughing reply.

Happiness was so new a thing that Effie's
heart was bounding and throbbing with a joy
that must have its vent in merry words, and
there was a faint color creeping into her thin
sallow cheeks that showed how quickly a warm
heart will show itself in the face.

" Mrs. Lawrence, this is my niece. Effie,
you will find Mrs. Lawrence a queen here over
the household, while you, 'my child, must
submit to take a subordinate place as prin-
cess."

Sue was a little old lady, with a prim, neat
figure, and a cheerful face, this Mrs. Law-
rence, and she welcomed Effie right cordially,
and then took her place opposite to Mr.
Marshall.

There was a moment of silence, and then
in a reverent tone, with clasped hands and
downcast eyes, Mr. Marshall besought a bless-

ing on the meal. Such prayers as Effie had
said in her life had been the pure sincere out-
pourings of her own heart, nursed in silence,
offered in solitude ; but there was a gentle
smile on her lip, as she bent her head, that
said that this unaccustomed ceremony was
very pleasant to her.

For a time the business of eating was only
varied by short sentences, but when dessert
was placed upon the table Mr. Marshall opened
the conversation.

"Now, Mrs. Lawrence, we must bring the
roses to Effie's face, and make her as jdurnp
as a partridge."

"You will have hard work, uncle, I have
taken cod-liver oil, and iron, and bark" —

"Faugh! Stop! No wonder you are pale.
Did you ever try rising at five o'clock to
scamper over the free open country on a fine
horse, or take a long walk, to come home and
eat a breakfast fit for a dairy-maid?"

"Never. I rode one winter in a riding-
school, .but the exercise was too violent."

"I will be your doctor. You look to me
as if you had passed too much of your life in
a close school-room."

"Now your wisdom is at fault. I never
was in a school-room."

"Then you have had masters at home."

"None, except my music-teacher !"

" Why, you never mean to tell me that you
have grown to fifteen years of age in perfect
ignorance."

"I know very little," said Effie.

" Then I must be your teacher as well as
doctor, for I will not send my sunbeam away
to school, however much she may object to
living with such an ogre as I am."

The clear, ringing, childlike laugh that
greeted this speech was never heard in the
lonely nursery, or in the home circle.

"Uncle Charles," she said, as the last
echoes of that free light laugh died away, "I
begin to think that — that" —

"Welly"

" Perhaps when you know me better, how
ignorant and selfish I am, and how trouble-
some because I am so often sick, that you
won't love me so" —

"Well?"

" So much as I want you should."

It was out at last, and with crimson cheeks
Effie looked down at her plate.

"Ignorant, selfish, and troublesome, that is
a formidable list," said Mr. Marshall, very

"SHE HATII DONE WHAT SHE COULD."

359

gravely; "what can you oiler to set against
■am .'"

••Only," said the poor ohild, gently, "a
real true wish to do right, and if yon will let
me, a loving heart for a kind un

••It i- a bargain I You have finished your
■inner, I see ; come here to me."

She was at his side in a moment.

"Now, Effie," he said, in a very tender
tone, and taking her hand he drew her close
to him, ''we will begin by understanding
each other. Do you know that to my lonely
life you have offered a gift beyond all price,
and one which till now seemed a hopeless one
for me, I mean a loving heart ? Ton have
been a suffering invalid, I can read that in
your face ; a lonely child, that too I see ; but,
God willing, I will endeavor to bring you
': and happiness in return. I ask only

what yeu offer so freely, your affection."

She was weeping by this time, but not bit-
terly. The BWeetest tears she had ever tied
fell on that gentle hand that held her own,
and she could only answer him by the mute
. 'ice of her large soft eyes turned trust-

tiopefuUy, lovingly to his;

The new life began tic next day. A few
hours of alose examination satisfied Mr. Mar-
shall that, so far from being more ignorant than
r'.s of her own age, she was far beyond
them in her studies. French and German
wre added immediately to her list of daily
and other languages promised for the
futur.-. Mr. Marshall's plan of teaching was
one which required all Erne's intelligence to
meet. After the day's recitations were over
in the library, he spoke to her in one or the
other of those languages. If she understood
him. she answered, all faults being instantly
correct.- 1 ; if she did not understand, he trans-
■itences. In less
than three months, to Mrs. Lawrence's aston-
ishment, Erne chattered merrily in both lan-
. and in a year Spanish and Italian
Were added to the list. That Mr. Marshall,
who passed his life in close study, was able
to master four languages, Mrs. Lawrence
I as quite natural ; but for Effie, it
was. to her. little short of a miracle.

•You will teach her Greek and Hebrew
next.'' she said, one day, in laughing remon-
strance.

"No, no. Mrs. Lawrence; Latin of course
she learns, though you don't hear us asking
each other for green peas and mutton in that

tongue ; but no more of the dead tongues fur
..."

Music she studied with a professor who
cane- twice a week from H .

But, although thus careful id' her mental
33, her uncle was more thoughtful still
for her bodily welfare. To bring the i
her cheek, and roundness to her slight frame,
was his proud and careful task. A j
easy horse was purchased, that his daily ride
might have a companion, and Effie soon learned
how a small, but skilful hand could master
the animal. The threatened walks were
insisted upon with a never-forgetting punctu-
ality, and the evenings were devoted to
music, knitting, or conversation ; but always
broken up in good season that sleep might
not usurp the place of early rising, her uncle's
pet hobby.

It was a revelation to the old man, this fund
of loving sympathy he found in his own
saddened heart. The hard solitude of yens
thus suddenly interrupted, was renewing his
youthful affections, and making the sorrows
of his life sink back before its present plea-
sures. He hail thought that to study, visit
the poor near him, andspend his wealth freely
t them, was all that his life would
require of him, and that beyond the cold pale
of duty there was no call upon his energy,
no demand upon his feelings. Now. with the
sudden opening of his heart, to shut in this
young ward as its chiefest treasure, he had
found there inclosed a fund of warm love, of
gentle patience, of careful solicitude, and
almost womanly tenderness, and he daily
blessed the impulse that had made him write
a letter which had given him his darling, and
saved her from the cold, unloving home which
was her own.

CHAPTER VI.

"Uncle Charles!" said Effie, coming into
the library one bright winter's morning, " I
wonder that you presume to put your hand
upon that pile of books, or assume that I am
to be a school-girl to-day. Do you not mark,
sir, that I have on a new crimson wrapper,
and that there is actually a comb at thi
of my hair — a new ivory comb, purchased to
add to my dignity ?"

"Your dignity. My wee puss talk of
dignity !"

" And why not, sir ? I consider that my

360

godey's lady's book and magazine.

courtesy is perfection, and I '11 carry my chin
in the air with anybody. "

"Well, my dear, granting all this, what is
there to-day to add to all this immense stock
of dignity?"

" Oh, most forgetful and negligent of uncles,
to make me declare myself so old. Do you
not remember that on tins twenty-first of
January comes a great anniversary ? Nothing
less, sir, than your niece's birthday!" And
she drew herself erect with a bright blush and
a cordial laugh.

"Eighteen years old! Come here, my
child, my little girl who has grown up, and
let me look at you. So this is your birthday,
and it is three long years since you came
here?"

"No, Uncle Charles, three short, happy
years. No words of mine can ever tell you
how happy, or how my heart swells with
gratitude for every day and hour of it." And,
leaning over his chair, she pressed her lips to
his forehead.

"I have tried to make your home plea-
sant," said the old gentleman, thoughtfully.
" Well, well, the day has come when I must
tell my little girl what arrangements I have
made for her iu future. The little, pale child
who nestled in my arms has gone, and I have
a woman in her place to-day. Sit down, Effie,
and listen to me."

Wondering, touched, awed by the serious
gentleness of his tone, she sat down on a foot-
stool at his feet, and looked up into his face.
As she leaned her cheek against the arm of
his chair, the sunlight just tinged the glossy
waves of her hair, and made it a shining frame
for her face. Such a beautiful, trusting,
loving face ! Yes, beautiful, for with health
and happiness, the slight, frail figure had
rounded to graceful outlines, the sallow com-
plexion had cleared to a creamy whiteness,
tinted with healthful blushes, and the large
eyes had lost their dark, hollow frame. Small
she was certainly, yet exquisitely proportioned,
and the rich brown hair which shaded with
such heavy, glossy braids the glowing cheek,
would, when suffered to fall loosely, cover the
little figure like a veil. Yet it was not beauty
of form or feature that made Effie Marshall
lovely. In the intelligent eye, the loving
smile, the tender, sensitive modesty printed
on every varying expression, lay the chief
charm of her face.

They were silent for a few moments. The

old man was looking over the past three |
years, thinking of his docile, intelligent pupil, |
of the companion of his walks and rides, and I
saying softly in his heart that all his care
for her happiness had been repaid tenfold by
this comforter of his lonely hours, this sun-
beam of his home. At last he spoke : —

"Effie, I have been thinking of late that I
was a selfish, unworthy guardian to keep my
jewel here so jealously, and shut from her
young life all its brightness. No, not a word
yet. Let me finish ! I know you are happy
here, but you have not tried any other life ;
you are contented as a little bird is, who has
never left the nest, to stay there ; yet, the
bird should try its wings, and the freedom
should be a matter of choice. I know that
your love for me is a pure, unselfish one, and
you must not think that I suspect you of one
interested motive, but I must tell you what
arrangements I have made. First, your
mother. I have settled upon her the income
which I promised, that my death may not
deprive her of it. Blauche and Beatrice being
well married need no help from me, and
Laura can share with her mother. Now, for
yourself. I have placed in trusty hands a
sum of money which is now utterly beyond
my power to touch ; it is yours for life, yours
to leave to whom you will. Married or single,
you can still depend upon it, and should you
now prefer to go to your mother, or leave here
for any more cheerful, social home, you are
independent, and your own mistress."

No answer in words could Effie speak. She
could only rest her head ou that kind bosom,
and cling there sobbing.

" I have pained you ! Darling! Effie!"

"You will not send me away!" she whis-
pered.

" Send you away ! Never ! Look up, you
foolish child. I only want you to understand
that you are after this as free as air ; at liberty
to go, or stay and torment me, for the rest of
my life. That 's right I smile !"

" I think," said Effie, now all smiles again,
"that I will pack up to-morrow, take a short
trip to the North Pole first, then make a little
journey to Constantinople and Hindostan, and
finally settle down for a quiet life in Patagonia
or the Deserts of Sahara.!'

" Well, my dear, drop me a line now and
then."

"Certainly! You may look for a letter
semi-annually."

'SHE n.YTII DONS WHAT SUE COULD;

361

"But seriously, Effie, you are too young

for this hermit-like existence ; you must Bee

something of thu world, though you will be a

• daisy in society, you unsophisticated

little thing.''

" Not a bit of it, sir. Do you suppose I
'lived with two belles for nothing?"
'•Two belles >"

"Certainly, Blanche and Beatrice did con-
siderable rehearsing in the nursery. I know
!the gracious bow, the chilling bow, and the
mere acquaintance inclination of the In a 1.
'I understand the precise smiles for a compli-
ment : the one which merely says, ' You are
'ivery kind, sir, but I knew all that before,'
i'aud the one which gently contradicts, and the
Oliver Twist expression."
"Oliver Twist expression!"
"Asking for more! Then I can give that
llittle gliding motion that suits the fairy-like
Sstyle ; or the quiet, dignified step which will
igive due efTect to stately beauty ; and as for
Omplexion savers, white hand preservers,
Iposes for displaying the curve of the throat, or
torn of the waist, I consider myself perfectly
ompetent to give each and all of them."
"I had no idea you were so accomplished."
"0, 1 never expect to be appreciated," said
fiffie, with a saucy smile. "You have got
osed to me, you see, and my charms are
;hrown away.''

They shall certainly go where they will
lave the effect of novelty. Now, listen to my
chenie."

I am all attention."

We will stay here until spring, and in the
Ineantinie do you and Mrs. Lawrence prepare
i wardrobe befitting such a charming debutante.
iVe will spend the summer at Newport, and
text winter take a house in town. Mrs.
),awrenee shall keep house, and you and I
Till have a gay time. Then, if nobody steals
ny bird away she shall come home, go to
iurope, or spend a second summer in a like
nanner, just as she wishes."

'And now, Uncle Charles, put away the
'looks, and we will take a long ride, this clear,
•right day, to warm and stimulate ourselves
>efore dinner."

CHAPTER VII.

" Yor know everybody, George ; tell me who
* that lovely girl who arrived yesterday."

VOL. LXV111.— 29

"Lovely girls arrive here all the time."

"0, but this one is superlatively lovely.
I met her this morning at a most incredibly
• ally hour down near the fort, riding. I had
6ne of my restless nights, was up very early,
and was out for a stroll, when I saw the lady
and her lather, I suppose, coming up the
road. She is small, and exquisite as a minia-
ture painting, and she rides beautifully. Her
hat just shaded the brown braids of hair,
but let me see the brightest, most bewitching
face I ever beheld. Just as she came beside
me she started to race with her companion,
and she managed her horse to perfection ;
rode, if I may use the expression of a lady,
like a breeze. They brought their own horses ;
beauties they are, too."

" Where are they?"

" Nos. 30, 37, and 3S, right below us."

"The best rooms in the house."

"Oh, there's no money spared. The old
gentleman had his piano brought, and his
own turn-out, and he evidently thinks nothing
too good for that lovely little lady of his.1'

" His wife, perhaps."

" Not at all ; she is down on the register as
Miss Marshall."

The speakers, two young gentlemen, were
sauntering up and down the broad piazza of
the principal hotel in Newport, smoking and .
chatting, and occasionally .nodding to passing
acquaintances. Now, the one addressed as
George took his cigar out of his mouth, and
looked earnestly at his companion.

'• Miss Marshall ! Can it be Miss Laura ?"

"Tall and blonde, is she not?"

"Yes, but who can the gentleman be?"

"This lady is neither tall nor blonde, so it
is not Miss Laura Marshall. Besides, she was
not to come till next month, was she ?"

"Miss Marshall! Miss Marshall!" said
George, musingly.

"Now it is too bad for you to be mystified.
Here I have counted upon you as the person
to tell me all about her, who were her last
winter's conquests, and all that sort of thing,
and you are as ignorant as myself."

"But you forget that I was only in town
last winter."

"And I have been in Mexico for three
years, and only came home this summer ; so
you can't tell me who she is ?"
" No ! Hark ! What a voice ! ' '

It was nearly dark, just that hazy twilight
that suits music, and the gentlemen leaned on

362

godey's lady's book and magazine.

the railing of the piazza to listen. The
strains came from a window which opened
upon the piazza ; but the closed blinds gave
no view of the apartment ; there was no light
within, and the full notes of the piano wer%
evidently touched by fingers which let caprice
assist memory in choosing the harmonious
chords. But the voice, the rich, clear, ex-
pressive voice, now sinking into melting
pathos, now rising in full joyous cadences,
sometimes flying over difficult passages as if
they were the impromptu variations of the
melody, then dwelling on the simple notes
witli a force and simplicity that made each
one a song. Several airs succeeded the first,
and then the skilful fingers drew from the
instrument music only to be eclipsed by that
wondrous voice. And with almost hushed
breathing George Bancroft listened. Some
one called his companion away, but he
remained until the moon rose, and the music
ceased ; then, with the notes still lingering in
his ears, he sauntered slowly away. The
blinds were opened, and then near the window,
Effie came to her pet place, at her uncle's
feet.

" I was thinking to-day, " she said, as she
sat looking at the moon, "that I should like
to be a heroine."

"What, a strong-minded stirring woman,
who heads societies and snubs her husband ?"

"Now, uncle, you stop laughing. No, I
was reading that review you showed me on
Thackeray's women, and I thought I should
like to try being a heroine."

"Just to show them how, eh? Now, do
you know, Effie, I think you have some of
the requisite qualities."

"0, uncle, such an insignificant little thing
as I am ! Besides, there is no chance now-a-
days to do anything heroic."

" I don't know that ; there was some hero-
ism required when, for the sake of having
her mother comfortable, a little delicate child
of fifteen left home and friends to go to an
unknown uncle, who wrote a letter calculated
to frighten a weak-minded person into hys-
terics."

"As if it required any sacrifice to live with
you," said Effie, laughing, but blushing too.

"Oh, but you did not know that then."

" But, uncle, I want to do something grand."

■' Be reduced to starvation, live in a garret,
sew, and tend I don't know how many siefc
children and drunken husbands."

"Now, Uncle Charles!"

" What a pity you are only a good-looking
girl in easy circumstances ! Now if the hotel
catches fire, I shall expect to see you in a
white wrapper with your hair all Hying,
standing in a window, waiting for your hero
to come and rescue you. A heroine, youi
know, is only half a heroine without a hero."

"Your plan won't do, for this room opens
into mine, and I could run out on the balcony."

" Rush out, Effie ; heroines never run."

" Rush out, then, dragging you by the hair
of your head."

"You drag me, you wee mouse !"

"Well, Mr. Lion, I may do a mouse's
service yet. Well, it is time to dress for the
party."

' ' Hop ! All these summer parties are
hops."

" Well, I must hop off and dress."

"A la heroine," said her uncle, as she went
out.

The room was brilliantly lighted when she
returned to it, and" her uncle was conversing
with an old gentleman, who turned to greet
the young girl instantly.

"And this is your niece?"

" Yes. Effie, let me introduce an old friend,
my chum in college, who has just found us
out."

"Our first meeting for over thirty years,
Miss Marshall," said the " old friend" as he
took her hand. " I found your uncle's name
on the register, and could not let an hour
pass without welcoming him back to the
world."

"I am very glad he meets such a cordial
greeting on the threshold," said Effie, warmly.

"He tells me that he has come out of his
shell to introduce his niece ; no light task, if
young hearts are as susceptible as I feel old
ones are."

The bright blush and smile thanked hirn,
but Mr. Marshall said, in a low, laughing
voice : —

" Is that the Oliver Twist expression, Effie ?"

She only laughed, and then said : —

" This is my first real party; as a young
lady, I mean ; I can remember one when I was
only a child to be neither seen nor heard."

"I hope you will not be cruel enough to
keep up that idea now," said the old gentle-
man, hastily, and Effie again heard the laugh-
ing.

"0, Oliver, you succeeded," as she gave

"she iiatii do.ve what she could."

363

-> a little final Bhake, and drew on her
She took the arm of her new friend,
and her nncle followed, ami so tiny entered
tin- long ball-room.

It was Mr. Marshall's special request, and
Effie honored it, that she should dress richly,
and he trusted to her own taste not to over-
load her attire with jewels or finery, lie
silently congratulated himself as he looked at
her now.

The rich dark hair was braided low on the
neck, and touched her cheek as it swept back,
and she had twisted in two pearl Sprays which
i broke the glossy outline. Her dress, cut to
I Show the round white arms and shoulders,
was yet modestly high, and fitted her to per-
fection. It was of delicate blue silk, trimmed
with soft white lace, and ornamented with
the set of pearls which matched the sprays.
From the delicate feather fan to the tiny
satin slipper, every detail was finished and
perfect, and her uncle smiled as he noted the
pure gloves, soft handkerchief, and thought
of his daisy and her boast of attention at
rehearsals.

Our two smoking friends were the first who
saw Effie enter the room.

"Now, George," said Will Wood, impa-
tiently, "how can you pretend not to know
iMiss Marshall, when she is at this moment
i leaning on the arm of your own father ?"

"I assure you I never saw her before. I
must make my bow now, however ; that ex-
pression in my father's smile means, come
here this minute," and in another moment —

"My son, Mr. George Bancroft," was pre-
jsented to Effie.

Who was she ? It was whispered among
Ithe ladies, anxiously inquired by the gentle-
:men. and the answer did not diminish the
admiration which her loveliness had already
.excited. The reputed heiress of the wealthy
JMr. Marshall, who— the older folks said —
made such an enormous fortune in China, was
engaged, you remember, to Miss Leverett,
(and so on, and so on. And before the evening
jwas over, little Effie found herself the reigning
?belle.

• She was not awkward, nor yet bashful, yet
jthere was in the manner of her new friend,
|George Bancroft, a gentle, courteous leading
that broke the ice of her entrance into society
most agreeably. His father had given up his
guardianship with a hint that Effie was a
debutante, and his son had taken the caution

to heart. The brilliant brunette, Mrs. Wells,
was introduced as my only sister, and a word
from the old gentleman brought her, all
smiles, to Mr. Marshall.

"You must let me see a great deal of your
niece," she said, warmly. '• 1 understand you
are here alone, and when she wants any lady
companion, remember I have the first choice ;"
and thus Effle found herself on the road to
lady friends, and Mrs. Wells took good eare
that the list should include all the desirable
ladies then at Newport.

CHAPTER VIII.

"Mother, Effie is here!"

" Here ! Your uncle at Newport*"

"True as preaching, and that's not the
worst. She is the belle of the season with a
reputed heiress-ship to, I dou't know how
many millions, wears pearls as big as walnuts,
and diamonds like chandelier drops. Takes
the lead in riding, dancing, and admiration,
and, in fact, rules Newport."

"But, Laura, she can't be admired. A little,
ugly, thin, ignorant child ! It must be the
money. ' '

"I think it is very strange," said Laura,
passionately tossing down a bouquet she had
been arranging, "that you allowed her to take
this chance of being heiress to our uncle."

"Now, Laura, who could suppose from his
letter that he would bring Effie here ?"

"Mother, I may as well say it ! I was in
Kate Wells' room this morning, and she says
her brother has fallen in love with Effie," and
a spiteful sob ended the sentence.

"Fallen in love with Effie!" cried Mrs.
Marshall, aghast. " George Bancroft ! Non-
sense."

"But it is not nonsense. He rides, and
boats, and dances, and sings, and in fact flirts
with her from morning till night. His father
and Uncle Charles, it appears, are old friends,
and so he lias the entrt'e to the private parlor
at all hours, and they, uncle and Effie, I
mean, brought their own horses, so they let
him ride with them, and, to cut the matter
short, he is desperately smitten."

"But, Laura, it will never do to despair.
You were almost engaged to him a few weeks
ago."

" He was certainly very attentive."

" And will be again. This is only a passing
flirtation, depend upon it ; and really, Laura.

364

godey's lady's book and magazine.

opposed as I am to match-making, this is a
chance you must not throw away. For sta-
tion and wealth it is the best now open, and
everybody speaks of his talents and unexcep-
tionable morals."

"Then we will fight it out. After all, Effie
has nothing but money, and George Bancroft
is not a man to marry for that — I" — and a
pleased look at the mirror completed the sen-
tence.

" Let me see ! let me see," said Mrs. Mar-
shall, musingly, " I think, my dear, that we
had better call. Your uncle will probably
offer us the use of his carriage and horses,
and there will be a new charm added if you
are known as his niece ; then, who knows, if
he is so indulgent to that ugly little thing,
what he may not do for my beautiful darling.
Only remember this, sweet simplicity is the
card to win him ; he was long ago disgusted
with fashionable life and its artificial attrac-
tions. Dear, dear, who would have supposed
that he would open his heart in this way to
Effie !" And the mother crossly muttered her
regrets that she had not sent Laura in Effie's
place.

A little time was given to retouching the
morning dresses, and then Mrs. Marshall
and Laura crossed the long entry to make
their visit. Mr. Marshall was1 alone in the
parlor, and answered their knock himself.
His easy courtesy was proof against even this
disagreeable surprise, and he welcomed his
guests with politeness, scanning with a criti-
cal eye one of the beauties of whom Effie had
so often spoken. Even his taste could find no
fault. The tall graceful figure, in its flowing
white morning-dress, was in every waving
line beautiful ; the large blue eyes, the full
fair curls, exquisite complexion, and delicate
features were without any blemish, but the
soul which lit Effie's face, the ever-varying
expression were wanting in this statuesque
but, the word must come, insipid face.

"It is such an unexpected pleasure to meet
you here," said Mrs. Marshall, sinking grace-
fully into a large chair, " and to embrace my
dear child once more. You were cruel to a
mother in not writing or allowing her to write
in these three long years."

"The cruelty was most unintentional," said
Mr. Marshall, with quiet irony.

" Laura, I am sure, is dying to embrace her
sister," continued Mrs. Marshall; "there is
but one year's difference in their ages, and as

children they were inseparable. I assure you
my dear sensitive child was inconsolable after
her sister's departure."

"I regret, madam, to have carried affliction
into the heart of your family," was the reply.

"But where is Effie?" said Laura.

"She has not yet returned from her ride.
I was obliged to press a friend into service as
her escort this morning, as I had some writing
to attend to. I expect her here, however,
every moment. When did you arrive ?"

"Last night. I called as soon as I heard,
from Mrs. Wells, that Effie was here. Mrs.
Wells is an old friend of Laura's ; in fact, I
may say, as it is quite in the family, she looks
upon her as a sister — almost. Mr. George
Bancroft is Laura's most devoted suitor."

Somebody coming in at the door heard this.
One quick throb, one moment of faintness,
and Effie came forward. There was no time
for thought. For the first time in her life she
was folded in a warm, maternal embrace,
while loving expressions, "Dear child! my
darling Effie! my own sweet girl !" fell in pro-
fusion on her bewildered ear. Then came
Laura's turn, and Mr. Marshall went to the
window to hide the sarcastic curl of his lip,
at this sudden deluge of affection poured upon
the little heiress, for he fully appreciated the
value of every kiss and embrace.

They were over at last, and Effie tossed her
hat and gloves on the table, and sat down
beside her uncle.

" Where is George ?" inquired Mr. Marshall.

"He only came to the end of the passage,
and then went back to speak to John about
Hotspur; he is dull this morning."

"Who, George?"

"No, Hotspur! Oh, here he comes." And
a quick, manly step came from the passage
towards the door, and an instant later George
Bancroft was in the room. Effie tried to be
indifferent, but her eyes would look keenly
into his face when he greeted Laura. She
saw a polite look of pleasure, a courteous,
cordial greeting, and' then she forced herself
to look away. Mutual explanations occupied
some minutes, everyday chit-chat a few more,
and then Mrs. Marshall rose to leave.

" Remember, Effie, our room is at the other
end of the hall, and we must see you often."

George and Mr. Marshall both rose, but the
old gentleman escorted the ladies to their
room, receiving a most affectionate embrace
from Laura at the door.

"she hath done what she could."

365

Once in the room the smile failed from the
girl's lips, and a burst of passion came fr6m
them.

" Did you bear ! did you see ! George! and
he privileged to ride with her, to express
bis tender anxieties about her fatigue — and,
mot her, did you see? She is beautiful! lovely I
So small and fairy-like, with such large eyes !
Hot a giantess, like the rest of us!"

'• Laura, be quiet!"

" Quiet 1 I am choking! It was bad
enough to find that old hypocrite here, with
his millions to gild her pedestal, but that she,
the dark, yellow, scraggy little dwarf, should
grow up to such exquisite beauty 1 Money,
station, beauty, all for her, and now his love 1"

"You are premature. They have only
been here a few weeks."

"But he loves her. Did you see his eyes
when her unele remarked her paleness. I
know how men look when their soul is thrown
at a woman's feet, and I ean see bow his
heart is wrapped up in her pale face or roses."

It was discussed in the hotel all day, the
foreseen rivalry of the Misses Marshall. Laura
had reigned supreme the previous season,
but Effie had the charms of novelty and re-
plied wealth. Anxious eyes watched their
entrance into the ball-room. It was late
before either appeared, and then Laura was
the first to come forward for admiration or
Briticism. She wore white, without gem or
ornament. The soft lace fell in full folds from
her faultless figure, and the snowy arms and
neck mocked their whiteness. A few starry
jessamines were twisted into the loose' curls,
and nothing could have been more lovely
than this fair belle.

Effie was very late ; so late, that some were
ill-natured enough to hint that she dreaded
the encounter. Poor little Effie ; thoughts of
her own beauty were far enough away from
her heart, as she dressed for the ball. All
day long she had panted for a moment of
solitude, but she read to her uncle, played
for him, and chatted till dinner time, and
then Mrs. Wells insisted upon her company
for a drive. There were guests to entertain
when she returned, and now the maid must
assist at her toilet. For once she gave no
thought. Lisette arranged her hair as she
would, and put a few diamond stars in the
massy braids. The rich white silk with
diamond brooch and bracelets, were donned
without more than a passing glance at the

29*

mirror, and then mechanically taking her
glOTOB and fan, Effie went into the parlor.
She OOtlld hear George's voice there, and a
sudden proud impulse sent the rich color to
her cheeks, and a joyous gayety into her
eyes. Never had her bright, sparkling wit

1 n more brilliant, or her rippling laugh more

frequent than on this evening. Dancing or
conversing, the arch merriment was constant
on her lip, the bright repartee ready to spring
forth. Laura's statuesque beauty was eolijpsed
by the lively, varying expression, the high
polish and cultivation of intelligence, the
wondrous intellectual powers of her sister.
The foreigners raved about her perfect accent
and witty familiarity with their native lan-
guages, and all admired that flexible, musical
voice which made a harmony of conversation.

It was all overt The long evening's strain

of heart and brain was finished, and then in

her own room, the young girl was at length

' alone. Alone, to nurse over that crushing

sentence, to commune with her own heart.

George Bancroft her sister's suitor ! Over
the few weeks they had passed together, her
thoughts travelled in a swift agony to ask
that question so harrowing to a young, pure
mind, had she given her love unsought ? He
had not actually made love to her, but be
had spoken in a tone and with a manner that
her heart told her were not those of a common
acquaintance, or even a dear friend. Those
walks and rides, the long conversations on
the balcony, or hanging over the piano forte,
could not be recalled without bringing with
them the memory of low-spoken words of
winning sweetness, of looks and tones, of
sympathies and little confidences such as only
lovers whisper. Could he be false ? Was all
his frank, manly manner, hypocrisy, his
whole conduct a lie ! She would forget him,
banish him from her memory, ask her uncle
to take her home, to hide her sore heart there.
She would not love him ! Too late ! And as
she lay with sleepless eyes and an aching,
throbbing head, she owned, in weeping hu-
miliation, that with the whole strength of her
tender, loving heart she loved this man.
(Conclusion next month.)

— "It is an nncontroverted truth," says
Dean Swift, "that no man ever made an ill
figure who understood his own talents, nor a
good one who mistook them.

366

godey's lady's book and magazine.

THE FAMILY DRAWING MASTER.

IN A SERIES OF FAMILIAR CONVERSATIONS.

LINES. (Continued.)

P. Do you remember the last drawinglesson ?

Ion. I do, papa. "Whenever we make a
line, we are to see if it is correct in length,
breadth, shade, direction, and position."

P. Why are we to make our lines of the
right length ?

L. Because, if you do not, the thing you
draw will have the wrong shape.

Ion. And you may spoil the shape of a thing
by putting the lines in a wrong position. Sup-
pose you were drawing a house — you might
put the lines of the bedroom, parlor-window,
and door close together.

L. Then they would certainly be in the
wrong position.

Ion. And yet, you know, each line might
be right in its direction and length. But you
may spoil a drawing only by putting the lines
a little in the wrong position.

L. The house in the drawing No. 5 (March
number) was spoiled by the lines being in
the wrong direction. They were " slanting,"
instead of straight.

P. Now, tell me — how many points must
you attend to, so that the object you draw
may be of the right shape ?

Ion. Three points. I can make a rule about
it : When we draw an object, its shape will
depend on the length, direction, and position
of the lines.

L. I wonder why we must attend to the
other two points — the shade of lines, and their
thickness.

W. The shade and thickness of lines do not
alter the shape of a thing ; because an object
will keep the same shape when you are draw-
ing it, no matter how thick the lines are.

Ion. I know why we must attend to the
shade of lines. See, here is a curious picture

which I drew last night, with lines of the
wrong thickness.

W. Yes, the lines of the sun are too dark
and thick.

Ion. Why should they not be dark ?

W. Because, nearly always, things that are
far off are not seen so clearly as things that
are near, and should be drawn with lighter
lines. I will tell you how the picture looks.
It seems as if the man who drew it was close
to the sun ; and the post and things that
would be near to us, were a long way off from
him — in the distance.

Ion. Then, near objects should be drawn
with dark lines, and distant objects with light
lines. This is the rule I have made about it ;
The distance or nearness of an object we may
draw depends on the shade and thickness of
the lines.

L. You might have made the rule shorter.
Instead of saying "the distance or nearness"
of an object, you might have said the position ;
because you meant distant position and near
position. I will now say the two rules in a
shorter way: When drawing an object, its
shape will depend on the length, direction,
and position of the lines ; and its position will
depend on the thickness and shade of the line.

P. That is better, Lucy. We will now pro-
ceed with the next lesson, on straight lines.
Let us talk, to-day, about their direction.
What do you say of the direction of this
line ?

Hr. It is upright.

P. Here is a better word for you. In-
stead of saying upright, say perpendicular.
What do you say of this one ?

W. I say it is lying down — it is flat — straight
— level.

T°. Ah, you say too much at a time !

Ion. I say it is a flat line. I mean by that,
it has the same direction as ground that is
quite level, when water will not flow on it in
one direction more than another.

P. A flat line would be a very good name
for it — but the proper name is horizontal. Now
make a line in another direction.

L. Here is one — it is a slanting line.

TIIE FAMILY DRAWING-MASTER.

367

Ion. Yes, but tltnt is a girl's name for it.
Let us have its grown-up name, please.

/'. Then call it oblique.

II'. Bo lims hare three directions — the per-
pendicular, horizontal, and oblique.

P. Find me something in this room which
must he drawn with lines in these three direc-
tions.

Ion. This envelope-box. The side lines are
perpendicular, the lid is oblique, and the lines

at the bottom of the box, and the bottom of
the lid, where it separates from the box, are
horizontal.

It". You said just now, Ion, that the lid was

Ion. But I meant only the top of the lid.

L. My copy-book has all three lines. The
lines we write in are horizontal, the writing is
oblique, and the sides of the book are per-
m ndicular.

W. The letter A has oblique lines, and
horizontal.

P. Find out all the letters in the alphabet
which you can make with oblique and hori-
zontal lines.

W. Here they are, papa. They are only the
first and the last, A and Z.

P. Now find out all you can make with ob-
lique and perpendicular lines.

L. I have found them, K M N Y.

P. Now show me all that are made with
horizontal and perpendicular lines.

It". Here are live, EFH LT, and here are
some all oblique lines — VW and X.

Ion. And here is one all in a perpendicular
Btate — I.

L. The others belong to a different com-
pany. They have curved lines in them. See !
BCDG JO PQ R.S U.

P. We will now talk about two straight lines.
Tell me what you observe in the direction of
these lines —

^Y. They have exactly the same direction.
P. That is right ; and if I wanted to make
them meet each other, I should draw them
l out to a great length.

L. Then you would not do it, papa. If you
were to keep on making them longer for an
hour, and to draw them out at both ends,
they would not meet.

Ion. But if you altered the direction of one
of them only a very little, they would meet.

L. Oh, but they must be exactly in the
same direction, and be straight from beginning
to end !

W. Then they have no chance of meeting
at all! For, of course, if they keep in the
same direction, they must always keep at the
same distance from each other, like the rails
on a railroad. What are we to say of the
lines, papa, when they are placed so ?

P. You are to say that they are parallel,

W. I will make the rule about them : Two
straight lines running in exactly the same
direction can never meet, and are called par-
allel lines.

Ion. That will not do. I do not believe in
that. Willie says that lines which have ex-
actly the same direction cannot meet, and
must be parallel. Now, look at these two
lines —

W. Yes.

Ion. Yet, if you make them a little longer,
they will soon meet. So, they are not par-
allel.

P. Willie was very near the truth. But
we will leave off now. Suppose that you all
try and find out, before the next lesson, how
to tell me exactly what is meant by parallel
lines.

NATURE.

TRANSLATED FROM THE HERMAN BT W. S. EVERETT.

O Nature ! mild, and pure, and sweet,

Do thou conduct ray willing feet

To where thy simple grace

My longing eyes may trace.

Oh let me guided be

In leading strings by thee.

Thy toils can never mortals tire ;

Thy pleasures never can expire ;

Oh let me ever rest,

Soft pillowed on thy breast ;

My mother deign to be,

And make a child of me.

With thee I could from rise of day
With rapture e'en till nightfall stray i
With lover's pure delight
Still wander all the night ;
Then let me wedded be,
Mine only love, to the*.

THE CONTENTED MIND.

BY MARY W. JANVEIN.

" So you're home, again ! Did you have
a pleasant afternoon, Maria?" asked Aunt
Martha, looking up from her knitting, and
speaking in her mild, placid voice. Aunt
Martha was the only occupant of the pleasant
sitting-room, with its bright carpet, neat fur-
niture, and cheerful coal fire, into which her
niece, Mrs. Denning, entered from the keen
outer air.

"Yes — that is, I accomplished the little
shopping I had to do, and then made the
calls for which I set out," was the answer, as
Mrs. Denning sank in a low rocker by the
grate and commenced untying her hat-strings.

" So you found your friends in, my dear ?"

" All but Lou Henderson — and I met her
on Washington Street going shopping, as
usual. There 's no end to the money her
husband allows her ! Then I went up to the
Winthrop House to see Kate Ashley. 0
Aunt Martha, she's situated splendidly! Such
an elegant suite of rooms, and a nurse to take
care of little Eddie, and such a rich silk as
she had on ! And she showed me a set of
pearls her husband gave her for a New Year's
present, and a magnificent wrapper, and lots
of other things I I declare, I did envy her !
I had a long call there ; and afterwards I
went up to Ellen Landon's, and found her all
settled in her elegant new house ; I couldn't
begin to tell you of its luxuries. But I
couldn't help contrasting my lot with hers,
and think how I live, beside my more fortu-
nate friends !"

"Did they all seem happy, Maria?" asked
Aunt Martha, quietly.

" Happy ! of course ! What 's to hinder ?"
replied Mrs. Denning, quickly. "Why, Kate
Ashley showed me a new camel's hair shawl,
two thirds border ! that was a present, too,
from her husband ; and if Ellen Landon isn't
happy in that palace, then I 'm greatly mis-
taken! While I sat there, I couldn't help
contrasting her present style of living with
that of her girlhood. They weren't exactly
poor, you remember, Aunt Martha ; but it
was hard pinching to keep up their show of
gentility ; while, you know, we always had
every comfort. But Ellen has succeeded so
368

well in life I In fact, all my old girl-friends
have married more eligibly than II"

"An ' eligible' jnarriage is not always the
happiest one, Maria," said Aunt Martha;
"but here come the children!" and the way
in which she turned to the little new-comers
betokened that she was not sorry of an excuse
to change the subject of conversation.

The door swung open to admit Master
Willie, a roguish, brown-eyed, chubby little
fellow of three ; and Miss Fanny, blue-eyed
and golden-haired, who had arrived at the
dignity of her first term at school and six
summers.

' ' Mamma ! mamma ! You know you said
you'd bring me tandy."' shouted the boy,
bounding to his mother's side and tugging at
her pocket.

"I declare, Willie, if I didn't forget it!"
said the mother. "But don't cry, dear!
You shall have the biggest lump of sugar.
Go ask Margaret to give it to you !"

The little fellow's bright face fell, and the
rosy lips were put up for a genuine cry.
" But sooger isn't tandy ! And you said you 'd
bring me some I" he persisted.

"Don't tease me, child!" exclaimed the
mother, peevishly. "I'm tired enough, with-
out having you worrying me the moment I
come into the house. Go to Margaret, I say I
I '11 remember next time."

"Yes, Willie, go ask Margaret for a big
lump. Candy is sugar, you know," said
little Fanny, a bona fide peace-maker. "Be
you real tired, mother?" she asked affection-
ately. "Then let me carry your bonnet and
cloak off up stairs for you ! See, mother ;
your muff is just big enough for me, and I 'm
just big enough to carry away your things
when you are tired !" and, with deft handiness,
the little maiden tripped from the room with
her burden.

"That muff and tippet — I am glad to get
them out of my sight!" said Mrs. Denning,
fretfully, after Fanny had disappeared with
the offending articles of wear. "Such an
elegant set of sables as Louise Henderson had
on to-day! they never cost less than three
hundred ! Mine looked so mean beside hers I

THE CONTENTED MIND.

369

Kv. rv body has sables now ! How cold my
feet are I" putting them up on the grate.
'•Ellon Landon's house is wanned through-
out with a furnace. It 's just like summer in
her rooms. Oh dear! Some people are burn to
good luck ! Can that be Albert .' Is it tea
fane?"

" It is just six," replied Aunt Martha, look-
ing up through her spectacles to the pretty
elock on the mantel. "The days are very
short this cold weather, my dear."

Albert Denning entered — a manly, brown-
eyed, handsome-featured young man of about
thirty; with that frank, open expression on
his face that betokened a sunny nature, warm
heart, and amiable disposition.

"Well, Maria, I heard of you this after-
noon ! Was coming from Milk Street into
Washington, and met your friend, Mrs. Hen-
derson, who had just seen you. Splendid
afternoon, wasn't it .' Washington Street
crowded with ladies. Glad they're going to
abolish crinoline, for it '11 give a man a chance
on these slippery sidewalks. Ah, Willie,
boy I what 'a that pout on your lips for ?" for,
just then, the little fellow, who hadn't yet
recovered from his disappointment, put in his
head from the hall, after his banishment to
the dining-room and Margaret. " What 's the
matter, my son ?"

"Nossing, papa, only mamma didn't bring
me home no tandy!" burst forth the child,
each word coming thicker and louder in a
gusty sob.

" Well, well ! Be a man, and don't cry for
that ! Maybe papa lias got something for his
boy that '11 offset all the candy ! Let 's go
and rummage his pockets I" and catching up
the little fellow, and tossing him to the ceiling,
he bore him to the hall, where he extricated
from his overcoat a handsome new rubber-
ball. "There! that 's a bouncer! only be
careful of mother's mirrors and Aunt Martha's
spectacles! Now, let's go down to supper!"
as the sound of the tea-bell came from the
dining-room.

"You see, Albert, that the afternoons are
so short one cannot accomplish everything ."'
said Mrs. Denning to her husband, as they
Seated themselves at table.

" Who did you see ? Everybody in, or out,
as Mrs. Henderson was, this splendid wea-
ther?" he asked.

Mrs. Denning's reply was but the prelude
to the same strain of remarks she had delivered

to Aunt Martha in the sitting-room — a repcr-
toire of the elegant establishments, dresses,
and jewels of her more wealthy and fashionable

friends ; failing not to close with the usual
comments on her own less-favored condition.
Her husband's question had been put with
the utmost good-humor ; but, as he listened,
his brow grew clouded, his sunny smile van-
ished, and a hard, bitter expression came to
his lips. He finished his meal in silence :
then pushed back his chair, and left for his
store, with only his customary "good-night"
in a constrained tone.

Mrs. Denning did not finish her conversa-
tion (if it might be called conversation, in
which she had it all to herself) with her
supper, but followed Aunt Martha to the
sitting-room, where, after Master Willie was
dispatched to his crib hugging his new
rubber-ball, and Fanny also kissed them a
" good-night," and took her doll with her to
her pillow, she again took up her refrain.

Could a stranger have listened to her plaints,
and observed the fretful, unhappy expression
that marred her really pretty face, such
would have concluded that Maria Denning
had no blessings in her daily life for which she
ought to render thankfulness, no kind hus-
band, no affectionate children, no comfortable
home ; but the two guests — Discontent and
Envy — whom she had invited to her heart,
were infusing their poison, and warping all
her good to evil.

Good old Aunt Martha sat silent ; her placid,
benevolent eyes, bent steadily on her knitting,
but a sad, pained expression on her lips. It
was not the first time she had listened to her
niece's complaints. For a long time this
spirit of discontent had been gaining the
ascendency over Maria Denning's mind ; and
the good, sensible old lady, who made one in
the household of the orphaned niece she had
reared, had often combated her complaints
with sound arguments on her folly, which
were lightly thrust aside by Maria's nimble
tongue and determined disposition. But
never had she expressed herself so openly
discontented with her own lot, as after this
series of visits to those old girl-friends who
had all married above her own social position.
Yet Aunt Martha sat silent, knitting away
with unceasing diligence.

"I suppose you don't think my talk worth
an answer," said Mrs. Denning at last. '' You
don't say anything !"

370

godey's lady s book and magazine.

"I was thinking, my dear, what a pity it
was you married Arbert," said the old lady
drily.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Maria. "You.
know I've no fault to find with my husband ;
and I'm sure I try hard enough to be con-
tented with my life — but it does seem as if
good was distributed unequally, when I see
others enjoy so much, and I so little I"

" What do you mean by your enjoying so
little, Maria ?" was the placid query.

"Why, I should think that a needless ques-
tion, after all I've told you!" was the impa-
tient answer.

" Perhaps 'twould be as well, then to look
at the bright side of the picture, and number
up the causes you have to contribute to your
happiness," said Aunt Martha, pausing in her
knitting, and adjusting her glasses. "To
commence, you have a kind husband — "

" I say again, I never uttered a word against
Albert!" cried Mrs. Denning.

Aunt Martha could not repress a smile at
the poor logic of the wife, who never supposed
that, in every murmur she indulged against
her lot, she sent a barbed arrow to her hus-
band's heart; but she refrained from com-
ment. -

"Two healthy, pretty, affectionate, intelli-
gent children," she went on.

" Certainly I Fanny and Willie are the best
children I know of!" exclaimed the mother,
in a tone of maternal triumph.

"A pleasant home without undue cares;
for a faithful servant relieves you of these
burdens," pursued the good old lady.

" Oh, I am thankful, of course, for all things
I have, as far as they go ; but you don't want
to understand me, Aunt Martha, when I say
that I should like to live as Kate Ashley, or
Lou Henderson, or Ellen Landon does!" im-
patiently exclaimed Mrs. Denning.

"Then what you lack to complete your
happiness, is a fine house, a train of servants,
rich dress and jewelry, a carriage and horses,
and the luxuries wealth can bring. You
think with these, you would be happy,
Maria?"

' ' ' Think ! ' I knoic I should, Aunt Martha ! ' '
was the emphatic answer. " Why not I, as
well as other people ?"

"Are you sure that the friends you have
visited this afternoon are happy, Maria?"

"What a question, Aunt Martha! Why

shouldn't they be ?" said Mrs. Denning, in a
surprised, incredulous toue.

" Ellen Landon has no children. Don't
you think she would be a happier woman to-
night, if a bright-eyed boy, or rosy-cheeked
girl, like your Willie or Fanny, could come
and put up their lips for a good-night kiss
before they went off to their beds?" asked
Aunt Martha, in a gentle voice.

For a moment Mrs. Denning was softened.
Any woman, far more warped than she, would
have been. "I do think Ellen would give a
great deal for a boy like my Willie, though
she never confessed as much to me," was
the reply. "But there's Kate Ashley, Aunt
Martha ! Everybody admires her little Eddie.
He 's handsome as a picture ; and she keeps
him dressed so beautifully in his embroidered
frocks, that he 's the pet of the hotel, and
strangers always stop to notice him when the
nurse has him out on the common ! And
Lou Henderson, too I with money at her
command, and a husband who never denies
her a wish, she must be happy !"

"You forget, niece," said Aunt Martha,
gravely, "that report says that Mr. Hender-
son denies himself no indulgence either."

" Nonsense, Aunt Martha ! I don't believe
all the idle gossip. And, if Mr. Henderson
does take too much wine at a fashionable
supper now and then, it 's no more than most
gentlemen of his standing do."

"Would you be willing to excuse it in
Albert?" asked Aunt Martha.

"That isn't a pertinent question, aunt!
You know Albert is downright total absti-
nent !" was the reply, in a tone of triumph.

" And you cannot be too thankful for that,
Maria," said the good old lady, fervently.
" But I was only supposing the case. Imagine
how a wife must feel, if her husband comes
home to her under the influence of intoxicat-
ing liquors, and be sure, my dear, that the
man who contracts a taste for wine never
pauses till he learns to love stronger beverages.
How, then, can Louise Henderson, looking
into her future, be so perfectly happy as you
seem to imagine her?"

"Well, Lou don't look as though she wor-
ried much ! ' ' was the reply in an evasive tone.

"Perhaps not. I have often thought hers
was not one of those natures that would ever
feel keenly ; and besides, she is gay, fashion-
loving, and would let the world go easy with
her so long as her tastes and habits were

THE CONTENTED MIND.

371

Indulged. But if ever a day should come,
■ben by the united extravagant expenditures
gf herself and husband their fortunes should

!■ brought low — or his habit would fasten
upon him — then, be sure, Maria, that she
would look back upon her present life as just
the course she should not have pursued!"

Aunt Martha's excellent reasoning would
have convinced any woman who did not
wilfully blind herself to the truth. But Maria
Denning only shrugged her shoulders, and
said : —

" What a doleful picture yon have conjured,
aunt ! I see that you are bent on proving
the truth of the old saying of ' the skeleton in
every house.' But, after all, I'm not con-
vinced but. if I had some of Lou's wealth, or
Ellen Landon's splendid house, or Kate Ash-
lev's camel's hair shawl, I should enjoy life a
great deal better."

"But, since you have neither, would it not
be the wisest course — and insure you the
most happiness — to cease fruitless repinings,
and he thankful for the many blessings you
do enjoy? The 'contented mind' brings its
own feast along with it, you know, it is
fad," was the excellent answer of her aunt.

'• Well, I don't know as it 's of any use our
discussing the subject," said Mrs. Denning,
who, like many another, when likely to be
convinced, prudently retired from the field.
" I 'm much obliged to you for your advice —
and I 'm thankful, I 'm sure, for everything I
have ; but we see things in such a different
light, that we never shall assimilate in our
way of thinking. What some would sit down
contented with, would only incite others to
be more ambitious ; and I never can be tame
or humdrum, or, like Uriah Heep, very
humble ! ' '

A little flush swept over good old Aunt
Martha's cheek ; but, reflecting that her niece
did not intend the disrespect which her
words would seem to imply, and inly putting
up a prayer that she might be brought to see
the folly of the disposition she was cherishing,
she closed her lips with a grave expression,
and continued her knitting in silence.

A year glided by ; and, during that period,
the miserable, unhappy spirit of discontent
had become the most cherished guest of
Maria Denning's heart, its guest and master
too, holding entire sway therein.

Her home— numbering the same members —

her kind, upright, diligent husband, her affec-
tionate children, and benevolent-hearted,

placid-featured Aunt Martha — was a home no
longer save in name. Not that neglect became
apparent in disorderly apartments, untidy
apparel, or ill-served food, for Mrs. Denning
possessed, naturally, habits of neatness and
a sense of native refinement which would
have been shocked by careless or slatternly
surroundings ; but there are other require-
ments besides mere physical comforts embodied
in the good old Saxon word "home," and a
woman may be a "house-mother" in the most
practical acceptation of the term, and yet
fail to render the little sphere that comes
under her sway a haven and a blessed refuge
to her family.

It was the evil spirit, discontent, brooding
there, and flinging the shadow of its sombre
wing over all that darkened the whole moral
atmosphere, and transformed the sunlight into
gloom. It was discontent that added line after
line to the faded, fretful face of Maria Den-
ning, and rendered her a peevish, fault-find-
ing wife, and an unhappy mother.

If a new article of clothing was added to
her own or the children's wardrobe, it was
contrasted with the more costly apparel of
her wealthier friends ; the house was voted
small, inconvenient, and the neat furniture
compared with the elegant upholstery of her
friends' mansions ; the plain china ware was
depreciated, and a sigh given for Mrs. Landon's
massive silver service ; all her home comforts
were underrated and those of others unduly
magnified.

It cannot be supposed but that this state of
affairs produced their legitimate effect on
every member of the household. The chil-
dren— naturally roguish, frolicsome, and ex-
uberant in gayety and spirits, as all healthy
children are, or ought to be — were depressed
into silence by a look into their mamma's
unhappy face or by her fretful exclamations ;
good old Aunt Martha grew quieter and
graver than ever, and sighed often over her
knitting-work, having given over all debates
upon thesubjectherniece occasionally brought
up from force of habit ; and Albert Denning —
no longer the frank, boyish-hearted, sunny-
tempered husband of his early wedded years — ■
had gradually changed into a moody, taciturn,
morose man.

With most exquisite sorrow had Aunt
Martha observed this change in Maria's hus-

372

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

band. It was a delicate task for her to speak
upon his domestic affairs, and for a long time
she refrained ; hut when she saw him nightly
absenting himself from home, and spending
otherwhere the hours he had formerly passed
at his own fireside after his business duties
were over, a vague alarm took possession of
her heart, and one day she ventured to broach
the subject.

Albert Denning replied with impetuous burst
of feeling.

"Aunt Martha, for God's sake, what can a
man, situated' as I am, do but keep away as
much as possible from a home like this ? You
see how it is. I have tried, hard as ever man
tried, to make Maria a happy woman ; but I
have found that an impossibility, and am
about discouraged ! She is discontented with
everything I do for her, and is constantly
contrasting her lot with that of wives of men
who either inherited more money than I, or
have acquired more in business speculations.
I verily believe she regrets that she married
me. So don't ask me to stay at home eve-
nings ! A man won't meet fretful speeches
and unhappy looks when he can find plea-
santer company !"

"Albert Denning" — and Aunt Martha spoke
sympathizingly, but with grave, firm voice —
"I cannot tell you how often I've remon-
strated with Maria on the subject. But you
must remember that, if your wife is misguided,
you have two young children to look up to you
for guidance ; and for their sake, at least, you
should not be led into absenting yourself from
home and spending your evenings at resorts
where you would not wish your friends to
meet you."

"Oh don't be alarmed, good Aunt Martha!"
said Denning, with a laugh that covered a
sob. "The children — I do love my boy and
girl, and they shall never know a want while
I can earn a dollar ! but they 're safe in your
care, I know. But you may tell Maria that
she 's long been coveting some of her friend
Louise Henderson's luxuries — and I may gratify
her, before she knows it, by presenting her
with a pattern of Louise's husband !"

These words were hurled out defiantly,
recklessly ; and he looked with a strange
meaning smile and a mocking laugh into
Aunt Martha's eyes.

"Albert Denning, what do you mean? I
have appealed to your affection as a father —
I now appeal to your duty to your Maker.

Do not stand there and tell me that you are
one of Philip Henderson's boon companions 1"
Aunt Martha's words were starn as the decree
of a judge to a criminal. "It cannot be!"
she added ; and this sentence was in a totally
different voice, trembling with tears.

When Albert Denning next spoke, his tone,
too, was altered. It was no longer reckless
or defiant, but pitifully despairing, and breath-
ing of a strong man's agony.

" Aunt Martha, forgive me, and don't judge
me too harshly ! But you don't know how a
man must suffer before he is driven to despe-
ration. I have been with Henderson and a
party of his friends often of late ; but here,
on the honor of a man who never yet forfeited
his word, I give you my promise that — how-
ever complete the wreck of my domestic hap-
piness— I will never touch the wine-cup again !
Sometimes I have thought it might be better
for Maria and I to separate, rather than live
this sort of life ; but, for my children's sake,
I will try and bear it a little longer."

"Has it come to this?" murmured Aunt
Martha, sadly, when alone again. "Oh, if
Maria could only see what her folly is doing!
If she could realize ! But she must know it !
her eyes must be opened ! I will talk plainly
and faithfully to her this very night, nor
will I keep back one word that Albert has
said."

But the plans of the All-Wise Disposer of '
events had been working to their fulfilment,
and good old Aunt Martha was saved her self-
imposed task. That very evening, on which
she had proposed remonstrating faithfully
with her niece, Albert Denning was brought
home from his store smitten with sudden ill-
ness. His limbs throbbed with violent pains,
and a raging headache almost drove him fran-
tic. Dizzy and blinded, he groped his way to
his chamber, and sank upon the bed.

Maria was greatly alarmed, and speedily
summoned their physician. After some little
time with the sick man, the doctor gave his
opinion. " Your husband has strong symp-
toms of brain fever, Mrs. Denning, which I
will endeavor to counteract and break up, if
possible."

On the following day, the verdict came.
" The fever has gained too strong a hold to be
broken up, and probably had been settled
for several days before your husband gave
up. It must have been induced by some
strong mental excitement or seated anxiety.

THE CONTENTED MIND.

373

Bverything depends upon good care and per-
liet."

Roused from her dream of folly, Maria Den-
Bug reproached herself with her negleoi to-
i her husband. "Why did I not notice
that lie was ill ? O Aunt Martha, if he should
he taken from me ! I could not bear it ! How
he must suffer '. hear his moans '."

Pays followed, during which Mr. Denning
ildly delirious, as lie had been from the
oraing after his confinement to the sick
, chamber ; and, during this period, his wife
gained the cine to his illness in the broken
, exclamations that fell from his lips. Now lie
lied her with her peevishness which
had made his home miserable — now he wildly
denounced her, andj raved of a separation —
and anon he piteously entreated her to be to
him the same tender wife of their earlier mar-
i feed years. And sometimes he laughed mock-
ingly, and called for the re. I wine-cup to drown
his sorrow ; familiarly naming Philip Hender-
80n and other gay companions in the same
breath.

The sick man's wif. — thoroughly awakened
by the shock — hovered constantly about bis
1 couch. Her hands were ever eager to minister
to his wants : her mien was quiet and collected,
'after the first burst of feeling; but her pale
.face and anxious eye told a story of intense
inward suffering. Aunt Martha felt that, to
have spoken of his conversation then, would
be crnel ; and so, without reference to the
net beyond what was gathered from the de-
lirious revelations of the sufferer, they shared
the duties of the sick-room together. What
if Aunt Martha did not reveal the knowledge
that was in her heart, she sent up many a
prayer that the chastening hand, laid so
iheavily on her niece, might not fail of a salu-
tary effect.

Two weeks passed, and then Albert Den-
•ning lay, pale, weak, exhausted, and helpless
as an infant upon his pillows. Scarcely the
Ibreath of life fluttered on his lips. It was a
Itime of intense agony to the wife; and she
'hung upon the words of the skilful physician
ias though her heart-strings would snap asun-
der if he bade her despair. But hope came,
and with it the sweet tears gushed into her
eyes. " Your husband will live, Mrs. Den-
ning. The crisis is passed, and now, more
Amends upon the nurse than the doctor. I
shall leave him in your hands."

"Thank fiod I" It was all Maria Denning
vol. Lxvni. — 30

could trust herself to utter ; but the burden
of a full heart was lifted in that grateful aspi-
ration.

In three weeks more the invalid was fast
convalescing, and the children were daily ad-
mitted to his room, jubilant with delight to
find "their own dear pap a getting well again."

"And mother, too, is ever so much prettier
than she used to be," said little Fanny, con-
fidentially, one day to Aunt Martha — "anil
she's good all the time! Maybe that's what
makes her pretty, aunt — because she 'sgood.'"
It was a child's comment, but a significant
one, the good old lady thought ; whose notice,
also, the fact little Fanny had remarked had
not escaped.

What explanations occurred between the
wife and husband, in those long, quiet days of
convalescence, when Maria found her whote
joy in proving that her wifely love was the
uppermost sentiment of her nature, Aunt
Martha never knew ; hut she drew her own
conclusions from the perfectly unrestrained
and happy intercourse of feeling which was
now fully re-established between them.

Nor did this happy result fade away when
Mr. Denning was restored to his customary
health and business cares, and his wife re-
turned to her household duties. The change
was Listing ; the cure, deep, effectual, abiding.

Only once, looking up from her sewing with
serious air and tearful eyes, Maria Denning
said, earnestly, "Aunt Martha, lean realizo
Huirwhatyou meant by 'the contented mind!" "

STANZAS TO

Oh when thy thoughts are sweetest,
When moments fly the fleetest,

At some dear sunset hour ;
When softly birds are singing,
And eve a shade is flinging

On every tree and flower ;

When, o'er thy spirit stealing.
There comes a holy feeling,

Like some sweet dream of heaven;
When ties of love feel stronger,
And foes are foes no longer,

But in thy heart forgiven —

Oh then, while fancy traces
The well-remembered faces

Of friends now far from thee,
Wilt thou, my faults forgetting.
And but my loss regretting,

Give one sweet thought to me?

A FEW FEIENDS.

BY EORMAH LYHM,

Theke are few refined agonies keener than
the sufferings of an hostess who, either in the
fulness of her heart or from some conven-
tional necessity, has invited a few friends to
spend a social evening at her house, and sees
them at last sitting in dismal semi-circle as a
result. What can she do ? In the first place
(as in the case of my friend Mrs. Smith on a
certain occasion), while she was busied in
receiving the first avalanche of guests there
was no time, of course, to settle them in con-
genial drifts of sympathetic groupings ; and
wSien she finally turns, in a moment of leisure,
to survey the party, she sees with horror that
they have disposed themselves in a "cold
spread" around the edges of the room, pre-
cisely the wrong people sitting side by side,
all with ghastly smiles upon their faces, not
knowing what to do or say. Dancing won't
do ; she has hired no music, and besides, half
of them, she is well aware, "never dance."
Mr. Pipes may sing after awhile, and Miss
Pundaway may play upon the piano, but it is
too soon to ask them yet. Far off in the cor-
ner she has spied some daring young cheva-
lier take her photograph album from the
etargere for the benefit of a sarcastic looking
young woman in moire" antique. Their heads
bend over it together, and as they mumble
and turn the leaves and smirk, she knows
that her best friends, her mother, her sister
Sue, and even her own dear little Bobby are
catching it most unmercifully. But that is
slight torture compared with the emotion
with which, after spasmodic attempts to re-
divide the company, and animate them with
something like interest in the occasion, she
is compelled to take unto herself the galling
conviction that the whole affair is a failure :
that, in fact, there are too many for conversa-
tion, and too few for promenading or grand
scale proceedings generally. Besides, she has
laid such stress in her invitations upon the
affair being so very informal and social, a very
frolic, in short ; and here are the victims all
sitting like chief mourners at a funeral, with-
out even the solacing prospect of a "wake."
What is to be done ?

All at once her factotum, her intelligent
374

friend — large-hearted and clear-brained — who
has taught school a little, and read human
nature a great deal, nudges her rather sharply
and says — in a polite mumbled undertone,
which no third party can overhear, and yet
cannot be called a whisper even by the most
pragmatical —

"Eliza, are you going to sleep ? Why don't
you do something ?"

"I can't, Anna," groans Eliza, dismally, in
the same style. "Did^vou ever see such
sticks ? Look at Ben Stykes, nearly hidden
away in the corner ! He would make some
fun if he were not pinioned down by that Mrs.
Allfat. I do wish either you, he, or Mary
Gliddon would get up something to start
them."

The aide-de-camp is good natured and ener-
getic. In a moment, Ben Stykes, Mary Glid-
don and Anna are holding a consultation
together. Suddenly, Ben walks solemnly for-
ward towards the centre of the parlor, with
his handkerchief pressed nervously to his
eyes. Pausing he jerks away the handker-
chief, and, after looking despairingly about
him, sobs out : —

"Ladies and gentlemen" (for an instant
his feelings overcome him, but after despe-
rately wiping away a few quarts of imaginary
tears he resumes) — " Ladies and gentlemen,
feeling that for the past half hour we have,
by severe discipline and sober self-communion,
done full justice to this solemn occasion"
(handkerchief again) "I beg to propose that
we proceed to enjoy ourselves."

The effect was electric. Every eye had
been turned in astonishment upon the speaker,
and now, at the denouement, a ripple of laugh-
ter ran through the company as it thawed
under Ben's genial tone.

"What shall it be, my friends — what shall
it be?" he continued, swaying his body from
side to side in the earnestness of his declama-
tion. " I would sing, but, alas, my voice is
fractured ! not only cracked, but positively
demolished — gone with my lost youth" (Ben
looked twenty-five)! "I would play, but
careless parents gave me marbles in youth
instead of a piano. I would dance, but"

A FEW FRIENDS.

375

(bowing to half a dozen ladies) "I am daisied
and cannot choose a partner. I would attempt
conversation, but silence has invaded tie hall
of the Smiths, and I might not receive any
answers. I would even sleep, but our sweet
hostess has aroused me. Again I appeal to
you, men and women of America, true loyal
citizens as I believe you to be, what are we to
do '" (Here Ben's fist came down with great
force upon an imaginary rostrum.) " I pause
for a reply."

At this point, a portly gentleman arose,
amid the applause and laughter of the com-
(pany, and moved that Mr. Pipes should "sing
something."

.Movement seconded and carried unani-
mously.

Mr. Pipes blushed scarlet, assuring the
company that, in consequence of a throat
difficulty, he had not sung for months, and
must beg to he excused ; topping off his pero-
Iratiou with a pathetic cough, which penetrated
•the assembled hearts.

Portly gentleman on the floor again.

"Since our dear brother is so sorely af-
Boted, I move that Miss Pundaway be con-
ducted to the piana-forte."

Theoretically, Miss Pundaway shrank and
^resisted, but practically allowed herself to be
.led to the instrument by Ben.

Never did any beast of the forest in the

rength of its roar, nor any bird of the air in
the volubility of its strain, equal the sounds
emitted by that rosewood quadruped under
the delicate fingers of Miss Pundaway, who
thus hanged and whizzed into the company a
;eneral idea of the way in which Moses is
(supposed to have journeyed out of Egypt —
drowning the Egyptians in the bass in line
.(Style, murdering Thalberg at the same time.
] After this Miss Apogiatura was induced to
.(favor the company with a little thing from
"Ernani ;" and finally even Mr. Pipes's voice
rang through the room, triumphant over the
slight "throat difficulty" aforesaid.

All went on well for a time until, alas, the
jrtpcrtvires of the musicians were exhausted,
and a silence again pervaded the room as
jgloomy as that which fell upon "Scudder's
|Baleony" at the approach of a shower (see
Balleck). Evidently the motion of the portly
gjpatleman was, in one sense, a failure. The
.'ompany were not tuneful generally, and the
Ippasion was not to be turned by any artifice
nto a soiree musicale.

But the irrepressible Ben was once more in
possession of the door.

"My friends," said he, "a lady member,
too timid to speak for herself, has requested
that we all descend from our high estate and
stoop to the game of 'Mi'seum.' Is the mo-
tion seconded .'"

"Seconded!" responded the portly gentle-
man in a stentorian voice.

"Ladies aud gentlemen, my motion is se-
conded; those in favor of carrying out the
resolution will please signify by saying 'Ave :'
contrary, ' No !' Ayes have it — the motion is
carried."

Thereupon Ben, having appointed an accom-
plice, glowered upon the long semicircle, and
told them that they were a collection of curi-
osities— that he intended to sell them one by
one to his friend Jones, and that the fact of
the " article under negotiation smiling during
the sale would render him or her liable to a
forfeit." Preliminaries being thus agreed
upon, Ben and Mr. Jones walked up to a gen-
tleman sitting at one end of the row. Cover-
ing his victim's face with a handkerchief for a
few seconds to enable him to summon the
requisite gravity, Ben commenced : —

" Mr. Jones, I flatter myself that the collec-
tion of curiosities and antiquities to which I
am about to call your attention is unequalled
in extent and variety by any other in the
country. Here, for instance" (uncovering
the solemn countenance), "is the celebrated
mummy of Cheops, brought from Egypt at an
enormous cost originally as a plaything for
one of President Lincoln's children ; but the
little fellow being frightened by the expres-
sion of its hideous countenance, it was sold at
auc — " Here the mummy burst into a laugh,
and was "sold' ' accordingly, the bargain being
" clinched" by a forfeit.

The next in turn was a beautiful Boston
girl, who blushed crimson when the handker
chief was cast over her. face.

" This," said Ben, tenderly (uncovering the
" specimen" as he spoke), is a rare and lovely-
flower, recently imported from the East. It
has bloomed but for a few summers" (ah,
gallant Ben !), " and if you will but regard it
attentively, sir, you will admit that it is one
of the most beautiful of two lips."

The damsel smiled at this, of course ; and
Ben passed on, taking in two ladies wno sat
together, one of them holding Mrs. Smith's
little Bobby upon her knee.

376

godey's lady's book and magazine.

"There, sir," he exclaimed, triumphantly,
snatching the handkerchiefs from their faces,
"if there are a finer pair of candlesticks on
this continent than these, / have not yet seen
them ; 3'ou shall have them, sir, for less than
cost, say fifty dollars for the two — and" (lift-
ing up the head of the frightened boy) "I
will throw in the snuffers for nothing."

This allusion to poor Bobby of course upset
the gravity of the before imperturbable can-
dlesticks, and Ben took up the next article in
his collection, who, being a jolly young Irish-
man, was "sold" as a fragment of the cele-
brated blarney stone. The next was described
as "the skull of Oliver'Cromwell at the age of
twelve." The next (a youth who was known
to have recently engaged himself to a charm-
ing young lady seated near him) was " the
heart of Gibbs the pirate." The next was
"the last man found in the last ditch." The
next (a pretty girl) was "the female hero of
the nineteenth century, who had actually
taken the very hearts one by one from all her
hundred slaves;" and so on, until all the
party, with but few exceptions, were disposed
of. Those who had not laughed were pro-
nounced to be unsalable, and had the privi-
lege of forming a committee among themselves
to decide what Ben was to "do" to expiate
the insults he had heaped upon them ; as may
be supposed, Ben was not let off very easily.

By this time sociability prevailed, the agony
of the hostess was over, and with a grateful
heart she saw her visitors led by the inde-
fatigable Ben through the delights of "The
Eye Game," "Yes and No," " The Catch-me-
quick" proverb game, and " Dumb Orator,"
to say nothing of the genial flow of conversa-
tion that, once started, rippled its way among
the company, causing the whole affair (figu-
ratively speaking) to go off swimmingly.

In short, the guests were so delighted with
themselves and with each other that they
mutually resolved then and there to meet
once a fortnight for the rest of the season.

MARRIAGE CUSTOMS IN GERMANY.
(Extract from a letter.)
I was present at a German marriage one
day this week, and it may be interesting to
vour fair readers tf/know how these matters
are managed. The ceremony was according
to the rites of the Lutheran Church, and took

place not in a church, but in the house of the
father of the bride. The day before the civil
contract was signed in presence of the city
municipal representatives, and the signing of
the formal declaration of the two persons,
attested by witnesses, is, according to the
Prussian law, a legal marriage. It does not
even require the religious confirmation, but of
course with the German Protestants this is
never dispensed with. After the signing of the
contract there was a small family dinner, in
which the newly-united couple, in the civil
sense, had the usual honors of congratulation ;
but on the same evening — that is, the day
before the marriage service — there was a ball,
fully and fashionably attended by leading
families in Cologne. There were some speci-
alities about the ball worthy of record. In
the first place, the band (a first and a second
violin, a tenor, a clarionet, and a bass) was
concealed by a kind of bower of plants placed in
pots ; it was, in fact, a complete screen, behind
which I took the liberty of peeping, and found
an ample supply of cakes and wine for the
players. The ball was opened with a Polo-
naise, in which all the company coupled,
marched in and out a fine suite of rooms, and
performed divers military manoeuvres prepar-
atory to the refreshments a la Russe. Waltzes
abounded, galops were sparing, quadrilles
frequent. The old as well as youug danced,
being only a question of degree ; the elders
discoursed most eloquent music in one of the
rooms as to the qualities of divers choice
wines — those of the Moselle predominating.
But then the refreshments to English eyes
appeared the most singular. A regular Italian
fish-salad (herrings) well acidulated, oiled,
and garlicked, was served in shells, at times
handed round with glasses of wine and slices
of brown bread. Then, at a later period,
came "bouillons" in large cups, whilst on the "
regular tables were slices of tongue, ham,
veal, and the inevitable sausage. These
soldeds were eaten with rolls cut in two, each
consumer making his own sandwich. Ices
were also served ; but the Italian salad seemed
to hit most the popular taste. The ball was
kept up till nearly three, the civilly-con-
tracted couple remaining to the last. On the
marriage day the company in full evening
dress assembled in the ground-floor of one of
the best houses in Cologne. An altar had
been erected, a table on a raised platform,
and on the former were a small crucifix and

MARRIAGE Cl'STOMS IN GERMANY.

377

two ordinary parlor candlesticks, (hi a illati-
on th>' altar were two rings. On each side of
this altar wen' rows of small trees, plants,
flowers, etc. Before the altar a rich carpet
was spread, and on which was placed, for the
couple to kneel, a rug worked by one of the
bride's fair friends. The arrangement of the
relations and friends differed from our mode;
on the two sides were all the ladies together,
grouped nearest the altar, and the gentlemen
Stood massed together below the fair and
favored circle. At nearly one o'clock the
clergyman entered with his vicar from an ante-
room, and stood on the altar ; before him were
the civilly married, who entered without pro-
cession of best friend and bridesmaids. The
pastor (the Rev. Dr. Griineisen, of Stuttgard,
one of the most celebrated preachers of the
German Lutheran Church) then delivered a
sermon or exhortation based on a text from
the Bible. He addressed each one of tho
affianced separately, and a more eloquent and
powerful discourse I never listened to, bring-
ing tears into the eyes of all the auditory.
What rendered it more touching was that it
was his own son, Auguste Griineisen, of Rome,
who was the betrothed — the lady was Clara
Cramer, thedaughterof adistinguished retire. 1
advocate. After the sermon was over, prayers
were read, the coupling, the joining together
was almost as in the English Church, but
there was this exceptional incident, that there
are two rings, one for the husband and one
for the wife, each presenting the other with
the signet of union. Moreover, to the couple
was presented a copy of the Bible. The bride
was dressed in a rich white silk dress with
long lace veil, the hair dressed with orange
blossoms, myrtles, etc. She had a superb
bouquet of the choicest flowers and smallest
plants, remarkably well disposed as to colors.
It may be added that she is handsome, amia-
ble, and rich. Happy Auguste ! When the
ceremonial was ended, at which, by the way,
the pastor of the parish was also present and
"assisted," as also the Rev. Mr. Edward
Griineisen, son of the Hoffrediker of Stuttgard,
and recently nominated his vicar, or, as we
should say, curate, there was a general em-
bracing of relatives and friends, and then the
party adjourned to the drawing-room, where
a splendid banquet was served, combining
every luxury in the way of game, a wild-
boar's head figuring as a centre bit ; fish of
the Rhine and beyond the Rhine, entrees,

30*

hors d'ceuvres, confitures, poultry, dessert of
the rarest kind, etc. etc. The banquet lasted
upwards of four hours, the family toasts
being first given, and then the guests pro-
posing some health, without any organization,
the speaker simply tapping his glass to coin.
mand attention. The place of honor was
assigned to a venerable lady in her 77th year,
the mother of the father of the bride. It was
pleasing to see the affectionate interest with
which she was regarded, and also to remark
that she was in the full possession of her
faculties. The married couple left for Rome
at an early hour, and after a promenade in
the gardens of the house, coffee being served
in the open air, some dancing of the young
ladies and gentlemen who were unmarried
finished the day's festivities before ten o'clock.
One curious and interesting feature of the
banquet was, that telegrams were received
from time to time, from all parts of Germany,
and one from Rome, which reached Cologne
in less than four hours, and these congratula-
tory telegrams were read aloud to the com-
pany. Between fifty and sixty persons sat
down to dinner, chiefly relatives and near
friends, many coming from long distances to
be present. The Germans are most affec-
tionate in their domestic relations. There
was a simplicity of manners almost amounting
to primitiveness, which reminded one of the
family gatherings of old, wherein heartiness
and genuineness reign in the place of frigidity
and formality.

STARLIGHT.

BY A. Z.

Starlight in the heavens,

Starlight in the sea,
Are something more than 6tarlight

Unto me, unto me.
On the jewel-studded azure,

In the deep and boundless air,
Angels are always singing,

Always shining there ;
And the mirror of the ocean

Is a mirror bright and rare.

There are very many laces,

Many forms that I have seen,
Moving in that boundless avenue,

In robes of snowy sheen.
Wlien I look down in the ocean,

Still and blue, still and blue.
Another shining Paradise

Is beaming on my view ;
And it seems like we were floating

In the air between the two.

A GHOST STOEY.

TRANSLATED FROM TIIE FRENCH BY MRS. ANNIE T. WOOD.

In 1839, I had hired at Verrieres, a charm-
ing village coquettishly situated midway on
one of the wooded slopes of the forest which
hears its name, a simple cottage where I de-
signed to spend the summer with my wife and
presumptive heir, a pretty and plump boy of a
year old, raised in the country, and who,
thanks to the fresh air, exercise, and healthy
life of the fields, did, I assure you, credit to
his nurse. My cottage consisted of a square
pavilion covered with tiles, composed of a
basement and one story, and situated at the
extremity of the village in a retired lane
leading to the country, as its name indicated :
"Road to the vineyards."

An oblong garden, of about an acre, inclosed
by walls garnished with trellises, and whose
principal entrance was adorned by an iron
gate with pillars, the only ambitious decora-
tion of this modest retreat, lay before the
cottage, which was built at the extremity of
the inclosure, and reached by a gravelled
walk, bordered on each side with fruit trees
in full bearing. . Before the house stood a
group of Bengal roses, and on the right and
left, fronting side porches, each lighted by
two windows only, were grassy lawns of nearly
four yards square, which had first attracted
me, because I saw there a natural carpet very
well calculated for the sports of my newly
weaned baby, just beginning to learn to use
his teeth and limbs.

The whole, furnished comfortably, not lux-
uriously, but with everything necessary in
country life, had been let to me for five hun-
dred francs, by the proprietor, M. Roux, ex-
apothecary, Rue Montmartre, the inventor of
a celebrated dentifrice. The young are not
difficult ; I was young, then, and had one
conclusive reason for seeing life through my
colored spectacles. United to a charming
woman whom I idolized and who rendered me
happy, I dreamed of perfect love, like an
Arcadian shepherd, and these five words, a
cottage and her heart, the eternal romance of
youth, would have led me to the end of the
world.

When spring came, and the lilacs, o"f which
there were whole thickets in our inclosure,
378

blossomed, arrived a fortunate couple to take
possession of our little domain, my wife having
never yet seen the house or garden ; they
pleased her, perhaps for reasons similar to
mine. She was kind enough to find every-
thing to her taste, even the gardener, ex-
pressly included in the inventory of fixtures,
and who was not, to tell the truth, the least
useful article of furniture.

Paid by the proprietor, all his- duties were
comprised in taking care of the garden, show-
ing the cottage to visitors, and • airing the
apartments by occasionally opening the win-
dows. If the situation was not very lucrative,
it was not difficult to fill. So M. Roux had
confided it to the first one who came to hand,
that is to say, to a simple peasant of the neigh-
borhood, the inhabitant of one of the only
two houses which now stood on the road to
the vineyards.

Blondas St. Foy, with an air as clownish as
that witty singer, Gilkin, with his long,
straight locks, his pug nose, his porcelain
blue eyes, and fat, projecting cheeks, slightly
ruddy, would have figured admirably as a
rustic on the stage. A genuine peasant of
the opera, he had both the physique and the
character of the situation. So when, in the
intervals of liberty allowed him by the cul-
ture of his fields, the produce of which he
sent regularly to market, according to the in-
variable custom of farmers in the neigh-
borhood of Paris, he had time to come and
put sticks to our peas, water our strawberry
plants, hoe our potatoes, and weed our
carrots, which happened two or three times a
week, and took about half a day each time;
on those days, whoever had come to pay a visit
to my wife or myself and looked for us in the
house, would certainly have lost his trouble.

Arm in arm, and braving the hottest sun,
madame, with her parasol and her pretty
scarlet sun-bonnet, so becoming to her twenty
years, and I, with an immense, straw hat,
worthy of a pure blooded American planter,
closely followed Gilbert. The honest youth
had scarcely arrived, when, proud of having
a gardener, we went, like genuine Boeotian3
that we were, to sit beside him while he

A GHOST STORY.

379

worked, with spade or watering-pot in hand,
Lad you should see what a mischievous plea-
sure wo then took in overwhelming him with
a multitude of questions as absurd as his
replies ; in hearing him reason gravely on the
rain and fine weather ; diseuss the influence
of heat or eold ; describe his hopes or fears
relative to the approaching harvest ; ourse
■ of foxes and weasels, nocturnal ma-
unders, not waiting for license from the vin-
tagers to ravage their best vines ; in fine, to
study iu all its phases this honest villager,
who, having arrived at the age of thirty, had
a wife and child, paid his taxes, figured on
festival days in a Gaulish blouse iu the ranks
of the citizen militia, and had never in his
life, except in one excursion to Versailles,
When he saw the great fountains play, lost
sight of the steeple of his commune. What
a curious type ! what an excellent and kind
nature ! how many amusing simplicities, how
many charming stories he had to tell ! the
foolish laughter which suddenly seized us in
the midst of these stories, to the great aston-
ishment of our countryman, always retaining
his imperturbable sangfroid, and looking at us
with open mouth, unable to comprehend our
explosions of gayety !

We had hardly been installed in our rustic
villa a week, when, one fine morning, as we
were making a bouquet in a magnificent border
of violets framing one of the green lawns
beneath our windows, and in the corner of
which figured a well half hidden by a thicket
of laburnums, my wife said to me : — ■

"Do you kuow, my love, what displeases
me here, and what I would certainly have
removed this very moment if it depended only
upon me ?"

Without being a fine lady, my wife is very
impressible in her nature, and has her little
superstitions. She believes in the influence of
Friday and of the number thirteen ; an over-
turned salt-cellar, two knives crossed affect
her ; a broken mirror would make her sick ;
at evening, the murmur of running water,
the mysterious whispering of the poplars,
vivid lightning, and the noise of the thunder
produce an effect which she cannot avoid ;
adorable weakness, of which, in my opinion,
I should do very wrong to complain.

" What is it ?" asked I of my wife.

"That disagreeable weeping willow, which
stands in the corner of the lawn on the right of
the well," replied she.

"And why so?" returned I.

"You know very well," said she to me,
"that I cannot endure those trees, even in
painting; an ordinary willow can be passed
by in spite of the romance of Othello, hut
these weeping willows — oh, no ! I cannot
bear them."

"I understand you, dear friend; but we
have no occasion for grief, the child is well,
and we are both cheerful enough."

"Come, you jest when the gravest subjects
are concerned. You undoubtedly* have not
forgotten the origin of my antipathy for that
hateful tree, which should never be admitted
into pleasure-grounds ! On passing the shop
of Lemonnier, that famous artist in hair,
and examining the frames exposed in his
window, have you not seen that melancholy
shrub figure, beside "yews and cypresses, and
shading with its tearful tresses these mourn-
ful words : lie was a ijood husband and father.
To our angel ! It is a tree suited only to a cem-
etery, and standing here on this turf, it annoys,
it worries me."

"What a foolish idea," said I ; "meanwhile
I will promise to say a word on the subject to
Gilbert the gardener ; we will see when he
comes whether he may not be able to remove
it."

At evening, when Madame Gilbert returned
from the fields, bringing on her shoulder her
cow's supper, I invited her to rest a moment
as she was passing the garden gate, and
informed her, that she might mention it to
her husband, of the desire expressed by my
wife.

"Madame is in the right," said she to me,
" and she is not mistaken in her suppositions.
They took very good care not to tell you when
you hired the house ; the proprietor, M. Roux,
forbade us to do so, but there is indeed some
one buried there, and, with her apprehensions,
your wife is nearer the truth than you thought
for. That turf and weeping willow conceal a
tomb!"

You will easily imagine how astonished I
was at this unexpected revelation.

We had come into the country to avoid the
gloomy sights of the city, especially to flee
from the spectacle of all those human miseries
so little calculated to divert even the most
philosophical, in that vast ant-hill of which
the great Parisian society is composed.

And we had encountered precisely what wo
wished to avoid ; we were, without having

380

godey's lady's book and magazine.

suspected it, the guests of Death ; our garden
was but a cemetery, our villa a funeral lodge
standing in the midst of it, like those inhab-
ited by the hired guardians of our burying-
grounds. When our child, trying his new-
born powers, was rolling about this thick turf,
so green, so studded with white daisies, 0
horror ! 0 sacrilegious profanation ! it was
over a sepulchre, over a cold corpse that, with
his rattle in his hand, this dear little creature
was playing ! You will imagine that nothing
more was necessary, not to speak of the water
of the well from which we drank, and for the
suspicious taste of which I thought I could
now account, to induce us to remove imme-
diately.

"But this is an act of bad faith on the part
of the proprietor," said I to Madame Gilbert.
"It is sufficient to cancel the bargain, for
people will not endure such impositions. Who
is buried there?" added I; "a criminal, a
suicide ! a miscreant who died without con-
fession and could not be buried in consecrated
ground?"

"Not exactly," replied my interlocutor,
"it is the former proprietress of the pavilion,

Madame V , the aunt of a famous painter,

I have been told, whose fine battle pieces
Gilbert saw at the museum at Versailles one
day when the grand fountains were playing."

" Has this person been dead long ?"

" About five years, I think. Yes, five years
at the approaching plum season."

"And why was she not buried, like other
people, in the village cemetery ?"

Madame Gilbert turned, and casting a sly
glance to the right and left as if to see whether
any one could hear what she was about to say,
replied : —

"Madame V was a strong-minded wo-
man, a philosopher, I have been told. You
know there are often such in artists' families.
She died at the age of eighty-six. In her
youth, before the first revolution, she had
been acquainted with many celebrated writers
whom she often quoted and whose works she
knew by heart ; one M. Voltaire, who was a
native of the village of Chatenay, near here ;
a certain Rousseau, Messieurs Dident, d'Alem-
bert, and many others whose names I do not
remember, although they were incessantly in
her mouth. An amiable little woman she
was, too, lively, witty, agreeable ; charitable
to the poor, and much beloved by our peasants,
whom she never hesitated to assist by her

counsels or her purse. But when she died,
scarcely bent by age, still coquettish, reading
the newspaper daily without spectacles, it
was yonder, there, beneath that arbor of honey-
suckles, that she seatedherself every morning ;
and I see her still, with her white sun-bonnet
and farthingale of puce-colored silk, she
wished to remain faithful to her principles,
and as she did not believe in much of anything,
never went to mass, entertained the curate
only, as she laughingly said, in hopes to con-
vert him, left a will in which, by a formal
clause, she requested to be buried in her own
garden, beside these eglantines which she had
herself set out and whose roses she loved to
cultivate. Her heirs fulfilled her last wishes,
and when M. Roux bought the property the
obligation was imposed on him that he should
respect this little nook of land."

"Well, it is a disagreeable condition, and
if the house and garden were to be sold again
I would not buy them at any price. Mean-
while, I enjoin it upon you not to say a word
of all this to my wife. I know her ; if she
should ever learn the least thing which could
confirm her in her suspicions, she would not
remain at Verrieres one hour. As for me, I am
going to Paris to have a talk with the pro-
prietor."

As I was going without even returning to
the house to engage a place in the carriage of
Barbu, a stage with ten seats which then
made regular trips to the city, chance willed
it that I should encounter on the way Father
Michel, our baker, the deputy-mayor of the
commune. I naturally related to him my
dissatisfaction and the step I was about to
take.

Father Michel was an excellent man ; he
held me in great esteem, bec;;u ;e that before
having established myself at Verrieres, I had
often made him a present of the game I had
killed in that vicinity.

"It is useless for you to go to Paris," said he
to me ; "on Saturday last, at the request of
M. Roux himself, the municipal council de-
cided to exhume Madame V , and transfer

her remains to the neighboring cemetery.
You will imagine that the interests of a pro-
prietor would prevail over the postnumous
request of an old woman. The ceremony
will take place at noon to-morrow. You will
therefore do well to take your wife to Paris this
very evening, and not return till the day after.

I immediately returned to Gilbert and gave

A GHOST STORY.

381

him my instructions. Calculating that an
absence of twenty-four hours would be very
short, I resolved (this was Monday) not to
return till the following Saturday. It was
agreed between the gardener and myself that
-hould remove, with the greatest eare, all
the turf covering the grave, replace it as care-
fully, levelling it so that his labor should not
appear.

Five minutes afterwards, I had Invented a
plausible excuse for the necessity of an imme-
diate departure, which was nothing less than
a serious indisposition of my mother, and at
four o'clock we left the house, taking with us
our entire family.

After passing a few 'lavs in the capital, we
returned to our little villa. In the mean
time I had been officially informed that the
removal of the body had taken place, and the
turf so ingeniously replaced as to leave no
trace of the operation. The letter, which
came from Father Michel, announced to me at
the same time, by way of postscript, that my
senco on the following Saturday was indis-
pensable at Verrieres, as the moon would then
be at the full, and a whole family of weasels
had been discovered, whose urgent destruction
imperiously called for my devotions, that is
to say, some hours of watching passed in the
forest at night.

At nine o'clock, therefore, on the evening
of my return, I set out in search of my
weasels. The weather was magnificent and
the moon at the full. No night could have
been more propitious, nevertheless my vigils
were vain, for no sign of a weasel appeared, and
after waiting till midnight I returned home.

I was but twenty paces from the house,
whose white walls, illuminated by the rays of
the moon, stood out from the dark ground of
the thickets behind it, and was about to turn
around the group of Bengal roses decorating
its/acarfe, when, casting my eyes mechanically
towards the six feet of turf which, three days
before, still covered the sepulchre of Madame

V . I remained petrified, immovable, dumb

with fear and horror.

Beneath the weeping willow which formerly
shaded the tomb, stood, wrapped in its shroud,
the spectre of the departed. It was not an
optical illusion, nor a hallucination of my dis-
turbed mind. The phantom seemed to be
awaiting me, waving its arms as if trying to
disengage them from its white shroud ; and
while its head reached to the uppermost

branches of the tree, its feet, nimbly agitating,
hovered over, rather than touched the ground.
They seemed to be making ineffectual effoi

to detach themselves entirely and advance to

meet me.

A shudder of indescribable terror ran over
me, and though not cowardly by nature, a
cold sweat stood on my forehead. 1 tried to
speak, but could not utter a word; I tried I i
walk, but my limbs refused to obey my will.
At last, .imagining myself to be the object of
some trick, I adjured the spirit to speak,
threatening to fire upon it unless it answered
my challenge.

I had scarcely uttered this threat when a
Hash of lightning, the first indication of an
approaching storm, illuminated the whole
garden, and amid a gust of wind, which en-
veloped me in a whirlwind of dust, the
phantom disappeared. This time I could not

doubt that it was the shade of Madame V .

suddenly vanishing before my eyes, in order
to save tie- a second profanation more sacrile-
gious than the first.

Shall I confess it ? I crossed myself, and
clearing in a few leaps without daring to turn
my eyes in the direction of the well, the
distance which still separated me from the
pavilion, I rushed, more dead than alive, into
the bedchamber where my wife was quietly
reposing.

I was very careful not to awaken her, and
especially not to tell her of my nocturnal
adventure ; but a violent clap of thunder ren-
dered useless the precautions which I ha I
taken to make as little noise as possible on
entering.

" Ah ! it is you, my love," said she to me.
"You did well to return; I have been op-
pressed by a bad dream ; light the candle, I
beg, and see if all is right about the house."

The night was terrible, and I never knew a
more frightful storm. The disorder of the
elements impressed me the more vividly that,
in my state of mind, it seemed to be in con-
Bequence of my vision ; and when day ap-
peared and the tempest abated, I had not
succeeded in closing my eyes.

I arose and dressed to take a turn in the
garden ; but at the moment of crossing the
threshold of the door, I was so overcome that
I retraced my steps, resolved not to visit the
theatre of action until, after breakfast, my
wife and myself could go together and see the
ravages of the storm.

3S2

godey's lady's book and magazine.

As the cook came to pour out tea for us in
the dining-room, Rosalie, the child's nurse,
whose first duty every morning was to fill the
fountain, entered. She held in her hand a
bundle of wet linen.

"Ah, madame, I have been fortunate," said
she to my wife. "Look, I brought these from
the well in drawing my first bucket of water."

"What are they?" asked my wife.

"The clothes of the little one which I had
hung out to dry last night on the weeping
willow at the edge of the well ; the wind blew
so in the night that they fell in ; fortunately
they caught on the handle of the lower
bucket."

In spite of myself I burst into a fit of mad
laughter, to the great amazement of my wife,
who vainly questioned me on the subject of
my unaccountable hilarity.

I had the secret of the enigma. But I will
confess, and more than one strong mind would
doubtless have shared my weakness, I be-
lieved for an instant in ghosts.

GOOD TEMPER.

It is not within the domestic circle only that
good temper should be exercised ; it is an in-
valuable possession even amongst the more
distant connections of social life. It is a pass-
port with all into their esteem and affection.
It gives a grace to the plainest countenance,
and to the fairest is an ornament, which
neither time nor disease will destroy. Every
day of life teems with circumstances by which
it may be exercised and improved. Towards
the husband, it is manifested by forbearance,
when he is irritated and vexed ; and by sooth-
ing, comforting, and supporting him when
under the pressure of deeper and more afflict-
ing troubles. It is shown towards children
and servants by willingness to promote their
enjoyments, while superiority is mildly but
steadily exerted to keep them in proper sub-
jection. It is exhibited in every direction,
by unwillingness to offend ; by not opposing
our own opinions and pleasures to the preju-
dices of others ; and it is above all demon-
strated by the cheerful, even tenor. of spirits
that dwells within the well-governed mind,
and which renders it happy almost in spite of
vexations and sorrows.

The concluding sentence of Fenelon' s ' ' Tele-
machus" is worth storing in our memory:

"Above all things be on your guard against
your temper. It is an enemy that will ac-
company you everywhere to the last hour of
your life. If you listen to it, it will frustrate
all your designs. It will make you lose the
most important opportunities, and will inspire
you with the inclinations and aversions of a
child, to the prejudice of your gravest interests.
Temper causes the greatest affairs to be de-
cided by the most paltry reasons ; it obscures
every talent, paralyzes every energy, and
renders its victims unequal, weak, vile, and
insupportable."

FRIENDSHIP'S WHISPERS.

BT ANNIE M. BEACH.

Come sit beside me here, sweet friend,

This quiet afternoon,
While sinks the sun, and up the east

Walketh the white-veiled moon ;

And we will talk of other hours,

The friends we used to know,
The (lowers that bloomed, the birds that sung,

In sunny "long ago."

We were but children in those hours,

Ten summers scarce liave fled,
Yet childhood friends and childhood dreams

We number with the dead.

And year by year, as on we pass,

Some idol turns to dust,
And to our hearts a coldness creeps,

Unlike our childhood's trust.

Tet, friend of mine, our maidenhood
HatU glad, bright visions too ;
' And for the old-time sweetness, gone,
God gives to us the new.

We are too young to sing the song

Of happiness' decay ;
Oh let us rather gather up

The blossoms on the way,

And twine a fadeless, fragrant wreath,
While bright are summer's bowers,

To deck the altar of the heart
When winter-time is ours.

Thy songs, though sweet, have made me sad ;

They paint no future bright ;
I mind me half to hid thee gaze

Upon my own, to-night,

And see my gilded castle rise

In hope's pure, blessed sheen,
Which lightens up the years that lie

Along the path between.

Cheer up, cheer up, and string thy harp

Unto a gladder tune,
Nor sing December melodies

In rosy time of June.

NOVELTIES EOR APRIL.

HEADDRESSES, COIFFURE, CAP, COLLAR, SLEEVE, AND JACKET.

Fig. 1. — A headdress of lilac velvet petu-
nias, with groups of palm leaves ; a double
chain of gutta percha is carried round the

head ; in front, among the palm leaves, is an
enamelled blue and green golden serpent.
Fig. 2. — A Louis XV. wreath, made with

383

384

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Malmaison roses, buds, and foliage, tied with
a green satin and black velvet bow. This
headdress is in two parts ; the large ehaplet
is placed upon the forehead, and the second,
which is tied with ribbon, is arranged at the
side.

Fig. 3. — A black velvet headdress, with
gold ornaments ; a mother-of-pearl butterfly
at the side ; a tuft of marabout feathers span-
gled with mother-of-pearl in front.

Fig. 4. — A headdress, composed with dark
red velvet, which is formed into a large pansy
in front, with a gold ornament in its centre ;
a tuft of white feathers at the side.

Fig. 5. — A headdress, composed with large
blue velvet pansies, with gold and mother-of-
pearl hearts ; brown and gilt leaves.

Fig. 6. — A wreath of white forget-me-nots,
with moss-roses, buds, and foliage at the side
and back.

Fig. 7. — Evening coiffure for a young lady.
The front hair is arranged over quite a high
cushion, with sprays of lilies-of-the-valley fo-
liage falling over it. The back hair is in
waterfall style, round which is twisted a thick
plait.

Fig. 8.

Fig. 8. — White piqug jacket, braided with
black rjohair braid.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

385

Fig. 9. — Breakfast-cap, made of tliiu white
muslin. It is trimmed with a niching, with

Pig. 9.

a worked edge, and a box-plaited band which
crosses it and forms streamers.

FiK. 10

Fig. 10. — The spring style for collar and
sleeve. Made of linen, trimmed with a narrow
fluted ruffle.

CROCHET TULIP BAO.
This small bag need not be made of any ex-
pensive material, and therefore Alpine pink
and a middle shade of green single Berlin
wool can be used, with the edges worked in
gold twine. If, however, it is made for a
purse, then middle size netting silk and fine
gold twist shonld be substituted.
vol. lxviii. — 31

A small steel tassel, Penelope needle No. 3,
and 2 yards of fine wire will be required.

The Tulip, 1st Petal — Commence with the
pink wool, *, make 31 chain ; and for the

1st or centre round — Turn, miss 3, 23 treble,
3 plain, turn, 1 chain to cross, and up the
other side ; and for the

2d round — 6 plain, 17 treble, 2 treble in 1
stitch, 1 treble (2 treble in one, 5 times), turn,
and down the other side, 1 treble, 2 treble in
one, 17 treble, 6 plain, 1 single on the 1 chain
that crosses ; and for the

3d round — 1 single, 8 plain, 15 treble, 2 treble
in one, 2 treble, 2 treble in one, 1 treble (2
treble in one, 4 times), 1 treble, 2 treble in
one, 2 treble, 2 treble in one, 15 treble, tt

386

godey's lady's book and magazine.

plain, 1 single. Repeat from * 5 times more,
join on the gold twist or silk, and work 1 sin-
gle on the 1st plain stitch of the 1st petal;
then work round the six petals thus —

The Edge round — Take the wire and work it
under the stitches, 25 plain (2 plain in one,
and 1 plain, 8 times), 2 plain in one, ** 25
plain, 1 single, then up the next petal, 1 sin-
gle on the 1st stitch, 5 plain, join to the Oth
stitch of the 1st petal, counting from the last
stitch, 6 plain, join to the 6th stitch of the
1st petal, always counting from the last join-
ing, 7 plain, join to the 7th stitch of the 1st
petal, 6 plain (2 plain in one, and 1 plain,
8 times), 2 plain in one. Repeat from ** 4
times more ; then to make it round, 6 plain,
join to the 19th stitch of the 1st petal, 7
plain, join to the 12th stitch of the 1st petal,
6 plain, join to the 6th stitch of the 1st petal,
5 plain, 1 single ; cut off the wire, twisting
the ends together to secure it, work along the

ends of the petals (3 chain and 1 plain in the
1 chain between the petals, 6 times), (1 chain,
and 1 plain in the 3 chain, 6 times). Fasten
off.

For the Lining — Commence with the green
wool or silk, work 114 chain, make it round
by working a treble stitch in the 1st chain
stitch.

1st round — 2 chain, miss 2, 1 treble. Repeat
all round, and work 19 rounds more the same,
join on the gold.

21s! round — 7 chain, miss 2, and 1 plain in
the 2 chain. Repeat all round.

2'2d round — 7 chain, miss 7, 1 plain in the 7
chain. Repeat, and fasten off. With a needle
and silk draw the foundation round close, and
sew it to the inside of the last round of the
flower ; sew on the tassel, and tack the last
joining of each petal to the 7th round of the
lining ; then make a chain for the strings and
run them in the last green round.

INITIAL LETTERS FOE NETTING.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

387

HARLEQUIN TOILET-TABLE MAT.

These pretty mats are made with great
facility, and as there could scarcely he found
a house in which many little fragments of
Bilks and ribbons are not occasionally thrown
away, we have thought that so easy an appli-
cation which at the same time could produce
articles which are both useful and ornamental
for the toilet-table would prove generally
acceptable.

centre of the mat, which is covered with a
handsome gilt button, which niu<t be fiat, BO
as not to affect the standing of any article
which may be placed upon the mat. This
being done, it only remains for the mat to be
lined. Introducing a round piece of card-
board gives firmness to the work ; this is done
by tacking the lining on to one the required
size, before sewing it round the edge of the
mat.

We have not yet spoken of the mat colors,

In the first place, cut a round as large as
you desire your mat to he, in any strong ma-
terial of rather a dark color, and tack the raw
edge down on the wrong side ; then take your
little pieces of silk or ribbon, and having cut
them to the size which accompanies our illus-
tration, gather them across their rounded
edge, draw them up into the required form,
and fasten them down in a regular row all
round the edge of the foundation, making the
scallop extend beyond. Having completed
this outer row, commence again just within
it, laying the next row so as to cover the
stitches of the last, and so continue with suc-
cessive circles until you come quite to the

because these may he determined either by
taste or convenience. The effect is extremely
good when the colors are arranged in rows,
but this is not necessary; in fact, every piece
may be of a different color, if care be taken
that each contrasts well with the neighboring
parts.

AUTOGRAPH BEDQUILT.
The autograph bedquilt is made by obtain-
ing the signatures of friends or relatives writ-
ten upon pieces of white material. These
pieces may be square, octagon, round, dia-
mond, or heart shaped, or indeed cut into any

388

godey's lady's book, and magazine.

form to suit the taste of the maker. After
they are cut they should be strained tightly
over a card, to make a smooth, even surface
for the writing, which should be done in in-
delible ink. Muslin, linen, or silk can be

used, the silk being the handsomest, while
the linen makes the best surface for the sig-
nature. The cards may be sent by mail to
friends at a distance.

After the names are written, the white

pieces can be either sewed down upon, or set
into, squares of colored material, and these
squares, sewed together, form the quilt.

In quilting, select such a pattern as will
leave the name free from the quilting stitches.

Smaller pieces of white silk (with the au-

tographs written in miniature), alternated
with colored silk, and made into a pincushion
or sofa cushion make a very pretty album of
affection.

For a more extended notice, see Editors'
Table, page 396.

ALPHABET OF FANCY LETTERS.

<Y 4

WORK HEPARTMEXT.

389

AUMONIERE GIRDLE.

This girdle can be made of either black or a
fancy colored silk, and trimmed with black

between ; chain five again, and loop in the
same way on the next stitch ; turn, and chain
nine ; loop in. chain five, loop in, chain throe,
and work ten double stitches ; loop into the

g3g^m^ft®3&fr&$^^k

*&<M?fr<SMlV

velvet with a white edge and narrow guipure
lace. The pocket is merely large enough to
contain the pocket handkerchief. The band
is fastened round the waist, and the bag is
suspended from it on the left side.

TIDY IN CROCHET.
{See Plate printed in Colors, in front.)
The great variety of patterns which can be
produced by the means of cotton and a crochet
needle are almost endless, and give this work
a continued newness. It is applicable to so
many purposes, and possesses so much dura-
bility, that these recommendations make it
continue in favor longer than most other kinds
of fancy work. Our illustration is a portion
of a tidy formed of stars. To those young
ladies who are expert in the use of the crochet
needle an illustration is a sufficient guide ;
but for those who have not had much prac-
tice in this sort of work, we will endeavor to
make the explanations as simple as possible,
so that, with the double assistance, they can-
not fail in being successful in the undertaking.
Make a chain of twenty-four stitches; join
this into a ring, on which work twelve loops
in double crochet in every other stitch, with
one chain between ; in three or four places,
make two chain between, to allow the circle
to increase. Having done this, work twelve
chain, turn, and work ten double loops in the
chain ; then loop in with one stitch of double
crochet into the first division of the centre,
turn, chain nine ; loop in with a double stitch
in the seventh stitch of the last row ; chain
five, loop in with double stitch, leaving one

31*

next division of the centre, and continue to
repeat these rows until there are twelve points
to the star. When the twelve leaves are fin-
ished, work the cotton up the side, and form
another point, which completes the star. Make
a sufficient number of these stars, and unite

390

godey's lady's book and magazine.

them together at every two points ; this will
form a sis-sided star ; about eleven on each
side will make a good sized square. Finish
with a rich fringe knotted into each point of
the stars, all round the outside edge. This
will he found a very pretty and useful orna-
ment.

GENTLEMAN'S CROCHET SILK BRACES.

Make a chain of 150 stitches with the cerise.
1st row. — Work a stitch of double crochet,
make a chain, miss 1 loop, repeat. 2d. — Turn,

make 1 chain, work a stitch of double crochet
into the chain of last row, make 1 chain, re-
peat. Every row is alike. Work 2 rows ot
cerise, 2 of black, 2 of cerise, 2 of maize, 2 of
cerise, 2 of black, 2 of cerise, 2 of maize, 2 of
cerise, 2 of black, and 2 of cerise ; this com-
pletes the brace. The crochet should not be
done too tightly, as a little elasticity is de-
sirable. When finished, the lengths left at
the end of the rows must be neatly run in,
and some kid brace ends, that are kept ready
for the purpose, stitched on. No lining is
required, both sides of the work being exactly
alike. These braces are most durable.

INITIAL LETTER FOR MARKING.

NAME FOR MARKING.

EMBROIDERY.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

NEW EMBROIDERY PATTERNS.

PREPARED AT THE ESTABLISHMENT OP W. CAMERON,

No. 228 North Eighth Street, Philadelphia.

^_o^o o o o

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391

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rSITIAL MONOGRAMS.

392

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Receipts, #r.

ADVICE TO HOUSEKEEPERS.

If our ancestors made domestic occupations too exclu-
sively the aim of female education, it may be truly said
that the present generation has fallen as unwisely into
the contrary extreme. It is indeed a very common, but
a very erroneous supposition, that attention to culinary
affairs is unnecessary in a gentlewoman ; yet there can be
no question that elegance, comfort, social enjoyment, and,
it may be added, health, materially depend upon atten-
tion to the table ; and the prudent management of her
family ought to be considered an important object amongst
the duties of every lady when she marries.

There are comparatively few persons among the middle
classes of society who can afford to keep professed cooks,
their wages being too high, and their methods too extra-
vagant. In such cases a plain cook is alone attainable,
who knows little beyond the commonest operations of the
kitchen. The mistress ought therefore to make herself so
far acquainted with cookery as to be competent to give
proper directions for dressing a dinner, and having it
properly served up.

Perhaps there are few points on which the respecta-
bility of a man is more immediately felt, than the style of
dinner to which he may accidentally bring home a visitor.
If the dishes be well served, with the proper accompani-
ments, the table-linen clean, the sideboard neatly laid,
aud all that is necessary be at hand, the comfort of both
husband and friend will be increased by the usual domestic
arrangements not having been interfered with.

Hence the direction of a table is no inconsiderable
branch of a lady's duties, as it involves judgment in ex-
penditure, respectability of appearance, and the comfort
of her husband as well as those who partake of their hos-
pitality. Inattention to it is always inexcusable, and
should be avoided for the lady's own sake, as it occasions
a disagreeable degree of bustle and evident annoyance to
herself, which is never observable in a well-regulated
establishment. In doing the honors of her table, the
taode of carving is also of importance, and will be treated
01* in a future number.

The mode of covering the tahlediScrs according to taste.
It is not the multiplicity of dishes, but the choice, the
dressing, aud the neat look of the whole, which give an
air of refinement to a table. There should always be more
than the necessary quantity of plate, or plated ware, and
glass, to afford a certain appearance of elegance; and these,
with a clean cloth and neatly dressed attendant, will show
that the habits of the family are those of gentility. For a
small party, or a tte-a-t te, adumb waiter is a convenient
contrivance, as it partly saves the attendance of servants.
The cruets should be looked to and filled every day an
hour before dinner ; and much trouble and irregularity
are saved, when there is company, if servants are accus-
tomed to prepare the table aud sideboard in similar order
every day. Too many or too few dishes are extremes not
uncommon: the former encumbering the dinner with a
superfluity which partakes of vulgarity, whilst the latter
has the appearance of poverty or penuriousness.

In all situations of life the entertainment should be no
less suited to the station than to the fortune of the enter-
tainer, as well as to the number of those invited. If the
arrangements of the table be properly studied, a degree of
elegance is attainable under all circumstances, however
economical; and the plainest fare, if carefully dressed,

may be made to furnish dishes which every one will eat
with relish.

Should there be only a joint and a pudding, they should
always be served up separately ; and the dishes, however
small the party, should always form two courses. Thu?,
in the old-fashioned style of entertaining a couple of
friends with "fish, soup, and a roast," the soup and fish
should be placed at the top and bottom of the table, re-
moved by the joint with vegetables and pastry ; or, should
the company consist of eight or ten, a couple or more of
side dishes in the first course, with game and a pudding
in the second, accompanied by confectionery, would be
sufficient.

In most of the books which treat of cookery, various
bills of fare are given, which are never exactly followed.
The mistress should select those dishes which are most in
season. For a small party a single light in the centre is
sufficient ; but for a larger number the room should be
well lighted.

The mistress of a family should never forget that the
welfare and good management of the house depend on the
eye of the superior ; and, consequently, that nothing is
too trifling for ber notice, whereby waste may be avoided
or order maintained. If she has never been accustomed,
while single, to think of family management, let her not
upon that account fear that she cannot attain it ; she may
consult others who are more experienced, and acquaint
herself with the necessary quantities, quality, and prices
of the several articles of expenditure in a family, in pro-
portion to the number it consists of. The chief duties of
life are within the reach of humble abilities, and she
whose aim is to fulfil them, will rarely ever fail to acquit
herself well. United with, and perhaps crowning all, the
virtues of the female character, is that well directed duc-
tility of mind which occasionally bends its attention to
the smaller objects of life, knowing them to be often
scarcely less essential than the greater.

MISCELLANEOUS COOKING.

Spiced Beef. — This is an excellent dish for either lun-
cheon or breakfast, and is generally eaten cold. It can be
made from either the round, brisket, or rump of beef, but
ribs are the most tender eating. Procure, therefore, from 2
eight to ten pounds of the ribs of beef— those which have
a good amount of fat upon them are the best — remove the
bone, rub the meat well with one ounce of saltpetre
pounded very finely, and three hours after this has been
applied, rub on one-half pound of moist sugar; let the
meat lay in this for two days, then take one ounce of
ground pepper, one-half ounce of pounded mace, a few
cloves likewise well pounded, and a teaspoonful of cayenne
pepper. Mix all these ingredients well, and rub them
well into the beef, particularly into the holes, adding
occasionally a little salt. Roll up the meat as a round,
and bind it with a strong fillet. Chop some shred suet
very finely, and cover the beef with it, and bake it in a
moderately heated oven from five to six hours. Whilst
baking it may be placed either upon a meat tin, or in an
earthen jar as nearly of its size as possible. In both cases
there should be a cupful of gravy or water under the meat
to prevent it from burning ; if a jar is used there should
be a cover to it.

To make Pea Son*. — To four quarts of water, put in
one quart of split peas, three slices of lean bacon (or a
ham bone if at hand), and some roast beef bones, one head
of celery, one turnip, and two carrots, cut into small
pieces, a little Bait and pepper; let all these simmer
gently until the quantity is reduced to two quarts. Run

RECEIPTS.

393

it through a cullender, with a wooden spoon, mix a Uttlo
fluur in water, and boil it well with the soup, aud slico
in another head of celery, adding cayenne popper, ltUl' a
lull*.' mere Bait. Fry slices of bread in some butter until
[they assume a light brown color, cut them into small
Mgnares, and baud them with the soup, as well as a small
dishful of powdered dried sage.

, Carrot Socp.— Take six or eight full-grown carrots,
■crape them clean, and rasp only the outer rind, or soft
red part, aud if you have a ripe tomato, add it, sliced, to
the raspiugs, but use no other vegetable except onions.
While this is being done, the broth of any kind of fresh
meat which has been got ready should be heated and
Masoned with a couple of onions fried in butter, but
without pepper, or any other kind of seasoning, except a
■mail quantity of mace and a little salt ; put the raspings
into two quarts of the skimmed broth, cover the stewpan
close, and let it simmer by the side of the fire for two or
lhr«f hoars, by which time the raspings will have become
/■oft enough to be pulped through a fine sieve ; after
which the soup should be boiled until it is as smooth as
jelly, for any curdy appearance will spoil it.
. To C&iSP Parslet. — Pick some bunches of young
aarsley, wash them very clean in cold water, drain them,
And swing them about in a clean cloth until they are
quite dry. Place them upon a sheet of writing-paper in
i Dutch oven, and lay it before a brisk fire, keeping the
Jsprigs frequently turned until they are quite cri6p. In
i&ix or eight minutes they will be ready.

ErMp of Beef Stew. — Half-roast it ; then put it into a
pot with three pints of water, a pound of sliced bacon, a
Jbnnch of sweet herbs, two wine-glasses of vinegar, and a
{bottle of cider or small wine ; stick cloves into a couple
•of large onions, add a few sage leaves, and cover the
Jbeef closely, adding more water should there not be suffi-
rient gravy firom the meat. Let it simmer for three hours ;
then strain the gravy. Boil or bake some button onions,
Wnd lay them round the beef; cover it also with forcemeat-
Alls, fried ornaments of paste, and mushrooms, if in
.son ; add to the gravy a glass of port wine, a spoonful
f sauce ; boil down a part to a glaze, and put it on the
jbeef; thicken the remainder if necessary, and pour it
irouod, garnishing the dish with pickles.
. Loin op Mrrros Roasted. — Take off the skin and 6ome
»f the fat ; joint it, and skewer it from the flap into the fillet ;

J' hen put the spit through the chump, and the 6kewer at
he thin end will secure the joint in its place ; roast for
[one and a half hour.

1 To Stew a Loin of MriTox. — Bone a loin of well-hung
mutton ; take off the skin, and remove the fat from the
inside ; put it into a stewpan, with broth enough to cover
it, and let it stew gently till it becomes of a good brown
icolor ; add a glass of port wine, a large spoonful of
unnshroom ketchup, and some vegetables cut in shapes, or
istewed beans.

I To Mash Parsnips. — Boil them tender; rub the skin
loff; then mash them into a stewpan with a little cream,
a good piece ot butter, pepper and salt.
j To Fricassee Parsnips — Scrape them ; boil in milk till
,they are soft ; then cat them lengthwise into bits two or
[three inches long, and simmer in a white sauce, made of
itwo spoonsful of broth, a bit of mace, one-half a cupful of
'cream, a bit of butter, and some flour, pepper, and salt.

Pr/LLED Bread. — It is made by pulling away in small
pieces half-baked dough ; then placing these pieces sepa-
rately on a well-floored tin, and baking them In a quick
oven until they assume a light-brown color. They are

excellent when crisp and freshly made, and can be eaten
witli b utter as well as with cheese.

HaoOaBOOT, — Boll it in milk, or a weak veal broth,
pretty well flavored with salt. When tender, put it into
a dish without the liquor, aud among it put some bits of
butter and gruUd rlnvM', and over the top grate more, aud
a Utile more butter. Set the dish into a Dutch oven a
quarter of au hour, but do not let the top become hard.

SAUCES.

Sacce for Game or Poultry. — Pat into a stewpan and
set on a slow fire a quarter of a pint of white wine, a
tables poo nful of vinegar, three tablespoonfulsof olive oil,
a bunch of sweet herbs, and spice to taste. Add to the
whole some good gravy, and serve hot.

MELTED Bctter. — Flour the butter and put it into a
saucepan with a little milk, stirring it carefully one way
till it boils. Salt and pepper to taste. Another way is,
make it with butter, flour, and a little water, with mil
and pepper.

Onion Sacce. — Boil the onions until tender, changing
the water occasionally to render them more mild. Strain,
and mash the onions in a bowl, adding butter and salt.
Warm up again and mix the whole thoroughly.

EiKi Sauce. — Boil the eggs very hard ; when taken up,
throw them into cold water ; take off the shells, aud chop
the eggs rather fine ; have ready your melted butter, into
which throw them ; ifeat it well and serve.

CAKES, PUDDINGS, ETC.

Water Cakes. — Two eggs beaten very lightly, one pint
of cold water, one teaspoouful of salt, flour to make it as
thick as fritters, bake half an hour in a hot oven ; eat
with butter ; bake in little tins filled full.

Composition Cake. — Six eggs, three cups of sugar, two
cups of butter, one of milk, one glass of brandy or Wine,
one nutmeg, one pound of raisins, six cups of flour, one
teaspoonful of soda ; beat whites separately.

To make Cream Pancakes. —Take the yolks of two
eggs, mix them with half a pint of good cream, two ounces
of sugar ; rub your pan with lard, aud fry them as thin as
possible, grate sugar over them, and serve them up hot.

Qceen Cakes. — One pound each of flour, sugar, and
butter worked to a cream ; the yolks of five eggs, the
whites of ten. A few caraway and coriander seeds if
liked. They are best baked in small, well-buttered tins;
a few currants should be strewn in the bottom of each tin.
Half au hour in a^low oven is sufficient.

Kentish Fritters. — Beat up the whites of three eggs
and the yolks of six, with half a pound of flour, a cupful
of milk, and a large teaspoonful of yeast ; put the mixture
into a jug, cover it, and set it by the fire till the next day,
then add to the batter two large apples, finely chopped,
and fry the fritters as usual.

A Plain Cake. — Flour, three-quarters of a pound,
sugar, the same quantity ; butter, four ounces ; one eg^,
and two tablespoonfuls of milk. Mix all together and
bake.

Rice Blancmange.— Take one pint of new milk, add to
It two eggs well beaten, four spoonfuls of ground rice, two
spoonfuls of brandy ; grate a little nutmeg, Bweeten it to
your taste, boil it ; when near cold, put it into your mould ;
when quite cold, turn it out, mix a little sugar, cream and
nutmeg, and put round it In the dish ; garnish with red
currant jelly.

394

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Cheese Cream, a Plain Family Wat. — Put three pints
of milk to one half pint of cream, warm or according to
the same proportions, and put in a little rennet ; keep it
covered in a warm place till it is curdled ; have a mould
with holes, either of china or any other ; put the curds
into it to drain about an hour ; serve with a good plain
cream and pounded sugar over it.

Cocoa-nut Pudding. — Pare off the rind and wipe the
nut dry ; dissolve two ounces of sugar in a small teacup
of water. Boil the Eugar a few minutes, and add the
grated cocoa-nut; keep stirring the mixture until it
boils. When nearly cold, add the beaten yolks of three
eggs, a dessertspoonful of orange flower- water, awineglass-
ful of brandy, and a piece of butter the size of an egg.
Line the dish with pastry. Pour the mixture in ; bake it,
and sift sugar over it before serving.

To Make a French Pudding. — Take one quart of milk,
nine large tablespoonfuls of flour, and eight eggs. Beat
the eggs very light, adding gradually to them the flour
and the milk. Butter thoroughly a pan or some teacups,
pour in the mixture, and bake in a tolerably quick oven.

Apple Souffle, — Peel and cut two pounds of good
dressing apples, put them into a stewpau with four ounces
of loaf sugar, aud stew till tender. Separate the yolks
and whites of six eggs; beat the yolks with two ounces of
powdered loaf sugar, aud pour over them a pint of boiling
milk, stirring the whole time. Put this custard into a
basin, set the basin into a stewpau with a little boiling
water, cover it closely, aud let it steam till firm. Beat
the whites of the eggs into snow with a little more pow-
dered sugar. Put the apples into a dish, lay the custard
over, then pile up the snow high, shake powdered sugar
over, and bake in a quick oven till it is a fine light shade
of brown.

Vermicelli Pudding. — One tablespoonful of vermicelli,
four eggs (only one white), one pint of milk, two bay
leaves, sugar, lemon-peel, and nutmeg, to flavor it, Boil
the vermicelli a quarter of an hour in the milk. The
whole to be boiled one hour in the mould, or steamed.

MISCELLANEOUS.

To Extract Grease from S*lk. — Wet the part with eau
de cologne, and gently rub the silk upon itself between
the hands. When dry, the grease will disappear. This
will also remove recent paint, and the grease from a wax
candle.

To Clean Silk. — Quarter pound soft soap, one ounce

honey, one pint gin. Put on with a flannel, or nail brush,

and afterwards brushed with cold water, then dipped in

cold water five or six times, and hung out to drain, theu

- ironed (toet on the wroug side) with a hot irun.

To Remove Ink from Mahogany.— Dilute half a tea-
spoonful of oil of vitriol with a larger spoonful of water,
and apply it to the ink spot with a feather. Let it lie for
a few minutes, and rub it off quickly, and repeat it if not
removed. An excellent receipt.

Tooth Powder.— Take cream of tartar and chalk, of
each half an ounce ; myrrh, powdered, one drachm ; orris
root, powdered, half a drachm; puwdered bark, two
drachms. Mix altogether, and rub dowu to mass in a
mortar.

Milk Lemonade. — Dissolve three-quarters of a pound of
loaf sugar in one pint of boiling water, and mix with one
fill of lemon juice, and one gill of sherry ; then add three
gills of cold milk. Stir the whole well together, and
strain it.

To Prevent Contagion. — There is very little efficacy u
the employment of camphor and other similar substance^
in preventing the contagion of fevers. The best prophy-;
lactics are — general cleanliness, plenty of fresh air and
water, moderately good living, and cheerfulness of mind.
Chloride of lime is undoubtedly beneficial iu neutralizing
bad smells, and is especially antagonistic of the vapors oi
sulphuretted hydrogen ; but its power of destroying infec-
tion is more than doubtful.

A Cheap Filter. — Put a piece of sponge at the bottom
of a large flower-pot, and fill the pot three-quarters full
with clean, sharp sand and small pieces of charcoal, mixed
in equal parts. Lay upon this mixture a piece of linen!
or woollen cloth, so as to hangover the sides. The water!
poured through this will come out at the bottom clean and!
pure. The cloth must he kept clean, and the sand and[
charcoal, as well as the sponge, washed and occasionally
changed.

A Good Remedy. — Blistered feet from long walking-
Rub the feet, at going to bed, with spirits mixed with tal-
low, dropped from a lighted candle into the palm of tbei
hand.

The three following receipts will be found to make*
good and exceedingly cheap ink for common use: —

Slnck Ink. — One ounce of prussiateof potash, one ounce
of muriate of iron, and one quart of water.

Blue. Ink. — To the foregoing ingredients add a quarter
of an ouuee of oxalic acid.

Red Ink. — Take all the ingredients as stated above for
blue ink, aud add a quarter of an ounce of lake liquor.

For Warts. — Dissolve as much common washing soda
as the water will take up ; wash the warts with this for
a minute or two, and let them dry without wiping. An-
other way is to get a little bulluck's gall, and keep it in
a bottle ; rub a little on the warts two or three times a
day, and in a short time they will disappear.

Lip Salve. — Spermaceti ointment half an ounce, balsam
of Peru one quarter of a drachm. Mix. It is not couleur
de rose, but it will aire — often with but a single implica-
tion. Apply a thin coatiug with the forefinger just befora
going into bed.

CONTRIBUTED RECEIPTS.

Wine Cakes. — Half pound butter, half pound flour
three-quarters pound sugar, and two eggs ; beat well
together, and drop upon tins with a teaspoon. A few
chopped almonds is a great improvement. M. R.

Nick Soda Cake. — One pound flour, quarter pound
ground rice, half pound currants, half pouDd butter, half
pound sugar, quarter pound candied peel, and a teaspoon-
ful carbonate of soda. Mix with half a pint of cold milk
and two eggs. Bake two hours. E. L.

Improvement in Starching. — Take two ounces of white
gum Arabic powder, put it into a pitcher, and pour on it a
pint or more of boiling water (according to the degree of
strength required), and then having covered it let it stand
all night. The next day pour it carefully from the dregs
into a clean bottle, cork it and keep it for use. A table-
spoonful of this gum-water stirred into a pint of starch
that has been made iu the usual manner will give lawns
(either white, black, or printed) a look of newness when
nothing else can restore them after washing. It is also
good, much diluted, for thin white muslin and bobbinet.

I have constantly made starch in the manner described,
and always succeeded in making shirt-collars, etc., stiff
and glossy-looking. S. D.

fHiats' Call*.

BIBLE PHOTOGRAPHS OF WOMEN.

"MIRIAM, THE PBOPJtETESSt. "

"Sound the lond timbrel o'er Egypt's dark spa!
Jehovah has triumphed, end Israel is free."

Titf RihlchasawoDderful distinctness in its delineations
of tinman character. The Divine Light (of which the
effect of the Sun in limning the photograph seems a faint
Uwstration) produces by a single Impression, the charac-
Ifclsties of the man or woman who stands under it- beams
I iruth. We feel this power of holy inspiration,
and rest on its revcalings with, an assured conviction that
the likeness is true.

are not many women introduced in Bible history ;
those who are, touched by this Ithuriel spear, seem to
come like revelations of what God designed as the destiny
land duties of the feminine sex. Among these representa-
tive women, is one whose name is united with intellectual
powers and great deeds, surpassing all others <]■■
la. the old Testament, as sorely n- the evening -
shine* tier sisters of the sky — " MtrSaim the proph
■ The first glimpse we h&re of Miriam's remarkable in-
telligence and power of aiding the plans of Divine Prov-
idence, is when she, a little girt, watches the cradle of
^ier baby brother Moses, as be lies helplessly expos) 1 to
his fate among the reeds of the Nile. (Bxoduf, chap, ii.)
Was not Moses then, even in his helplessness, a strong
tower of faith and hope to that waiting girl, who must
have known that her people Inherited the promises, and
believed that the time of deliverance would surely come?
How she most have rejoiced when the babe was saved
sod adopted by Pharaoh's daughter! Bid not Joseph
become the ruler of all Egypt ? Might not her brother
thus raised to honor? and then the Hebrews
Would he free ! As Miriam" stood afar off, to witness what
would h.'come of him," and saw him saved ; did she not,
|a her young heart, "Sin.' to the Lord" in the triumph
pfher soul, and dedicate herself to him?

years had gone by since that scene on the banks
Nile. During these year- no lay of light had
broken the gloom of Egyptian bondage for the Hebrews.
\'o\v they are redeemed by the mercy of God, and. led by
ad free and triumphant over their
t'nemies, who have all perished in the Red Sea. What
memes for joy and gratitude to the Lord this wonderful
leliverance gave that ransomed people! "Tin- - i
Uses" aeems, even now, when reading it, to shoot the
praises of the ever-living and true God.
I It is the fitting time for the Hebrew heroine to come
*orth from the shadows of eighty years, since she, a little
Ijirl, watched the cradle of her brother Hoses. Bee her
■itand by his side, in the full radiance of her ■
womanhood, his helper: her name Joined with her
'irothers {Mioah iv. 4). "Moses, Aaron and Miriam," a*-
'(eaders of Israel : her assigned duty to he leader of the
1 romen : " JM <rophete98."

What honor was hers, as the light of divine truth
■tamped on the holy pages of God's Book an indelible
■holograph of that joyous thanksgiving of praise and
rlory to th*1 Lord God, when "Miriam the prophetess
ook a timbrel in her hand ; and all the women went ool
■fter her with timbrels and with dances." And Miriam

answered them, "Sing ye to the Lord, for He hath tri-
umphed gloriously ; the horse and his rider hath He ca t
int<> th.' ---'a ' "

Tes, Miriam, a devout worshipper of the true God,
bad kept her faith and hope in His promises; and now,
at the age of ninety years, she seems endowed with the
full powers of her mind and health, roost probably was
in the full possession of that oriental comeliness, "where
all that's best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and
her eyes." Ho Queen on her throne ever had such a
glorious triumph, as Miriam then enjoyed.

Another year goes by, and what a change has passed
over the character and condition of "Miriam, the pro-
Alas for the greatness of woman's mind, if
her heart is not right in the sight of God. This leader of
the women of Israel, this sister and helper of Moses, this
woman, whose magnificent presence was the prid<? and
glory of the whole host, whose counsel was the guid.-,
and example the pattern for her sex — has fallen from her
high estate! She has "spoken against" her brother Hoses;
sin has sinned against the Lord, and, by His command,
she is ■* shut out from the camp." Behold her there, un-
der tho rebuke of God, Miriam, Vie " leprous y white as
snoio!" {Numbers xii.)

The cause of this mournful calamity, involving Aarou,
the high priest, in its awful sin of attempting to degrade
his brother, and thus destroy or dishonor the authority of
God, who had appointed Bfoses as ruler of Israel, tl e
cause was in the feminine heart which craves love, the
kindred and household affections, as its sum of earthly
happiness. Miriam must have loved her brother Hoses
with the deep yearning of motherly tenderness, as well rs
with the sister's fond sympathy and pride in his greatness ;
and "he had married an Ethiopian woman."

It is a hard struggle for the loving mother to give up
the first place in the heart of her son, even to his beloved
and loving wife ; it is a Bore trial to the single sister, who
has clung to tho idea of her good brother's affection and
protection as her own tower of strength, to find a rival,
perhaps an inferior, or unsuitable woman, come as bis
tween the kindred ties, and sever him from his
Own family. But this appointment is from tho Lord:
"A man shall leave his lather and his mother aud cleave
to his wife; and they shall be one flesh." (Genesis ii. 24.)
Miriam should have considered this divine appointment,
and reflected that if her brother was not happily manned,
it was her duty to help him bear his burden of domestic
disappointment.

The wife of Moses does not. in truth, seem to have been
a congenial companion for him (Exodux iv.), or suited to
his condition, when the Lord exalted him from a fugitive
and a shepherd to be " a god to Pharaoh," and the deli-
verer of the Hebrews. Bnt these things did not make
void the Creator's primary law of marriage. Zlpporah
was the true wife of Hoses; and if Miriam, with hoc
wonderful gifts and influence, had brightened her brother's
lot with her cheering sympathy, and been submissive in
her duty to the Lord, what a portrait of perfect womanly
excellence she would have reflected on the mirror of tho
! ' Mow, there are Bpots on the son of her
f.mip, and her last photograph has left a warning for a'.i
her sex.

395

396

godey's lady's book and magazine.

THE AUTOGRAPH BEDQUILT.

Wb have lately received a pleasant letter from a young
lady of Rhode Island, who is forming a curious and val-
uable collection of autographs in an original and very
womanly way; the design is to iusert the names in a
counterpane or hedquilt.

Each autograph is written, with common black ink, on
a diamond shaped piece of white silk {placed over a
diagram of white paper and basted at the edges), each
piece the centre of a group of colored diamonds, formed in
many instances, from "storied" fragments of dresses
which were worn in the olden days of our country. For
instance, there are pieces of a pink satin dress which
flaunted at one of President Washington's dinner parties;
with other relics of those rich silks and stiff brocades so
fashionable in the last century.

The whole number of pieces required is 2780 ; of these,
556 are to contain autographs. The novel idea of the
quilt has found such warm favor in the hearts of those
whom the young Needle-artist has addressed, that she has
already obtained three hundred and ffty autographs,
many of these from men highly distinguished in the lite-
rary, political, scientific, and military history of the present
century. We will name a few of these renowned contri-
butors: Humboldt, Bunsen, Walter Savage Landor, Louis
Blanc, Kossuth, Washington Irving, Prescott, Benton,
Choate ; six American Presidents, viz., Van Buren, Tyler,
Filmore, Pierce, Buchanan, Lincoln: while many have
contributed, upon the little white silk diagram, charac-
teristic sentiments or verses. To give a specimen, one
poet has written this comforting distich : —

"Dream what thou wilt
Beneath this quilt,
My blessing still is — Yours,"

N. P. Willis.

In short, we think this . autograph hedquilt may be
called a very wonderful invention in the way of needle-
work. The mere mechanical part, the number of small
pieces, stitches neatly taken and accurately ordered ; the
arranging properly and joining nicely 27S0 delicate bits ,
of various beautiful and costly fabrics, is a task that
would require no small share of resolution, patience,
firmness, and perseverance. Then comes the intellectual
part, the taste to assort colors and to make the appearance
what it ought to be, where so many hundreds of shades
are to bo matched and suited to each other. After that we
rise to the moral, when human deeds are to live in names,
the consideration of the celebrities, who are to be placed
each, the centre of his or her own circle! To do this well
requires a knowledge of books and life, and an instinctive
sense of the fitness of things, so as to assign each name
its suitable place in this galaxy of stars or diamonds.

Notwithstanding the comprehensive design we are
attempting to describe, we have no doubt of its successful
termination. The letter of the young lady bears such
internal evidence of her capability, that we frel certain
she has the power to complete her work if her life is spared.
And when we say that she has been nearly eight years en-
gaged on this quilt, and seems to feel now all the enthusi-
asm of a poetical temperament working out a grand inven-
tion that is to be a new pleasure and blessing to the world,
we are sure all our readers will wish her success. Who
knows but that in future ages, her work may be looked at
like the Bayeux Tapestry, not only as a marvel of
women's ingenious and intellectual industry; but as
affording an idea of the civilization of our times, and also
giving a notion of the persons as estimated in history.

In the days of Queen Matilda, the great men could not

write even their names, and all that we can bring of those
old warriors to our minds is the style of their armor and the
shape of their lances. Now, when brain predominates in
the estimation of the world, over thrusts and blows, a
more fitting idea of carrying the illustrious to posterity is
a specimen of their hand-writing, particularly when this
is used to perpetuate any of their thoughts, and devoted
to the service of a lady.

We think our readers who have not time for such a
great undertaking as this photograph counterpane, might
make some interesting collections in a smaller way. A
young lady might, by limiting her plan to scores instead
of hundreds of names, soon obtain enough of these lettered
diamonds to make a sofa-cushion, a cover for a small
table, or some other ornamental design. For this purpose
we give a pattern illustrative of the form of the diagram
(see Work Table Department, page 3S7) ; this, with our
description, will, we trust, enable any lady who has a
love for the needle and the pen to achieve success.

A NEW POETESS.

Jj!an Ingelow, a young English woman, has, on her
first appearance in print, had the remarkable success ot
taking a high rank among British poets. The critics are
unanimous in her praises, and prophesy much for her
future. One reviewer calls her "the coming woman,"
and thinks she will excel even Miss Browning's poetic
genius. We consider her fervent piety, as she breathes out
her soul in adoration of God her Saviour, one uf the surest
indications that Jean Ingelow will sustain worthily the
high promise her productions have given. That she
resembles Miss Browning in this religious order of soul is
true ; and even excels her in the clearness and tenderness
of its expression, one short extract will show ; it is from
"Honors," in the poems lately published.

" And didst thou love the race that loved not Thee,
And didst thou take to heaven a human brow ?
Dost plead with man's voice by the marvellous sea?
Art thou his kinsman now t

0 God, 0 kinsman loved, hut not enough !

O man, with eyes majestic after death,
Whose feet have toiled along our pathway rough.
Whose lips drew human breath !

By that one likeness which is ours and thine,

By that one nature which doth hold us kin,
By that high heaven where, sinless, thou dost shine,
To draw us sinners in.

By thy last silence in the judgment hall.

By long foreknowledge of the deadly tree,
By darkness, by the wormwood and the gall,
I pray thee, visit me.

Come, lest this heart should, cold and cast away,

Die ere the guest adored she entertain —
Lest eyes that never saw thy earthly day

Should miss thy heavenly reign.

And deign, O watcher, with the sleepless brow,

Pathetic in its yearning — deign reply :
Is there, oh! is there ought that such as Thou

Wouldst take from si^ch as I ?

Are there no briers across thy pathway thrust ?

Are there no thorns that compass it about?
Nor any stones that thou wilt deign to trust
My hand to gather out?

Oh ! if thou wilt, and if such bliss might be,

It were a cure for doubt, regret,, delay —
Let my lost pathway go — what aileth me?
There is a better way.

Far better in its place the lowliest bird

Should sing aright to Him the lowliest song,
Than that a seraph strayed should take the word,
And sing His glory wrong."

editors' table.

397

LETTER WHITING.
VTe have had several Inquiries mado concerning the
best mode of letter writing, with the request for informa-
tion where to find the best book on the subject. The last
nary we cannot answer, as we never had such ;i work
ami never saw one worth having. What a letter should be
Was long ago described In quaint ami rather general
terms, it is true, hut wo can givo nothing better suited to
the subject. It is an extract bom the letters of James
■Dwell, an English author, who died in 1666 ; so the
advice has the stamp of time and the authority of age.

" It was a quaint difference the ancients did pnl 'twist

a Letter and an oration; that this one should he attired

like a woman, the other like a man ; the latter of the two

robes a> long periods, parentheses,

■miles, examples, and other parts of rhetorical flourishes ;

but a letter or epistle should bo short-coated and closely
, . i . . a (a short, scanty coi I ■

■tor m >re b tnda imely than a gown. Indeed, we should
write as we speak, and that's a true familiar letter which
th one's mind, as if he were discoursing with
■ iii he writes In short and Buecinct terms.
■u tongue and pen are both interpreters of the mind;
but I hold the pen to be the more faithful of the two. The
<. being Beated in a most slippery
I iay ''■ I and falter in her sudden extempore!

it the pen, having the greater advantage
Hpremeditail >n, is not bo subject to error. How ■ i
Eugh tfa Me of any subject, are commonly

■her narratory, objurgatory, monitory, or congratula-
tory. There are some who, |q Ueo of letters, write
homilies; they preach when they should epistolize. There
are Others that turn them into tedious tractate; and
Others that must go freighted with mere Bartholomew
ware, with trite and trivial phrases only, lifted with
pedantic shreds of school-boy verses."

Orthography. — Whatever might be the perfection of
letter writing in the olden times, the manner of ladies'
spelling a hundred years ago was not adapted for present
imitation; not it* we may credit the following anecdote: —

'■ H. Murphy used to relate the following story of Bam,
Bote, the heroines Of which were the Ladies Cheere,
Fielding, and Hill, the last the wife of the celebrated Dr.
Hill. He represented them as playing at 'I love my love
with a letter," Lady Cheere began and said, 'I love my
love with an N, because he Is a night;' Lady Fielding
■lowed with, 'I love my love with a G, because he is a
gustice' [justice) ; 'and I love my love with an F,' said
Lady Hill, ' because he is a flsishun.' "

Mrs. Somerville. — While devoting so much attention to
gratify and encourage our younger readers, it may be well
to announce, for the satisfaction of our elderly friends,
that Mrs. Somerville, now over eighty years of age, has a
work on the Sciences nearly ready for publication, which
fa thought to be the greatest production of her justly cele-
brated geniu3.

"Mr EEAcriFrL Lady." — In Macmillan's London Mag-
re is an able review of a poem, with the above curi-
ous title, recently published, written by an eminent sculp-
tor, who will now be known as the Poet Woolner. From
the remarks of the critic we will give fads ideal of love,
which is, we think, one of the purest and most beautiful
delineations of true love between the sexes and its human-
izing and holy influences, ever written by an uninspired
pen.

"Strongly emotional — yet with both passion and fancy
made subordinate to its ethical purpose, the book stands
nt distinctly among all poems of late years, as the deifi-
cation of Love. Love, regarded neither as the 'Venus
Wtrix' ,,f the ancients, nor treated with the sentimental
chivalry of medieval times — or the fantastic, frivolous

-r age. under which lay often c on
the lowest form >f the passion which can degrade manhood
or insult womanhood ; but love the consoler, the refiner,
the purifier, the stimulator to all that is high and lovely

VOL. LXVUI. — 32

and of good report. Love, not spread abroad among many
objects — the 'episode in man's life,' as Byron terms 1 1 —
(alas! he spoke but as he knew) — or the dream of mere
fancy, like Shelley's: —

'In mauy mortal forms I rashly sought
The shadow of this idol of my thought ;'

bnt love, strong*, human, undivided, and from its very
singleness the more passionately pure; the devotion of
the individual man to the individual woman, who is to
him the essence of ;tll Womanhood, the satisfaction of all
his being's need; from whom he Learns everything, aud
to whom he teaches everything of that secret which is the
life-blood of the universe, since it flows from the heart of
God himself — the Love Divine.

"This doctrine, the Christian doctrine of love, is, even in
our Christian times, so dimly known and believed in, that
we hail thankfully one more poet, one more roan, Who
has the strength to believe in it, and the courage to declare
it. For, God knows, it is the only human gospel which
in this fast corrupting age will have power to save men
and elevate women. Coventry Patmore preached it in
his 'Angel in the House,' which with all its quaitttnessea
and peculiarities, stands alone as the song of songs,
wherein is glorified the pure passion, which, if it is to be
found anywhere in the world, is to he found at our
English firesides — conjugal love. And though 'My Beau-
tiful Lady' attains not that height — fate forbidding that
the love of betrothal should ever become the perfect love
of marriage — still, it breathes throughout the same spirit.
Such books as these are the best barrier against that
flood of foulness which seems creeping in upon us, ■
borne in, wave after wave, up to our English doors
by the tide of foreign literature; French novels, with
their tinsel cleverness, overspreading a mass of inner
corruption; and German romances, confusing the two
plain lines of right or wrong with their sophistical intel-
lectualities and sentimental affinities ; or, worse than
either, being a cowardly compromise between the two,
that large and daily increasing section of our own popular
writing, which is called by the mild term, 'sensational.' "

Vassar College. — "We have letters of inquiry about this
institution. Those who desire more information than is
contained in our articles of the January and February
numbers of the Lady's Book, might, probably, obtain
"Reports" by addressing the President, M. P. Jewett. or
C. Swan, Secretary; both gentlemen reside near Vassar
College, Poughkeepsie, N. Y.

Errata. — Two misprints are in the article on Vassar
College of February — see page 199, 1st paragraph, lOfU
line from top : for brought read tauglU : next line, for
apartments read departments.

Deaconesses. — In our January number we stated that
whoever desired the "Report" of tho Episcopal Conven-
tion on Deaconesses, and would send us an address, with
red stamp inclosed, should have a copy. We have had
quite a number of applications ; to all these the report has
been forwarded. If any person has not received the work
we should like to know it. If any other of our friends
desire copies and will send as specified, we shall he happy
to forward this excellent report.

HINTS ABOUT HEALTH.
Sleep: axt> the Mouth. — There is no fact more clearly
established in the physiology of man than this, that the
brain expends its energies and itself during the hours of
wakefulness, and that these are recuperated during sleep ;
if the recuperation does not equal the expenditure, the
brain withers — this is insanity.

1. Those who think most, who do most brain work, re-
quire most sleep.

2. That time saved from necessary sleep is infallibly
destructive to mind, body, and estate.

3. Give yonrself, your children, yonrservants — give all
that are nnd^r you, the fullest amount of sleep they will
take, compelling them to retire at some regular hour, and

398

godey's lady's book and magazine.

to rise the moment they wake ; aud within a fortnight,
nature, with almost the regularity of the sun, will un-
loose the hands of sleep the moment enough repose has
heen secured for the wants of the system. This is the only
safe and sufficient rule ; and as to the question how much
sleep any one requires, each must be a rule for himself.
Nature will never fail to write it out to the observer un-
der the regulations just given.

Mr. George Catlin would add another rule: "Always
sleep with your inovih shut." Iu order that people may
be in the habit of keeping a close mouth in their sleep,
his counsel extends to our waking hours and employ-
ments:—

"Keep your mo\ith shut when you rend, when you
Write, when yo\i listen, when you are in pain, when you
are walking, when you are running, when you are
riding, and, by all means, when you are angry. There
is no person iu Bociety but who will find, and acknow-
ledge, improvement in health and enjoyment from even
a i< uijitirari/ attention to this advice."

To our Correspondents. — The following articles are
accepted: " Ruined Castles M — "Easter" — "A Day's J.uir-
ney, and what came of it" — "Readiug the last book of
Alice B. Haven" — "Friendship's Flower" — "A Simile."

These manuscripts are respectfully declined : "Kitty's
Constancy" — " Contrition" (we cannot use half the good
poetry sent ns) — "A Valentine — Acrostical, and other
poems" — " Morritto, the Soldier's Bride" — "Oh, who
could Blame?" — "Starry Eves" — "AStory oftwo Lives"
— "Queer Mistakes" — "Lines addressed to a Friend" —
"Not d>'ad, but gone before" — "Eaves-dropping, and what
crime of it" — "My lloosier Cousin" — "The Sons of the
Forest" — "Lost Ilopes" — " All Alone" — " Glimpses" —
"The World is my Cross" — "Bellopeful" — "Fishing for
Compliments" — "Lamenting for the Dead" — "Last Mo-
ments"— " Lines" (we are sorry that we have not room) —
"The Emigrant" — and " All about Myself."

Other articles on hand we shall notice next month.

"We have returned all articles for which stamps were
sent.

liiteritrn JUlins.

From Ltppincott & Co., Philadelphia: —
HISTORY OF CHARLES THE BOLD, Duke of Bur-
gundy. By John Foster Kirk. We have received the
first and second volumes of this work. It is not so much
a history of Charles the Bold as of the period in which ho
lived, the epoch from which dates the overthrow of feudal-
ism. The author gives us a succinct account of the first
half of the fifteenth century, preceding the birth of Charles,
wheu feudalism was at the height of its power ; while in
. the history of the great cotemporary and rival of Charles,
Louis the Eleventh, which is necessarily included in the
work, are involved the first checks which feudalism re-
ceived, and which were the precursors of its final destruc-
tion. Mr. Kirk gives the reader a more favorable view
of the character of the Duke than has been usual with
former historians. He also throws new light upon the
rupture between Charles the Bold and the Swiss, showing
that the latter were actuated more by mercenary motives
than by patriotism. The work will be embraced in three
Tolumes.

CHAMBERS' ENCYCLOPAEDIA. Nos. 68, 69, and 70,
down to letter L. A Dictionary of Universal Knowledge
for the People, on the Basis of the latest editions of the
German Conversationes Lexicon. With wood engravings
and maps. The best Encyclopedia published, and only
5} i cents a number.

From Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia: —

THACKERAY'S IRISH SKETCH BOOK. By "W. M.
Thackerayj author of " Vanity Fair," etc. etc. The recent
death of this well-known author has excited fresh interest
in his works. The Petersons, who ever display the happy
faculty of anticipating the taste of the public, have issued
the book whose title we give, in a cheap form, illustrated
with numerous engravings from original designs by the
author.

SALATHIEL (the Wandering Jeio) ; AStory of the Past,
the Present, and the Future. By Rev. George Croly..
Those who are fond of sensational novels will soon weary
of this hook ; for, considered as a mere novel, it has not
the interest which many far inferior works have, But as
an imaginative romance, remarkable for the grandeur of
its descriptions, and the poetry of its language, it has few
equals. All lovers of fine reading will thank the publish-
ers for the new edition of this work.

CORINNE ; A Story of Italy. By Madame de Stael
The elder portion of our readers need no description of
this book from us. But for the benefit of the younger
generation a word may not come amiss. It is a tour in
Italy, mixed with a novel. It overflows with beauties,
poetical, sentimental, and descriptive, yet displays a bale-
ful trace of French perverted ideas of morality.

THE INDIAN CHIEF. By Gustave Aimard, author of
"The Prairie Flower," "The Tiger Slayer,'' etc. Who
has not regretted the drawing to a close of an interesting
book, and wished that the story might spin itself out for-
ever? Aimard more nearly gratifies his readers in this
respect than any other writer we know of Each romance
is the sequel of the last, and the introduction of one to
follow.

THE LIFE OF ARCHBISHOP HUGHES. Though brief
and condensed, and in many respects no doubt incorrect,
ibis little book will be received with avidity by the pub-
lic, whilst waiting for a more comprehensive and reliable
work.

From Frederick Leypoldt, Philadelphia: —
MUSICAL SKETCHES. By Elize Polko. Translated
from the sixth German edition by Fanny Fuller. This is
one of the most sparkling and vivacious of books, in which
the noted singers and composers of the past are made
heroes and heroines of romance, or idealized to something
more than human. The translator has done her part re-
markably well.

From G. W. Childs, Philadelphia .—

THE GREAT STONE BOOK OF NATURE. By David
Thomas Ansted, M. A., F R. S.( etc. The author of this
little volume possesses the raro art of rendering a scien-
tific treatise not only clear, but attractive. The " Great
Stone Book" is, of course, composed of the geological for-
mations, all of which are here described in common and
easy terms which the unlearned can readily understand,
and yet with perfect scientific exactness. The work is
illustrated with several neatly executed wood-cuts. Any
one desirous of commencing the study of geology wiil
find Mr. Ansted s volume an excellent and trustworthy
manual.

THE ROLLO AND LUCY FIRST, SECOND, AND
THIRD BOOKS OF POETRY. Original and Selected.
By Jacob Abbott, author of the " Rollo Books," ' Fran-
coma Stories,1' etc. With original engravings Three
pretty volumes of poetry for boys and girls, in which Mr.
Abbott has evinced his well-known taste and judgment,
and his happy faculty of meeting the requirements of hia

LITERARY NOTICES.

31' 9

Ataii Utile or great. All children Iotc rhyme*

iks are adapted to gratify tlii- taste In a pleasing
ol way. They are intended for children of dif-
ferent age0) ll"J "1U make admirable gift-books.

From Harper A Brothers, New York, through Lippix-
OOTT& Co.. and Prtrrsor & Brothers, Philadelphia : —

aOTOBIOOB \1MIV, CORRESPONDENCE, ETC . OF

LYMAN BEECHER, D D. Edited by Charles i

In two volumes. The Aral volume of this work, which

we have received, gives the life of I>r. Beeoher, with

spi.mdence, and extracts from his

down to 185(4. a sketch of the life of this

: in. mi, COnld ■

pbe Interesting, no matter ho* Imperfectly prepared.
But Elu- w.>rk before us is one peculiarly adapted to please,

from th«- manner in which it is produced. It is a book
which has grown to its present size an I shape ! ■
to the title of autobiography springs from numer

between himself and his sons and daughters,

■hen the reminiscences and recollections of his past life

■are taken down as they fell from his lips. Prom time

; ... rmation has been gathered from different

corrections raade^ and correspondence anddoou-

meats added, until the whole was perfected to its present

form. In this volume there are found two steel engrav-

if Dr. Beecher at the age of fifty-eight, the other

painted iu early life. A number of

the chapters hare vignettes of places of interest, such as

houses where he has Lived, etc

CAXTONIAN'A: .1 S-ri-.s.-f ICwii/ton Lif>\ Lid
awl Mannen. By Sir E. Bulwer Lytton, Bart., author of
■'The Caxtons," etc. That Bulwer must have had plenty
of intellectual material with wliich to form his Caxton
novels, i- now evident from the fact that the waste ma-
terial, the odds and ends and little three cornered pii ces
left, after cutting their pattern to the full size, have been
found, when gathered up, to form a respectable volume of
■tamselves. Thecontenta of this volume arc in the shape
■ assays elaborated from ideas suggesting themselves
during the writing of the famous novels above mentioned,
but which could not with propriety, or want of space, be
Lted in their pages. He writes shrewdly and
philosophically, and like the man of the world he is.

A POPULAR HAND-BOOK OF THE NEW TESTA-
MENT. By George Gumming McWhorter. The author
of this work does not make any attempt to prove the au-
thenticity or sanctity of the Scriptures. He takes these
for granted, and proceeds to give such information as he
has been able to gather from all sources within his reach,
concerning the various writers of the New Testament, and
the circumstances under which the different bookswere
written. This has been very carefully and efficiently
done.

HARPERS' PICTORIAL HISTORY OF THE GREAT
REBELLION*. No. 6. It contains, among other embel-
lishments, a very large colored map of the Southern
States, worth twice the price of the number. Every one
should have a copy of this valuable Work.

From D. Appletox k Co., New York, through Ash mead
k Brass, successors to W. P. Hazard, Philadelphia: —

LrFE AND CORRESPONDENCE OF THEODORE PAR-
KER, Minister of the Twenty-eighth Congregational So-
ciety, Boston. By John Weiss. In two volumes. This
Is a comprehensive and minute account, first of the family,
and then of Theodore Parker himself, the man who, from
his political and religious bases, made hosts both of ardent

friends and admirers, and of uncompromising enei
The work is carefully prepared, and I ifeellnten led

iu the lite of this man, will And everythj i heir

d meet their approval. The first volume h

avtng of the subject of the wort copied
from a Daguerreotype taken in LSfl The * coot}
displays opposite its title-page a beautiful engra\ ._ of a
marble bust executed by W. W, Story. Both volumes

are illustrated by w l engravings of varl

whose connection with Borne period of Mr. Parker's life
has rendered Interesting.
THIRTY POEMS. By William Cullen Bryant. Under

this rather prosaic title the great American j i has Issued

a new volume of 210 pages. Mostof the poems which

make up the hook are small, ranging from six to ten

ss; but the three entitled "Sella," "The Fifth Book
Of the Odyssey,11 and "The Little People of the Snow''
are exceptions, together occupying nearly one half of the
volume. Almost all of the minor pieces have to do with
Nature in all the variety of her outer aspects; but they
are not merely descriptive. The effort is to show Inn the
human heart responds to the voice of the external world,
and discovers its own joy and sorrow, love and grief, re-
tloetcd in the face of the great mother. TL..- hook abounds)
in the author's peculiar charm-- of sentiment and diction.
;ul and melodious, often rising into majesty or melfe
in_' into pathos, it will not be found unworthy o( bis lofty
fame.

From Dick & Fitzgerald, New York, through Peter-
bos A Brothers, Philadelphia:—

THE PERFECT GENTLEMAN; or, Etiquette and I
qaence. By a Gentleman. This lays down all the rules
of etiquette to be observed at a public or private table, at
parties orpopular gatherings, and contains mod I peo ■ -
for all occasions, five hundred toasts and sentimi nts, and
much other useful matter of a like character.

DUDLEY CARLEON; or. The Brother's Secret. By
Hiss H. B. Braddon, author of" Aurora Floyd,' etc 1 ■■■
or three of Miss Braddon*s nest novelettes are included iu
this volume.

From Carleton, New York, through Peterson & Bro-
thers, Philadelphia : —

THE GREAT CONSUMMATION. The milennial Rest;
or, Tlte World as it will be. By the Rev. John Cumn
D. D., F. R. S. E., Minister of the Scottish National Church,
Crown Court, Covent Garden; author of "The Great
Tribulation,1' etc. Second Series. The first Beries vt this
work has already been received aud read by a large num-
ber ou this side the Atlantic, and the way is therefore pre-
pared for the volume now before ns. It contains nineteen
lectures all relating to the general subject.

From J. E. Trims ft Co., Boston:—

GUDJO'S CAVE. ByX T.Trowbridge, author of "The
Drummer Boy," "Neighbor Jackwood," etc, Mr. Trow-
bridge has already gained Celebrity by his writings ; this

last work will give him a wider reputation. The scon.?
is laid in Tennessee, in the beginning of the war excite-
ment, and gives terrible pictures of the stormy passion- of
men and the sad scenes enacted. Still, the book is written
in better style aud with less of the disgusting display of
wicked and cruel deeds than most of this kind of publica-
tions. The descriptions of natural scenery are vivid and
often beautiful, and noble characters and lovely works ot
mercy are brought out on the dark canvas of civil war •
and "Cudjo's Cave" will be a favorite book for boys. It
is beautifully printed.

400

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

(Hobtjj's ^rm-^jjair.

APRIL, 1S64.

Godet for April opens with a seini-humorous but beau-
tiful engraving of "Keeping Company,' with a good
story to illustrate it. A splendid Fashion-plate, with
eix colored figures. A Tidy, printed in colors ; and the
engraving suitable to the times — "A Drum Minor,1* not
" Major."

One of our illustrations on wood is from the celebrated
house of Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., of New York. One
from Brudie's great cloak depot, and the others are our
own selections for the spring season — Headdresses and
Bodices. The number is full of variety of engravings,
stories, and poetry.

Raise of Prices. — We shall soon be obliged again to
advance our rates, as paper is steadily going up. Already
the second advance has been made since we issued our
prospectus for this year. Our low terms for 1864 were
owing to the fact that fur one month, and for that month
only, the price of our paper was slightly reduced.

An Agreeable Surprise.— One day last month a very
fine looking, middle-aged gentleman stepped into our

sanctum and announced himself as Commodore ,

late Lieutenant . "I owe you $l~>, Mr. Godey, for

subscription to the Lady's Book. The debt occurred many
years since, but I have ueglected from time to time, though
always intending, to pay it." We inquired where it had
been sent. " Oh, everywhere," he replied. " When did
you get your last bill?" "In 1S43," was the answer.
"We cannot find any account against you." "It is no
matter," he said, "I owe you the money, and there it is."
We accepted it, and donated it to that admirable institu-
tion, " The Foster Home Association."

The Foster Home Association. — We will receive dona-
tions for this establishment. Were its merits better known,
every one would be willing to subscribe for it. It receives
children whose parents cannot get work with the incum-
brance of their offspring. It educates, clothes, and feeds
them. Many of the children of our soldiers are now sup-
plied by its bounty. The price of everything has so in-
creased that the managers find themselves a little in want
of funds. Any sums will be thankfully received and
passed over to the institution by the publisher of the
Lady's Book.

To Writers. — Accompany your articles with short let-
ters. If the story or poetry is good, it is well ; but if not,
long letters do no good.

Directions for Writing- Letters. — If you write on
business, and about anything for the book, write on sepa-
rate sheets, so that they may be 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.

Jay Cooke, Esq., has brought to a successful termina-
tion the 5-20 $300,000,000 loan — has sold the wboleof itat
par. We venture to say that no other m<iu iu [his country
could have so effectually disposed of this loan. It is owing
to his sterling character, his well-known and characteris-
tic politeness, and his indomitable energy, government has
been saved some millions of dollars in this transaction.
We do not mean to say that the government could not
have disposed of it. No doubt they could ; but would they
have realized as much ? In the first place, had it been
advertised to be sold to the highest bidders, so large an
amount would not have brought par. It would have
been taken at from 96 to 9S. Then suppose the authori-
ties at Washington had disposed of it after the manner of
Mr. Cooke. Would it then have realized so much? We
all know what government officials are. There would no
doubt have been some errors in the figures. The Secretary
of the Treasury chose his man for his personal worthiness
nud fitness for the trust, and the result shows how emi-
nently just was his choice.

A year ago I sent you nineteen subscribers, and I now
send you twenty-seven. Your Book coming to us regu-
larly once a month makes ns food of it. When our hus-
bands and fathers tell us, with long faces, that times are
hard, and we must retrencn, we never think of giving up
the Lady's Book. A. L.. Oiiio

Music Received. — We have received the following from
Horace Waters, 4S1 Broadway, New York, and O Ditson
& Co., 277 Washington Street, Boston, Mass. : —

Sweet little Nell. Song and chorus.

Dost thou ever think of me, Love? Solo and chorus

Dance Music. Les Lanciers.

Foster's Melodies: —

Wilt Thou be True?

When old Friends were here.

If you 've only got a Moustache.

Mr. and Mrs. Brown. Comic duett.

Weep no more for Lily.

The Sweetest Flower. Song and chorus.

Hymn of the Nation.

Angel Mary. A ballad.

Also from W. W. Whitney, Toledo, Ohio, the follow-
ing:—
The Realm of the West.
We '11 Conquer or Die.
Oh, touch not my Sister's portion " "

Price of each piece, 2o cents.

From C. C. Clapp & Co., Boston :—
The Printer's Polka. Dedicated to the Printers through-
out the United States.

Warner, Miskey, & Merrell. — These very worthy
gentlemen, engaged in the manufacture of gas chande-
liers, lamps, and other fixings, have added a fourth to
their party in the person of Mr. B. Thackara, for twenty
years with the house of Messrs. Cornelius & Baker. Suc-
cess to the new firm. If any person is in want of any
article in their line let them call at No. 718 Chestnut
Street.

Ocr 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.

A Lady wishes to know how to frost cakes in a fanciful
manner, in raised flowers, etc. Also full instructions in
Grecian painting.

Song and chorus.

GODEY S ARM-CHAIR.

401

OUR MUSICAL COLUMN.

Stephen C. Foster. — Ju-t after dosing OUT last month's
" Column,'" we hud Intelligence of the death of this most
popular American ballad corny D C. Poster

died at the early age of 3S, not after he had outlived his
fame, but while his songs, new n ml old, werestlU eagerly
il after by nearly every nation ander the sun. En his
prodncUons there is nothing grand or Imposing, bat a

simplicity that touches all hearts. Pew, lnd<
can resist this element" in his melodies, In the April f
number of Holloway'a Musical Monthly we publish a
charming new ballad composed expressly for us by the
lamented author. Below we enumerate some of Mr.
r's best recent songs and ballads, with prices at-
tached.

Opera at the Acads-mi/.—'Sot since the first brilliant

winter which Inaugurated Opera al the Academy have we

had such a constant musical domination as during tho

now closing. In our January "column" we pre-

dicted a brilliant winter, and brilliant it has bei n. We

ipoke of what was in store; and now, as we write,

ntx's German Troupe is again with us. performing

Wives of Windsor, Faust, Wagrn I

bauser, etc. And, as if all this were not Burfofture suffl>

dent, we are bavin : - Opera Troupe again iu

Bnglisfa Opera, Karitana, The Enchantress, etc., at mie of

the cltj Surely-, when the dearth comes again

it will be paiuful to bear.

Bblloway's Musical Monthly. — ! The April number of
our Monthly Is another fine one, containing a new Noc-
turne composed for the Monthly by a new contributor ; a
touching aew ballad, also composed expressly for the
Monthly by the late Stephen C. Foster; and a sparkling
melody from Kicolai's new and sprightly Opera, The
Merry Wives of Windsor. This is the fourth op< i

ion we hare already given our subscribers this year,

all from the new and successful operas ; and we have

ra in preparation. Next month we shall give one of

a beautiful ballad. What Joy to Listen, from Balfc's

• Armorer of Nantes. Were it but for the opera music
alone which it contains, HoUoway's nthty

would be a proQtable Investment to every lover of music.
More than three dollars' worth of this class of mus i U
given during the year. So also Of the songs and ballads ;
and of the polkas and other dance music ; and of the
Tondos, transcriptions, and variations. Terms of tho
Monthly $300peranouminadvaiu'<<. Four copies $10 00.
We also repeat the offer made last month to send four

, monthly numbers to any address on receipt of $1 00.
All who wish the year complete, however, should send in
the year's subscription at once, as the early numbers are
nearly exhausted. Address, J. Starr Holloway, Publisher,
Box, Post Office, Philadelphia.

Foster's New Ballad.?. — We can also send any of the fol-
lowing on receipt of price. Larry's G i d Bye ; beautiful

Irish Ballad, SO cents. ."Was my Brother In the Battle, 2

There was a Time, 30. Bring my Brother back to Me,

The Soldier's Home, 30. I '11 be a Soldier, 2."). The Love
I Bear to Thee, 2.">. Jenny's coming o'er the Green, 25,
I'll be Home to-morrow, 2.1. No Home, rTo Home, 25.

Lizzie Dies to Night, 85. Little Belle Blair, 25. >"ell and
I, 25. Little Jenny Dow, 20. Merry Little Birds are
We, 25.

We have just published Gov. Stone's Grand March
with lithographic portrait, a spirited and beautiful piece
of music, by Geo. E. Fawcette. Sent free on receipt of 50
cents. Address, J. Stark Holloway.

32*

Legacy. — ThePnfMH necontains

an amusing " Digressive Essay on Wills," in which are
related numerous examples of curious wills. The follow-
ing is a specimen i —

'■In tho your IT'i-ilio fallowing strange circumstance
occurred In connection with a will. Two gentlemen,
who bad been Left executors to a friend, on examl d
property, found a scrap of paper, on which was written,
■Seven hundred pounds in Till.' Tins they took In the
literal sense, Bearohed his office and all the other apart-
ii ate carefully, but iu vain. They sold his collei

■ a bookseller near the Hews, and paid the lega-
cies In proportion to the sum realized. The sing
of the circumstance occasioned them frequently t" con-
verse about it ; and at last it flashed across one of them
that amongst the) ks Bold more than Beven weeks be-
fore there bad been a folio edition ofTillotson's Sermons,
TUo probability of this being what was alluded to by the
word 'Till' on tli" piece of paper, made him hnm<

call on thai kselierwho had bought the hooks, and ask

him If he had still the edition of Tiliotson which had been
Included In his purchase, < >o his reply in the affirmative,
and the volumes being handed down, the gentleman im-

-. rebonght and carried them home.
examining the leaves he found the bank notes singly dis-
posed In various places, to the amount of £700. But what
is perhaps no Less remarkable, the bookseller informed
him that a gentleman at Cambridge, to whom he had sent
one of bis catalogues, finding he bad this edition on sale,
had written and desired it might he sent to inn

rdlngly done, and the parcel forwarded by cur-
rier. The l ks not pleasing the gentleman, they were

returned, and had remained on a shelf ia the shop up to
the period of this singular recovery.''

Orders for the Lady's Book are now filled at once.
Some little delay occurred in the early part of the year,
owing to the increase <1 demand, treble that of any pr -
ceding year. The Lady's Book can now boast of publish-
ing a larger number, and gives greater satisfaction, tha o
any magazine in the United States, and the demand ia
still increasing. We have eight power-presses running
oily opoq the Lady's Book only.

1 -■ vi< yon $15 for nine copies of your excellent Book.
I have I-1' 'i b subscriber for three years, and have now
exerted myself and have succeeded in getting np a club
that others might be benefited by your incomparable
work. Mas. E., Pa.

A CORKSSPOirDBFT wrote us to know what use she could
make cf her old cotton spools. She is answered by the
following : —

We make "What-nots" of thr-ra. The spools are fast-
ened together by running an iron rodor stiff wire thro
them, with a screw and burr to keep them secure; both
should be covered by some ornament. The shelves should
be made to suit the taste of the maker. Another subscriber
writes as follows: —

January^ l B64.

Dear Sir: A lady subscriber having a large Dumber of
spools on hand, wishes to know what can be made of
them. I have seen a very handsome What-not made of
sp >'is, and have saved them myself for that purpi ■■■-.

Tho Lady's Book this year was a Christmas present from
my husband, He certainly could not have made me a
in ize acceptable present. It comes every month like sun-
shine on a cloudy day. Tours, with respect, O.

" Why," inquired an enamored youth who v, b
with his aweetheart in a wagon, "an- y ni cheeks like
my ponies there." "Is it because they are red' i--
inquired. "No," he replied, "because there is one of
them on each side of a waggin tongue."

A queer old gentleman being asked what be wished to*
dinner, replied : " A keen appetite, good company, some-
thing to eat, and a napkin."

402

godey's lady's book axd magazine.

Extracts from a Paris Letter:—

Of the excess to which the love of expenditure is
carried, on the mere article of toilet, it would be almost
vain to give your readers any idea without a special visit
to Paris, and to one or other of our fashionable mantua-
making establishments, where the art of dress is carried
to its utmost degree of perfection. At one of these, in the
Eue de la Paix, frequented by most of the court circle,
twenty-six dresses were a few days ago prepared for the
Empress Eugenie; and as the occasion seemed a special
one, and worthy of being commemorated, the lady clientes
of the establishment were apprised, that by coming to the
rooms on a certain morning, these Imperial dresses might
be viewed, preparatory to being sent off to her Majesty at
the Tuileries. Accordingly a malinie — what shall I call
it? " arttstiqrue" perhaps, might serve the term — took
place, and many a female brain was set to work, and
many a vain desire probably fanned into flames, by the
wondrous spectacle of so many folds of satins, tulles, and
velvets, displayed and draped in the taste for which the
heads of the illustrious house in question are so renowned.
11 What is done with these dresses ?" I ventured to inquire
of one of the presiding priestesses of this temple of fashion.
"Does the Empress try them all on ?" Upon ^yhich the
exact manner in which such an important event as the
arrival at Court of twenty-six dresses was conducted was
described minutely, and, as the ceremonial is curious as
well as new, I am tempted to impart some of my informa-
tion for the benefit of my countrywomen. A saloon,
adjoining the Empress's dressing-room, is lighted up as if
for a reception. Her Majesty, with her hair already
dressed, proceeds to try on the dresses one after another,
changing the coiffeur according to the toilette to be next
tried on, and suggesting any alterations or changes to be
effected, and so the work is got through, not without
trouble and loss of time, it will be seen; for such an
afternoon's work, begun about three o'clock, is rarely
terminated much before eight, when, we may suppose,
exhausted nature must require rest and refreshment. Is
it wonderful if, after so much labor and study, the
Empress of the French stands pre-eminent over all other
women and female sovereigns in the art of dress ?

A few days ago a gentleman gave a dinner at the Cafe
de Foire Gras. It was a "diner de luxe" potage a la
bisque, filet desaumon .1 la belle finance>, p'tte de sanglier
en saphi, canard sauvage sauce orange — so every one was
got up in his best clothes. Host takes his seat at the table
in the gorgeous cabinet, chastely decorated with cupids
and their female relations, not overdressed, and contain-
ing that piano from which we have heard such charming
music perhaps towards the lesser hours. Well, host sits
down and tells them to serve dinner. Enter active waiter
with potage, who runs up against a chair, and helps host
plentifully to bisque on the back of his coat. Waiter de-
solated— host elevated — a row ensues. "Monsieur," says
the waiter, "I am a pig, and an unhappy pig! yet, if
Monsieur, who seems so amiable (Monsieur had been
swearing like a drum-major), will permit it, I can remedy
the ill. Happily my brother is a degrisseur, actually in
the street where Monsieur dines. If Monsieur would give
the coat, all should be arranged in ten minutes." Host
consents ; takes off his coat — in pocket of which are purse
and cigar case — and sits down to eat his dinner in a nice
warm Inverness cape. Dinner comes, and is eaten—
dessert, coffee, chasse — but no coat I Landlord sent for,
and says he only hired waiter eii supplement for the day,
and knows nothing of him. Party breaks up, and host,
naving borrowed money to pay the "addition,;* goes

coatless to bed. Nemesis, however, took him on Friday to
dine at another caf6, where he discovered and arrested
the garcon, who was found to have whole wardrobes of
coats in pledge at the Mont-de Pi6t£.

To Poets. — Having so much poetry at present on nand,
we must be allowed this year to use some of it , therefore,
during 1S64, we cannot send the Lady's Book in payment
for poetical contributions.

. What is the difference between a nutmeg melon and a
lady who has been shut up by her parents, to prevent her
from making a runaway match ? There is only the dif-
ference of a comma — one is a cantelope, and the other a
can't elope.

A Lady in this city has three splendid paintings by
Frankenstein for sale: "Scene on the Ohio," aud two
views of the White Mountains. For particulars, address
Publisher Lady's Book. Mr. Frankenstein, it may be
remembered, is the artist who painted the celebrated
panorama of Niagara Falls.

A Prx about Prince Alfred is current in New York. It
is this: "Why would not his Royal Highuess. Prince
Alfred, have anything to do with foreign Greece?" The
answer is, "Because his Koyal Highness preferred his
native lie.'*

Portsmouth, Ohio.
Some three years ago, when I used to be a yuung iady,
my mother had a girl whose eccentricities would till a
volume. One bitter cold winter night, a couple of gen-
tlemen called. Instead of showing them into the back
parlor where there was a warm fire and bright gas, she
ushered them into the front one, and left them in the cold
and the dark! Imagine their state of mind, if you can,
especially as the minutes rolled away and no une came to
relieve them. For, to cap the climax, she told no one of
their arrival ; so there they sat, until father, happening to
pass through the hall, heard voices, and with a thought of
burglars rushed in to oust them. The faces of all parties
would have been delightful to see at that moment. C.

Postage on the Lady's Book, according to the late law
passed last winter.

Section 36.— Postage on Godey's Lady's Book, 2i 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.

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.

"You may insert," says an exchange, "a thousand
things in a newspaper, aud never a word of approbation
from the readers ; but just let a paragraph slip in, even
by accident, of one or two lines not suited to their taste,
and you wilt be sure to bear of it."

Just so with poetry. If we happen to publish an article
that has previously been published, written by some one
who is known, perhaps well in her own State and no other,
one half the ladies in the State will writu us on the
subject, to the great benefit of the pest-oflice department.

ARM-CHAIR.

403

TWO POEMS TO A SLEEPING INFANT.

BV A DOTUra PAR LINT.
I.

(Time — Summer Afternoon.)

Si.ffp Mil, fair child ! Thy dn-atniny: soul

Will never know a sleep so iweel
In those bw ifi i -""ii shall roll

Upon ihy UA with Bytng feet,

la calm repose of hood unci heart
Thy slumbers Boftly ma; be passed ;

Bo stormy waves of passion start,
No pangs thy bosom overcast.

How still she Bleeps ! Thai rippling breath,
VHiich just disturbed her placid month.

Can i my cheek In whispers low,

Like warm winds wafted from the south.

When the long day has worn it* way
Prom gray of dawn to gray of eve.

Thy eyed can woo sweet slumber's sway
With not a sorrow to deceive.

Bui I, alas! -with wounded heart
Host watch in pain the night decline;

ft ran weary day my eyelids part —
To weary night their tears t

On me no sunshine seems to ami le ;

Hid pain and passion, wan! And care,
At love and pleasure I revile.

And seem to breathe a poisoned air.

But thou, fair infant! never knew
The cold neglect which hardens hearts;

On thy pa le forehead falls the dew
Oflove's fresh kisses, passion's starts.

Sleep! sleep! I will not wake thee now.

I would my soul like thine were young.
May thy child-heart, that beats so low,

With sorrow's anguish ne'er be wrung.

II.
(Time—Midnight.)

Yea, go to sleep, thou squalling child!

My noise-racked bruin can find no rest;
Su eel - 1 Lence on me ne'er hath smiled

Since with thy smiles my hearth was blessed.

But now. those eyes, with tears begrimed.
Have closed in Bleep — that "sweet restorer;"

While .-a thy nurse's lips a prayer
That thou wilt not awake to bore her.

Tls true, with many a kick and squall,
Aud flirt and jerk, thou didst thy best

To kick the bed-clothes to the wall,
And spoil thy nurse's needed rest.

But now thy efforts all are o'er;

Thou Bhalt not moan, nor howl, nor frolic,
For one long hour, or may-be more,

Shalt not be troubled with the colic.

That tufted hair that crowns thy skull
(No bigger than a goose's

In sweet revenge I fain would pull-
But no, thy pardon I must beg.

For art thou not "the baby"? Who
Durst break hi? sceptre, nr cast down

For private griefs or sore ado

The might of Ate majestic crown ?

No ! no ! I must not say a word.

Perhaps I '11 live to pass the ordeal.
Nurse! when the "darling baby" wakes,

Give it ten drops of " Godfrey's Cordial."

A timid maid would keep her heart's first great secret.
She cannot bear that the sharp day-beams should smite
the scented night-violet of her love.

THE CULTIVATION OF FLOWERS.

There is no employment which affords so much gratifi-
cation, for the slight amount of labor and Ume required,
as the cultivation of Sowers. The most humble cottager,
uuless deficient in the must simple conceptions of beauty,

must have his tlow.-r-p.it, and one or more varieties of
flowers. The enthusiastic amateur is no longer content to
receive his novelties at second-hand, ami can now, thanks
to the liberal postal arrangements, receive packages of
seeds, bnlbs, aud plants, not exceeding four pounds in
weight, direct from the great centre of Horticulture in this
couutry, at the trilliu.- cost of eiirht o-nt- p. r pound.

We have been en^a-rd for several years pasi in distri-
buting seeds aud plants throughout the country with the
most gratifying results, and have received the most flat-
tering letters from our customers as to the super] ir quality
of the seeds, tie' careful manner in which the plants have
been packed, etc. etc.

We have prepared the following assortments of flower-
seeds, all of which have been selected of the most choice
and beautiful varieties, which will be mailed to the ad-
dress of any one making a remittance. Corr*sj»nidtnts
will ptea>o write their names legibly, and in full, with
post-ofllce, county, and State.

No. 1. — Twenty-flve choice annuals, free bloomers, $1 00
" 2. — Twenty choice annuals, biennial aud pi ren-

nial varieties, 1 00

" 3. — Twelve new and rare varieties, 1 00

" 4. — Twenty varieties, for green-house culture, 3 00
" o — I'm- hundred varieties, including many new

and rare sorts, 8 00

For directions for the cultivation of flowers, also for
select lists of Seeds and Plants, including new Roses,
Dahlias, Gladioli, Verbenas, etc., see Dreer's Garden
Calendar for 1SG4, which will be mailed to all who in-
close a postage stamp. Address

HENRY A. DKEER, Stutsman and Florist,
714 Chestnut Street, Philada.

A GExirs" out West has just patented a machine for
making chestnuts out of sweet potatoes. He is a brother
to the old gentleman who put handles to prickly pears
and then sold them for currycombs.

Messrs. J. E. Tii.ton <fr 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, post paid, 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.

CoxrsDRrMs: —

Why is "ove like a canal ?

Because it is (supposed to be) a source of internal tran-
sport.

Why is a lame dog like an inclined plane?

Because it 's a slow pup. (Slope-up )

"What sort of monkeys grow on grape-vines ?

Grov/-apes. (Grapes.)

When is charity like a top ?

When it begins to hum. (To-home.)

Why are Blondin's, the tight-rope dancer, performances
likely to be repeated ?

Because they are always " on cord/' (Eneored.)

Onte an editor, always an editor says the Louisville
Dernocrut. There is no fever so lingering as the typlias.

404

godey's lady's book and magazine.

JUVENILE DEPARTMENT.

FRUIT FIGURES.

THE OLD WOMAX,

Required — Your fist; a handkerchief; two raisins, or
large currants. To these you may add a few pips or
pieces of uut.

Directions. — Double your fist (but keep it to yourself,
please; fists are unpleasant things sometimes). Push the
tip of your thumb between your second and third fingers ;
that will form the old woman's tongue. (Mind it is not
too long.) Draw in your first finger, so that the knuckle
of your second finger will form the nose. (Do not make
the tip of it too red). Between the second and third
fingers, at each side of the nose, place raisins or currants
for eyes, (Do not make one brown and the other black).
On each side of the tongue, fix pips or pieces of nut for
teeth (if they are not pearly-white, nevermind). Arrange
over your fist a handkerchief, to form a comfortable cap
or hood for the old lady, and tben introduce her to the
company. If she is not pleased with the young folks,
they will be very pleased with her.

MISCELLANEOUS AMUSEMENTS.

MAGIC WRITING.

Present a person with a slip of paper, a pen, and a
tumbler of water, and desire him to dip the pen in the
tumbler, and write down whatever he pleases. When
dry, the words will be invisible, but, if the paper is im-
mersed in the contents of the tumbler, the writing will
make its appearance quite distinctly. To perform this the
pen should be a quill one, and new, and the water in the
tumbler should have one or two crystals of sulphate of
iron (green vitriol) previously dissolved in it, while the
writer should be careful the pen does not get dry in use.
"When the writing has been executed, the tumbler should
be taken away, on pretence of the water being rather
dirty, and wanting changing ; another similar tumbler is
brought back, filled to the same height with water, in which
a few drops of tincture of galls have been poured. When
the paper is immersed in this, the writing will quickly
appear.

AN ENTERTAINING GAME.

The party are seated at a table, each having paper and
pencil. One of the number writes a single word, either
substantive or noun, and places it in the middle of the
table. Then the company commence writing a question
on a slip of paper, inserting the word given in it. and
foidin^ it up The writer of the word collects all these

questions, shakes them in a basket or bag, and delivers
one to each of the party, who must write an answer under
the question, Suppose the substantive is given tna
writer says.

I have bought a fat goose; but my wife says it s tough;
I will exchange it to any for a good box of snuff.

ANSWER.

Now take my advice, though you re a General Comman-
der.
To eat it yourself, for being such a gander

After all the answers are written, the same person
receives them, and reads them aloud.

Then the next takes his turn in performing the same as
his predecessor. The interest derived >n the game depends
upon the company Some very witty and scientific sub-
jects are often cleverly handled.

THE SORCERER BEHIND THE SCREEN.

This is a somewhat singular game. One of the party is
placed behind a screen in an adjoining room, wbere he
cannot possibly see the players — or may be blindfolded. .
One of the party then calls out, "Do you know Miss

?" naming a lady's name. " Yes ' 'Do you know

her dress?" '-Yes. ' ''Her wreath, her slippers, her
gloves, and herbracelets?*' "Yes.'' " You know ever*
thingshewears?*' "Yes.'- "Her handkerchief? ■ "Yeas
"Her fan? ' "Yes." "Well then, since you know ner I
dress so well, tell me what article of ner costume I am ]
now touching?"' If the one behind the screen is acquainted
with the trick, he will of course answer directly, "her
bracelet/ the only article mentioned which nas che word
"and" before it. If the sorcerer be uninitiated he will
or bably mention several articles before be iiits on the
one touched, and for each blunder he must pay a forfeit.

When any of the players have a desire to get forfeits
from any particular individual known to be ignorant of
the ganfe, two >r three who snow it wiii agree to act the
sorcerer in succession, and make intended mistakes, in
order to escape suspicion of confederacy The last one
who guesses right then names as his successor the one
marked out to be victimized.

27*e Exploding Bubble.

If you take up a small quantity of melted glass with a
tube (the bowl of a common tobacco-pipe will do), und
let a drop fall into a vessel of water, it will chill and
condense with a fine spiral tail, which being broken, the
whole substance will burst with a loud explosion, with-
out injury either to the parly that holds it, or him that
breaks it; but if the thick end he struck, even with a
hammer, it will not break.

Bow to force the water contained in a plate to rise into a
glass turiu.il upside-down.

Pour some water into a plate, then light a piece of
paper, and when it is well ablaze throw it into a glass,
and place the glass upside-^own upon the plate. The
water will immediately flow up into tne glass.

How to place a glass of water so that no person can -e-
HHMM it from its place without spilling Us contents.

First announce your intention of placing a glass fined
with water in such a position that no person can re-
move it without spilling its contents You are SUTfl to
find somebody to say it is impossible. Fill a. glass with
water, and lay over it a piece of paper that covers the top
and edges of the glass ; place the palm of one hand upon
the paper, and with the other hand take hold of the glass
and turn it over quickly, taking care to put it on a smooth
straight table ; then withdraw the paper gently from be-
tween the glass and the table, and the water will remain
in the glass. Of course if it is turned, and the air enterst
the water will immediately run out on the table.

What orR Fashion Editor can Sitpplt. Address
Fashion Editor, care L. A. Godey, Philadelphia Mrs
Hale is not the fashion editress.

Hair-work, patterns for all kinds of garments, and for
women and children, jewelry, caps, bonnets, cloaks,
mantillas, taimas, mantles, headdresses, shawls, bead-
work, materials for wax and paper flowers, embroidery,
collars, capes, worsteds, Shetland wool, infants' ward-
robes ci patterns for the same, stamped collars, ornfi
bails, canvas for working etc etc

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

405

RURAL OR SUBURBAN RESIDENCE.
Designed expressly for Gfodej/'s Lady's Bouk, by Isaac II. Hobbs, Architect, Philadelphia.

PERSPECTIVE VIEW.

The above design is intended for a mansion-house, and
will be found a very appropriate building for a rural or
suburban residence. *

Thede^ii.'n as drawn places the kitchen and servants*
room in the basement. It contains a parlor B, dining-

room C, Da sitting-room, A hall, E reception-room, P
office or library, G carriage porch.

The second story contains seven chambers and two bed-
rooms for servaots, with ample halls. For a gentleman
of fortune the above design will be found very suitable.

406

GODEY S LADY & BOOK AN)J MAGAZINE,

They are very particular in England about characters
eiven to servant girls. Here is a case, where a lady,
good naturediy, but very improperly, gave a false char-
acter to a servant. She was brought before the court and
found guilty. The magistrate summed up as follows:—

" In a matter of this sort I have but one duty to perform,
and that is to protect the public from such false recom-
mendations as these. In this case she (Miss Howard) has
given a most excel leut character to a very bad thief, who
got into Mr. Boldero's service and there committed a
robbery. Considering the position of the defendant, I
hope the seutencel am about to pass will be a caution to
her. In this case I must inflict the full penalty. I have
the option of reducing the penalty, but I will not do it.
I trust that this will be a warning to all persons in a
similar position against giving false characters. I cannot
help saying that for any one in the position of the defen-
dant it is scandalous to commit an oflence like this. No
one can be safe if such things as these were to be slurred
over. The full penalty of twenty pounds and ten shillings
costs I must inflict; in default of payment to be impri-
soned for one month. I must add that you, Mr. Boidero,
hare done tbe public a most important service in prose-
cuting this caue."

" One of the forthcoming Loudon novelties is a musical
monthly magazine."

This is mentioned as a novelty in London. "We have
had for some time an excellent one here — " Hoiloway's
Musical Monthly."

How to Color tiie Photograph.— Messrs. J. E. Til-
ton & Co., Boston, have just published a little manual
on the art of painting the pliotograph, which is for sale
at the bookstores, or will Oe scut by them, post-paid,
for 10 cents.

Cats at Sea. — Considering how much the cat abhors
cold water, our readers must often have wondered why
seafaring men are so fond of taking the animal with them
on a voyage. This is explained by two circumstances.
Marine insurance does not cover damage done to cargo, by
the depredation of rats ; but if the owner of the damaged
goods can prove that the ship was sent to sea unfurnished
with a cat, he can recover damages from the shipmaster.
Again, a ship found at sea with no living creature on
board is considered a derelict, and is forfeited to the Ad-
miralty, the finders, or the Queen. It has often happened
that, after a ship has been abandoned, some domestic
animal — a dog, a canary bird, or most frequently a cat,
from its hatred of facing the waves — has saved the vessel
from being condemned as a derelict.

A Baby Car. — "Kingbolt,"' the Boston Courier's New
fork correspondent, suggests that the managers of the
steamboat lines runuing mi tbe Sound should establish a
%dby car, and claim the originality of the idea. He says:
" But I ask no other reward for the benefit that will
accrue to the company thau the thanks of all babydom,
which you will gratefully acknowledge is my due. If it
is too much to ask for a separate car at first, let the ex-
periment be tried on a email scale. Make one end of a
passenger car a nursery. Let it be separated by a cry-
tight compartment. Let it be supplied with an open
stove, with porringers and skillets. Let there be a locker
for pap-making ingredients, and let it contain all the
other infantile paraphernalia, which the fruitful wives
that hang their clusters about the directors' houses will
suggest to them with more force and propriety than my
limits of knowledge will permit."

A certain writer boasts that he directs all his shots at
error. It is all he has to shoot at, for he certainly never
gets within gunshot of the truth.

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

No order attended to un;ess the cash accompanies it.

Ail persons requiring answers by mail must send a
post-office stamp ; and for ail articles thai 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. G. B. H. — Sent hair ring January 22d

Mrs. E. W. P. — Sent articles by express 22d

Mrs. L. R. — Sent hair rings 23d.

M. A. W.— Sent gloves 23d.

Mrs. R. M. R. — Sent sleeve protectors 26th.

Mrs. R. A. F.— Sent pattern 26th.

Miss S. A. B. — Sent hair ear-rings February 2d.

G. F. T.— Sent hair ring 2d

Miss L. H. — Sent hair ring 2d.

Miss L. E. B. — Sent hair-work 2d.

Mrs C T R.— Sent cotton 2d.

Mrs. E. J. J — Sent nair 2d.

J. R. B.— Sent articles 4th.

M. W M. — Sent pattern 4th.

Mrs. S T. W.— Sent ring 5th.

Mrs. II B— Sent cigar-case 5th.

Mrs. M B.— Sent pattern 6th.

A. D B.— Sent pattern 6th.

Mrs. A. E. E. — Sent pattern slippers 6th.

K. S.— Sent pattern 6th

Mrs. M..A. F. — Sent pattern 6th.

R. E. S.— Sent pattern Gth.

Mrs. H. S. S. — Sent box containing set of furs, by ex-
press 6th.

Rev. J, S. H. — Sent box containing wardrobe by express
6th.

Mrs. C. H. M. — Sent hair masonic mark, Sth,

A. C. "W. — Sent zephyr work 6th.
Mrs. F. C. D— Sent pattern I9th
Mrs. L. R. W.— Sent hair-work 19th.

S. S. A. — The practice is obsolete now It was the
fashion some forty years since.

L. H. — A frock-coat is admissible anywhere.

Miss G. V R. — Have them filled with gold. Allow no-
thing else to be used.

Mrs. H. D. A. — Such a dress as you mention will be
found in this number.

G. A. L. — Ch means chain-stitch; Dc double crochet;
L long stitch.

S. M. S. — February number, 1869, contained a masonic
slipper,' which we can send you for 25 cents.

Inquirer. — The impenetrable "dress shields" cost 50
cents a pair,'

Alice. — We know of no style of arranging shorc hair
except friz curls.

B. M. C. — Lead combs darken the hair J they cost $1 5G,
including postage.

$w\iait.

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 thp charge oi
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 mantelet-, will h<=- chosen with a view to econo-
my, as well as taste ; and boxes or packages forwarded

FASHIONS.

40 7

t>y express to any pari of the country. For the lust,
distant direct ion a tnusl i"1 given.

•Av* /or the pi

■ . ■ ■ l

No ■■■■ ■ unless the mom >j * • - H

■ d. A» u '<■ r the K tit or nor Puldu \ ■ ■ ovnt-
((''■'• for las ■ ■■■' m r.y ■■■ -.■■ in . ■■ m itting.

The Pu ol the Lady's Book has no Interest in

this department, and knows nothing of the Iran -a 11
and whether the per sou sending the order la or 1- 1

icriber to the Lady's Book, tho Fashion editor dues
not know.

to he as minute as i* p ssible, ai n <>mpanied
by a note of the he sion, and general style of

Dress

Si Co.'s ; mourning poods from Beason

if any kind from Messrs. A T. Stewart

. New York; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, from

Brodie's, 51 Canal Street, New York : bonnets from the

ted establishments ; jewelry from Wriggens

& Warden, or Caldwell's, Philadelphia.

When dered, the fashions that prevail here

govern the purchase; therefore, no articles will be taken
1 the goods are sent, the transaction must be
Considered final.

DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR
APRIL.

Fig. 1.— Dinner-dress of rich pearl-colored silk, trimmed
with - rmed of gold-colored chenillo cord and

■ -nille drop buttons and fancy plaitings of the silk,
I with chenille cord. The corsage is in the 1'
: stylo, and the sleeve consists of merely a jockey.
Fancy white muslin guimpe and sleeves. Black lace
coiffure, with barbe ends.

Fig. 2. — Evening-dress of heavy white corded silk,

made with a tunic skirt. Both skirts are edged with a

narrow ruffle and puff, and trimmed with black lace

3. The corsage is made round, and trimmed to match

1 klrt.

Fig. 3. — Child's dress of checked silk, trimmed with

Is of imperial blue silk. Red-riding-hood sack, made

scarlet flannel, and trimmed with a plaiting of ribbon

and narrow black velvet.

Fig. 4. — Walking- dress of smoke-gray poplin. Both
dress and sack are trimmed with rich gimp ornaments,
hat, trimmed with scarlet velvet and white plumes.
Fig, "'—Rich lilac robe silk, woven with a fancy black
i sign on the skirt. Sash of white silk, trimmed
with black velvet. The corsage is cut in a point both
. and front, to show the fancy white muslin chemi-
sette. The hair is rolled in front, and arranged in v
fall style, and puffs at the back. Wreath of lilac velvet
flowers, with a long spray on the left side.

Fig. 6. — Walking-dress of brown alpaca, braided on
the edge of the -kirt with black braid. Fancy plaid wrap,
trimmed with chenille fringe. Peach blossom silk bon-
net, trimmed with white lace and cherries for the inside
trimming.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA
FASHIONS F<»R APRIL.

Sprtno comes slowly on, but she betrays her presence
even in March, with here and there a brighter color or a
sweeter hue. As the month of violets opens, these indica-
tions increase until on some fine April morning Broads ay
bursts suddenly into a moving j-trt>rr>-: of beauty.

The store windows now present to the passers by a
choice assortment of piqxUs percales, and brill antes In
the soft creamy and pearl tints, besi-J. ety of

green, cuir, lilac, and'huff. Some are covered with strange
I 1 'king geometrical figures, while others are powdered
over with brilliant tiny plumes.

Most of the p bedresses are printed in lace-like designs ;
Some having bauds resembling au insertion, with an edge

;,. : b 1 ■ e b 1 ' '■■ like pieces arrangi 1
In fanciful designs. Another beautiful style has a deep
band of a different color, with the 1 ppi r 1 d ■■■ scalloped,
laid, or rather printed on the extreme edge of the Bklrt,

and ah ■ ■■ 1 ! / bee al Hal braiding d is g n. The

■amedes! pi, In reduced rite, Is on the Zouave and sleeves.

Pot 1 - 1- are generally in white grounds

. ■■■-.(! with a delicate tracery of buds aud leaves.

For promenade costume, there is nothing yet strikingly
novel. Wo s-e many dresses made >. n s-nite, that is, dr.- s
and mantle alike. Tho principal colors are tl'

■ ■:■■. ,,::y. (he l"vly -

fashionable euir color. The .suits are generally trimmi d

With chenille fringes, flat trimmings, and bias bands of

plaid material, also plaid ribbons arranged In a variety of

ways.

1» -nble and triple rows of fringe are worn on silk
dresses, and lace insertions are still worn. Indeed, tho
richest dress we have lately seen was a black Bilk, with
a wide thread lace insertion over a white silk band with
pinked edges, laid round the skirt, and carried up the
front in a fanciful design.

l.i : year we spoke of dresses waved on the edge of the
skirt, but this season they are cut in deep scallops, about
tho width of the hand, and bound with the same as a
contrasting color.

A hint now to the economical. When your dress is
soiled on the edge, cut it off and scallop it. Then uuder-
neath the scallops sew a piece of some material to make
it the desired length, and cover this with one or two ruffles.
The scallops must be allowed to fall partly over the ruffles,
and the effect is exceedingly pretty. It is an excelleut
method of renovating an old dress, or a pretty style for a
new "no.

Some of the newest dresses have a chenille fringe, a
box-plaited ruffle, or rows of black laco shells arranged
on the skirt to resemble a tunic, being quite long behind
and short in front.

Foulard is greatly in favor for entire suits including the
parasol.

The Directoire body is one of the fashionable styles. It
fits the figure closely at the waist, is open in front, with
revere, like a gentleman's vest, and is fastened at the left
side. Tho revers can be faced with either a plaid, or
high-colored silk. The waist has a jockey at the back,
and the whole is trimmed with long, hanging buttons.

A wry elegant morning robe is cut like a ca.saque in

front, and is fitted to the figure at the back by a Uurgi

box-plait. A pretty trimming for this style of wrapper

itfl of straps of Bilk, which commence at the throat,

narrow to the waist, and enlarge as they descend to the

bottom of the skirt.

A very pretty salt fer a little girl can be made of buff
mohair, and trimmed as follows: The skirt should be
cut in deep scallops and bound, then turned up ou the
light side like a hem, and a fancy button sewed on each
: p. A circular cape trimmed in the same manner
completes a very simple and pretty promenade dress.

In plaid silks there is somewhat of a novelty. It consists
of a small golden-colored dot in each square of tho plaid,
which gives it a rich and striking effect.

Jockeys assume a variety of forms. Sometimes they
arc in three pieces d la postilion, the centre one being
the longer. Sometimes they are square and box-plaited
in the centre, and fastened down with buttons. Othi PS
again have hut one long point, while others are swallow-
Uiled.

Di Bases are still made buttoned down the left shoulder to

403

GODEYTS LADY7S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

the arm, and from thence crossing to the right side of the
waist.

Besides the numerous plaid wraps at Brodie's, we find
an admirahle assortment of plain cloths. They are of the
Spanish crt/e and the cafe an lait, in all the different
shades, besides a great variety of grays, generally on the
pink tinge. Many of the cloths have a bias stripe of two
threads crossing them, which »s quite pretty. Thecasaques
and rotundes are trimmed with flat chenille trimmings,
fringes, drop buttons, and head gimps.

Water-proof cloaks seem now to be a necessary article
in a lady's wardrobe. They are generally made with the
quaker style of hood, which can be pulled over the bonnet.
They are buttoned all the way down the front with large
black buttons stamped with butterflies, snakes, birds,
grasshoppers, and other devices. The newest water-proof
we have seen had a long pointed hood, a regular capuchin,
trimmed with a box-plaiting of the material and two long
silk tassels.

In bonnets we see a great variety of colored chips
trimmed with ribbon to match or a good contrast. The
fashionable flowers seem to be the elegant scarlet cactus,
in bright, soft shades of velvet, which gives it a peculiar
lustre, magnolias, water-lilies, and geraniums. Bright
flowers, with brown grass and heather, have an excellent
effect in the caps of bonnets whicb are trimmed with plaids.
Black crtn , or horse-hair bonnets, are very much worn,
and the new color Milan, which is between a salmon and
a corn color, looks particularly well on them. Roses of
this color, with scarlet berries and black ribbon, make a
very stylish trimming.

Another new color is called flamme de punch, from its
resembling the bright, flickering light from a punch bowl.
This color is particularly pretty for a white straw or chip
bonnet. Amethyst is also one of the new colors.

Black crins also look well trimmed with feathers having
plaid tips. This is arranged by tipping each little feathery
strand with a different color, which produces a plaid-like
effect. Another style of trimming for a black bonnet is a
green and blue ribbon or velvet, and peacock's tips; the
last being very fashionable for children's hats, for head-
dress, and for the trimming of ball dresses.

Tufts of leathers studded with jet, steel, and crystal, are
much in vogue for bonnets and headdresses.

Travelling oonnets are made of silk to match the dress,
or of colored straw. They are very much trimmed with
ohettille fringe, tipped with large beads falling over the
f^ceand crown.

Children are all wearing hats, and the newest trimming
we have seen is a band of velvet or ribbon round the
crown, with a falling bow at the back. This bow is not
fastened on the hat, but depends from the ends, which are
apart at the top and are joined below the brim. Many
also are trimmed with straw ribbons ornamented with a
narrow design in black, also straw ornaments, such as
oats, lilies of the valley, fringes, buttons, and straw tas-
sels. The prettiest flowers are poppies, daisies, hops, corn
flowers, buttercups, and bright berries.

We notice that parasols are a shade longer than last
year, and are trimmed with leather, lace insertions, and
beads. The trimmings are all laid on the parasols, and
not allowed to fall over. The handles are carved wood,
either oak or walnut, or a light transparent ivory resem-
bling tortoise shell.

Linen sets are now being relieved by an edging of
Valenciennes, which renders them much more becoming.
As yet no new shapes have appeared.

A very pretty and simply neaddro^s for a youug lady is

formed of two bands of plaid velvet round the front of the
head, and a large bow at the left side. One band only-
passes round the head, and in this is an elastic so tuat it
may be arranged high or low to suit the coiffure. Thick
gold cords are frequently entwined in the hair with good
effect.

Young ladies are still wearing the front hair either in
rolls, double rolls, or crimped. The latter, though pretty,
we would not advise as a permanent style; as we consider it
very inj urious to the hair. The back nair is arranged either
in waterfall or Grecian style The latter, we may say, is
the rage. As all our fair friends are not endowed with
curly locks, and cuny papers are certainly neither grace-
ful nor tidy, and pinching the hair is decidedly not a
tonic, we would advise them to have a false Grecian.
These are exceedingly pretty, and fastened on a comb so
they can be arranged in the hair without any trouble.

In bows there are a very great variety of style. The
white ones are quite small and ornamented with applica-
tions of bright-colored silk or velvet chain stitched on in
points and other designs.

For y.mng ladies we particularly admire the French
muslins dotted in colors: these are very suitable for a
party dress for a miss, and can be worn throughout the
summer, always looking fresh and pretty and muca
more suitable than a trimmed dress.

A very elegant ball dress can be made of tufted illusion.
It represents clouds of tulle fastened down on a thin skirt
at equal and regular distances by small bows with ends.
Either white or colored hows can he used, and the effect is
perfectly charming, it is, however, an expensive dress,
for unless the dress is exceedingly full, it loses its soft,
cloud-like appearance. We are told that it requires fifty
yards of tulle and two hundred and twenty yards cf
ribbon for this style of dress, but we look upon this as aa
exaggeration.

In the present number we give some very excellent
headdresses, not from the liaison Tilman, but of their
stamp. Our readers will now see how the little oddities,
such as snakes and the mother-of-pearl butterflies, are
arranged, though the cuts, we admit, give but a faint idea
of the elegant originals.

Mother-of-pearl, which we first saw introduced in the
Tilman headdresses, and of which we spoke in our last
chat, is rapidly gaining ground. The ever-varyhig colors
it emits by gas light render it a valuable addition to
an evening toilet. The pearly part of the shell is sepa-
rated in strips as thin as paper, and with these lavers,
trembling oats and wheat ears are admirably well imitated.
These, mixed with other flowers and arranged on the
head and over the dress, produce a glittering and beautiful
effect.

Wo had an opportunity recently of witnessing at Mme.
Dcmorest's a now and very efficient running-stitch sewing '
machine. It is quite unlike the former one both in ap-
pear;! nee and operation. A common short sewing needle
is used, whicb is very easily placed and not at all liable
to bo broken. Mothers and dressmakers will find this
little machine of infinite service in making up all kinds of
clothing.

The Roman scarfs which we described last month are
now exceedingly fashionable. Not only are they made
of split zephyr, but they are also woven in bright-colored
silks. The latest style for wearing them is to knot them
at the back of the neck and allow the end's to hang down
behind.

In our next chat we will give a description of some of
Mme Natalie TilmaD's now importations Fashion.

Capew&7l & Kirnrrt.e.1

GdTOETS FASEHOM

SHIELD SHAPE HANGING PINCUSHION.

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One of the new spring wraps, made of cuir-eolorpd cloth, bound with black silk, and braided with black braid. The
hood is lined with black silk, and trimmed with fancy gimp ornaments.

420

THE SPAHI.

Pr.rini: wrap, made of very rich hlnck silk. and trimmed with a deep twitted cheDille binge, The bnnnet is eoi.
oibhick Neapolitan and white ■ I with chenille.

33*

421

SPRING WALKING SUIT,

Bnff pitpU, with a braiding design stamped in black, on skirt, waist, sleeve, and wcqne.

422

THE HISPANIA.

[From tho establishment of G. Brodie, 51 Canal Btreet, New York. Drawn by L. T. Voiar, from actual articles

of costume.]

We mnst call attention to the peculiarity of the hood, in that it opens, making the capnchon a hollow bag. It does
not lie flat to the back as f-rmerly.

The plaid in the illustration was drawn from one which was rather small, and we oupht therefore to state that very
larje plaids are now the favorite mode, almost double the die of these checks. The cords and tassels are exquisitely
designed, bnt their illustration is npon too small a scale to exhibit their beauty to advantage. The colors are made
to match the plaid ; their form and effect is the verv poetry of pendants.

423

(-1
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424

425

423

WALKING-DRESS

FOB A LITTLE GIRL.

Smoke-colored poplin skirt, with frnir bands of imperial blue silk arranged on the front of the skirt. Each band ia
embroidered on the end, and finished with a quilled ribbon. The corsage is made with jacket and vest. The, latter is
I of imperial blue bilk, and the jacket of popliu, like the skirt, trimmed with blue ribbon and silk.

CORSET COVER

Hade ot flue cambric muslin, and trimmed with worked medallions and Valenciennes lace.

427

BRAIDING PATTERN.

LADY'S DRESS IN EMBKOIDERY.

The material of the dress is a thin cambric muslin, and the pattern is intended to be carried ronnd the bottom of the
Bkirt just above the hem. In this wav the large Sower will be at the lower part of the pattern nearest to the hem. Some
ladies who have leisure and inclination for this sort of work will carry the pattern up each side of the front in the tabiier
style, and in this case the pattern from the bottom of the skirt to the waist will ascend, the (lowers hanging down ; but if
this arrangement is adopted, the pattern must be reversed from the middle of the skirt behind, having been traced on the
contrary side of the paper. The stalks of the flower-branch are sewn over, and in the middle part, between the double
lines, the rounds are worked as holes of graduated sizes. The centre of the large flower is in cut-out holes, and all the
leaves are in the cut-out embroidery ; the smaller flowers being worked to match. We think that this design would give
great satisfaction carried round the skirt of a young child's dress, and two rows with a tuck between would greatly add
to its richness.

428

GODEY'S

%i\h'$ $oolt antr |J9tapfbtt

PHILADELPHIA. MAY, 13G4.

"NOBODY TO BLAME.

i 1 M A U 1 o S I! A R I. A N D .

[Entered, according^o Act of Ooagsess, In tan v.-^r Is.;.:, by Loan A. Godet, in the dork's office of the District Court
of the Caitod States, ill an.l for tho Kastoru District of Pennsylvania.]

(Coutiuuo.1 from pa^e 344.)

CIIAPTKR IX.

Oxe fine morning, two months subsequent
to the events narrated in the last ohapter,
John Cleveland stood on the corner of the
hlock in which was situated his boarding-
honse, watching the approach of a street-car.
lie was arrested in the act of signalizing the
driver, by a hand upon his arm.

"Good-morning. Mr. LaWTenoel" he said.
recognising the gentleman who had taken
this liberty with his movements. "Are you
going down town ?"

"Yes ; but will you let that man drive on,
and walk a short distance with me I I have
something to say to you."

John consented, and the two started down
the street side by side. Mr. Lawrence was a
junior member of a large importing house, a
man whoso gentlemanly bearing and kind
heart won for him general esteem. Cleveland
had known him well — almost intimately, for
many years, and various acts of courtesy and
liberality in their business intercourse had
given each a high opinion of tho other's pro-
bity and good-will. John was not surprised,
therefore, when his companion assumed a
confidential tone in broaching the theme of
the proposed conversation.

A very painful, a truly distressing circum-
stance had come to light in their establishment,
within a day or two past, he stated. Some
Weeks since, suspicions that all was not right
VOL. LiVlll.— 34

was awakened, and a secret investigation was
set on foot. The result left no doubt in the
minds of the firm that large suras had been
embezzled from time to time, and false entries
made to conceal the theft. The guilty party
was one to whom they were personally much
attached ; a young man trained by themselves,
and heretofore trusted to the utmost limit of
confidence.

"You must have seen him in our inner
office," said Mr. Lawrence, dropping his voice
and looking carefully over his shoulder to
make sure that he was safe in mentioning
names. " Our chief book-keeper, Lorraine."

"Is it possible!" ejaculated the listener.
"I know him — that is, I have seen him, but
not in your office, I think."

"A handsome, sprightly fellow!" said Mr.
Lawrence. "Our Mr. Lawrence, Senior, my
worthy uncle, feels an especial fondness for
him. Lorraine having been the particular
friend of his only son, a fine lad, who died
some years ago. The other clerks have
manifested a disposition to grumble at Lor-
raine's rapid promotion, and 1 have myaaif
once or twice intimated to my uncle that his
partiality was perhaps too obvious. But it
did honor to his heart, if not to his head.
This nnworthy conduct on the part of his
protect! is a sore trial to the old gentleman. I
think the ingratitude, that characterizes it is
the stiug that pierces most sharply."

429

430

godey's lady's book and magazine.

"It is most base, inexcusable!" remarked
John. "Is he aware that his crime ia dis-
covered?"

"He suspects that some part of it is known,
if he has not learned, by some means, of the
search and its result. My uncle left a note
upon his desk yesterday afternoon, asking for
a private interview in his office this morning,
a measure of questionable expediency in my
opinion, since, if he is as well informed with
regard to our discoveries as I apprehend, he
may abscond without meeting us."

" Is it your purpose to expose him ?"

"Yes — and no! We cannot, in justice to
ourselves and others who might employ him
in the same capacity he occupies in our
establishment, conceal the fact that his own
Wrong-doing is the cause of his discharge.
Hut we will not prosecute him, or make
public the precise nature of his offence. I
am thus frank with you, Mr. Cleveland,
because I feel, so to speak, the need of a sym-
pathizing listener and adviser. Moreover,
you will doubtless hear many false versions
of this unpleasant affair, and we wish that a
few discreet friends should know the truth in
full, that reports reflecting upon ourselves
may be contradicted."

John thanked him for the confidence with
which he had honored him, and expressed
sincere sorrow for what had occurred. It
would have been affectation to say that the
revelation of Lorraine's villany was as start-
ling to him as to the firm that employed the
defaulter, yet he had not expected to hear it
so soon. Marian had repeated to her husband
and his partner her father's strictures upon
the fast young dandy, and Mr. Ainslie had
heard hints from other quarters that corrobo-
rated the dark sketch. John's personal pre-
judice against Lorraine was so strong, that a
native sense of justice withheld "him from
passing judgment upon him, even in his own
mind, until Mr. Lawrence's disclosure left no
room for charitable hesitation.

Mr. Ainslie was already at his desk when
his partner entered, and received a pleasant
rejoinder to his salutation.

" All well ?" asked John, as he seated him-
self in his office-chair.

The oddity of this question, repeated each
morning, seemed never to strike either of
them. It was presumed to refer to the Ainslie
household proper, which was, in Mr. Ainslie's
absence, represented by his wife alone, unless,

by a forced interpretation, the servants were
included under the friendly inquiry. Will
answered as gravely as though he were the
patriarch of a numerous flock.

" All well, thank you ! at least, all who are
at home. Maggie went yesterday to spend a
week with Miss Dupont."

"Ah !" and there the conversation stopped.

It was hard work to settle to business this
forenoon. John's relations with Maggie were
becoming daily more ambiguous. Once, since
his formal avowal of attachment to her, he
had spoken plainly and warmly of the same,
and expressed a wish for her reply. He had
taken her hand, and not been repulsed ;
called her by endearing names, and she had
not shrunk from him. But she was over-
powered by confusion, mastered by an appa-
rent strife of emotions, and he could not get
a single glimpse of the ingenuous countenance
that would, he fancied, have told him what
he had to hope or fear. Her broken sentences
conveyed some acknowledgment of his ' ' good-
ness" and "generous, undeserved affection,"
and promised soon, very soon, to end his
suspense. At this interesting juncture, the
pattering footfall of the invariable marplot,
Tiny, was heard approaching, and Maggie
darted out of the room by the nearest door.

John was a patient lover, not, as Miss
Dupont affirmed, through lukewarmness, but
because the very depth of his love instructed
him in self-denial. He was one of the very
small number of men in this hurrying age of
quid pro quo, who could fully enter into the
meaning of those significant arid 'beautiful
words — "And Jacob served seven years for
Rachel, and they seemed unto him but a few days,
for the love he had for her."

Latterly, there had stolen into this waiting
forebodings that left long shadows upon the
heart, although they did not cloud the cheerful
face. He disapproved utterly of Maggie's
infatuated fondness for Marie Dupont's society.
Mrs. Ainslie, with all her expressed distrust
of the "French clique," as she styled them,
did not observe the effect of this companion-
ship upon her sister as did John's vigilant
eye. She was changed from the bright, happy
child he had learned to love. Her spirits
were high whenever he met her — apparently
exuberant ; but her cheeks were oft encr flushed
than blooming ; a deep, burning hue. hard
in outline and fixed in its place, instead of
the quick, changing carmine that used to

"NOBODY to blame."

431

fluctuate with every breath. Tlio Misses Boyw
lau were very gay this season, and '
plunged into the stream of trolio and frivolity
with the desperate mirth of a blast or disap-
pointed votary of pleasure, who seeks ex-
citement to drown thought, rather than the
innocent glee of an uns.itiuteil novice. " Those
Dopants are doing their utmost to make her
as artificial as tb " Marian said, re-

Bentfully, and her husband "wondered why
John did not show himself the resolute, sen-
sible I'.llow he was, and end all this nonsense.?'
It was not that John was blind to any of these
growing evils. They all passed in review
before him now, as he tried to read and
answer letters, to overlook invoices and issue
orders. He began to ask himself if patience
had not had her perfect work, if it were not
for Maggie's good, as well as his happiness, to
insist upon having his position defined, not
only to himself, hut to the mischievous cabal
that were striving to mar the pure simplicity
of the character he so admired. This sober
train of ideas was broken by the entrance of
the companion of his morning's walk.

His face wore a look of perplexed concern,
and, drawing John aside, he stated that the
delinquent clerk had failed to keep the ap-
pointment made for him by the senior Law-
rence. That this was not accidental, was
proved by the fact that the letter, which had
been placed upon his desk, was no longer
there. Cautious inquiries were then insti-
tuted concerning him among his fellow-em-
5, and two items of information gained.
The porter who swept out the store early in
the morning testified to having seen Mr,
Lorraine enter the counting-room, shortly
after the doors were opened, but he had not
thought of watching his movements, and did
not notice when he went out. Another clerk
stated that, having gone with a friend to the
depot of the Hudson River Railroad, at eight
o'clock, he had seen Lorraine there, and

heard him ask for a ticket to station. It

occurred to him, he said, that Lorraine looked
uneasy, as he bade him "good-morning," in
passing, although he gave tho circumstance
no further thought at the time.

"My object in troubling you with this visit,
Mr. Cleveland," said Mr. Lawrence, "is to
inquire of you or of Mr. Ainslie, whether you
can furnish us with any clue to this unhappy
young man's hiding-place. Mr. Ainslie lives
so near the station named, that he may be

familiar with Lorraine's haunts in that i
borhood. 1 know that he is in the habit of
visiting much up the river, and have heard
rumors of his engagement to some lady re-
siding in or near . Can you aid us by

any suggestions on this head .'"

" I believe that I am acquainted with the

lady in question," replied John. " But before

le to your request for suggestions, allow

me to inquire how you propose to act in the

event of your procuring certain tidings of his

whereabouts .'"

"I shall seek him in person, perhaps in
company with a friend, taking along a private
policeman, whose duty it will be to arrest
Lorraine, if he cannot be brought away by
He measures. If he is disposed to bo
reasonable, we will try to elicit a confessio >
that may enable us to find out his accomplices,
if he has any, and possibly lead to the re-
covery of some of the stolen money. My
uncle cannot be persuaded* that a moral le, -
ture will not hi; beneficial, but my faith in
this means of reformation is very weak. Is
my explanation satisfactory?"

"Entirely. I can, I think, direct you to
the refuge of the runaway. I would ask one
favor in return. If you have not seJ
your companion in this expedition, let me go
with you."

"The very thing I was about to ask of
you I" said Mr. Lawrence, grasping his hand.
" And we have no time to lose."

In most circumstances, this task of hunting
out a fugitive from justice would have been
the last office John would have accepted, much
less solicited. He foresaw, for himself, the
lasting hatred of Lorraine ; the scorn and
enmity of the Duponts ; the calumnies that
would be disseminated in gossiping circles,
to explain his share in this transaction, and
he was not a man who valued his reputation
lightly, or underrated the power of evil ru-
mors to tarnish the fairest name. But. op-
posed to all these dissuasives from the step
he proposed, stood the image of Id
frightened and trembling at the violent or
mournful scenes that might attend the capture
of the dishonest clerk. She could not but be
horrified beyond degree by the accusation
brought against Marie's betrothed, and she
had not Marie's hardihood to bear her tip
under the shock of the discovery and tho
arrest. At such a moment, she ought to
have a protector — a comforter — and he, of all

432

godey's lady's book and magazine.

those who loved her, was the only one who
could thus serve her. From the moment Mr.
Lawrence had mentioned tho name upon Lor-
raine's ticket, John's resolution was taken.
If Mrs. Dupont's house were entered on this
errand, he would be one of the party, or their
forerunner.

The two gentlemen alighted at the wayside
station nearest the suspected mansion, about
eleven o'clock. The villa stood upon high
ground, nearly a mile back of the river, and
was approached by a winding road. The
policeman, who was dressed in plain clothes,
so as not to attract attention, stepped from
another car than that which his employer had
quitted, and stopped at the little depot while
the others walked on. lie overtook them at
a point where an angle of the road concealed
the house from their view.

"All right so far!" he said. "He got off
here and went straight up — " nodding in the
direction of the dwelling. "Walk on pretty
briskly, if you please, gentlemen. If he sees
tis coming, he may be off. I wish those frout
windows did not rake the whole country. If
they are on the look-out, they will have plenty
of time to disguise him into a Sambo or a
grandmother, if he doesn't eare to risk giving
leg-bail. I see there is a sort of porter's lodge
at the gate. I shall wait there. If you want
me, just wave a handkerchief in that direction,
aaid I am on hand."

"This must be a beautiful place in sum-
mer," remarked Mr. Lawrence, as they neared
the grounds.

He was growing nervous in the anticipation
of the task before him, and his companion
shared the feeling too much to reply, except
by a nod. There was no one visible at tin;
pretty lodge, nor any sign of human life
about the lawn or buildings. The villa was
spacious and handsome, with a Grecian front,
and the lawn sloped from it on all sides. The
shrubbery was tied up in matting, and the
grass covered with a sort of compost of leaves
and straw, to protect it from the biting river
winds. John noticed all these things me-
chanically while he passed up the avenue,
and as he stood upon the piazza, awaiting the
response to Mr. Lawrence's ring. They were
not detained long. A middle-aged servant in
livery, the " Thomas" whom Lorraine had
personated on Cleveland's birth-night, un-
closed the door, and returning a grave affirma-

tive to the inquiry whether the ladies were at
home, ushered the gentlemen into the parlor.

CHAPTER X.

Mrs. Dupont, a showy, well-dressed woman,
arose at the visitors' entrance, with an air of
unsuspecting politeness that was an inimi-
table counterfeit if it were acting.

"Mr. Cleveland !" shesaid, "I amhappyto
see you !"

John took her offered hand in some embar-
rassment, and introduced his friend to her,
then to Marie and Maggie, who were also
present. The young ladies were seated at a
centre-table strewed with worsted and other
materials for embroidery. Both wore simple
negligfa, and there was nothing in their sur-
roundings and occupation indicative of any
previous interruption of their morning's quiet
or industry. It was an awkward, 'and an un-
gracious undertaking to bring forward the
object of their call. Mr. Lawrence felt very
much as if he were insulting the courteous
hostess, as he made a desperate attempt to
open the negotiations.

"I fear, madam, that you will consider
this an unwarrantable intrusion of a stranger
upon your family circle, nor can I hope that
you will regard it in a more favorable light,
when you learn the very unpleasant business
that has brought me hither."

Mrs. Dupont's features expressed bland
surprise ; Marie looked up inquiringly : while
Maggie paled suddenly, and her shaking
fingers could hardly hold, much less guide,
her needle. John noted these signs of per-
turbation, and said, inwardly —

" He is here I She lacks the effrontery that
enables the others to dissemble successfully."

"I beg your indulgence, ladies," Mr. Law-
rence went on, "if I put questions that may
seem to you impertinent, and insist, more
earnestly than politely, upon your replies.
You are acquainted, I believe, madam, with
Mr. Lorraine, lately a book-keeper in our
house — the firm of Lawrence & Co. ?"

" I am, sir," answered Mrs. Dupont, calmly.

"We have reason to believe that he has
wilfully absented himself from our establish-
ment this forenoon, to avoid an investigation
which wo feel ourselves bound to make of
some unpleasant business occurrences that

"nobody to blame.

4S3

have recently come to our knowledge. Al-
though he may think differently, it is to his
interest to grant us an interview. May I

Inquire, madam, where yon last saw this gen-
tleman f"

"I can hare n I to telling you.

sir. Mr. Lorraine breakfasted with us this
morning."

"Is he in the house .it present f"

"lie is not."

" Will you inform me at what time he left
you?"

"His intention, as he bade us 'good-by,'
was to take the nine o'clock train hack to New
York."

•■Tlie nine o'clock train, did you say,
madam .'"

"I did, sir."

Here was a flaw in the testimony so
smoothly given. Mr. Lawrence was shrewd
to detect it, and quick to conclude that the
suave lady might be oapable of further falsifi-
cation.

" I regret, madam, that I must he so rude
as to correct this statement. We have cer-
tain evidence that Mr. Lorraine did not leave
the city until eight o'clock. You see, at once,
that he could not, then, have breakfasted here
in season to return by nine."

The widow's rouge was variegated by streaks
of natural red, and her eye fell for a second.
Marie came to the rescue.

'f I could have rectified my mother's mis-
take as soon as it was made, sir, had you
allowed me an opportunity to speak. Mamma,
Mr. Lorraine did not leave this house until
half-past nine. We are not accustomed to
lamination in this law-abiding, peace-
ful neighborhood. Mr. Lawrence, or we might
be more exact in noting the precise hour at
which our friends come and depart. Had we
supposed that Mr. Lorraine's visit was a
matter of such vital consequence to others
than ourselves, we would have been ready
with our depositions. For my part, I cannot
even remember whether he drank one, or
two cups of coffee, or ate biscuits instead of
cakes."

This scoffing tone was just what John had
lonked for from her, and Mr. Lawrenei
the more patiently, in the recollection of Miss
Dupont's relation to the concealed culprit.
This impulse of compassionate forbearance
induced him to turn to another, and, as he
supposed, a less interested party.

34*

"Miss Boy Ian I"

Maggie started convulsively, and hex faoe
grew, if possible, of a more ghastly white.

'• What is your impression as to the hour ■ f
Mr. Lorraine's deserting auch pleasant :-
as this? Was it nine, or half-past, or — "
bending a searching gaze upon her — "do yi a
recollect that he left at all?"

Twice Maggie's quivering lips essayed to
utter the falsehood she had been instructed 10
speak. The third time, she almost whiaperi 1,
" He did go! I do not know when."

" Y'ou are certain, then, that he is not on
these premises at this time?" pursued Mr.
Lawrence, his eye growing more penetrating.

"Y'our question is an insult, sir!" inter-
posed Marie, with the evident design of cov-
ering Maggie's confusion by timely bluster.

" Excuse me, Miss Dupont, but I must have
the information I seek from some source. It
is better for your friend. Mr. Lorraine, to fall
into my hands than into those of the law ha
has violated. I know that he came to this
place at the hour I have named, and that lie
has not since appeared at the depot below.
This is plain, harsh truth ; but it is truth, ai. 1
must be told. It is of the last importance
Mr. Lorraine, and to those connected with bin ,
that I should And him. If he is conceal
the house—"

"Sir!" Mrs. Dupont arose in awful dignity
and stretched her hand towards the beli-
knob.

"Before you summon your servants, madam,
I deem it but just to inform you that B
from me Will bring an actor upon the Scene
whom you cannot eject with impunity. There
is a policeman within call."

Maggie uttered a faint scream, and droppi 1
her head upon the table. John could n t
bear this. He went around to her, an. I
stooping, whispered some words intended to
reassure her.

"Do not be frightened, dearest M
unworthy as the fellow is, he will not 1 e
punished very severely. Do not let your
sympathy with Miss Dupont lead you to in. -
tate her in deception. Be yourself. Speak
the truth!"

"I cannot! I cannot!" she moaned, in
stilled accents. Oh! if I had never lived to
see this day !"

"Hush! hush, my darling!" John's ban 1
sought hers under the table. "This disa-
greeable affair cannot hurt you. Trust me

434

godey's lady's book and magazine.

to see that your name is never mixed up in
it."

During this by-play, Marie and her mother
held a council on the opposite side of the room.
Its decision was announced by Mrs. Dupont,
who had recovered her self-assured manner.

"The shortest, and, as it seems to me, the
only satisfactory manner of settling this dis-
pute, sir, is to summon your policeman and
instruct him to search the premises. Our
solemn assurances having been inadequate to
convince you that we are not harboring the
person you seek, it remains to be proved what
can be discovered by other means. Only,
sir, remember that if this examination is as
ineffectual as the other, the consequences of
your behavior on this occasion will fall upon
yourself."

Mr. Lawrence deliberated for a moment — ■
then saying, "I am willing to abide them!"
stepped to the door and waved his handker-
chief.

The policeman received his orders in the
hall, Mr. Lawrence returning to the parlor
when he had given them. A dead silence
reigned in the apartment. Mrs. Dupont sat
in lofty hauteur, her black eyes fixed upon
vacancy. Marie resumed her work, ignoring
the presence of the gentlemen, only a nervous
twitching of the swift fingers evidencing her
secret disquiet. Mr. Lawrence stood at a
window overlooking the river. Mr. Cleveland
watched Maggie, in anxious pity. She re-
mained still as a marble statue, her head
bowed upon the table, her fingers interlock, d
upon her lap.

We have heard of men, who, in the death
hour, lamented over the wayward thoughts
that wandered from the dread issue pending
upon the few, brief remaining minutes of
time, to trivialities totally dissociated from
the scene and hour. We have felt our own
mind, at the actual instant of life's sorest
bereavement, turning aside, as in sheer ina-
bility or perverse unwillingness to receive the
terrible consciousness of present woe, to
remark such paltry objects as the wry fold of
a curtain ; a medicine stain upon the pillow ;
the creases of the disordered coverlet. Yet
all the while the horror of the great empty
darkness was over us ; the heart was wrung
to the last gasp with anguish ; we knew,
while we reproached ourselves for the unna-
tural digression of fancy, that our thoughts
were like cowardlv children, striving to sing

and sport in the night, their very efforts a
proof how they feared the dense gloom en-
shrouding them.

Maggie knew this to be the most critical
moment of her existence. If the fugitive
were tracked to his covert, the disgrace to
herself might be more public than if he made
good his retreat, but, in any event, disclosure
was inevitable. The thing she most feared
was close upon her; she saw no loop-hole of
escape. She waited as sits the criminal in
the cart that bears him along the vista lined
with living faces of curiosity and horror, all
staring upon him, and closed at the farther
end by the gallows. Yet fragmentary gleams
of other days and far different scenes played
across her brain ; the faces and forms of her
school-fellows ; quiet sunset sails upon the
river with Marie, before Lorraine's image had
troubled the girl's pure fancy ; how she dressed
for her maiden ball (how long it seemed !) ;
the pattern of the bouquet-holder she carried
then ; how John looked in his dressing gown
and smoking cap, on the evening they were
given him ; the programme of the last opera
she had attended, when John and Will made
up a private party of four, -and went from Mr.
Ainslie's house, and Tiny never suspected the
frolic ; snatches of the songs she heard then,
wild, airy cadences, and difficult arias, and
solemn measured marches ; oh, what was she
doing ! how could such themes engage thought
now, when the present peril was narrowing in
upon her !

"Maggie!" said John, softly, touching her
hand. "Do not look so startled! I want to
speak with you alone. Can I ?"

She got up to accompany him to another
room, but Marie checked the movement.

"I suppose, Mr. Lawrence, that, as matters
stand, it is expedient that none of us leave
the parlor until your emissary has finished
his search. Mr. Cleveland, as your ally, is
above suspicion, but Miss Boylan may here-
after be arraigned for having aided in the
escape of this persecuted — prosecuted, I should
say — gentleman."

" Your suggestion is not without weight,"
returned Mr. Lawrence, unruffled by her
sarcasm. "Mr. Cleveland, may I beg you to
remain with us ?"

John bit his lip to repress a caustic re-
joinder, and, resolved not to be baffled in his
purpose, conducted Maggie to a bay window
at the other end of the long drawing-room.

NOBODY TO BLAME.

4 35

where he placed her upon ,1 cushioned Beat
■Ding the reoess, and standing betweei
and the two at the centre-table, began, in
bothing tones, an account of the teal state ol
this unfortunate affair, and the leniency of
Iness Lorraine had abused.

"■I am viit sorry you happened to be here
to-day. It is a sad slmrk to you, through
your love for Miss Dnpont. Yet, reflect how
much better it is for her that this should
happen now, before she is irrevocably bound
to hiui. II she More his wife, there would
kdeed be cause for — "

He broke off abruptly, attracted by the

le of the polioeman passing before

their window whioh opened upon the rear

lawn. Mr. Lawrence, too, had turned when

he heard the man eouie down stairs.

" What is the fellow about ! He cannot be
through already !" he muttered, and oatohing
a glimpse of him as he crossed the yard, he
joined Cleveland at his look-out. Mrs. I>u-
pont and her daughter likewise arose, curi-
osity or solicitude mastering their pride, and
gathered, with the others, into the recess.
Marie laughed scornfully as she did so.

"This is to be an al fresco performance
also, is it .'"

No one replied, and all eyes watched the
Strange, yet confident motions of the officer.
The shrubbery was abundant in this part of
the grounds, and Mr. Lawrence's conjecture
was that, from an upper window, the detec-
tive had espied some suspicions object among
the trees. But he did not pry into the clumps
of evergreens that dotted the lawn. He
walked slowly, but straight up to a pyramid
of matting, erected in plain view of the spec-
tators, but at seme distance from the house,
and halted. The miniature tent apparently
lovered a favorite vine or tree, having been
constructed with unusual care, and pinned
closely to the ground. The man walked
around it, eyeing it keenly in all its parts,
and then laid his ear to its side as if to listen
for breath or movement within.

This action partially prepared the excited
watchers for bis next, which was to clasp the
matting in his arms, and throw it to the
ground. A wild exclamation burst from
ie's lips, and she fell back fainting.
Marie and her mother darted forward to her
assistance. Mr. Lawrence's attention was
wholly given to what was passing without.
He, alone, of the group inside, saw the officer

drag from the ruins of his hiding-place, a
struggling figure, his clothes and hair filled
with straw and dust, his face livid with rage
and terror, and eyes glaring like a wild beast
at bay.

Thomas, the stout serving-man, who had,
from some corner, witnessed the downfall of the
hiding-place bis young mistress had planned,
and he reared, now ran into sight with mani-
fest design of rescue, but .Mr. Lawn

thwarted him by springing from the window
and hastening to the scene of action to claim
his prisoner.

John Cleveland stood motionless in the
midst of the tumult. He did uot know, and
did not care that the arrest was a thing ac-
complished. Maggie's insensible form was
borut; past him by menial hands, and he saw
it not, any more than he heard Marie's appeal
to himself to interfere in Lorraine's behalf.
His glassy eyes beheld only the expression of
horror and misery that had distorted Maggie's
features at the moment of discovery ; the
shuddering depths of his soul echoed and re-
echoed her agonized shriek —

"Spare him I Oh, spare my husband!"

(To be coatiuued.)

Bear and Fokeear. — What good advice do
these words contain, and how many regrets
would be nnneedi'd, did we always follow
their council ?

"Bear ye one another's burdens" is an in-
junction of the apostle Paul's. Sympathy is
sweet at all times, and seasonable help will
be well received. Bear, too, with their little
peculiarities, and their sometimes unkind
words : cheek that angry reply, ere it has
passed your lips. "A soft answer turneth
away wrath," therefore speak kindly, or not
at all. Pause ere you judge too severely the
conduct of another ; perhaps, just now, you
may hear things are not quite as bad as they
at first sight appeared ; try that now sorrow-
ful offender once more — this time his repent-
ance may be sincere, and his deeds conform-
able to his words. In short, "Follow after
charity," which "suffereth long, and is kind."

— A FuEXcn writer has said that "to dream
gloriously, you must act gloriously while you
are awake; and to bring angels down t" con-
verse with you in your sleep, you must labor
in the cause of virtue during the day."

436

GODET'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

EASTER-DAY.

B T LEIRA.

(Affectionately inscribed to Miss Lavinia Meeker, of
Tarrytown, in memory >>f Kastek at Grace church,
Nyack, .V. T., April 5, 1S63.)

Welcome, bright Easter morn ! With rapturous joy
We greet thy coming, 0 thou "day of days!"
Through mournful Lent we waited for thy light,
And e'en the gloom of Holy Week grew less
At thought of thee.

We stood beside the Cross ;
With streaming eyes, and shame and grief intense,
We watched our Saviour's dying agony,
While to each heart came home the bitter truth —
Thy sins have crucified the Lord.

'Tis past.
The solemn services of Holy Week —
Good-Friday with its suffering and woe,
The price of man's redemption — the deep hush
of Easter-even, when onr Saviour's form
Was lying cold and lifeless in the tomb —
All, all are o'er. Glad, glorious Easter dawm,
And "Christ is risen*' is our theme. Joy, joy ;
"The Lord is risen indeed !" Death and the grave
Are 'of their terrors robbed, their sting is gone.

Well may we bring sweet flowers, spring's first, fair buds*

(Of the Great Resurrection fitting type),

To deck the sanctuary ; fur the Cross

Like Aaron's rod lias blossomed, and become

The symbol of God's love to all mankind.

Well may we enter in the temple gates,

And writ'- upon its walls in tiring gBBen,

" Now is Christ risen from the dead."

The low
And plaintive minor strains of Lenten time
Hs>ve ceased. Awhile they melted on the ear
In liquid harmony, then fainter grew.
And softly died away. Now in their stead,
In notes of triumph, thrilling every heart
With holy joy, the glorious anthem
And the grand Te Deum ri&e.

O happy day!
Bright diamond on the golden ring ol Time,
Well may we welcome thee ; hadst thou not dawned,
Then had Christ died in vain ; but now o'er Death
lie Victor is, and thou hast shed thy light
ETvoa this world of misery and sin.

When sorrow's hand is heavy on us laid,
And we are called to yield our cherished ones,
And lay our loved companions down to rest
Within the arms of mother Earth, and leave
The dear forms to corruption- — we mourn not
A- those of hope bereft ; the grave no more
Is unto us a sepulchre, 'tis but
A cemetery, or a sleeping-place.
The dead will all awake, for well we know
That as Christ rose, so shall we rise again.

Then let us offer unto God the best
And purest humane that the heart can give.
Must fitting 'tis to gather in His house,
Fur " Christ our Passover is sacrificed,''
And we must "keep the feast."

* The church was trimmed with flowers. A cross of
camellias was placed in the chancel, and on the wall over
the co nun union i.ih\<- was :1m- inscription, made of box,
" Now iti Christ risen from the dead."

The altar now
In snowy white is draped, and we are called
To meet around the table of our Lord
The Crucified, the Risen. Can we dare
To venture nigh ? Can our polluted souls
Beat the inspection of our Saviour's gaze?
Yes. we may go. The Church with loving words
Doth bid her children come. "Draw near with faith,
And to your comfort take this ^a^rame^t."
"If any sin, we have an Advocate."
" Christ Jesus came to save us ;" He will deign
To hear our humble prayer. Therefore may wo
"With angel and archangels" join and sing,
"Glory to Thee, 0 Lord, Most High, Ameu!"

We kneel before the altar to receive

The precious emblems of a Saviour's love.

The surpliced priest with reverential mien,

Presents with fitting words the bread of life.

"The Body and the Blood of Jeans Christ,

Broken and shed for thee, preserve thy soul

And body unto everlasting life.

Take, eat, and drink in memory of His death,

Feed on Him in thy heart by faith unfeigned,

And thankful be."

Oh careless looker-on,
Who will not come to Jesus and have life,
Thou on whose ear the touching words fall not
With solemn power, this is no place for thee.
Profane not with thy gaze the holy scene,
But softly and with reverence steal away
And leave us kneeling at our Saviour's feet.

*******
The sun is low descending in the west,
The day is closing, and strain we meet
To consecrate the few remaining hours.
Once more the anthem and the chant resound.
And to our Father's throne our praise ascends.-

How dear to us the service- of the Church ;
With I-rael's sweet Psalmist may we say,
'■ Oh lovely are Thy dwellings. Lord of hosts!
My soul desires, yea, longs to enter in
Thy sacred cuiirts."

Yes, it is holy ground.
The angel Peace has folded here her wings,
And made this hallowed spot her resting-place.

A heavenly calm broods o'er the temple now.
And lingers in our hearts. Vain trifler, hush !
Break not the charmed silence ; for our souls
To harmony so exquisite are tuned,
That a light word or careless laugh would jar
With rude vibrations on the fine-strung chords.

The shades of twilight deeper grow, and we,

With noiseless step, reluctant turn away,

And, casting one "long, ling'ring look behind,"

Go forth to mingle with the busy world.

We will not fear its gilded blandishments,

They have no power ; for the peace of God

Rests on us, and will " keep our hearts and minds

In knowledge of our Saviour Jesus Christ."

The nrp-fly only shines when on the wing.
So it is with the mind ; when once we rest we
darken.

EDNA FAIRLEIGITS TEMPTATION.

i V C [AHA A l*G D STA.

"Tsa, it is hard, very hard, my child; but
God rul.'th."
Mrs. Fairleigh kissed the pale face of her

daughter, Edna, as she stooped to arrange
the shawl aliout her shoulders, and a half
suppressed sigh stirred the folds of her mourn-
ing wrapper.

. "I kuow, mother; but it is, at times, so
difficult to realize it. Heaven, and its BWeet
glory, seem so very far away. But I will
hope always for the best. If the worst doe's
come, I think I can manage to keep us com-
fortable. You know Mr. Jameson gives mi' a
little more for my work, and I could have
to bind from Barley's."

•• .My poor Edna '."

"Kay, mother, am I not happy in toiling

■ for you .' It is well to have something for
which to labor. And now, good-morning ;

j I '11 not be gone long, it is so very pleasant I

■ can go across the fields. It lessens the dis-
'i tance full half a mile."

Edna Fairleigh put on her faded shawl,

■ and tied the meagre ribbons of her hat. with
I

: a rebelling heart. She could not remember

I when she had felt so very hard and stubborn.
(There was no spirit of resignation, no steady
| faith, no hopeful trust, in the tense lines of
I the white face that looked at her out of the
, glass. She scarcely recognized herself.

Life had not been beautiful to her for many
I years. Do you know what it is to be filled
with a fervid appreciation of all the rich, rare
lovelines> of earth's fair things, to hear con-
| tinually within the dumb cry of the hungry
soul for tie- tender beauty we know life some-
times holds ' to worship all the perfect gor-
geousness of the sunset ski.-s. y, t never dare
1 to revel in their splendor? to shrink from the
melting touch of the south wind, because to
! drink in its ripe breath might hinder the toil
' that is necessary to keep life in the pn
one you love more than your own happiness 7
Jour years Edna had spent in this way. A
daily straggle with the world for bread — bread
for herself and her feeble mother. Early and
late she toiled at the coarse garments given
her to make from the great clothing estab-
lishment at the village — poorly recompensed,

sometimes scolded for mistakes and errors
with which she had nothing to do. But this
morning she felt more keenly than usual.
.\nl why ? The twenty-fourth of June would
Bee the Fairleigh's homeless, and that fateful
day was only distant another sun ! A few
words will explain whatever of their little
history the reader will care to learn.

Arthur Fairleigh, Edna's father — now four
years dead — had been a gardener on the
estate of Ralph Wilmot, the miserly master at
the hall. Fairleigh had once been wealthy
himself, but by a series of misfortunes he was
reduced to penury, and was glad to accept
the tolerably lucrative situation offered him
by Mr. Wilmot. Oak Cottage, the present
resilience of his widow and daughter, was
then vacant ; and there Mr. Fairleigh took np
his abode, with the understanding that it
should be his when he had paid the proprie-
tor a certain sum of money agreed upon.

Failing to show receipts for the full amount —
so ran the bond of agreement — the estate of
Oak Cottage should, on the 24th of June, 1854,
belong to Ralph Wilmot, provided he still
survived ; but in the event of his death before
the said 24th, the whole property should
revert to Arthur Fairleigh and his heirs for-
ever. Mr. Fairleigh had been to make his
last payment, when he was seized with para-
lysis while yet in the presence of Mr. Wilmot;
and three days afterward he expired at the
hall, remaining speechless and motionless to
the last.

After the funeral obseqnies were over, Mrs.
Fairleigh, searching among her late husband's
papers, found Mr. Wilmot's receipts up to the
time of the last payment. The final receipt in
full was not among them. She applied for it
to Mr. Wilmot, but the miserly man dis-
claimed all knowledge of the reception of the
money, and coolly told her that he should
abide by his agreement. She need expect
nothing more at his hands.

Four years longer, Onk Cottage was hers,
and the only chance of her getting justice lay

in the very uncertain pros] t of Mr. Wilmot's

death before the expiration of the time men-
tioned in the bond. These years had passed

437

438

godey's lady's book and magazine.

now, and, with each succeeding week, Mrs.
Fairleigh had grown feebler. Upon Edna's
labor the existence of the family depended.

As the time drew nigh which was to turn
them out into the world shelterless, Edna
went to plead with Mr. Wilmot for a little ex-
tension of the time, that she might look about
for lodgings ; but was harshly refused. Oak
''ottage, he said, was already rented, and the
new tenant would arrive on the 25th of June.
He didnot keep houses to shelter people who
could not pay for them.

Edna turned away from his presence full of
fierce rebellion. It all looked so cruelly un-
just to her. The rich, childless old man
refusing them so little out of his great pleni-
tude ! refusing them the heritage her father
had labored for so faithfully, and for which
she knew the last dollar had been paid. It
is little wonder that, thinking over their
wrongs, she should cry secretly, "Oh that
God's judgment might fall upon him!"

A little afterward, when she had prayed
earnestly for strength, she asked for Ralph
Wilmot, mercy instead of judgment ; but for
all that, though she forgave him, she- could
not forget. And this fair June morning she
took her way across the blossoming clover
fields, to the distant village, with bitterness
in her heart. Her pale cheek flushed hectic
crimson with the violent haste of her step,
and her dark eye burned bright with the
smouldering passion within. She could not
stop to smell the sweet clover, or listen to
the tender voices of the robins in the tall old
trees ; it would be so much time taken from
Iter work, and she must improve every moment
now. The murmur of running water broke
on her ear. She must cross Stony Brook, a
wild little stream that divided the meadow
land from the high hills on which the village
was situated.

Absorbed in her own painful reflections, she
did not look up until she was close upon the
frail bridge spanning the stream at this point,
two old rotton planks only, and the recent
heavy rains had swelled the brook to the pro-
portions of a river. It flowed on over the
rocks, snow white, and broken into a thousand
spray wreaths, making the fragile bridge
tremble and shake like a reed. She looked
up just as she was setting foot on the planks,
and. simultaneously, a frenzied cry for help
rang out on the air.

Edna saw it all — understood it all at a

glance. She saw the swift rnsh of that human
figure downward ; saw the agonized expression
of the wrinkled face, framed in by masses of
long white hair, and pleading for salvation
with its filmy eyes. And looking down to see
where the waters had covered it all up from
her sight, Edna Fairleigh knew that Ralph
Wilrnot's life was at her mercy ! Her heart
stood still. Every faculty was swallowed up
in the one fearful thought that swept through
her mind ! It was the twenty-third of June,
if he died that day, Oak Cottage was theirs 1

An old man, unloving, unloved, miserly,
cruel, and a curse to the world 1 There would
be none to weep for him, none to sink down
stricken at his death ! The temptation as-
sailed her with a mighty force — her brain
whirled, she tottered, and would have fallen,
but for the frantic clutch she made on the
stunted willow by her side.

A moment only, and then, with a gigantic
effort, she cast out the foul impulse. She
would do what she could, God helping her !

The bank was steep and rough, but Edna
had been brought up in the country where
agility is fostered. She ran fleetly down, and
stepped into the water. The strong purpose
within hardened her woman's nerves to steel ;
she put fear away from her, and thought only
of saving the man who had so oppressed her
family. His snowy hair floated upon the
surface, she rushed toward it, swayed almost
off her feet by the mad plunging of the current.
She caught him by the arm, he felt the touch
and grasped her convulsively, clinging to her
garments, and drawing her under the water
to be dashed fiercely against the sharp rocks.
Still, she did not relinquish her hold on him.
The tide swept them on together! with that
fearful clog upon her strength, she felt that
her condition was hopeless. If she should
strike him off, she could save herself! She
cast away the suggestion with utter loathing.
Save herself at the expense of another ! Never I
She uttered a prayer for her mother, her
sight grew dim, her strength was weakness,
she was submitting to her fate ! Suddenly
she felt the smart cut of a tree branch against
her face, and with a last frantic effort she
clutched at it as she was borne along beneath.
The strong witch hazel did not break — it held
firmly — and a moment afterward Edna was
lying exhausted upon the shore of the stream,
with the inanimate form of Ralph Wilmot at
her side.

EDNA F.VIRLEIGIl's TEMPTATION.

439

A moment to recover her breath, and then
Edna turned her efforts toward the old nun's
recovery. She labored long and faithfully

with the means at her'cotnmand. and at last
she was rewarded by seeing his eyes unclose,
and his chest heave with suppressed respira-
tion. He sat upright and looked at her, but
there was no trace of grateful feeling on his
hard, cold face. He pushed her away roughly.

"There, enough of that. Go about your
business."

Edna did as she was bidden, wondering,
within herself, if Ralph Wilmot were human.

The ensuing day, the Fairleighs received
formal notico to vacate Oak Cottage ; and in
obedience to the mandate, they removed to
meagre lodgings in a crazy old house iu the
village.

The new tenant took possession of the
cottage ; and Edna's life of toil grew drearier
every day. Her mother's health suffered
from the removal to new scenes ; the severing
of olden ties and affections was exceedingly
painful to her, and she did not rally from the
shock as Edna hoped she would.

One day the intelligence spread abroad that
Ralph Wilmot was dead. The servant, on
going to call his master to breakfast, had
found him seated in his arm-chair before his
writing-table, dead. His eyes were wide open,
oue hand in his bosom, and the other cover-
ing a massive document, which, on examina-
tion, was found to be a will, dated on the
twenty-fourth of the preceding June, and it
was now the middle of October.

The pompous funeral over, the heirs-at-law
assembled to listen to the reading of the will,
and judge of their astonishment when it was
found that the testator's entire possessions,
without reserve, save liberal legacies to the
servants, were bequeathed to Edna Fairleigh ?

"I offer this in token," thus ran the will,
" of my gratitude to this woman, who taught
me that there is something beside selfishness
in humanity. She held my life at her mercy ;
my death would have inexpressibly benefited
her and hers, and yet she took no advantage
of her power, but perilled her existence to
save mine."

The heirs retired aghast, and in due time
Edna took possession of Wilmot II ill.

She did good with the fortune left in her
charge. Having known the pangs of poverty
herself, she relieved them alwavs in others ;

and through her gentle ministrations, Philip

Wilmot's wealth existed not iu vain.

CONCERNING RINGS AND PRECIOUS
BT< INKS.

Although it would be almost an impossi-
bility to enumerate all the jewels which
human vanity lias employed for personal de-
coration, many of the ornaments worn by
various ancient nations have held their place
to the present day, and will probably do so
forever. Among these we may mention more
especially rings, ear-rings, bracelets, chains,
necklaces, brooches, diadems, girdles, etc.

Some fashions it is fortunate, perhaps, for
their own comfort, fine ladies have not adopted.
Such is, among others, the custom of wearing
nose-rings, prevalent among Oriental nation-.
In most cases the ring is merely thrust through
the cartilage of the nose, and is not so vei /
inconvenient, as food is passed through the
ring ; but in the kingdom of Ormuz the
females actually pierce the bone of the nose,
and pass through the hole a hook, from which
is suspended a large sheet of gold, enriched
with emeralds, rubies, and turquoises. Nor
do our ladies indulge in wearing golden ankb-
riugs, though they probably refrain from the
consideration that they could not decently
display them; and, after all, the great value
of jewels, we fear, in the feminine sight, is
the power they possess of exciting envy.

Ear-rings, on the other hand, have held.
their ground victoriously up to the present
day, and certainly possess an artistic meri ti
They date from the remotest history. Ii
Homer we read of Juno placing drops in her
ears. Among the Athenians it was a sign of
nobility to have the ears pierced; while
among the Hebrews and Phoenicians it was,
with men at least, a badge of slavery. Spe-
cimens of the ear-rings worn by the Egyptian
ladies may be seen at the British Museum ;
thev are round, and some two inches in
diameter. Persons of high rank wore ear-
rings shaped like a serpent, and set with
precious stones. Silver ear-rings, too, have
been found at Thebes. According to the
Rabbis, Eve's ears were bored on her expulsion
from Paradise, as a sign of submission to her
master, man. The golden calf was made en-
tirely of the golden ear-rings of the people —
probably those they borrowed of the Egyptian s
and forgot to return. Everywhere in the I '1 I

440

godet's lady s book and magazine.

Testament ear-rings play an important part.
We read that the gold one given to Rebecca
weighed half a shekel, or about a quarter of
an ounce. The ear-rings of Jacob's family
were buried with the strange gods at Bethel,
but their use appears to have been confined
among the Hebrews to the women. Thus we
lead in Judges viii. 24 : " And Gideon said
unto them, I would desire a request of you,
that ye would give me every man the ear-
lings of his prey* (for they had golden ear-
rings, because they were Ishniaelites)."

The Greek ladies wore ear-rings adorned
with gems, and the Roman belles, who derived
their fashions from the East, very soon adopted
this graceful ornament. They displayed their
ostentation principally in their ear-rings ; pro-
bably they were the most visible among their
ornaments. Pearls were held in highest re-
pute for drops ; they were called uniones, and
frequently cost enormous sums. These 'were
followed by ear-rings made of three or four
large pearls in a row, which rattled as the
wearer walked. The ear-rings of the Empress
Poppaea were estimated as worth £120,000;
while those of Caesar's wife were worth double
that amount. There were female dealers in
Rome who gained a handsome livelihood solely
by healing the ears of ladies who had torn the
lobes by wearing pendants of exaggerated
weight : and that the fashion of wearing ear-
rings spread among the men is seen from an
edict forbidding it passed by the Emperor
S, -vi-rus.

In the East great importance is attached to
ear-rings, as will be seen from the title of the
Emperor of Astracan, who calls himself " Pos-
sessor of the White Elephant and the Two Ear-
rings, and by virtue of this possession legiti-
mate heir of Pegu and Birmah, lord of the
twelve provinces of Bengal and the twelve
kings who place their heads under his feet."
The King of Ava, we may remark, styles him-
self "Lord of the Twenty- four Umbrellas,"
which are duly carried before him, their han-
dles richly decorated with precious stones.
The ear-rings worn by the Hindoos, male and
female, are often of prodigious size. It is the
fashion to elongate the ear and enlarge the
hole by putting in rings the size of saucers,
enriched with precious stones.

* We read, however, ia Exod. xxxii. 2. that Aaron bid-*
the people "Break off the golden ear-rings which are in
the ears of your witos, of your sons, and of yonr dangh-
ti-rs." Possibly children of the male sex wore ear-rin^s
uutil they attained the a3*e of puberty.

Among the South American Incas wearing
ear-rings was a badge of knighthood. The
monarch himself deigned to pierce the ears of
the novices, and the bodkin was left jn the
hole till it grew sufficiently large to receive the
ring which distinguished this order of knights.
The ornaments worn by the Inca himself were
of such enormous weight as to drag down the
cartilage of the ear nearly to the shoulder.
The fashion of wearing large ear-rings appears
hereditary in Peru, for we find from a recent
traveller that the Cholas, or half-breed wo-
men, wear pendants of such a weight that
they have to be supported by a golden chain,
which passes over the head.

In England, in the olden time, there was a
curious fancy of wearing keys in the ears, to
which honest Dogberry refers: "They say
Conrade wears a key in his ear, and a lock
hanging to it." The pictures of Henri II.
and Henri III. of France and their courtiers
prove that ear-rings were then worn by men.
The same fashion prevailed among ourselves
in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and even
Shakspeare himself did homage to the mode.
In Germany, at the present day, ear-rings are
very common among men of the lower classes
as a remedy against fits.

A distinction must be drawn between the
terms bracelets and armlets ; the former sig-
nifies any ornament worn on the arm, the
latter exclusively something worn above the
elbow. The armlet was used as a mark of
sovereignty in ancient times ; thus Judah
wore it as the head of a tribe, and this was
probably the ornament which the Amalekite
took from the arm of the dead Sanl, and car-
ried with the other insignia of royalty to
David. The Egyptian kings are represented
with armlets ; those which have been found
are several centuries older than the most
ancient Greek monuments ; they are generally
made of beautifully-wrought gold, set with
precious stones or enamelled of brilliant colors.
Bracelets did not come into fashion among the
Greeks till a comparatively later date, and
not till they abolished the long-sleeved Ionian
tunic on behalf of the Doric costume.

Bracelets among the Romans were at the
same time a mark of honor and a token of
slavery; but in the latter case they were iron
or brass bands. The gold bracelet was at first
given as a reward of valor by the kings, and
we know from Livy that the Sabine warriors
wore heavy bracelets. When the treacherous

COXCERNT.VG RINGS AXD PRECIOUS STONES.

441

Tarpeia Miked, as a reward for betraying the
eapitol, what they earned on their left arm;
theSaluiifs requited her by burying her nnder
t li.-i r shields as well as their bracelets. If the
tetter, however, were as heavy as those to be
Been inoabinets of antiques, they would have
killed the maid without the help of the buck-
lers. Bracelets were not worn by Roman
(•dies till they were married, but then they

made up for the privation : some of them wore
bracelets weighing as mnoh aa t.-n pounds.
Aimm; the rains of Pompeii a lady was (bond
wearing two bracelets on her arm. The Em-
peror Maximian. who was eight feet one inch
in height, used to wear his wife's bracelet as
a thumb-ring.

Th .■ emblem of authority among the British
kings was gold bands worn on the neck, arms,
and knees. We find in ancient writers that
the warlike Boadicea wore a chain of gohl
round her neok and bracelets on her arms.
Armlets were worn by the Romans when they
invaded Gaul. The security of the roads and
the destruction of robbers by Rollo, the great
Norman chief, are shown by an incident of
his life, line day, after hunting, as he was
taking his repast near a brook in the forest of
Uouen, he hung his golden armlets on the
branch of an oak, and forgot to remove them
again. The jewels remained there three years,
as no one dared to remove them.

Bracelets are found all over the world, even
the native girls of the Pacific being taugbt by
vanity to make very pretty ornaments of the
bark of trees, shells, feathers, beads, etc. In
the East every woman wears bracelets, their
value naturally varying with the rank of the
wearer. They are placed one above the other
till the arms from wrist to elbow are covered
with them. Many of them are so massive as
inble fetters more than bracelets, but
an appearance of weight is also frequently
given by making them hollow.

The most celebrated armlets at the present
day are those which form part of the regalia
of the Persian kings, and formerly belonged
to the Mogul Emperors of China. The jewels
in these are so magnificent that the value of
the pair is estimated at £200,000. The prin-
cipal stone in the right armlet is famous
through the East by the name of the "Sea of
Light;" it weighs 186 carats, and is supposed
to be the linest-lustred diamond in the world.
The chief jewel in the left armlet, which
weighs 146 carats, is known as the "Crown

VOL. LXVIII. — Jj

of the Moon." We may mention that the
Koh-i-noor was worn by liunjeet Singh in an
armlet.

Chains were regarded in the East as badges
of honor by the ancients, and were bestowed
by the king himself. Thus Joseph was in-
vested by Pharaoh, and Daniel by Belshazzar,
with this ornament. Aocording to the Iri-h
chronicles in the reign of Muirheanhoin, King
of Ireland, Anno (fundi 3070, Irish gentlemen
wore, by royal command, a chain of gold
round the neck, to distinguish them from the
commonalty. When the tomb of Edward the
Confessor was opened, he was found wearing
an enamelled crucifix suspended from a gold
chain twenty-four inches in length, and fast-
ened with a clasp in which four large stones
were set.

In the Middle Ages chains were universally
worn by nobles, and frequent allusions to
them w-ill be found in Shakspeare. Thus Sir
Toby bids Malvolio, "Go, sir, rub your chain
with crumbs." Among the jewels sent by
James I. to Charles, Prince of Wales, when in
Spain, we find "a chayne of gonld of eight-
and-forty pieces, whereof twenty-four are
great and twenty-four small, garnished with
dyamonds ; aud a great George of gould hang-
ing thereat, garnished with dyamonds of sun-
dry sorts, also one faire chayne of gould,
having threescore pieces, with four dyamonds
in each piece, and threescore great round
pearles."

LAMENT.

BY COROLLA H. cr.ISWHLL.

Sweht mother, art thou dead!
Is the cold sod freezing above thy head 7
The wiutry blrul hi wildly rushing bj —
Thou cause uot feel it, love, where thou dost lie

Asleep. All lee thOU 'rt dead !

I saw thee in thy coffiu — could it be ?
I ask myself the question — was it thee f

Is thy pure spirit fled ?
I scarce believe it — yet I see no more
Thy gentle countenance, which oft before

I 've gaud on with delight.

TlleS,. I.iV.-eXi'tessllie . Y<- 1 see UOt LOW,

I caunet .-aze again upon thy brow,

So beautiful, wo white!

Sweet mother, art thou smiling down on me ?

An ansa] where then art, oh, I would h%
When Death his shaft oath sped

Cold to my heart. Thon didat not fear to d!e —

Thou didst not (ear, dear one! and why should 11
T . pass away like thee 1 feel no dread-
Deep i* thy Bleep, sweet mother, thou azi

BOTII SIDES.

BT JHNK IB J BXNISQS.

" Pkosy, prosy, prosy" — and Maud Warner
threw down in disgust the volume she had
heen reading.

"What is it, Maud? Are you at last sur-
feited with fiction ? Or, did your redoubtable
hero die at the critical moment, or, worse,
was your heroine left an old maid at last ?" in-
quired a young man, glancing up from a book.

"0, George ! will you never give me credit
for any sense above Robinson Crusoe ? I
have been reading, or trying to, Don Quixotte,
and cannot, for the life of me, see what there
is about such unmitigated absurdities that
should be so celebrated."

At this her companion burst into a hearty
laugh.

"Why, my dear child, did you not know
Don Quixotte was a glorious burlesque, de-
signed expressly for the cure of just such
foolish heads as yours, turned, as it promises
to be, with an excess of nonsense, more inju-
rious because not so transparent ?"

" Well, George,'' replied Maud, " believe me
to be anxious to read and enjoy the books
tli.it you do. But how can I? 'Digestion,'
Professor D. says, • is slow with unpalatable
things,' and were I to worry through your
deep-toned books. I should be sick from
chronic indigestion."

" Pooh !:' chimed in a third voice, " 'tis all
because you are so hity-tity ! I never read a
novel, mi, not even a story in my life; and
look at ;«<-, there 's none of your frifferies
about me."

"Dat because you old maid, nantie ?" un-
expectedly broke in a juvenile, arrested in
his progress after a hoop by her earnestness.

"Not an old maid from necessity, bub,"
said she, aroused, even with a child who
should ruthlessly disregard the "corn."

Maud's large eyes were distended with
merriment, while George, controlling his risi-
bles, replied, gravely : —

" Pardon me. if I take the liberty of judging
both you ladies in the wrong. Is beef alone
prudent diet ? Would not the appetite soon
cloy on tarts ami jellies ? Experience proves
that a mixed diet is alone capable of sus-
taining, healthfully, BO intricate a machine as
44.2

man. The thirst for the excitement of plots
and counter-plots, loves and crosses, will, of
itself, soon cloy ; the novelty of anticipation
cease to be a novelty, and, correcting itself,
beat about for something more tangible, nu-
tritious, than story pastry. On the other
hand, the man who rigidly eschews all diet
save the mental beef of Paley or Bacon, errs
to his great peril, and inevitably subsides into
a ruminating animal, egotistically chewing
the cud of his inveterate beef; too earnest,
too morose, doing everlasting penance from
his pious horror of a little pudding sauce."
Here he paused ; no answer, so he went on.
"Now, auntie, if you would but allow me to
enliven your wise and all honored prose,
with now and then a dash of poetry, uf
romance. Promise me, dear aunt."

The proper, stereotyped countenance of the
maiden relaxed. The favorite nephew had
appealed. This would have been the first
request denied him.

"There is a book you must promise me to
read. I will not limit you as to time. A month,
if you please."

Aunty was seeking the hoop the naughty
child had broken. George had been holding
the book at arms' length. She felt it, and .-it
length, taking it a little spitefully, as though
ashamed of her weakness, dropped it in her
work-basket as though it had been a hot coal,
and resumed her work.

"Now, Maud," turning to the other, "you
must not resist my discipline. I give you one
week to read this book. It is small, you will
suffer no serious relapse from digesting its
contents."

" I will try, George, %ut I know I shall
choke on such dry diet."

"Call on me if you do, and I will prescribe."
Saying which, he left, and, mounting his
horse, rode away.

Three hours later, when he re-entered the
room, he found both ladies so intently ab-
sorbed, that they did not observe him tinlil
he spoke. The old lady started a little, look-
ing exceedingly nervous, as George addressed
her.

BOTH SIDES.

443

"Ah, auntie! I always know you would
experience a little fiction before you died."

'•I only meant to look at it," said sho,
confusedly.

•' Yes, I know." said George ; but 1 x-

tremely cautious liow you handle such wicked
Stuff, auntie ! '

"It is a moral story, George," said site,
apologetically.

_-■■ smiled a little. (It was one of Ma-
rion Harland's best.) " Strange if it were not,
written as it is by as pure a mind as thinks.''

"Don't talk to mo of purity in a novel
writer. George."

"You said 'twas moral, aunt."

"So it is: but man may smile and bo a
villain. So may he write, and be a rogue. I
tell you no decent woman would write such
stuff. I despise story writers, would not
■peak to one should she come to the house."

"Well," said George, "how comes on
ma chcre Maud with her forced diet f"

rga could not then account for his
cousin's steady perseverance in poring over a
work which he h.ul expected her to discard
at once. (Ah ! does not love sometimes make
over people .')

"The dose is more agreeable than I expected,
George. I believe I feel stronger already."

"You are the right subject for me to prac-
tise upon, I see," said he, looking at her
searchingly.

She colored slightly, threw the book down,
and commenced rattling off a waltz with her
old sang /raid.

"Richard is himself again," said George.
"And, dear auntie, again let me impress yon
with the fact that this world of ours would be a
dry, matter-of-fact, miinteresting abode, were
its dreariness not enlivened by stories and
children. Story writers wield a mighty in-
fluence, they reach people who would other-
wise ntrtr read. A good story acts as a sed-
ative upon a task-weary mind, when more
solid food would oppress."

"The writers are a slack, good-for-nothing
set. I'll have nothing to do with them,"

replied she, doggedly.

"We shall see what we shall see, auntie."
As rigid and puritanic as possible, the

maiden aunt was yet not morose. She loved
and had devoted herself tenderly to t'
of these two orphans. George was the eldest
son of a sister, with just enough of property
to educate him. Maud, the child of another

deceased sister, was entirely dependent upon
her purse and care. The latter had just re-
turned from a fashionable boarding school,
jinithal .' to the no small disappointment o)
her aunt, who bund her painfully superficial,
and oven wilder than when she left her care.
"Of what use, Maud." said she. " have been
all your studies, when yon come home and . are

for nothing but parties and story reading 7"

" Why, auntie, at ichool, we never had time
to study. We were always upon the D

examinations, and what with our dref
our scarfs, and our badges, our sashes, re-
hearsals and reviews (the latter always upon
the first twenty pages), we never could tho-
roughly master a book."

"Then I would study them now. child,''
said she, sighing at the degeneracy of modern
times, when a " come-out" young lady should
bo guiltless of every test-book upon her list.

" Hut your mathematics, Maud, you surely
could not skim over that f"

'• 0, auntie. Ruth Hay did all the hard prob- '
lems in algebra. She boarded at home, was
very homely, studied, and the teachers use I
her for examinations. We never had time to
master thoroughly but about twenty pa
geometry, save a little in logarithms, which
we looked over for examination."

"Well," sighed Miss Lorn, "I hope all
boarding-schools are not like Miss Duty's. "

With George Mann the case had been dif-
ferent. At college, few are allowed to shirk.
Graduating with honor, he had since be< D
reading law in a neighboring city, and had
just returned to practise his profession in his
native town, situated within a mile of his
aunt's residence.

The town was a large one in Western New
York, and the society of the cousins was
assiduously courted, not only as heirs pre-
sumptive Of the rich aunt, but for their really
valuable qualities.

Among the visitors at the house was a friend
and partner of George, a young man of SO
grave and dignified a mien that frivolity wis
almost abashed in his presence. His reserve
made him an especial favorite of the aunt,
who delighted in long conversations with
him. He, too, was the son of a friend of her
girlhood, now deceased, and whose father, a
physician in the city, had married tie
time, and, rumor said, the lov.lv niece of the
stepmother had captivated the grave son. He

444

GODEY'S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

was often rallied upon his growing abstraction,
■with, the charge that he was "in love;" he
would look confused, but never deny.

Absorbed in books, and an author, he had,
like most literary people, a penchant for strol-
l.ng off alone, and was almost daily at the
house of Miss Lorn, leaving George, as he said,
"to do the practical."

"Judging from your looks, Miss Maud,
the story you read must be intently absorb-
ing," remarked Mr. Lane, after he had been
observing her for some time.

Maud looked up surprised; she did not
know that he was near.

" Will you allow me to look at it ?"

An expression of pleasure flitted over his
face as he read its title.

"Pardon me for misjudging, but young
ladies are so proverbially given to story read-
ing, we sometimes mistake. I am happy to
say I know exceptions, however."

Maud thought of "the young lady," but
said nothing.

Mr. Lane continued : —

" Hugh Miller's works are deep. Rich gems
sparkle from out the solid ore. Vivid pic-
tures embellish the abstruse. The mind,
here, in its search for the useful, finds so
many flowers in its path that a desert of fic-
tion is unnecessary."

"George," replied she, "is making one
grand effort to tame down his frivolous cousin
by a rigid diet, while she, all pliable, obeys
supine."

"I should say she finds it not so hard a
task," looking at her searchingly.

"Candidly I am taking immense doses, but
I find them more savory than I had expected."

"Will you allow me to prescribe ?" said he.
"Then I advise a dose three times a day of
'Karnes' Criticism,' alternated with one of
Miss Harland's stories, or something lighter."

"I sha'n't promise; I won't make any
more promises, " said she, flying out abruptly,
giving orders for her horse to be brought for
a ride.

Maud was very cautions of the sitting-
room ; but not a day passed but she read and
studied. Regularly, one school book after
another was resurrected, reviewed, and re-
reviewed. "I will show them," she said to
herself, "that I am not the giddy, brainless
being they think me."

"Really, auatie," said George, one day,

" do you know the starch is taken wonderfully
out of your collar since you commenceol to
read stories?"

"Nonsense, George," said she, looking
slightly pleased, "when I've only read two
or three."

" All you lack, auntie, is to fall in love with
a live authoress. There are many yet at
large, auntie."

" They will stay at large, for all me : they
cannot come here to spoil Eddie's mind and
morals."

"What's morals, auntie?" queried little
Eddie.

"Behavior, child."

" Who '11 soil my behavior?"

"Naughty story writers. No more ques-
tions, Eddie."

"Sunday 'tool teacher readme story every
Sunday."

" I do not approve of it."

"I does. I likes it. I 'member it dreat
deal better nor dat Baxter's go to bed, or
sumfiu'."

One afternoon George came in, announcing
that Lane's "ladylove" (as he called her)
was in town, visiting at her uncle's. "You
will call upon her, of course, Maud."

"Never," said Maud, vehemently.

"Why, what is this, Maud? She is said
to be a valuable and amiable acquaintance.
I shall call, for Lane's sake, at least."

Just then Mr. Lane entered, and, after pass-
ing the usual compliments, turned to Maud,
saying : —

" Will you call upon my friend, Miss Maud ?
I fear she will be lonely among strangers."

Maud replied evasively, and soon after left
the parlor to throw herself upon a sofa in her
own room, sobbing in spite of herself.

"No doubt, "thought she, "fie is anxious
to show off her learning as an eclipse to mine.
They say she is educated, and I '11 engage as
supercilious as a queen. No, I cannot call.
He shall not see me in contrast."

She rose next morning with a headache —
that fashionable synonym for heartache. I
always think when I hear people complain of
headache, frequently, that there is a chronic
derangement of the heart. The heart is more
often accountable than bad diet. It is the
true timepiece of the system. Upon its vibra-
tions, regular or irregular, depends the well-
being of the framework surrounding it. No

BOTH SIDES.

445

ponder that the machine bo booh fails, when
irds are bo often rudely struck.

A day or two after, Qeorge came in with a
family invitation to a party.

Hand felt that the ordeal had como. "She
will be there," thought she; "oan I endure
the trial .' I must, I will. He shall never
read me, however much I suffer. I ought to
be ashamed of myself for owing her spite."
Hand's better nature was triumphing. She
was not jealous by nature.

"Yon are charming, this evening, coz,"
said (Jeorge, as he found her ready equipped,
"fiy ea a tittle too intense, peradventure."

Her check flushed with excitement, her
dark hair banded over a brow, if not fair, of
olassio mould, she did, indeed, look the type
of a vivacious brunette.

The drawing-rooms of Esquire B were

sufficiently brilliant that night with bright
and dazzling toilets.

"Who is that line looking woman by the
able, George .'" inquired the honest aunt.

"That is Lane's Miss Vase, aunty. I will
introduce you."

-Mr. Lane was not visible. And Maud, a
trifle rudely, scanned his betrothed. She
could but be prepossessed, in spite of herself.
A lovely countenance, wherein was blended
that rare combination of sweetness and intel-
lect, joined to a manner modest and unas-
suming, with entire self-possession, "No
wonder he loves her," thought Maud.

Miss Vase was engaged in animated conver-
sation with the auut. Maud joined them,
and never had she felt her own conversational
powers so good. She was surprised to find
herself quite at home with the accomplished
stranger. In the midst of an animated dis-
OOUrse upon a late work, which both had been
reading, Hand by chance changed her position,
When she saw Mr. Lane standing near. She
blushed, but recalled herself and addressed
kim with ease.

" 1 am incline 1 to think that your reading,

Miss Maud, must have 1 o contraband of

late, by the celerity with which you maintain
a race with my pedantic friend," said Mr.
Lane.

" Oh, do not call her pedantic," said Maud,
with spirit.

" Scholarly then, if ynn please. Mi-s Laura
will not resent so great a compliment. I am
sure."

'•Some philosopher has said we are most

Battered by unmerited or equivocal compli-
ments," replied Miss Vase.

"Paradoxical," exclaimed Qeorge, gliding
suddenly in the group. •• 1 arrest you all for

talking sense at a party. You will soon be
voted de hop, and sentenced to premature
banishment. Come to supper ; allow me to
escort you, ladies."

Supper over, Maud excused herself, and,
stepping nnperceived to the piazza, was about

descending to the garden to calm, by a walk,

her heated brain, when a voice arrested her.

"Whither so fast, Miss Maud? Will you

accept my arm for a promenade .'" ana Mr.

Lane was by her side.

"Where isGeorge?" said she, not knowing
what else to say.

" With Miss Vase," replied he, appearing
a little piqued. "And would Qeorge be so
much more welcome, Maud ?"

It was the first time he had called her Maud ;
she almost resented it. "He pities me. '
thought she; "he thinks me sad." And
directly her pride took the alarm.

"It is more chilly than I thought," said
she ; " I prefer to return to the house."

"Certainly, if yon wish, Miss Maud." And
they re-entered the crowded rooms, to meet
no more that evening. Several times, it is
true, she caught his eye following her with
an expression she could not understand, but
which sent the blood coursing to her face.

The party over, the usual result, a late
breakfast and review of the previous evening's
events followed. Miss Lorn was vehement in
her praise of the stranger lady. "Mr. Lane
will get a prize if he gets her ; she knows the
most, with the least fuss, of any one I ever
saw. So pure and reserved, too ; how I wish
Eddie could have a teacher like her.''

" I wish he could," said George, with a sigh.

"But, Maud," said he, after a pause,
"what ails you, of late ! You have grown so
wise and sedate, you almost awe me. Is
knowledge so oppressive f"

Maud laughingly replied she thought her
year's reading would not prove fatal.

"But you and Mr. Lane act precisely alike,
and unless he mend his ways, I shall di — i. a
partnership. I will not fellowship with a
churchyard."

It was a long time since Mr. Lane had been
to the house, at which the aunt marvelled
exceedingly, while Maud was irrepressibly

446

godey's lady's book and magazine.

wretched. Of course he believes me jealous,
thought she, and her woman's pride rose
rebellious. "When shall my folly cease to
be transparent ? ' '

A week following this, Maud was taking
her accustomed ride, when, just on the out-
skirts of the town, her horse took fright, and
she soon found herself, she scarcely knew
how or when, dragging upon the ground. A
terrible faintness came over her as she felt
her great peril. Just realizing that a strong
hand had seized the bridle, and rescued her,
she lost consciousness.

W^ien she recovered, it was to find herself
supported by Mr. Lane, who was tenderly
bathing her temples.

" Dear Maud, are you hurt ?"
" No, sir," said she, raising herself with an
effort, "I am perfectly well, and able to walk
home. Only a little frightened."
" Maud, are you offended with me ?"
" Why, no ; why should you ask that ?"
" I fancied you were growing cold of late."
"I have been somewhat bewildered (as
people say) with the rush of events of late,"
replied she, evasively.

" Maud, do you know I love you ?"
She trembled violently. " And Miss Vase ?"
said she.

"Is it possible you gave credit to that
report? I respect Miss Vase, but I never
loved any but you. Dare I hope ?"

"Well, auntie!" exclaimed George, at din-
ner, "I am going to get married, at last,
and guess who the divinity may be who is to
be made so supremely happy."

"Why, George, I cannot guess, I am so
amazed."

"Doubtless, auntie, but 'tis too good to be
true; 'tis Miss Vase."

"Why, George, I thought — but where is
Mr. Lane?"

" Ah! Lane 's all right. He is too grave to
fancy any but a mad-cap. We shall have a
double wedding, auntie, as you '11 soon hear."

And there was a double wedding, in the
course of which George led his bride to his
delighted aunt, saying: "Auntie, allow me
to introduce to you a live authoress — the
writer of the book you have just been reading.
Will she do to teach my brother ?"

" Yes, and me too," replied the conquered
aunt. "I believe in story writers, now. Go
away, George, until I think!"

" Allow me to compliment my aunt upon
her improved appearance since the slight
dawn of romance upon her. While here is
Maud, who has been made a woman of by her
change of diet ; though it depresses my
feathers a little to think that, after all, it
was only for love of that sly rogue, Lane, that
she pored over those books at such a mur-
derous rate."

VILLAGE WEDDING IN SWEDEN.

We will endeavor to describe a village
wedding in Sweden. It shall be summer time,
that there may be flowers ; and in a southern
province, that the bride may be fair. The
early song of the lark and of chanticleer are
mingling in the clear morning air, and the
sun, the heavenly bridegroom with yellow
hair, arises in the south. In the yard there
is a sound of voices and trampling of hoofs,
and horses are led forth and saddled. The
steed that is to bear the bridegroom has a
bunch of flowers on his forehead and a
garland of corn flowers about his neck. Friends
from the neighboring farms come riding in,
their blue cloaks streaming in the wind ; and
finally the happy bridegroom, with a whip in
his hand, and a monstrous nosegay in the
breast of his blue jacket, comes from his
chamber ; and then to horse, and away towards
the village, where the bride already sits and
waits.

Foremost rides the spokesman, followed by
some half dozen village musicians. Next
comes the bridegroom between his two grooms-
men, and then forty or fifty friends and
wedding guests, half of them, perhaps, with
pistols and guns in their hands. A kind of
baggage wagon brings up the rear, laden with
food and drink for these merry pilgrims. At
the entrance of every village stands a trium-
phal arch, laden with flowers, and ribbons,
and evergreens, and as they pass beneath it,
the wedding guests fire a salute, and the
whole procession stops, and straight from
every pocket flies a black jack filled witli
punch or brandy. It is passed from hand to
hand among the crowd ; provisions are brought
from the wagon, and, after eating and drink-
ing and hurrahing, the procession moves for-
ward again, and at length draws near the
house of the bride. Four heralds ride for-
ward to announce that a knight and his atten-
dants are in the neighboring forest, and ask

VILLAGE WEDPIXG IX SWEDEN'. — TOETRY.

4-17

for hospitality. " How many are yon ?" asks
the bride's father. " At least three hundred,"
is the answer, as 1 to this the last replies,
•' JTea, were yon seven times as many, yon
should all bo welcome, an.l in token there. if
receive this cup." Whereupon eaoh herald

n ives a can of ale ; and soon after the

whole jovial company eomes streaming into
the farmer's yard, and riding round the May-
pole which stands in the oentre, alight ami. I
a gran. I salute and flourish of music.

In the hall stands the bride with a crown
upon her head and a tear in her eye, like
the Virgin Mary in old church paintings* She
is dressed in a red bodice and kirtle, with
loose liu.-n Bleeves. There is a girded belt
around her waist, and around her neck strings
of golden beads and a golden chain. On the
crown rests a wreath of wild roses, and below
it another of cypress. Loose over her shoul-
ders falls her flaxen hair, and her blue inno-
cent .-yes are fixed upon the ground. "Oh,
thou good soul! thou hast hard hands but a
soft heart ! thou art poor, the very ornaments
thou wearest are not thine ; the blessings of
heaven upon thee!" So thinks the parish
priest, as he joins together the hands of the
bride and the bridegroom, saying, in a deep
and solemn voice: "I give thee in marriage
this damsel, to be thy wedded wife in all
honor, to share the half of thy bed. thy look
and key. and every third penny which thou
two may possess, or may inherit, all t he-
rights which I'hland's laws provide and the
holy king gives."

And the dinner is now served, and the
bride sits between the bridegroom and the
pri.'st. The spokesman d. -livers an oration,
after the ancient custom of the fathers. He
interlards it well with quotations from the
Bible, and invites the Saviour to be present,
as at the marriage feast of Cana of Galilee.
The table is not sparingly set forth. Each
makes a long arm. and the feast goes cheerily
on. Punch and brandy pass around between
the courses, and here and there a pipe is
smoked while waiting for the next dish. They
sit long at table ; hut as all things must have
an end, so must a Swedish dinner. Then the
lance begins. It is led off by the bride and
Itriest, who perform a solemn minuet together.
Not until midnight comes the last dance.
The girls form a circle round the bride to
keep her from the! hands of the married
women, who endeavor to- break through the

magic, circle and seize their now sister. After
a long struggle they succeed : and the oroti n
is taken from her head, and jewels from her

i k, and her bodioe is onlaoed, and kirtlo

taken off; and like a vestal virgin, clad all in
white, she goes, but it is to her bridal cham-
ber, not to her grave ; and the weddingguests
follow her with lighted candles in their hands.
And this is a village bridal.

MATH.

It V M . M .

r.vpr.R the IDao trees we sat,

B iti'nl M. mil end 1 ;
Black <y<- flashed oat fr..m a gypsy t at,
Bweet tips k.-pt talking ofthis and that,
As under the descent moon we sat —

Beautiful Maud and I.

A rare, Bweel face, with a wonderful BitaHo—

A li'.-arl -in 1 1 1- :t WIS) too!

An. I y. .u would keep wondering all the whi]
Ahonl that wonderful, n .nderfal smi
Curls dancing hither and thither tie:- while,
Aud sweet eyflS shimmering through.

Under the lilacs I eat to night,

But all alone was I ;
No bright eyea flashed from a gypsy hat,
H . sweet Lips chatted of this and that
While under the Lilac trees I isat,

For nil ill. on? was I.

Beautiful Hand wont home one day,

nut fr..m tin- gray old grange,
I. .a her home on the breezy, breezy bay,
Left her tropical turds, and her flowers, tl
Lett all, in the blossoming, blossoming May —
Li .in! Ettaud, 'twas strange !

Beautiful Hand went home to rest,

Many a yeat
She died as the lioht dies out of the wost —
Bhe died, with her ra eet Love half conti seed,

('an I ev.-r say 'twas all for (he host,

Beautiful Maud:' X-. no!

(. beautiful Hand ! -hall I ever know,

lu this lower, L.wor land,
Why came on my heart that terrible blow?
Why your cheeks grew pale *
\v\ty you Blumher to-day whou the lilaetj i

Can I ever understand ?

TrtE Last Word. — Husband and wife should
no more struggle to get the last word than
they would struggle for the possession of a
light. -.1 bomb-shell. Married people -
study each other's weak points, as skaters
look after the weak part of the ice, in order
to keep off them. By attention to this appa->
rently small matter the course of wedded life
will run more smoothly, and thus insure
happiness.

"SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD."

BY S. ANNIE FROST.

(Concluded from page 36J.)

CHAPTER IX.

"Not ride to-day?" said George Bancroft,
in a tone of surprise not unmixed with con-
sternation.

"My head aches !" said Effie ; and her pale
cheeks and languid eyes confirmed her words.

Mr. Marshall's fingers were at her Wrist in
an instant.

"I am Effie's resident physician," he said
to George, gravely. " I have been successful
with my patient so far, but she is not robust
yet, and" — ■

But George's pale, frightened face was too
much for his kind heart, and he said — ■

"All my joking, my boy. Late hours don't
suit my lady-bird, that's all."

"That's all," echoed Effie, inwardly thank-
ing her uncle.

" I will prescribe a large dose of morning
nap, and a small one of afternoon drive," said
Mr. Marshall.

"May I have the pleasure," said George,
quickly.

"Of course yon may. I leave yon to ar-
range the hour to suit yourselves," and they
were alone.

It was an everyday occurrence, yet Effie
had never felt like a prisoned bird before,
and her embarrassment must have been of a
contagious description, for there was a long
interval of silence. Then George spoke : —

"Effie! Pardon me, Miss Marshall!" for
she had drawn her figure erect, with a haughty
motion — " I — I am going away to-morrow."

Coward heart ! The quick flush would come,
but she said, quite firmly : —

" We shall miss you very much."

"I wish I could take that comfort to my
heart. Will you let me bore you a little
while, and tell you of my plans ?"

"I shall not find it a bore," she said, with
a courteous, easy smile.

"My father has been appointed consul to
Brazil, and he has named me his secretary.
I go now to New York to make my arrange-
ments preparatory to sailing in December.
Will you not congratulate us ?"

hUpen?"
4±S

"Oh, everybody considers these govern-
ment appointments matter for congratula-
tion."

" Then, pray, add mine to the list."

Another long silence — and again George
broke it.

" Yes, I am off to-morrow. When shall we
meet again ?"

" Soon, I hope 1"

"Perhaps. That depends upon yourself.
I must speak, Effie, for we may not have an-
other moment alone together. I must tell
you" — and here his voice grew deep and ten-
der— "how you are my heart's best friend,
my chosen love, if you will let me love you.
My life's happiness is in your hands. I love
you with my whole heart, and I ask you
frankly, as I know your pure, true heart will
answer me, can you return my love ?"

The rushing flood of happiness made her
speechless, but he needed no answer. He
clasped her in his arms, and looked into her
face, whispering softly : " My wife ! my little
Effie !" and so Mr. Marshall found them.

Effie fled from his bantering laugh, but
George stood his ground. Freely and heartily
did the old man give his consent, for he had
well appreciated the high intellect, manly,
honest deeds of the young suitor; and the
long-standing friendship between the father
of one and uncle of the other of the lovers
did not lessen the pleasure felt in the prospect
of Effie's marriage. Mr. Marshall knew with
trusting certainty that his treasure was loved
for herself alone, not for any prospect of his
wealth.

An immediate return to Haresdale was de-
termined upon, that Effie might prepare for
her wedding. A day in November was set,
and Mrs. Marshall came to offer her congratit-
lations. "Brazil," she remarked, "was un-
healthy, and Effie, very delicate," but she
wished them every happiness, and promised
to come to the wedding.

Having determined to leave Newport, Mr.
Marshall and Effie made each a handsome^
present to Mrs. Marshall and Laura, and th n
started for Niagara. A few weeka wore spent

"site n.\Tir pone ivn.iT she could."

440

in travelling, and Mr. Marshall added pome
days in New York, laughingly declaring that
no goods but those Btom the great metropolis
■rare ohoioe enough for Bfie's bridal wardrobe.
To paint lira. Lawresee'a delight as she
treloomed the travellers to their home, once
bore, is beyond the powers of my pen. The

■BUM in the city was not taken, for Kffie

prished to spend the last few mouths of her
maiden life in the home where she had been
made so happy. Mr. Marshal] eonld noi de-
termine to part from his pet yet, so he had
arranged to aoeompany the Bancrofts to brazil.

His long life of seclusion made the prospect of
this journey very exciting and pleasant to
him. Many were the Bohemes the happy
party planned for their future life, and even
Mrs. Lawrence's lugubrious faoe at the pres-
sed could not diminish the joyous anticipa-
;

" We shall come home every summer," said
Effie, "and if you are not here, what kind of
a house should we find ?"

"Oh, think of the long winter, honey I"

" But uncle says you can iuvite your son
and his wife to oome here I"

" But I 'm used to you, now ! P.'.ar, deary
me, the house will he dark without your faoe
iu it."

" But not darker than it was before I came
pere I"

"Then if Mr. George went away, you would
not miss him any more than you did before
you went to Newport." said the old lady,
archly; and Kllie, with a bright Mush and
Bmile) would retreat before Mrs. Lawrence's
argument.

The summer had flown, and the many hues
of autumn were usurping the plaoe of its ver-
dure. The nuts were falling, and the .lavs
growing shorter, while the bright firelight
was very welcome iu the cool mornings and
evenings. The dressmakers and milliners
were sending each day those interesting pack-
ages which go to make up the trousseau, for
the time appointed for the wedding was draw-
ing very near. George was in New York with
his father, but Effie knew that very soon he
was coming to claim her.

It was a bright day, late in October ; one of
those brilliant, sunny days which rob the
coming winter of half its gloom ; and, full of
Happy musings, the young girl paced up and
down the porch waiting for her uncle to come
to take their accustomed morning ride. Her

dark blue lial.it was buttoned up to give her

feet freedom, and her tittle cap drawn closely
down ov.-r her ears, and she walked quickly

to keep lingers and toes warm. Hotspur and
Selim were sad. 11. -.1 at the gate : it was nearly
half an hour later than their usual time for
starting, but her uncle did not come. His
window opened out on the roof of the porch,
and, at last, tired of waiting, Kffie ran down
the path to call up to him. To her surprise
the curtains were closely drawn, the window
Only partially open, and she saw at one glance
that her uncle had not yet risen. Laughing
gayly at the thought of the lecture she would
read him upon his laziness, she ran up to his
door and knocked. There was no answer.
She waited, and then knocked again, calling,
"Uncle Charles! Uncle!" Still no reply.
A terrible presentiment of ill seized her at
this unbroken silence. "Uncle!" she said,
loudly, " are you sick ? If you don't answer,
I shall come in !" Still that profound silence,
and now thoroughly alarmed she opened the
door. One glance at the lied brought her,
terror-stricken, to her uncle's side. He lay,
his head thrown hack beyond the pillows,
breathing with a strange rattling noise ; his
hands, tightly clenched, beside him, and his
face working with fearful contortions.

"O, dear uncle, you are very ill ! " sh.' said,
as she bent over him. He did not speak, but
the rapid breathing seemed to grow more
difficult as he opened his eyes and looked at
her with a wild star.'.

" Do you know me, itncle ?" she said, in a
voice of agony. Only tin- eyes answered her,
as they softened to a look of love.

"You cannot speak?" she inquired, and
then the necessity for immediate action nerved
her against the numbing terror she felt steal-
ing over her, and she said, gently, "I am
going away for a moment to send James for
Dr. Hall, then I will come to you again."

One long kiss on the quivering lips, and she

was gone. Dr. Hall was the physician trtG ,

and had been called in, when she first came
to Hares. lale, to prescribe for a cough that
worried her uncle. She knew him as a kindly
old gentleman, who had patted her ou the
head and told her to live out in the open air,
but she remembered having heard her uncle
speak highly of his skill as a physician, and
in the dreadful responsibility now resting
upon her, she thought first of him. It would
be a long ride for James, but the horse was

450

gopey's lady's book and magazine.

already waiting, and a few words, speaking of
danger to a master he loved devoutly, made
him urge the noble animal to its utmost speed.

Mrs. Lawrence was the next to summon, and
her quiet, tender manner was inexpressibly
soothing to the poor child. There was nothing
they could do, for each felt her ignorance a
bar in the way of an attemjit to relieve the
sufferer, and the long hours wore wearily
away, as they watched and waited. EtEe
hastily threw aside hep riding dress for a
loose morning wrapper, i id sat close beside
her uncle. The large, loving eyes showed
mutely the pleasure it gave him to have her
there, but not a motion or a word broke the
awful stillness. At last the anxiously watched-
for footsteps were heard, and Mrs. Lawrence
opened the door to admit the doctor.

Paralysis ! The word smote with a fearful
import on Effie's ear. Every direction was
carefully noted down, and the little quaint
figure moved about in quick attendance upon
the doctor, but apart from the useful, atten-
tive waiting, there seemed a numbing, horri-
ble echo of the word ringing in her ears.

The doctor could give no encouraging fiat as
yet, but promised to share the night's watch.
A whole week wore away, and though those
mute eyes showed that reason was still awake
in the stricken man, there was no motion
from the still limbs, no word from the speech-
less lips.

In one more day George would come, and
Effie determined to nerve herself to ask Dr.
Hall where this sickness would probably end.

The answer was kind, but distinct. Her
uncle might in time recover his speech, per-
haps the partial use of his limbs, but another
stroke was to be dreaded, and he would be
for the rest of his life crippled, if not de-
prived entirely of the use of his limbs.

A long night of watching and prayer were
the preparations to meet her lover, and on
her knees beside the prostrate form, with
every act of his kindness printed indelibly
upon her heart, Effie vowed to devote her
life to comforting and nursing her more than
father.

CHAPTER X.

"Mi?? Effie. Mr. George is in the parlor."
Mr. Marshall was sleeping, as Mrs. Lawrence
whispered this message in Effie's ear.

" I will be down presently."

" Oh, darling, this week shows in your face,
you 're pale as a lily, and the tired look don't
go out of your eyes all day long. Ah me !
Mr. George will be sorry for this trouble that
has come to you."

Sorry ! Effie shuddered at the thought of
the trial now before her, but she went softly
from the room, down the broad stairs to the
parlor door. One earnest, agonizing prayer
for help, and she was face to face with her
lover. He met her with words of sincere
sympathy, for he had heard of her trouble,
and while she stood looking sadly into his
face, listening to his tender expressions of
regret, her task seemed too hard for her to
accomplish.

"You are so pale, Effie," he said, gently.
"You will be quite unfit for your voyage if
you do so much nursing."

The moment had come. Faint and pale,
she could yet command her voice to speak
firmly.

" George, I must not go to Brazil."

"Not go!"

"I cannot leave my uncle. Stop! let me
speak. Dr. Hall says that he will be crip-
pled, perhaps entirely helpless for life. 'Think
of what he" has been to me! I cannot tell
you one-half of the devoted love he has poured
out upon me. All that I am, I owe to him.
Health, love, happiness, are all the result of
his care for my forlorn childhood, and now,
when he is sick, suffering, and helpless, it is
my highest privilege, my dearest blessing to
be able to comfort and tend him for the
future."

"And am I of no moment, in this future?"
he asked, bitterly.

"Not coldly. Do not speak coldly to me,
George. It has cost me the severest struggle
of my life to lay aside my own selfish plea-
sure, and your dear love, for this duty, which
should be my pleasure too."

The white, pleading face, with its large,
sorrowful eyes raised to his face, was verify-
ing every word of this appeal, but he could,
as yet, see only his own disappointment, and
his share of this sudden blow.

"But, Effie, you are mine! Only a few
days and yon would have been my wife !
Think ! think if had you lived over these few
days before this blow came !"

"Then my duty would have been to you
first, but now it is to him !"

'she hath done vitat sns cori.D.

451

'•Then you throw me off."

"I free you ! Do not let us part In anger,
George '"

"Effie, you shall not stand there with a
quiet face and tell me calmly that you mean
to dash this cup of happiness from my lips,
to darken my whole life, to tear away my
love."

"George I George, spare mo!''

" Do you spare me ? You make a plaything

of my love. If you mean what you say, yon

did not, you do not love me as I love you!

-peak, tell me you relent ! Yon cannot

mean to treat me so cruelly, so falsely."

-tood mute, with a yearning gaze into
his face, a strange, hard pressure of her lips
■r, and a whiteness that was almost
deathly.

"Do yon know," he continued, passion-
" that, as you stand there with that
stony, hard fare, you are driving me mad I
Can you not speak t"

"George, 1 have told yon why I act as I do.
I must let my ancle now be my only charge."

"Effie, I will wait!"

'•Wait !" she cried, with a sudden agonv,
'• for what ? You cannot mean to let his lift
be the limit of our engagement '"

"You mean that nothing but his death
will release yon t"

"Nothing !"

"Effie, is this your only word for me, this
cruel, harsh Bentenee I"

(i. George, leave me ! leave me ! f.o away
and hate me, if you must, for I can say nothing
different."

"Effie, are you turned to stone, that yon
stand there so white and calm to banish me .'
Am I to go ? I may never return, for if I
leave here to-day I oanuot come again before
I sail. If yon send me now. it is lor the last
time."

> I" Only one word from those white
lips.

lie turned to the door and pla 1 his hntid

upon the handle, then with a sudden, abrupt
movement, lie strode back aoross the room
and clasped her in his arms.

•' Effie ! Effie, you do love me. Forgive me
fur my cruelty. O, my darling, do not send
m you. There is no heart so true to
you as mine will be. My little darling! My
poor, pale flower ! Eific, you will uot send me
away."

She had borne his harsh reproaches, though

each one stabbed her to the heart, but she
felt her courage failing under his tender

Voice, his loving caress.

"You must go!" she whispered.

•• No, you oannol mean it. Effie '." and, pros-

siii_' lor to his breast, he showered kisses upon
her forehead, cheeks, and lips, while the lov u ;

anus held her fast.

•rge, you are killing me!" she cried.

desperately. " Let me

"Never! You are mine, all mine!" and
with his arms still round her he sank down
on his knee, his face raised to hers, and so he
prayed her not to drive him away. By every
fond memory, by her own love, by his pas-
sion, he implored her to be his wife ; but
though the large eyes were dilated with
agony, the loving heart faint with weary pain,
he could not move her from the resolute stand
which her own conscience gave her courage to
keep firm.

"0, George! if you ever loved me, let this
cease!"

•• You drive me away ."'

'• It must be ! I cannot bear this agony of
parting, nor hear your voice pleading any-
longer. Pity me 1 Spare me! you are break-
ing my heart !"

" You care nothing for breaking mine !" he
said, passionately, springing to hi- feet. " Do
let tear. I will not plead longer. Farewell !
\ >u see, madam, I obey you at last;" and.
with a mocking bow, he left her.

"Not in anger! George! George!" she
cried, Btaggering forward; but hi' was gone.
and, reeling back, she fell fainting to the
ground.

It was long before consciousness returned,
and then with a numb, weary pain at her
heart, a vague sense' of desolation and heavy
care, she went to her own room to beg on her

r support and comfort in her hour of

heavy trial. Not with a light heart, but with
a new strength and hopefulness, she went
agaiu to her uncle's room.

It was weeks before any life returned to
that helpless form ; but slowly, and by painful
exertions, the long-silent voice made itself
heard, at first in words singly, then in short,
broken sentences. The lower part of the
body, from the waist down, never rc>
any power or animation, but the arms and
lingers regained gradually their motion arid
feeling. It was spring before he spoke.
Effie was reading to him one evening, sure,

452

GODEY S LADY" S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

by the expression of the loving eyes whose
language she so readily interpreted, that he
was listening and interested. She stopped at
one favorite passage, and looked up for his
eyes to show his gratification, when he moved
bis lips, and with a struggle said in a low
tone, " Effie !"

She bent over him, trembling at her great
happiness at hearing again the accents she
feared were hushed forever.

"Dear, dear uncle!" she said, softly, and
again the old man spoke : —

" George ?" he questioned.

"He sailed, dear uncle, months ago," she
answered, forcing herself to speak calmly.
" It is April now, and they left in December.
Yes," she continued, answering the question
she read in his eyi-s, "I am here, and happy,
very, very happy."'

There was an earnestness in her tone, and
a look of peace in her eyes, that was an as-
surance of the perfect truth of her words, and
they were true. It was a terrible wrench to
send away her lover, but she sought and
found consolation in the pure consciousness
of duty performed, and with the object of her
holy unselfishness eonstantly claiming her
time and love, she filled hands and heart
with her work, and gained a true, lasting
happiness. t

One more shuck failed the memory of her
dream of wed' led happiness into a quick,
thrilling life of pain, before it was buried
away in her heart never to rise again. George
Bancroft came home, one year after his depar-
ture for Brazil, and, upon his fathers resigna-
tion of office, was appointed consul in his
place. The same newspaper which announced
iiis appointment and his departure, contained
a notice of his marriage '• to a lady to whom
he was engaged at the time of his previous
departure, a Miss Laura Marshall, daughter
of , etc."

The mistake was easily seen in the fact of
the near relationship of the ladies, and Ertie
smiled sadly as she read the editor's comments
upon the lady's constancy, during the year of
absence.

CHAPTER XI.

Two years have passed, and again we look
in upon the home circle at Haresdale. Let
■ a few lines to the apartment, before
1 present the inmates to my reader.

Mr. Marshall, now able to use his arms
freely, and speak, slowly, it is true, but still
distinctly and clearly, had desired to live in
the drawing-room, and it had been fitted up
for his convenience. The large windows at
the east and west reaching down to the floor,
open upon the wide piazza which surrounds
the house, and here, in pleasant weather, the
invalid can take the air in his large wheeled
chair. Tlie grand piano stands between the
two west windows, and the whole room has
that look of habitation which constant use,
taste, and refinement give to an apartment.
It is very spacious, but the deep book-case,
tables, the large sofa and arm-chair, and the
various articles for Ellie's use and Mr. Mar-
shall's pleasure, fill it up to a look of comfort
and even snugness. Two smaller rooms, at
the north and south of the house, open into
this one, and these are now turned from
library and sitting-room into bedrooms, one
for Effie and one for her uncle. A bell-rope,
always within reach of her uncle's hand,
communicates with a bell in Eflie's room, so
that she is never out of his call. James, now
promoted to the post of valet, has his room
beyond Mr. Marshall's, but opcuing into his
bedroom.

The entire prostration of the disease i3
over, and each day Mr. Marshall can be dressed,
placed in the large arm chair, and wheeled
into the drawing-room, where every art of
Eflie's is employed to make the day short and
pleasant. Music, reading, conversation, chess,
backgammon, or even jack straws are brought
out, while there are never wanting the cheer-
ful alacrity and winning smile that prove the
young girl's task a labor of love. The only
quarrels are jesting ones, when the uncle
insists upon the daily exercise so essential to
health in this confined life, and Effie threatens
to elope some fine day, to pay him for thus
banishing her from his side.

And now for a peep at the inmates of this
cheerful room. The morning sun is pouring
in at one window, throwing its beams over
the stand of autumn flowers and the bird-
cage, to rest upon the crimson-covered arm-
chair of the invalid. This sunlight is his
greatest comfort ; he basks in it like, Effie
says, "a sleepy Italian," and seems to feel
better for its cheering warmth and brightness.
He is but little changed ; somewhat paler, and
perhaps thinner, but with the same gentle
smile and loving eye that first won Eflie's

"she itatii doxe wit at she could."

453

1 heart. Accepting his (rial as a cross from
| q, he bears it cheerfully, grateful for
--iu^s which ameliorate it. It is his
■oece's pride and occupation to drees that
helpless frame in her choicest needlework,
■Bd as he sits Oxen in the glowing sunlight,
his cashmere dressing gown, velvet slippers,
ami lounging oap, all show where her busy
feagers haye embroidered them with exquisite
patterns and solars. He is leaning back,
baking with a fond smile on the little figure
in her old place at hie bet.

She i- a little paler, too, but there is an ex-
tra in her dark eyes. now. that is almost
holy in its pure, unselfish holiness. Some of
i the joyousness of her yonth has tied, but the
i happiness of her lite is deepened and strength-
ened by the knowledge that she has acted
I from high principle, and while there is the
; natural soreness in her heart when she thinks
of George, it cannot make her sad. when every
' hour proves how necessary she is to her
■mole's ooinfort and happiness. And so, it is
'not a sorrowful, wo but a bright,

smiling one that looks up into his.

•• Effie, do you remember that it is two years
la- lay since 1 became this poor cripple t"
" i remember," she said, softly.
•• Two years since these limbs lost all power.
Ah. my child, Belfish as I was to keep yon
here. 1 (eel that 1 could not submit to ray
burden if I had not my sunbeam here to
brighten op my life. My dear, dear child!"
She knelt on the stool t<> rest her lead upon
the broad breast Which so often pillowed it,
and lie softly stroked the dark hair, for his
was very full as he remembered what
she had sacrificed for him two years ago.

So Mrs. Lawrence found them, when she
came in with a letter for' Bffie.

"From Beatrice," Bffie said, glancing at the

ire, and wondering why lun- sister, who

rer before done so. should write to her

now. The letter was Bhort, but crushing in

i;- :. nts.

Pp.vk V.vtw.: I write to you as the only nn-
•' 1 sister, and the one to whom I feel it

lnv duty to look in our present emergency.
M on.n tor some months

with us. and was yesterday taken very ill.
The doctor pronounces her disease rmallpoz.
My own duty to my two children makes it
re lor me to avoid her room, and 1
sent the children to Blanche this morning. 1
shall leave with Charles this afternoon, to
with Blanche until the danger of con-

TOt. LXVH1. 30

tagion is over. Blanche cannot expose little
Carroll to dan, rer. and Laura, as you know, is
in Brazil. 1 think, as you are alone, with no
husband or child to tax your time, or suffer

ii ontagion, that it is your duty to go to

mamma. One of my girls, who has had the

smallpox, will remain until you come, and 1
should advise haste, as we leave to-day.
Your affectionate sister,

Beatrice HolmaK.

"You cannot go!" said Mr. Marshall, as he
read this heartless letter.

■• Beatrice is right, ancle, it is my duty."

"Your duty!" cried the old man, pas-
sionately, "your doty! Where is their duty,
the pets and idols for whose sakes your child-
hood was made' miserable, and for whom,
that they might he provided for, you were
driven from your home. Your duty! Who, of
them all, came to you when for months you
watched alone beside a speechless, numbed
body, onlyo/tVe, a breathing corpse, to weary,
sicken, anil torture your loving heart. Who
sent one word of comfort to you then .' I say
you cannot, shall not gi

"TJnolel Dncle Charles, you terrify me!
Your eyes flash, and you tremble from load
to foot. You will kill yourself with this agi-
tation !"

"There, there! I am quiet now; but for
them to talk to you ofthrty.'1

"Uncle, you must let me go. She is my
mother, sick, perhaps dying, alone. Alone I
Think of it! I must go."

Long, long she pleaded before the reluctant
consent was given, but at last it came, not in
word- to make her sacrifice more bitter, but
laying his hand upon her head, Mr. Marshall
said, solemnly : —

■•(in, and may the blessing of the old man,
whose life you have saved from despair, pro-
tect you front harm. Y'ou are right. May
God guard and keep you, bringing you home
safely."

There was another long remonstrance from
Mrs. Lawrence, but Effie could resist this.
She knew that with his old housekeeper and
James her uncle would be comfortable, if not
happy, and the new call was now the greater
duty. A hurried packing, and with many
-. directions for guarding against the
contagion, and promises of frequent letters,

she started for 0 to take the night car3

to Mr. Holman'e city home.

She si 1 upon the piazza of the hotel in

G r the summons to go to tho

454

GODEYS LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

depot. It was almost dark, and she strained
her eyes to be certain that John was waiting
in the carriage, when a hand was placed
caressingly upon her shoulder, and a gentle
Toiee said : —

"Effie Marshall, is it not?"

She looked up to see her brother-in-law,
Mr. Loveriug, who extended both hands to
greet her.

" I felt sure that you would come," he said,
tenderly; "it was like your unselfish cha-
racter. It seems wrong to ask you : but you
can pardon the mother-love that makes your
sisters dread to expose the children to conta-
gion. I cannot tell you how we thank you."

Effle appreciated the kindness that made
him speak of her sisters so gently, but there
was uo time for a word before he continued : —

"I am here to see that you reach your
mother in safety. I may be your escort?"

"Oh, how much I thank you," said Effie,
warmly, " both in my own name and in Uncle
Charles's. His great anxiety will be removed
when he knows that I will be under your
kind protection. You must excuse me while
I write a few lines for John to carry home."

Painful as were the anticipations of the end
of her journey, Effie could scarcely feel suffi-
ciently grateful for the delicate attentions and
kindness of her companion. He had never
seen her since his marriage, but had retained
a fond recollection of the soft brown eyes and
sincere tone which had welcomed him as her
brother. He felt most deeply the sacrifice
Bhe was making, as, unconscious of the in-
ference which he was drawing, she spoke of
her uncle's love, her happy home, and the
peaceful pleasures which she there enjoyed.

It was about noon when the carriage drove
up to Mrs. Holman's door ; and with a loving
embrace and a tearful blessing he bade her
good-by, feeling, as the door closed after her,
that it was perhaps the last time her gentle
voice would ever fall upon his ear, or her soft
eyes rest upon his face.

"The Lord be praised, ma'am, that you 're
come I" was the salutation of the servant as
she closed the door after Effie. " I 'm Mary,
if you please, that agreed to stay. Oh, I've
had the sickness meeself. ma'am ; and I know
the dreadful time a body would have alone
in it, and I hadn't the heart to go. But it 's
thankful I am to see ye. The doctor 's there,
now, if you'll go up. Stop! give me your
bonnet and cloak ; I '11 lay them on the bed

in Mrs. Holman's room, that I 've got ready1
for you. When he 's gone, I '11 have soni
coffee for you, and something to eat after youii
long journey."

" I do not want it," said Effie, feeling her
heart throbbing almost to suffocation.

"Now," said Mary, earnestly, "it's not for
the likes of me to be advising you, but do not
begin your nursing too fierce. You must eat
and you must rest, or you '11 be sick too, am
no good to poor Mrs. Marshall at all."

"Mary! Mary!" was called in a subdued
tone from the second story.

"I '11 go!" said Effie, and she went softly
up the stairs.

A middle-aged man met her in the entry,
and with outstretched hands she sprang for-
ward.

" Dr. Lee ! Oh, I am so glad you are here !
Is she better ?"

"Eh! eh I can it be possible that this is
Effie. You are to be head nurse, then?"

" Yes, I have come to stay here !"

"Vaccinated?"

"Yes, only last spring."

"Did it take?"

"Yes."

" Come in then ! Now, my child, you have
a terrible task, but there seems no help for
it. I can send you a nurse to assist you, but
I think Mary is better; she is attached to
Mrs. Marshall. Some old kindness, I believe,
makes her your mother's devoted servant. I
shall be here as often as I can, oftener, per-
haps, than is absolutely necessary, so you
must not let the frequency of my visits alarm
you."

A long minute list of directions followed
this preface, and then, with a few kindly
words of praise for her quiet attention and j
peace of mind, the doctor left the little nurse
alone with her patient.

She was not asleep as Effie softly approached
the bedside, but lay in a heavy stupor. Her
thick black hair was tossed in tangled masses
on the pillow, and her eyes were partially
closed. Deep, almost groaning respirations
came from the heaving bosom, but she lay |
perfectly motionless. Effie felt a terrible sick
loathing come over her as she saw the frightful |
marks of the disease on the once beautiful
face, and the soiled bed linen and disorder of
all around, her, but one stern self-upbraiding,
one effort of will, and she conquered the
weakness. She dared not to rouse her mother

'SIIK HATH DONE WnAT SHE COCI.D.

455

tiv arranging the bad, but, moving noiselessly

to and fro, she put tin- room in order, ar-

; all the dishes, oups, and vials in order

ifor removal or stay, and making the long ap-
ship >li.' had served at her uncle's
bedside useful in this emergency.

I oannol detail the week- of nnralng which
allowed; such nursing as the strongest heart
and nerves might shudder to contemplate,
and pray never to encounter. No pen can
write, no tongue tell the sickening weari-
ness of the post, when this loathsome disease

,is to be nursed. Wild delirium alternated

•with stupor, and Effie lost the only comfort
she could have hoped for, the love or grati-

,tude of the patient. Watchful nights suc-
! weary days, for all Mary's entreaties
failed to make the young nurse take more
repose than was absolutely necessary in order
t" keep the heavy eyelids open when required.

'The roses, which were her Uncle Charles's

pride and boast, faded away in the close, pes-
tilential air, and the heavy, dark rings of her
childhood came again round the brown eyes.
The springing step grew more heavy in its
noiseless round of duties, and the light form
wasted slowly. She had no face nor voice to
■beer her, save the doctor's and Mary's, but
-, loving letters from her uncle were
varied by a kind note every few days from
Mr. Levering, and sometimes the same thought-
ful love Seut flowers to cheer the patient

■arse.

It was one cold afternoon in November
Ithat the overtasked strength seemed ttrst to
give way. She had been unable even to
taste the carefully prepared dinner which
Mary's kin'dnesa provided, and, as she again
Entered the sick room, she felt a numbing
ifaintness stealing over her. Her mother lay
|very quiet, in the stupor which followed the
more violent delirium, and she threw herself
upon the lounge to avoid tailing from faintness.
It was not sleep, for she heard every sound
aud word, but she felt powerless to move or
beak. Mary whispered to her: ''That's
right, honey I try to sleep! It's worn out
yet are altogether." The longlaj
unconsciousness which succeeded was broken
by the doctor's voice.

" Where is Effie

•■ She is asleep, sir !"

Bhe fell his lingers on her wrist a moment
■ter, and heard his "too quick! tooqoiokl"
but she could not speak. A heavy Land

seemed pre o herbraiu, and her whole

frame felt torpid and heavy.

•' Mary, can you give me a bed here to-
night .'" she heard the doctor inquire.

■' Ves. ind I. sir ! Miss Ktlie

sleep she has there, where she lies BOW.
She's not had her clothes off exoep I

to change them since she came, and that 's
ih e v, eeks yesterday."

"Poor child! poor child !" said I he doctor,
tenderly. " Mary ! to-night will probably see
the end of this nursing."

".Mrs. Marshall, sir!" gasped Mary.

" living!"

The word started the life current in Lffio's
veins into fierce action. With "lie bound she
was on lor feet, and another instant brought
her to the bedside. With the word ringing
in her ears, she stood scanuing the wasted
face, tin; large, staring eyes; listened to the
fluttering, painful breathing, read is each and
all. the dread truth of the doctor's words. He
tried to draw her away, but she shook him
oil, never moving her eyes from her mother's
fee Suddenly the large eyes moved, and a,
faint dawning of reason, the first iu the weary
sickness, came into them.

"Blanche! Beatrice! my children !" whis-
pered the mother.

Trembling, but gently, Effie said : —

"I am here, dear mother, Erne!"

"Effie! Ah! I was not right to send Effie
away !"

" 1 am here, mother !"

" Have I been sick, Effie ?"

"Very sick !''

"Yes, yes! I remember! They said it
was smallpox," and she shuddered. "So
they all went away! All went away ! Y.ffi»,

is Effie here? Did Effie stay.' Ah. that

was a good child. God will bless her!'1 and
a faint whisper, a sobbing cry, and the Child
was motherless.

She realize, 1 that with lightning-like rapid-
ity. A dull, rumbling sound in her ears; the
room seemed rocking like huge billows under
her feet ; she felt a strong arm raise her from
the Hour, and then all was blank.

She remembered nothing for days, until the
first reasoning sensation found her lying in
bed. in a large, cool room, with a weak, tired
feeling. She tried to rise, but found no
strength to do so. The effort, however,
brought some one to heT side, and, with a low
cry of joy, she recogniz* d Mrs. Lawrence.

456

godey's lady's book and magazine:

All came back in an instant, her mother's
illness and death, and she knew that she
must have been unconscious or delirious.

"Yes, honey, I am here!" said Mrs. Law-
rence, in answer to her whispered question.
" Don't fret. Your uncle got uneasy after
two weeks had passed without your letter,
and he sent me on to see about you. Sick
enough I found you. No! don't fret about
that, there 's no danger. They 've fumigated
the house, and you 're only clean worn out, no
smallpox about you. Your sister, she 's gone
off south, and Mrs. Lovoringtoo, for the winter ;
and now, dear heart, you know all about it,
so just shut your eyes and try to sleep."

With Mrs. Lawrence, Mary, and Dr. Lee to
nurse ami tend her, Effie grew daily stronger
and better, till, from the short ride made
longer each day, the doctor pronounced her
strong enough to travel. Mary begged so
hard for permission to accompany her to
Haresdale, that Mrs. Lawrence promised to
find her a place in the household, and the
whole trio started for home.

CHAPTER XII.

" Twextt-five ! The first old maid's corner
turned to day, " said Effie, as she laughingly
kissed her uncle, one bright January morning.

They were seated in the cheerful drawing-
room, but two new inmates are added to the
circle. One, a little girl of three, is standing
near the window, and from the attitude and
the soft lids falling over the eyes, one reads
her painful story. She is blind ! Close beside
her, his arm around her, his hand clasped in
hers, stands her brother, one year older,
whose noble face and vigorous figure both
Speak of his physical strength, while his
tender eyes and gentle touch show how he
has learned to subdue it for his little sister's
weakness. It is a touching, beautiful group.

Two years have passed since the shipwreck
of the Albatross left these little ones orphans.

Their parents brought them from Brazil,
fearing the effect of the climate on their
health, and Aunt Blanche put them in the
same nursery with Carroll. Returning to
their southern home, George and Laura were
lost in the ill-fated Albatross.

Few words were needed to gain Uncle
Charles's consent to the adoption of the chil-
dren by their Aunt Effie, and with a world of

teuder memories in her heart, she took them
home, promising, in prayerful sincerity, to
cherish and love them.

So the summers fade and the winters pass,
and still Effie Marshall brings a smiling face,
a loving heart, and ready hand to her many
duties. Her uncle's comfort and treasure in
his crippled age, her nephew's teacher and
her niece's tender guide. She has performed
no brilliant feat, and few, out of the heme
circle, have heard her name ; yet, on the re-
cording angel's book will be read her highest
praise — "She hath done what she could."

THE CASKET OF TEMPERANCE.

BT W I 1. 1. 1 E E. P A B 0 R .

(Prarl thr lyth.)
THE LESSOX OF THE CATARACT.

AT GRAND ISLAND.

Here, whore the placid river flows alonij

To the smooth measure of a pleasant snug :

Here, where the tribute from the inland lakes

Its stately passage to Ontario makes ;

Here, typifying life, whose tide flows on

Until the haven ofits rest is won ;

Here, where the ceaseless waves forever rhyme

To Hope's sweet music, or to Memory's chime ;

Here, Standing at the river's edge, the eye

Takes in the wave, the wood, the sun, the sky —

Here we, in studious mood, where'er we turn,

May the first lesson of the cataract learn.

Life, like a river, through defiles of years

Flows ever on, a tide of hopes and fears ;

But in the distance, rising through the gloom,

The fatal rapids of Intemperance loom —

Here, all is fair ; life beautified by love,

The balmy air around, blue sky above ;

The river's ripple and the pine-tree's sound.

All these combine to cast their spell around ;

Here safely spreads her wings — a shield from harm ;

Here peace abides in a perpetual calm ;

Here plenty, queen-crowned, sits upon the plain,

And here the old dream we revive again

Of that fair island, fabled as the blest,

Where mortals revel in eternal rest,

As long us, heedless of the flowing tide,

They on this island rest content to bide ;

Though tempted by low music from afar

Where lost Atlantic and Utopia are,

If on contentment's confines they repose.

Their years shall pass without life's cares or woes.

To Temperance true as to the eternal pole

The needle — Circe may her brimming bowl

Lift up and charm not, though her spell she throw

With skill the ancient ages failed to know.

II.

THE RAPIDS.

But, if the restless spirit of the youth
Forsakes the lessons of unchanging truth,

TIIK CASKET OF TEMPERANCE.

457

Aiui, launched opon the tide, seeks from the wavi
Hew glory— better they bad found a grave
Id earlier years , for though al Ural the stream

. ■ . ■ ■

Betn ean green banks and 'm
A ! Pw, dull b >un i reveals I be rapid* algfa ;
And here and there the white capped waves betray
i pulses of ■ monster now at bay ;
Bnt wjio, r seas are gained, sh

Bole arbiter of their dark destluy,

j ield to passion, or demands of pi Ide,
. bat they \* 11 al
But, step by step, they to the rapids run,
All heedless ofthe Journey thus b<
Awake to what they have forever lout,
Their bark upon the foam-lashed wave Is toei ;

to what must on their future n alt,
They hurry forw ard to I beir ci i aln (ate;
tance, fades the bappj I Le,
\ ■■ bope and happiness I trover smile.

III.

TKft TSBBB BIBTBBS,

What though the little tree-crowned islands three

(Take ih i if our Trinity,

Of Faith

Warn them of danger, crying, BnterhereJ

Where yel is Bafety ; come, i have uo foar;

Dasb back I be I n renl , sp ed I bee to I be shore,
And reel oontei id vi ith thy tot once more.
Not — asofold — to enjoy life's primal bl
end like this.
Here thou shall ever listen to the roar,
An 1 learn the lesson you refuse I before ;

etc
The madness of a self-sought misery;
Here, it had been well-nigh too late to kn^w
How near, and yet escaping, yon could go;
Here thad In en n ell-nigh too late to take
■ i be i i > so foi ' ■-■■ e's sake,
who will nut — in your madness — seel
The rei re For I bee I

Upon the lower that Btands upon the le I
That leans well over the dark cataract's i d
S'o written there, as by the hand of fate,

rign of aorrow in the words Zbo ],<itr.

i bore was * time to save]
Too late I too late I no strength oan stem the wai '
There ■ far np tbe rapide, when

The ds b i shunm d : but then, but t..

Vo would aot listen to the warnings sent,
And now, there *s nothing left but punishment,

al The bai I ■ that would have I
I a : pride i i p v. er i ■■■

And bow, n i strength can stay the tide that awei ps
to the cataracl I ■

■ d the prayers that would your steps recall,
Yu hasten with the waters to the Fall ;
T>own the dark gulf to go, and on the stone*
To fall and die ! while high above tho tones
And roar ofthe great cataract of crime

a wail that Alls the air oftimo
With echoes that forever, ever flow
To fill the Led wo.

The lakes ofTomperaBoa their freightage
Down tides whose banks with Living verdure b
But in the distance still the rapids lie,
And men will taste, and drink, and cm le, and die.
But not alone they go I they carry there
The young, the Innocent, the good, the fair —
'i ie fre bts e of the hear! — more precious far
Than all the jeu els ol I be I ndlee b i

'I" i J in [heir man uOSa ; :I"W

Th<> blight that follows Ln the paths they got

s i deep they In the rapids sink, the]

Naught but the wine-cup dancing there Ln

Bubbling and seething Ln delirious bliss,

They take the curse clothed Ln the tempter's kiss.

And what to them If darkened borne and hearth

Bespeak the sorrow that exists on earth!

Ami what to them if forms they onoe deemed fair

i, e clothed Ln ashes, dumb in their despair?

The love that blessed them in the long &j i

They bartered for the wine cup's spark Hug glow;

The hopes they cherished in the by-gone year-*

Lie wrecked upon the sea of woman's tear-- ;

The faith that lit Up ways once dim and dark,

Shines out no more — '.hi* Pharos ofthe ark ;
The truth they cherished for it- own sweet sake
They buried fathoms deep in Lethe's lake —
And now, no more for thorn the patha^hat lie
Through sunny fields beneatb Arcadia's sky ;
No more for them, whose hearts are out of tune,
The fragrance ofthe blossoms ofthe June;
No mere for them the paths that gently slope
Along the hank where runs the stream ol H p
No mure for these the pleasant thoughts that oome
To nestle In the circle of their home —
All gone, all gone! and ruin broods uhove
The spot once beautiful through life by love;
Ail gone, and desolation and decay
Sit crowned about the drunkard's darkened way;
All gone, and only Memory to show
Hex i.i on i"1 p cture on the walls of wo I
So, bo the rapids of Iutempi ranee run ;
So, so the \\ ork of ruin is begun,
And so progresses to the very end,
And shrouding wife, child, lover, husband, friend.
The babe sucks poison from its mother's breast,
And old age grasps the wine-cup with the rest;
They in their Innooonce, th« s€ a their guilt
And manhood, ci usotous ofthe blood thus spilt,

And u ..ul d, encrowned with glory, yet

Learning the lessons they may not forget

As long as memory, to tier mission Just,
Keeps the sou! conscious of its loss of trust ;

Spreading her coverlet of sin and -ha me
Over a life lost both to love and fame.

Ye, who, apart fn m fancy or from fact,
Would heed the Lesson ol tin' l atar&ct —
Take to your thoughts these truths thus crude! j
In Time's wheat-measure be the little leaven ;
B ■'• ail around yon feel that downward go!
s e all about you lives that daily flow
Towards the Rapids and the Cataract,
Aud oh, my brothei listers, rise and act !

So, 60 tl i lut^mperanc run ;

Bo, fa '■ ul Ql I

3d*

Time, with all its celerity, moves slowly on
to him whoso whole employment is to wat. h
its flight.

GOING WEST.

BY M 11 8 . JAMES ■

Cousin Fanny had made a love match, and
the hymenial torch only awaited the close of
the winter's course of medical lectures to he
li-hted.

Aunt Harriet enacted the "cruel parient"
of course, and showered a perfect hailstorm of
invectives on the devoted head of her erring,
ungrateful daughter; but little Miss Eanny
was about as decided a piece of crinoline as
her elder ladyship, and came out of the
breakers in safety with colors tlyiug at the
masthead. Uncle John, too, though he seldom
interfered in family affairs, came boldly to the
rescue, gave his consent when the young man
asked it, vowed his daughter should do as she
pleased, as he did when he got married, said a
great many sensible things to madame on her
match-making propensities, worship of mam-
mon, etc., till, finally, she retreated from the
field defeated, ami yet not subdued. Forthough
Harry was granted the freedom of the house
as became a son-in-law, in prospect, yet poor
Fan was subject to a great deal of raillery,
and very pointed satire, exceedingly provok-
ing, and, though no Job, I assure you she
bore it well.

Aunt Harriet, however, felt much better
over it, when Harry, having received a letter
from a friend in Kansas, advising him that
his home, a thriving village, was without a
physician, resolved to emigrate. Yes, she
had rather have her daughter many miles
away, than that she should settle down at
home without an elegant establishment ; she
should be so mortified before her friends,
though for her own part — and she regarded
menacingly the younger branches of the
house of Young — she would prefer to have her
remain a sad example to her sisters. The
winter passed quickly away, and it was now
but two weeks till the appointed flitting. We
were deep in the mysteries of the bridal trous-
seau, a plain one comparatively, for "what's
the use?" said mamma, "she'll only display
it to the Indians." " Let it be in high colors,
then ; I want to make a good impression 1"
said the imperturbable Fanny.

"I believe I'll go too," said I, looking up
from my embroidery.
458

" You," shrieked both ladies in a breath ;
but not on the same key, by any nieaus ;
Aunt Harriet's being decidedly the shriller,
and ending in the first speech.

"You, the heiress, leave all the gayeties
of city life, the prospect of a brilliant season
at the springs, to bury yourself in that never
before heard of little western village?"

"Really, Sue, you had better not think of
it. Harry says there will be innumerable
hardships to endure, " and the bride expectant
put on a self-sacrificing air, strikingly in con-
trast with her piquant, saucy face.

" And you want to monopolize the heroics.
Selfish creature I You sha'n't do it. I 'm
going; I'm tired of the city, weary of the
restraints of fashionable life, disgusted with
adulation, which is given only to my money,
not myself; sick of the company and conversa-
tion of the idle popinjays, who hang around
me in hopes of marrying a fortune. I want
change ; I want to' see if there is not some-
thing better to do in this world than follow
the idle routine of folly. I have not moral
courage to cast off the shackles here, tut in
the far west I can do as I please. Yes, I 'm
going! Suppose I play Biddy. Harry says
you will find servants scarce. Come, let me
help you study that cook book," said I, mis-
chievously, exposing Fanny's cherished se-
cret— " Miss Leslie on Cookery."

Well, I was my own mistress, and nobody
dare gainsay my wishes ! So, when the happy
day arrived, I was ready to depart. The
solemn ceremony was soon over ; the bride-
groom looking exultant and happy ; the bride,
tearful and blushing. Papa pleased, and yet
sorrowful, for his eldest daughter was his
favorite ; mamma very important, and yet
there was a sad look about the eyes that told
the mother-heart was still warm 'neath all
the cold exterior, which pride, love of show,
and keeping up appearances beget. An
elegant breakfast was provided for the dear
" five hundred," who crowded to congratulate,
and then we were off to the train, and soon
whirling away as fast as steam could carry us
on.

My friends in the new found relation seemed

GOIXG WEST.

459

inclined to be shy and silent, and I found en-
joyment in looking around at my fellow-pas-
sengers, wondering how many would continue
with us to our journey's end: bat v<tv few
indeed. A long trip resembles the journey of
life ; of those who begin it together, many turn
aside to seek a different pathway, others have
but a brief career, like unto those who stop
at the way stations.

What an elegant place for the study of the
human face divine. Here sat a man with
vice stamped upon his count. -nance ; there
several who were marked with love of plea-
sure; a little farther down, several tittering
girls, whos bore no character at all.

Just across the aisle is one specimen of a true
man ; what a wide forehead, free from wrin-
kles ! Such a kindly eye and beaming coun-
tenance; his bump of benevolence is highly
developed. See! lie has relieved that weary
looking woman of her heavy child, a bright,
keen-looking little fellow, whose face is now
wreathed in smiles at the present of an orange
by his kind entertainer. He must be a
"pater" himself, he understands child nature
SO well. How swiftly mo#cs the iron horse,
the Secen I day we were steaming over the
vast prairies of Indiana and of Illinois. What
a strange sensation, somewhat resembling
that of sailing on the ocean, a vast expanse
of sky and land. For a long time, I enjoyed
looking forth over the interminable sameness,
but one tires of the monotony, and I began to
be lonesome. Fanny's spirits seemed to have
deserted her, and Harry was so taken up with
his treasure, that poor me stood away in the
background, only receiving an occasional
aside. To speak the truth, a young married
couple on their bridal journey are not the
most excellent company in the world. I
began to be decidedly lonesome ; there was
nothing to look at outside ; even the squatters'
cabins went Hying by so quickly. I could not
even get a glimpse of the little squatters.

To my great relief, the knight of the genial
countenance, compassionating my condition, I
suppose, and considering me equally an object
for the exercise of his benevolent bump, with
the baby aforementioned, turned and ad-
dressed me with a very common-place remark
alx'ut the scenery, to which I gladly returned
a very common-place answer. There passed
between ti< two or three more common-places
" climate, the comforts and discomforts
of travelling by rail, from that to the modes of

conveyance in the olden time, in which my
companion displayed an uncommonly well
stored mind. Then he related amusing inci-
dents of his own travelling experience, which
aroused even the n.wlv married, and so well
entertained us all, that we were almost si rry
when the train stopped at Chicago, when
were to spend the night.

However, we were aroused from our slum-
bers before daylight by the cry "railroad." and
after a hurried breakfast, and an omnibus
jolt to settle it, reached the depot just in

time.

It was quite amusing now to see the -
headed settle themselves again to resume the
slumbers from which they had been so ab-
ruptly aroused. My smiling contemplation of
the numerous open countenances around me
was interrupted by a pleasant voice saying,
"Good morning, we are still fellow voyageurs

I See."

Harry informed him, for it was the knight
of the genial countenance, of our destinat D,

"Indeed! then we are to be fellow towns-
men as well. L has been my residence

for some years. May I inquire your name t"
handing his own card at the same time.

Harry passed over the shining new piece of
pasteboard — "Harry Waldo. M.D."

"Ah! you are the young physician of
whom I have heard my friend Edgarton speak;
glad to see you on your way ; we need your
services very much, but — " and he looked
inquiringly at us, whom Harry then intro-
duced as "Mrs. Waldo and Miss Whiting." '
" How will the ladies like pioneer life ?"

Harry and Fanny exchanged affectionate
glances, and I thought I detected a smile in
Mi. Bentley's eye as I replied: —

"Oh, we have made up our minds that we
shall have much to endure, and have resolved
to be equal to every emergency."

"The proper spirit, certainly ; but you will
be called upon, I fear, to make more sacrifices
than you imagine. Only think of it, no
opera-

" We can sing," said Fanny.

" No theatre, no fashionable promenade."

"We shall roam o'er the prairies."

" But there will be no grand balls ; in fact,
no public places of display.

"We have renounced the pomps and vani-
ties of the world. Cousin Sue, make I
pretty speech you made to mamma al
frivolousness, waste ,.; time, and all that."

460

godey's lady's book and magazine.

"You are young to have discovered the
hollowhearteduess of the fashionable world,
Miss Whiting," said Mr. Bentley, like a true
knight covering niy confusion. " I discovered
"hat years ago."

"You do not look so very ancient," said
unconscionable Fanny."

" Ah, Mrs. Waldo ! do not make light of my
weight of years, though they have not sil-
cred my hair nor bowed down my frame.
But you do not look as if much acquainted
with household duties. What will you do in a
place where you cannot even find help ?"

Now it was my turu. "She has been
studying cookery for three months, sir, and
considers herself fully prepared to act well
her part.''

Both gentlemen smiled, while the little

lady replied:- "Answer for yourself, Miss

Vliiting, but you won't laugh when you see

lie line table I shall spread. Are there any

Indians in Kansas, Mr. Bentley ?"

The subject, thus abruptly changed, glided
■ >if into an easy conversation, and hereafter
our party consisted of four instead of three.
No. 4 proved himself a very valuable addition ;
having travelled the road frequently before,
.113 was able to point out all places of interest
along the route.

Arrived at St. Joseph, we shook off the car
ramp, and with a sense of relief took the
-teamboat for Leavenworth, where we arrived
;u safety after stranding on numerous sand-
urs with which that river evidently abounds.
The bed, being quicksand, is continually
shifting, so that a pilot can never learn the
soundings. We reached Leavenworth just at
Lark, and fonnd elegant accommodations at the
"Planters'," theu just built.

"I am very sorry," said Mr. Bentley, next
morning, as he assisted us into the stage coach,
:n which we were to " penetrate the interior,"
"hat I shall be detained here for a week. I
should like to see how my little friend bears up
under the beginning of troubles."

And beginning of troubles it was. The
roads in dry weather are excellent; but re-
cent rains had made them rough, and wo
vent jolt, jolt, from one side to the other.
"Oh, my bonnet ! my love of a bonnet," said
Fanny ; " it will be spoilt entirely I"

"Njt more so than my complexion," an-
swered I. "Oh, this wind! I wonder if it
Jwiys blows so in Kansas !"

Il.c lays were pleasant compared with the

nights. The prairies of Kansas are rolling, with
strips of woodland along the streams, and
occasionally we had a smooth road to ride on.
But at night, the little hotels, built in a hurry
to accommodate the immense tide of emigra-
tion, were anything but pleasant lodging
places. Luckily we were only two nights on
the way, an 1, at the end of the third day's
staging, arrived at the end of our journey.

The first sight of L considerably damped

Mrs. Waldo's expectations, for, in spite of
all that had been said upon the subject, she
had persisted in imagining a beautiful villa
of gothic cottages, such as surround large
cities, and are the summer homes of citizens.

Mr. Edgarton's house was small, and only
partly finished at that ; but his busy little wife
was an excellent housekeeper, and we were
quite charmed with their style of living, and so
eager were we to do likewise, that could
things have been in readiness we should have
commenced housekeeping the next day. But
it was necessary to have a house before we
could keep it, aud the only one to be found
consisted of three rooms and an attic (devoted
to your humble secant), not all together as
large as one of Aunt Harriet's parlors.

"This is 'love iu a cottage' with a ven-
geance," said Harry, after trying in vain to
get in half the furniture provided by Uncle
John, and by his foresight sent before us.

Fanny and I found that sorubbing and
scouring made sad havoc with white hands ;
but then we enjoyedit ; novelties always please
children, you know. The third or fourth day
we began to think of doing our own cooking.
We had been until then the guests of our
friend, Mrs. Edgarton. Alas, for cook-book
knowledge 1 it proved as useless as our su-
perabundant furniture. The trouble was,
we didn't have, and couldn't get all the in-
gredients ; but we had two prairie chickens,
and resolved to begin on them. The first
thing, of course, was to remove the feathers ;
but how to do it. We each took one and
began ; pulling out feathers one at a time is
slow work. At last, in despair, I went over
to Mrs. Edgarton's, and returned with the im-
portant information that they must be scalded.
We found the operation easier, only my
colleague scalded her hand as well as the
chicken. She bore it, though, with true Spar-
tan firmness, and, compressing her lips, and
flourishing the butcher-knife, was about to
sever a joint, when the knife Slipped and eat

DIFFICULTIES.— MUi'il WISDOM IX LITTLE.

461

her finger. Tliis capped the climax, and she
burst into tears. " Boo-oo-oo, I wish I hadn't
Boo-oo-oo, I wish I was at home."

"Fa, ha, ha!" laughed a familiar voice,
'■I thought it would be so," anil Mr. Bentley
vtood in the open doorway, heartily enjoying
our discomfiture.

"Biddy Maloney, at your service, sir,"
said I, ron i

"Well, Biddy, do you get some linen and
bind up your mistress' wounds while I attend
to this."

It was now our turn to laugh, for he actually
dressed those chickens, made us some light
biscuit an I elegant rake, explaining each pro-
cess in so simple a manner, that we felt
assured we could do it ourselves next time.
Harry coining in soon, found us in high glee;
and Mr. Bentley explained that he had kept
bachelor's hall on his claim during the inter-
vals of court (he was District Judge), and had
learned to do all these things for himself.

But need I tell of the pleasant year that
followed. Household cares and household
pleasures, long rides over the prairie on horse-
back, evenings at home, spent in reading and
singing, finally, moonlight tite-a-tetes ; and,
lastly, a visit east; the party consisted of
three. Harry couldn't leave his patieuts, and
Fan was No. 3 this time.

P. S. Judge Bentley didn't know that he'd
married an heiress, until Uncle John began
to talk of settlements.

DIFFICULTIES.

It is weak to be seared at difficulties, seeing
that they generally diminish as they are ap-
proached, and oftentimes even entirely vanish.
No man can tell what he can do till he tries.
It is impossible to calculate the extent of
human powers ; it can only be ascertained by
experiment. What has been accomplished by
parties and by solitary individuals in the
torrid and the frozen regions, under circum-
stances the most difficult and appalling, should
teach us that, when we ought to attempt, we
should not d-spair. The reason why men
aftener succeed in overcoming uncommon
difficulties than ordinary ones, is, that in the
first case tloy rall into action the whole of
their resources, and that in the last they act
upon calculation, and generally undercaleu-
late. Where there is no retreat, and the
whole energy is forward, the chances are in

favor of success, but a backward look is full
of danger. Confidence of success is almost
success, and obstacles often fall of themselves

before a determination to overcome them.
There is something in resolution which has
an influence beyond itself, and it marches on
like a mighty lord amongst its slaves ; all is
prostration where it appears. When bent on
good, it is almost the noblest attribute of
man; when on evil, the most dangerous. It
is by habitual resolution that men succeed to
any great extent ; impulses are not sufficient.
What is done at one moment, is undone the
next ; and a step forward is nothing gained
unless it is followed up.

MUCH WISDOM IN LITTLE.

Keep good company or none. Never be
idle. If your hands cannot be usefully em-
ployed, attend to the cultivation of your
mind. Always speak the truth. Make few
promises. Live up to your engagements.
Keep your own secrets if you have any.
When you speak to a person, look him in the
face. Good company and good conversation
are the very sinews of virtue. Good character
is above all things else. Your character
cannot be essentially injured except by your
own acts. If any one speaks ill of you, let
your life be so that none will believe him.
Drink no kind of intoxicating liquors. Eyer
live, misfortune excepted, within your income.
When you retire to bed, think over what you
have been doing during the day. Make no
haste to be rich if you would prosper. Small
and steady gains give competency with tran-
quillity of mind. Never play at any kind of
game at chance. Avoid temptation, through
fear you may not withstand it. Earn money
before you spend it. Never run in debt,
unless you see away to get out again. Never
borrow if you can possibly avoid it. Do not
marry until you are able to support a wife.
Never speak ill of any one.

The Prime Rules op Life. — Trust in Ood ;
distrust thyself; act with propriety; pray
with sincerity ; use small things, and shun
the great: hear much, say little; be silent
as to things hidden : learn to spare an infe-
rior, to yield to a superior, and to bear ;.n
equal.

462

godet's lady's book and magazine.

THE FAMILY DRAWING MASTER.

IX A SERIES OF FAMILIAR CONVERSATIONS.

ANGLES.

P. Well ! Have you found out how to tell
Me when lines are parallel ?

Ion. Yes ; we have all agreed about it. This
is quite true, and you can't deny it: —

When two horizontal lines are at an equal
distance from each other in all parts, they are
parallel. We have made two lines.

Now, if you measure from any part of the
'op line — either at the beginning, the end, or
the middle — you will find it to be always at
-xaetly the same distance from the bottom
line. So the two lines are parallel.

W. And now, we can tell you why two lines
may have the same direction and not be
parallel. These two are in the same direction,

but they are not in the right position, because
they have changed their position, their parts —
the beginning, middle, and end — are not at
the same distance from each other. See how
much nearer what I call the inside ends are
to each other than the outside ends.

Ion. So now you see, papa, why we sny
they must be at an equal distance from each
other in all ]:>arts.

P. But you have forgotten to say that they
must be in the same direction.

L. No, we did not forget it, papa, but we
'hought we need not say it ; because, if they
.ire at the same distance from each other in
.til parts, they must be in the same direction.

Ion. We made one mistake ; I need not have
.-aid that two horizontal lines are parallel.

W. No, I thought of that ! Because oblique
lines may lie parallel, and so may perpeudicu-
I ir lines. See !

L. Yes ; it does not matter in what direc-
tion the lines are placed, so long as they are
::i the same direction.

Ion. And I ought not to have said two lines,

because any number of lines may be parallel,
so —

just like the lines in your ciphering-book.

P. Now let us begin again with two lines.
These two are not parallel.

so you may call them non-parallel lines (non is

the Latin word for not). Suppose you make

each of these lines a little longer at both ends.

L. Then they will make a point. Look !

P. Yes, the lines make a point ; but what
do you call the space between the lines ?

W. Do you mean the space inside the lines,
papa ? I call that a corner.

P. Well, that is a very good name for it,
but not quite correct. I will give you a better
one — call it an Anijle. Now tell me what is
an angle ?

W. Stop, let me think a minute, papa. Here
it is. An angle is the corner between' two
lines — the space.

Ion. Or, here is a better word. The opening
between two lines ; for they begin at a point,
and open wider and wider.

L. Well, now, I will say what it is exactly :
An angle is the opening between two lines
which meet in a point.

P. If you would like to remember more
names, I will tell you some. The point of the
angle is called its vertex ; and the lines are its
legs.

L. Thank you, papa ; I will remember that.
An angle is made of vertex and legs.

P. How many angles do you think you can
make with two lines ?
W. One, I suppose.

P. Think again, Willie. Here is an angle.
Now I will make its oblique line a little longer.

TIIK FAMILY DRAWI N'H -M ASTER.

46;

II". Oh! the two lines have made two angles.
Please let me make the horizontal line a little
longer, to s.-c what it will do. Why, there
are four angles !

Ion. Yes, but they cross each other. Well,
that is worth remembering ; I will make a
rule about it : When two straight lines meet,
they form either one or two angles, and when
they cross each other they form four augles.

II". There! I have caught you again. You
should have said two straight lines in different
directions ; for, see —

directly these two meet they will form no
angles— not one or two.

P. Let me see how many angles you can
make with three lines.

Ion. I have made twelve.

P. Now take your slates, sit down, and try
how many angles you can make wrth four
lines.

FT. 1 have made eighteen. Seel

L. I have made twentv.

P. You may arrange them in a better way
still, and form twenty-four angles. Suppo.-.
you try and do so before the next lesson. Try.
now, and see how many angles you can mak.
with five lines.

L. I have made thirty-seven.

P. If you try, you will find that you can
make forty; and with six lines you can fonr.
sixty angles. There will be some work fo>
you — try and do these also before the next
lesson. Now, make a lesson. Indeed, we
must make two lessons, for we have lost
time.

LESSONS 2, 3.— Lixes axd Axgles.

Lines have three different directions, Hie
horizontal, perpendicular, and oblique.

Winn lines are at an equal distance from
each other in all parts, they may be length-
ened to any extent without meeting, and are
parallel.

When lines which are not parallel are length-
ened, they will meet, and will form one or
two angles, or they will cross and will fond
four angles.

Three lines will form twelve angles.

Four lines will form twenty-four angles.

Five lines will form forty angles.

And six lines will form sixty angles.

P. Tell me any object you may observe in
this room which has four angles.

L. The panes of glass ; the panels of the
door; the ceiling; the floor: the books on
the cheffonier ; the dining-table ; some of the
picture-frames; the desk, and mamma's work-
box. There are plenty of things with four
angles, but I cannot see any with five or six.

The harmony and happiness of life, in man
or woman, consists in finding in our vocations
the employment of our highest faculties, an i
of as many of them as can be brought into
action.

FANNY'S BAIT.

BY EELLB RUTLKJ>UE.

" I *ay, Paul, I 'm confounded sick of stay-
ing here in the city this stifling hot weather !
What say for taking a run into the country .'"

" I should like it, of all things, Dick. This
being confined to the sight of brick and mor-
tar walls, with the thermometer up to ninety
in the shade, is enough to make one sigh for
a breath of fresh air from scented clover fields
and a glimpse of the pure blue sky," was the
answer.

"Well, then, agreed, Paul! We'll start'
to-morrow. I have an uncle living up in
Vermont, in just the pleasantest spot I ever
saw — a large, rambling farm-house, with a
deep forest near by, where we can shoot, and
a river with plenty of fish ; and then he has
pretty daughters besides. I '11 warrant you
a pleasant trip up to Uncle George's — and
who knows but that Mr. Paul Vincent, the
fastidious connoisseur of female beauty, may
lose his heart to one of my rosy country cou-
sins before his return?"

But Paul Vincent only drew up his hand-
some form, and swept back the thick masses
of wavy dark hair from his broad forehead,
saying : —

" Don't fear for my heart, Richard ! I never
saw the lady yet who could fill it ; and,
though no doubt your fair cousins are pretty,
and all that, still, you know me too well to
form any plans of that sort. No matrimony
for me this many a year !"

"Oh, well, Paul, you'll be caught some
day by a witch of a thing, who will tear to
tatters all your fine ideas about matrimony
and so forth, with her spicy words and saucy
airs !" laughed Richard, rising; " but I must
be off, now. Pack up your portmanteau to-
night, and I '11 be around early in the morn-
ing ; for we 'd better take the first train east,
in order to get to my Uncle Randall's before
night."

"Yes, I '11 be ready !" replied Paul ; and so
his friend departed.

Richard Warner and Paul Vincent were
intimate friends, having been classmates in
college, and graduated with equal honors from
their Alma Mater. Richard was practising
law in the city ; and Paul, though the heir of
464

wealth, still sat at the mercantile desk where
his deceased father had acquired a fortune.

On the next morning the two friends seated
themselves in the railway car, and were borne
rapidly away from the hot, dusty city, into
the pleasant, open country ; refreshed with
the varied glimpses of green fields and spark-
ling waters, past which they were whirled
along. At nightfall they arrived at their
journey's end, having ridden some twenty
miles in the stage-coach after leaving the
railway ; and, both tired and hungry, they
presented themselves at the farm-house door
of Mr. George Randall, where they were re-
ceived with hearty welcomes.

" I 'm sorry, Richard," said his aunt, " that
the girls have gone over to Windsor, to their
cousins', on a visit. They went only this
morning, and will be away a week or more.
How unlucky ! but you must stay till they
come back — you and your friend."

"Yes, Aunt Lucy, we will place ourselves
under your hospitalities for a little period, for
we left town for a rest and enjoyment ; and,
if it 's to be had anywhere, we shall find it
here, I know!" replied her nephew.

Farmer Randall soon made his appearance
from the field, and welcomed the young men
with a hearty shake of the hand.

" So, then, Nephew Dick, I 'in glad yon 've
not forgotten us !" he said.

"No, Uncle Randall; nor the fine trout
fishing in yonr river, nor the good game in
your woods. My friend Paul is a capital shot,
and he's going to try his luck up here," an-
swered the young man.

"Well, we do have plenty of game here,
Mr. Vincent — pigeons a' plenty, and now and
then some duck ; and many o' your city folks
come np here to try their luck," said the
farmer.

"I declare, Dick," said Pan], as the two
wended their steps homeward at the close of
a sultry day sbont a week after their arrival —
"I declare, this is the best part of New Eng-
land ; and one would be almost tempted to
leave the city, and settle in some such spot —
that is, during the summer season. There

465

is rational enjoyment to be found here. A
Burner's life, after all, is not to be despised,
for he is independent) and enjoys vigorous
health, which is the foundation of all happi-

" Yes, Paul, I know it, and am very glad
that your opinions have undergone a change ;
for you did not formerly express yourself so
in regard to a country life. 1 think a farmer,
who is intelligent and in easy circumstances,
a v.-ry happy and independent man. But we
must hasten back to Uncle George's, for there
are heavy clouds coming up in the west ; and,
if I 'm not much mistaken, we shall catch a
sprinkling before we get home!"

The young men quickened their steps ; but
they were yet full half a mile from the farm-
house when the rain began to fall in torrents,
and, completely drenched, they reached the
house at a full run. Paul, in advance of
Dick, sprang into the entry, nearly upsetting
a young girl who was passing from one room
to another with a pitcher of milk in her
hand.

" Pardon ! excuse me, madam !" said Paul,
•a he glanced at the face of the girl. " In my
haste to escape the shower, I did not notice
that any one was Uen!''

"Ah, certainly, sir. No harm is done,"
she replied, smiling.

"Alice, Cousin Alice!" cried Dick, who
just then came in, "glad you 've returned;
though I can't say I'm glad to meet you in
such a plight as this!'' glancing at his drip-
ping garments. "But you see, Alice, it is
| raining slightly fast out ; and my friend, here,
and I were unlucky enough to be caught in
it. But allow me to make you acquainted
with my friend, Mr. Paul Vincent, known as
one of the most fastidious gentlemen in all
Boston, who, I dare say, is deeply mortified at
making his debt! into the presence of a lady
in this fashion I"

"Ah, Dick, you are the same as ever, I
see I" replied the girl, and the smile deepened
Jon her face as she looked at his wet garments
amply besprinkled with mud. " Your friend
and yourself have indeed had a taste of the
shower. It is heavy, and came up suddenly.
Mother was afraid you would be caught in
it."

"Yes, we have had it, as you see. But
where is Fanny, and when did you come
home ?"

" You will see her soon. We returned this
vol. lxviii. — 37

morning, shortly after you went out," replied
the, young girl.

" Well, Paul, shall we go to our rooms and
make ourselves presentable, or would you
prefer gazing at my fair cousin here ?" said
Dick, with a laugh.

"Deuce take you, Dick!" said Paul, after
the young men were in their room, "you talk
about me and to me ridiculously ; and I won't
stand it ! Your cousin will take me for a
simpleton."

" Pshaw, Paul! What matters it what the
girls think of you ? Nobody but ' country
girls ;' and you don't care a fig for the good
opinion of any lady, you know!" retorted his
friend.

"Now, Dick, yon 're unmercin.il ! I 've no
doubt but that the young ladies are both very
intelligent ; and though, as I told you before,
I shan't fall in love, yet I would wish their
good opinion."

" Oh, well, we '11 see, Paul, about the ' love'
and the 'opinion,' in the future!" replied
Dick, laughing. "But there's the supper
bell ! let us hasten."

The two young men descended to the
sitting-room, where supper was awaiting them,
and where the family were already assembled.
If Paul Vincent had been struck with the
pretty face of Alice, he was more than ever
astonished at the loveliness of her sister
Fanny ; for, while Alice had a form a little
above the medium height, with fresh, rosy
complexion, and fair blue eyes, Fanny, with
petite figure, possessed a perfect brunette
complexion, with sparkling black eyes, and
hair of ebon hue.

"Ah, Fanny, how do you do, my fair
cousin !" cried Dick, as the girl rose to greet
him when he entered the room. " My friend,
Mr. Vincent," presenting Paul. "I believe
he has already made the acquaintance of
Alice," he added, with a smile.

" Yes, I have had that honor," replied
Paul, " and, begging her pardon for the
mishap I occasioned her, I trust that the ac-
quaintance so inauspiciously commenced, may
prove as pleasant as I think it will."

"Come, Paul," said Dick, the next morn-
ing, " what say you for a fishing party ? We
will invite the girls to go with us. They are-
capital anglers ; for, last summer, the fishes
always took their bait in preference to mine.
These country girls understand the art almost

466

godet's lady's book and magazine.

as well as city ladies do," he added, quizzi-
cally.

" Well, Dick, agreed ! It 's a capital morn-
ing for a bite. The sun 's a little clouded,
and, though I 'm not much of an angler
myself, yet I shall enjoy the sport of others,
and of which your old Izaak Walton discour-
sed."

In half an. hour, the party stood npon the
little bridge which spanned the stream iu the
forest back of the farmer's house ; and, with
hushed voices, cast out their lines.

"0, Dick, I've got a bite!" exclaimed
Fanny, in triumph, as she drew up her line
and displayed a tine trout. "They like my
bait best, Dick ; for I saw this one play
around yours some time, but he took mine in
preference."

"Oh, of course," said Dick, "that is natural

that he should prefer yours ! You understand

.using your fishing-rod pretty thoroughly,

Cousin Fanny. Don't you think she does,

Paul?"

Paul was busily talking with Alice, a little
apart from the others, and idly playing with
his line in the water, and did not heed.

" What ' don't I think,' friend Richard ?" he
said, advancing to them; "I did not under-
stand your question."

" Why, don't you think that Fanny here — ■
my country cousin — is a pretty good angler for
a little one ? See her trophy — the first fish
yet— beaten us both !" said Richard.

"Yes, Miss Fanny has thrown us oom-
pletely in the shade,'' Paul replied. "What
a fine fish, too! I hope she doesn't try her
skill on any spoil but fish ; for 'twould be
dangerous to nibble at her bait," he remarked,
laughingly, and glancing at the sparkling
eyes and cherry lips of the young girl as he
spoke.

"Oh, no, never fear!" she replied, saucily.
" I am but ' a country girl,' and do not use a
golden bait. "

The young man flushed, and turned ab-
ruptly away ; and again stood beside Alice,
who was intently watching her line and fly.

All that morning Paul Vincent remained
beside Alice, for she did not shock him with
tart replies or flashing glances like her more
beautiful sister. And so Fanny and Dick
walked and chatted together ; and the young
girls' musical laugh rang out upon the clear
air.

In the ensuing week of the young men's

stay at the farm-house, there seemed to grow
up a strong barrier between Paul Vincent and
the witty, piquant Fanny ; for, though she
treated the young man politely, yet she al-
ways met any advances he might make with
her old spicy words and saucy looks. This
completely baffled him, andTanny could not
have angled more successfully if she had pur-
posely designed to win the love of the fasti-
dious Paul Vincent, for her careless independ-
ence of manner, and the frank freedom of her
speech completely captivated his heart.

And so, though he had yet no reason to
think that Fanny cared aught for him, yet he
determined, if possible, to win her love ; for
underneath her independence of manner he
saw that she possessed a heart capable of the
most devoted attachment.

Two weeks more of boating and riding had
elapsed. On the morrow the young men were
to depart. The last night had come — a beau-
tiful August evening, with the moon walking
high in the heavens, and bathing the earth
with a soft flood of light. Paul Vincent saun-
tered into the sitting-room, where the farmer
and wife and Fanny sat.

"So you must leave ns, to-morrow, my
young friend ! ' ' said Mr. Randall. ' ' We shall
miss you ; for we 've had a lively time of it
since you and Dick have been here. The
girls won't go fishing much, I reckon, after
you 're gone."

"Why not, father?" said Fanny, speaking
quickly, with flushing face.

" Ah, yon know best, Fanny !" replied her
father, smiling. "It 's pleasant to have com-
pany, isn't it, Fanny?" he added.

" Oh yes, it is pleasant to have company,"
she replied; "but then one can do without it,
you know."

"Yes, Miss Fanny can, I know," replied
the young man. " She prefers solitude."

"Oh no, you are mistaken!" said her mo-
ther; " Fanny is fond of society ; and it's dull
enough for young folks here in the country."

"Where is Dick?" asked Paul, to change
the conversation, which he saw did not please
Fanny.

" He went out with Alice some time since,"
replied the farmer's wife.

The young man stepped out into the moon-
light, saying: —

"Come, Miss Fanny, will you not help me
seek the truants ?"

FAN'>CY S BAIT.

467

"No, I am very tired. Pray, excuse me,"
she replied, curtly.

Paul Vincent Ml liis lips and went down
the broad walk alone.

•■Why, Fanny, girl, why didn't you walk
with the young man?" inquired her father,
looking sharply at her, and surprised at her
answer.

"Oh, I am tired, and my head aches," she
said, turning her face to the window as she
spoke.

"I thought you hadn't seemed well these
two or three days hack, Fanny," said her
mother. "I will make you some herb tea;
and you had better go right to bed now. I '11
bring the tea up to you."

'• No, no, mother. It isn't as bad as that,"
she said, quickly. " It will be better by and
by ; and besides, it is only eight o'clock. I
couldn't go to sleep if I retired. I will wait
for Alice."

An hour later Paul Vincent came back to
the house, and through the open window he
saw that the farmer and wife had retired, and
that Fanny was alone, with her head bowed
upon the window, as if in deep thought. .

"Fanny," he said, in a low tone, as he
entered and approached her, placing his hand
upon her bowed head. "Fanny, what is
this? In tears?" '

But she started up, and flinging his hand
off, angrily exclaimed : —

'• This is ungentlemauly, to steal upon one
unawares and surprise them thus."

" I did not seek to surprise you, Fanny.
You are ungenerous in your language," he
said, clasping her hand in his strong grasp.
" But, Fanny, I must and will know why you
shun me so— why my presence is so distasteful
to you. Will you not tell me, Fanny?" and
his voice became low and tender. " Ah,
Fanny," he went on, "if you knew how I
loved you, but how hopelessly, you would
pity me, and not treat me so unkindly. Do
yon hate me, Fanny?"

The young girl did not reply ; she turned
her face away, and the little hands which
were in Paul's no longer struggled to be free,
but lay quiet and passive ; and the young
man felt that his case was not so hopeless
after all.

" Fanny, Fanny Randall, you do not hate
me, and you do love me ! Will you be my
wife, Fanny ?" he asked, in tender accents.

She turned her face towards him now, and

a light was in her beautiful eyes which Paul
understood full well, for he clasped her to his
heart in a first and long embrace.

An hour later Richard and Alice came in,
and their countenances also told a story simi-
lar to that which was written on the happy
faces of Paul Vincent and Fanny Randall.

"Now, Dick, I 've an action against you,"
said Paul, as his friend returned. "You've
been filling this young lady's head with infor-
mation concerning your humble servant, to-
wit : that he is a perfect woman-hater — that
he despises all that appertains to the country,
et cetera, et cetera. I '11 be even with you,
yet, friend Dick!"

" So, ho ! something come to pass, I reck-
on ?" said Diek, laughing. "Turned out just
as I thought it would! All right! Thank
me, Paul, you lucky fellow ; for, by the very
means I took you have won your case. It
pays, to come fishing up in Vermont, don't
it? But you, Fan," turning to her, "what
sort of bait have yon been using, to catch the
best fish in the husband market I know of — my
old friend here. Well, Alice and / can tell
you that we 've not been idle all this
either; can't we, Alice!" But the gi:
both vanished, and the young men were alone.

The next morning, there were long consul-
tations with the farmer and wife; and when
the two young men left them, their smiling
faces told the story of their success. And,
though they left the farm-house that day,
yet, before the earth was mantled with win-
ter's snows, they came again ; and when they
once more returned to their city homes, they
went not there alone, for the two blushing
brides who accompanied them bore evidence
to the success of their summer's visit.

But with the weddings did not terminate
Dick Warner's raillery to his friend, concern-
ing their summer's fishing in Vermont and
"Fanny's bait."

However open you may be in talking of
your own affairs, never disclose the secrets of
one friend to another. These are sacred de-
posits which do not belong to you, nor have
you any right to make use of them.

A good many persons, through the habit of
making others uncomfortable by finding fault
with their cheerful enjoyments, get up at last
a kind of hostility to comfort in general, even
in their own persons.

A FEW FRIENDS.

3 T K 0 R M A H LYNN.

SECOND EVENING.

Let not tlie confiding reader for a moment
suppose that when our party met at the fat
Mrs. Simmons', just a fortnight from the date
of their first evening in Mrs. Smith's elegant
parlors, they took up the thread of their en-
joyment precisely where it had been snapped
by the midnight stroke on that memorable
occasion. On the contrary, though there was
more general smiling and nodding, when the
guests assembled ; and though it was softly
mumbled by various couples that they had
indeed enjoyed a very delightful evening at
Mrs. Smith's ; and though the news was
rather more cordially circulated among them,
than before, that the weather was exceedingly
pleasant ; still, as soon as they were seated in
that first inevitable semi-circle around the
room, the galvanic current was established,
and all felt, in spite of themselves, the fearful
company shock, which has thrilled mankind
and womankind ever since the first evening
party was given in the land of Shem.

Mr. Simmons, too, a subdued, feeble-look-
ing man, whose extreme attenuation was only
equalled by his wife's corpulency, seemed ill
at ease. He moved about like the family
ghost, in loose slippers and a tight coat, a
counting house bend in his back, and a
ghastly smile upon his countenance that
seemed the very inspiration of wretchedness.
What wonder ! His whole life had been
given to money-making, and now, when the
old, familiar checks glared at him in the form
of sculptured mantles, gay carpets, and da-
mask furniture, he could not recognize them.
His rich surroundings, though conjured by
himself (or rather, by his cash-books), had
assumed the nature of a Frankenstein mon-
ster that awed and possessed him. He would
no more have dreamt of really enj oy ing himself,
than he would of reading any of the gilded
books upon his marble and ormolu centre
table. '

The very rustle of Mrs. Simmons' poplin
made him tremble ; and likely he was to
tremble more than ever, at this moment, for
that delectable lady was bearing toward him
under full sail.
468

"Joseph!" she muttered, frowning dafkly
upon him, "it is strange that sister Ellen
and the girls are not here yet. Did you de-
liver that note to my brother-in-law this
morning?"

Alas ! poor Simmons, the note was still in
the breast pocket of his overcoat, and he knew
it.

"Ahem! The fact is, my dear, Marshall
was not in the office when I reached there,
and — ' '

"And you forgot it!" interrupted Mrs. S.
in a fierce undertone, at the same time staring
at a bronze cupid on the mantle-piece, so thato
the guests need not suspect that Simmons
was ' catching it.'

"Yes, my dear; I'm extremely sorry; I
did forget it, but it 's not too late yet. Scipio
can take it to the house."

" Umph ! that's like your suggestions.
What 's the door to do if Scipio goes out, I
want to know ?" hissed Mrs. S., soto voce,
playing with her fan in the mean time. t»

Joseph evidently was at a. loss to know
what the door would do under those circum-
stances, for he sat the mute image of despair.
Suddenly, the expression of his chosen one's
eye concentrated his latent animation. " I —
I can run around there myself, if you say so,
my dear?"

Mrs. Simmons replied to his inquiring
glance with an indifferent "well," which,
nevertheless, her thoroughly-trained spouse
felt to be a fiat for him to depart at once.

By this time Ben Stykes, by means of a
certain social omnipresence peculiar to him,
had succeeded in infusing a more genial
spirit into the party. Mr. Pipes and Miss
Pundaway were trying to outvie each other
in rapturous admiration of a "lovely littre
thing," by Chopin. The engaged couple had
actually glanced away from each other for an
instant, to bestow a smile or two on familiar
faces about the room ; Mary Gliddon was
laughingly dealing out sprightly small-talk to
a dazzled group of three, in new neckties, to
the great envy and mystification, be it said,
of sundry less successful damsels ; and master
Joe, the small son and heir of the Simmonses,

A FEW FRIENDS.

4 6 i>

was having a fiuo time in the corner with the
forbidden stereoscope.

At last the meeting was opened by Ben as
chairman pro tern.

" Ladies and Gentlemen : If I mistake not,
this society (which is, so far, 'a deed without
R name') was formed on the basis of univer-
rights and general enjoyment. Its plat-
form is 'fun;' and rather than have the
meeting degenerate into a noisy soiree musi-
! cole, or a stupid conversazione, or a rheumatic
promenade, I propose to make game of you
all, by commencing the evening's entertain-
] ment witli the play of Coincidences. "

The motion being duly seconded and car-
ried, Ben proceeded to instruct the company
as follows : —

''let each member whisper confidentially
to his or her right-hand neighbor the name
, either of an historical character or of soma
' well-known person now living."

It was done.

" Each member will please whisper to his
or her left-hand neighbor either a proverb or
a familiar quotation."

After much preliminary meditation, and
giggling and bobbing of heads, this, also, was
accomplished.

"Now," pursued Ben, "if you all have
obeyed orders, «ach of you has a person's
name, and a phrase or proverb, given you
privately by different parties.''

Everybody looked knowing and eager, as
much as to say, "/have, for one."

"We will now, in turn, give the company
the benefit of our combinations. Mr. Pipes,
J yon are first in line, will you please lead off?"

Mr. Pipes, with a deprecating glance around
the room, gave forth: —

" Henry Ward Beecher. ' It never rains but
it pours !' "

Three Brooklyn people looked rather grave
at this, but everybody else laughed, and ad-
mitted that it was "not so bad."

Miss Pund.iway nest gave : —

" Bethoven. ' When Music, heavenly maid,
\tcas young.' "

Not much to be made out of that. But it
was strange that each neighbor should have
I instinctively selected from tuneful realms for
Miss I'undaway.

No. 3 was Mary Gliddon, who, blushing
■lightly, laughed out : —

"Mr. Benjamin Stykes. ' T7iem 's thejock-
iesfor me ." "

37*

"Hal ha!" shouted poor Simmons, Who
had just entered, and was always doing the
wrong thing : " pretty good, pretty good!"

Mary's blushes grew deeper; everybody
tried not to smile, ami Mrs. S. looked ooveft
daggers at her now repentant lord.

No. 4, timidly : —

"Julius Ca?sar. ' It 's an ill wind that Horn
nobody any Hood.' "

"That's a failure," sighed Ben, glad to
say something by way of relieving a slight
embarrassment. " Now for No. 5. Speak out,
Miss Kelso !"

"Abraham Lincoln. 'Some have greatness
thrust upon them ." ' '

" Good !" cried everybody but one political
female, who wore spectacles, and seemed to
think that a vague insult to the administra-
tion was hidden under. the fun.

"Mine is a capital one!" cried No. 6, a
laughing-eyed maiden who, girl fashion, was
caressing the hand of her neighbor, Theresa
Adams.

" General Meade. ' There 's no such ivvrd as
fail.""

" Hurrah I" cried a chorus of voices.

No. 6 had " Lincoln," again —

' There ions an old woman
Who Hoed in a shoe.

Bhi had so many ck\

Kh< didn't kuntr what I" do.' "

"Yes, she does, though," retorted ready
Ben.
" She HI give them a supper of powder and had,
Whip half of them soundly, and put t .

All laughed heartily at Ben's sally, and
some of the ladies actually clapped their
hands with enthusiasm. To make a long
story short, the game went off with great
spirit, and though, of course, in a party of
thirty some in the combination fell "fiat,"
there were, on the other hand, many admirable
hits. The last one was peculiarly happy —

"George Francis Train.

' Goosey goosey gander,

V,'!. . "■ n> ' r " "

These led to such animated discussions, and
the refreshments that followed were so very
engrossing, that it was nearly ten o'clock
before Miss Simmons and Ben had an oppor-
tunity to introduce a game, in the preparation
for which they had consumed a pleasant hour
that very afternoon.

After a mysterious closing of the third par-
lor sliding-doors, and a withdrawal of several

470

godey's lady's book, and magazine.

members, Chairman Ben appeared in front of
the still closed doors and made another speech.

"Fellow citizens! I am requested to an-
nounce to the meeting that the divertisement
called The Picture Gallery is next in order.
I would state to the members that they are at
perfect liberty to discuss the pictures which
are soon to appear before them, with this only
proviso : That the pictures in this gallery
reserve the right of choosing substitutes for
the one which is immediately to follow. Each
picture which shall be guilty of a smile while
on exhibition must at the end of the game
deposit a forfeit into the chairman's hands, to
be redeemed as the company may see fit."

This rather ambiguous speech was received
with great applause and eager anticipation.

Presently, a bell tinkled — the doors were
rolled back, and, in lieu, of the capacious saloon
which they usually revealed, appeared a gray-
tinted wall hung with scattered pictures,
square, oblong, and oval, in neat gilt frames
hung with red cord. In the centre, and near
the floor, was suspended a fine life-like por-
trait of the honorable chairman himself.
Above him, in an oval frame, was a spirited
head of little Joe, so spirited that it fairly
seemed to twitch and blink in the bright gas-
light. On the right hung a fine profile of Mr.
Pipes ; near him, a beautiful gypsy girl in a
red hood, over whom frowned a midnight
assassin, with the unfailing cloak and dagger
so necessary to the subject. On the left was
a sibyl, beneath whose turbaned brow shone
the clear eyes of Mary Gliddon ; and scattered
about, above and below, were portraits of la-
dies and gentlemen in various stages of com-
posure.

An exclamation of surprise and admiration
burst from the company, who, in their pleasure,
fairly lost sight of the fact that their business
was to make the obdurate pictures laugh.
Suddenly the head of little Joe, rather antici-
pating their efforts, opened wide its mouth
and evinced decided symptoms of popping out
of its frame, until a hint from some invisiblo
hand behind the wall restored its partial
composure.

Then the game commenced in good earnest.
The gypsy girl was soon "brought down,"
and even the inspired sibyl yielded to the
witticisms of her critics. The midnight assas-
sin suddenly became human and good-natured,
and even the imperturbable Ben (who, by the
way, seemed more "killing" to some of the

party than the assassin himself) succumbed
to the startling opinions that were passed
upon him as a work of art.

At this stage of the proceedings a tinkling
signal caused the doors to be closed ; and,
soon after, the victims of the picture gallery
entered at a side door, and without mercy
commenced selecting their substitutes.

The second party, of course, endeavored to
exceed the first in the variety and classic
beauty of their gallery ; and truly the effect
was charming. Such fine " fancy" heads and
improvised characters, one would almost have
fancied himself admitted into some great
painter's studio, except that the styles of
more than one master were represented. It
was very evident that a noble head in the
corner, with flowing hair and rather florid
face was a suggestion of Elliott, and that the
female head in an oval frame, made " green-
ish" by three or four thicknesses of intervening
gauze, had been inspired by Page ; while
lesser lights in the artistic world were "taken
off" in fine style.

Not one performer or spectator in the game
but felt instructed or at least elevated by the
pure enjoyment it occasioned, while the inno-
cent mirth engendered made even old hearts
beat with something like a youthful bound.

To be sure, the effect "behind the scenes"
somewhat disenchanted those who had ad-
mired the effect from the front, and the inte-
rior of the third parlor presented a strange
contrast to its "outer wall." This wall proved
to be made of large sheets of tinted wrapping
or wall paper pasted together.* Square, ob-
long, and oval openings were cut in it, each
neatly margined on the audience side with a
gilt paper band. It was hung securely across
the doorway, while behind it were arranged the
living pictures : some standing on benches,
some on chairs, some seated on tables or lad-
ders, and some crouching near the floor, all
arranged with a view of presenting "right
face" to the audience, and fitting the aper-
tures where the portraits must appear.

Just before the third round of the Picture
Gallery, Ben approached Mary Gliddon and
begged her to act as a substitute for a bashful
member.

" I have been in the gallery once already,
you know," was her good-natured reply,
"but I will act if you will."

* Gray mnslin is rather more convenient for this pur-
pose than paper.

A FEW FRIENDS.

471

"That will not suit me," replied Ben, a
little uneasily. "I prefer being among the
audienoe on that interesting occasion."

It is astonishing what a little thing will
make some people blush. Ben probably meant
to say only a gallant thing, and here was
Mary, who was sovereign queen over half the
gentlemen in the room, trembling and coloring
in the most unaccountable manner. Like a
true woman, however, she did not stay to let_
him see her blush and tremble, but ran off
with a laughing " Well, look forme when tho
gallery appears I"

Ben did look for Mary when the doors
opened, but her face was not among the pic-
tures on that sombre wall. Ue was just turn-
ing away with a sense of disappointment
when Miss Simmons exclaimed : —

"Who can that ' Witch of Eudor,' up in the
•Kirner, be? It 's Scipio, dressed up. No, it's
too black even for him. But how gracefully
the head gear is arranged, though the whole
effect is hideous."

"He! he!" shouted Master Joe; "/got
tin- burnt cork for her. Ain't she done it up
prime, though ?"

MY FIRST VENTURE.

BT MRS. IIARRIET K. FRANCIS.

"Carrie, do promise me that you will send
that to a publisher," pleaded my sister, as
she turned back from the door, and laid her
soft fingers on mine with a beseeching gesture.

"Oh, not for the world !" and I caught up
the manuscript, and thrust it quickly into a
portfolio out of sight, as if that ogre of novice
authoresses, an editor, was peeping over my
shoulder.

" But this is so good, I know it will be ac-
cepted ! And if it should not, what great
harm could it do ?" she further added.

" Just think of the mortification! I never
could take heart to write another line."

" Well, Carrie, do as you think best ; yet,
I confess, it would be a happy hour of my
life to see some of your lines in print. But
how late it is ; I must say good-night," and
she stooped over and left a sweet kiss on my
lips, and I was alone.

"What a darling sister she is!" I sat and
thought, as the quieting twilight stole around
me, and threw a soft mist over the room.
" So good, and affectionate, and hopeful ;
dreaming bright, glowing dreams of the future

for me, while I, poor, shrinking soul, stand
on the threshold of hope, with trembling
hands, not daring to raise the latch and ask,
is there aught within for me ? Why could I
not overcome this deathly sinking of th«
heart, whenever the thought came to me of
trying my fate ? The balance would not be
cast forever," I reasoned, "if my article was*
rejected. Perhaps time would again give me
strength, and I could add a heavier weight,
and turn the scale, and win the prize."

I lit the lamp, and caught up the weekly
paper and carefully read the poem, and then
took up my manuscript and compared them.
It gave me courage, and the love that I felt
for her, with the perfect belief in her words,
" It would be a happy hour of my life to see
some of your lines in print," strongly won
the hour, and I fastened the door, took a
sheet of paper and copied two poems, and in-
closed them with this mental reservation to
comfort me : That I could yet do as I pleased
about forwarding them, and if I did, and they
were rejected, no one, not even my husband,
should ever know that I sent them.

"Any letters for the post-office?" was
questioned next morning by our mail carrier,
and answered with a decided negative, for
how could I trust my secret to tho village
post-master, to say nothing of the inquisitive
boy, who would surely mistrust, if he did not
question " if I was not sending some of my
scribblings away to be published." No, I
must bide my time, and catch some more fa-
vorable opportunity. It came that afternoon.
A friend, who was visiting us, had purchased
a dress at a store in an adjoining town, and
needed a half yard more to complete the pattern.
Husband had business to attend to with the
merchant of that place, and I could go with
them, have a pleasant ride, and mail my letter
unobserved by any acquaintance while both
were busy. I accomplished it, and then came
the weary waiting of the days for the next
weekly ; for, novice as I was, I surely expected
it in the coming week's issue, if it ever saw
the light.

At last Friday came — the day for the paper,
and my eyes flew open long before the sun,
and refused to close again, and every thought
was the tantalizing question, "Will my poems
he rejected?" till I grew desperate, and dress-
ing me I threw on a light shawl and bonnet,
opened the door without any jar, and passed
out among the flowers to gather quietness,

472

godey's lady's book and magazine.

amid the sweet perfume, tlie soft dews, and
the warbling notes of a thousand songsters
singing their early hymn of praise. The dull,
gray clouds that lay piled in the east, first
caught a soft rosy hue, then blazed like a
sheet of flame, as the sun arose amid a hazy
veil ; and each dew-drop caught up beauty
like a sparkling pearl, and sent back a flame
of light to beautify the way for the steps of
the morning. Like an atom of water, caught
up, and submerged, and enveloped in the
infinity of ocean, so my disquiet and care grew
lost and swallowed up in the calm beauty of
nature, and for a few hours, at least, each
thought was at rest.

It was a calm, slumberous Indian summer
day, and the kitten purred upon a cushion at
my side, and some insect droned by the door,
and my head was thrown back against the
cool network that laced my chair, and my
eyes were almost shut, when the quick whir
of passing wheels brought them wide open,
and I looked out to see a paper tossed into
the yard from a passing neighbor's obliging
hands.

" An Ode to Summer. By Miss Susie De
Clinton," filled the poet's corner, and caught
my eye as I took up the paper, and I threw it
aside with a sharp pang and burst into tears.
My beautiful castle, the work of long years,
its brave turrets glistening in the sun, its
broad arched windows blazing in all the hues
of the opal and amethyst, for the moment was
a shapeless mass.

Only two comforting thoughts for the ensu-
ing week. No one knew, no one should, ever
know, that I had offered what I deemed was
gold, and yet was dross ; and the other was,
that perhaps a kind Father saw it was best.
That an humble path was the only one my
soul could walk in, and be fanned by the
soft breezes that waft down through the
eternal gates, bringing strength and stature
to the mind that befits it for that home,
where hopes can be clasped in loving embrace,
and the future expands until it only becomes
a semicircle of the present.

No one questioned, for " moods" had been
my heritage from a child up, and for the long
week, though the sun shone for me, it was
but a blazing eye that burned into my soul,
and the dew glistened, yet it chilled like the
heavy fogs of the river, and all light and
beauty seemed to have gone out of the world,
as it had out of my life.

Friday again, and two sisters had acciden-
tally met at another's home, and a carriage
was at the door for me. It was the breaking
of the dawn, for how I loved them, and it was
even like childhood hours, meeting together
under the same roof in the careless abandon-
ment of sisterhood. Greetings were over,
light hum of voices and merry laughter rang
out through the open window to the ears of
the passer-by, as questions were answered,
jests parried, and incidents related, trifling in
themselves, but precious items to hearts that
vivified them with love. <s»

In the first lull, sister Mary, with an ex-
pressive gesture for silence, took a paper from
the table and commenced to read aloud. It
was my poem, and my heart gave a bound
that sent the blood scorching to my cheek,
and then back again like a rushing stream,
that made me gasp and tremble as if with
mighty throes it was breaking bonds, and I
must die. Then came the delicious languor.
Sisters! praises and congratulatory words, and
the nectar of hope that I so long had pined
for, even on my lips. My castle rose again,
fairer and more beautiful, elegant in propor-
tions, its foundations of marble, and my eye
took in its completeness, and was satisfied.

The long summer afternoon passed away
like a delicious dream. Grave and light
words were on my lips, inquiries, and answers,
a' perfect medley of talk ; but below all was
the delicious tremor of bliss that filled my
soul, as the cloud that hovers near the sun is
filled with light.

Refusing all kind offers to take me home,
for I preferred to walk to call upon a near
relative who lived half way, I bid adieu to the
smiling group gathered on the porch, and
conning over my own sweet thoughts, and
turning back now and then to catch a glimpse
of sisters' faces at the open windows through
the low orchard trees, I was soon far on my
homeward way and at her gate.

"Oh dear! and so here comes an author-
ess !" was the merry salutation of my cousin,
as she met me in the open doorway, accom-
panied by a very low mock courtesy. " I am
so glad you came in ! The paper was handed
me an hour ago, and there was not a person
, about to speak to and vent out my excite-
ment, only the canary, and he, dull soul,
just closed his eyes and never gave even one
chirp ; but there comes auntie ! You sit here
in this bedroom, and don't say a word, and

LAST YEARS FREIGHT.

473

she 'II not know, and I will read it to her and
let you hear what she says I Sly ! won't she
be astonished ."' and before I even thought of
remonstrating, the giddy girl had fastened the
door, and I must either spoil her fun, or sit
still and he a listener. Every word reached
me, the wall was so thin, and I hearkened
breathless to the sweet reader as she cadenced
anil intonated each line, making it like a rare
strain of music, and a loug sigh of relief came
with the speaking of my name at the close,
for my soul was too replete for happiness.

"Well, what of it?" was the reply, in a
voice so cold and chilling, that it jarred like
the crushing down of some great lifetime
hope. "I guess there is something else to
do in this world besides writing poetry. A
wife and mother, too; what folly!" and I
could hear the excited thrumming of her
lingers on the table, and the angry clash of
the door as she passed out to attend to some
household duties.

"What have I neglected? Do tell me!"
■was my beseeching question, as the door was
unfastened, and cousin threw her arm around
my waist that trembled like the aspen.

"Nothing, Carrie. You do work enough
fo'r two any day ! I thought she would be
pleased ! I am so sorry .'"

"There, pet, don't cry any more! I can
boar it; only don't let her know!" and I
lifted the wet curls to press a kiss on the
bright carnation of her cheek, and silently
passed out of the door — out of the door with
a great sorrow that loomed like a death-pall
o'er the brightness and joy that for a few
hours had beautified my life.

LAST YEAR'S FREIGHT.

ET BENJAMIN F. TATLOR.

There Were loosened leaves from the ledger of Time—

Ah, some were blotted and blurred,
With the traces of tears and the color ofcrlmo!
One bore a reason, another a rhyme,

And some but a single word :
"Twas " Marj','' or "Willie," or " Charlie," or " John,'
It was somebody loved, it was somebody gone:

Twas a babe in a cradle, 'twas a wife in a grave —

For the death-angel took when the life-angel gave.

There were little shoes, there were tresses of hair,

And a couple of broken rings —
And a little red frock, and a children's chair,
And a fltle hood she was wont to wear,

And a thousand useless things.

There were lines that he wrote — there were books that he

read —
There wen songs that she sang — thero were prayers thai
sho said —
Ami a bud half embroidered, as she laid it uidQ)
And the needle still there where sho placed it and died !

There were sweetest of songs, uncaroll'd, unheard ;

The hope of the heart in song
For tho warblo of thought, like the song of a bird—
A melody wild, uuwedded to word —

Can never be utterly wrong ;
And a thought of tho humblest, bo it one that we rove.
Is us suited to song as a wing to a dove.

So the mother was musing, but a mother no morje,

This the song she sang of the gone on before : —

Awhile ago, my Clarence, for thero was a Clarence then—
Do you think they give the angels names as they givo

them unto men ? —
Waa watching on a summer's day a river's gentle flow,
And a lily on its bosom as its waters come and go ;
" That lily was a star, mother! a star that fell and "dfed ;
And the angels, don't you think, when they lost it, that
they cried I"

Now ice is in the river,
And the clouds are shedding rain,

The lily's gone forever,
Will Clarence come again ?

There 's one more star aloft, they say —
One lily less I know — ■

It shall glimmer on my heart,
While its pulses come and go.

Oh, they talk of their treasures — their jewels and gold —

But what are they all to these?
For they never are stolen, nor purchased, nor sold ;
Thoy never grow rusty, nor worthless, nor old;

They need neither keeper nor keys.
Here are bonds never broken, here are deeds warrantee,
And the angel of record recording them free ;
All consigned were the treasures, too rich for this shore,
To the Sea of the Blest, by the ship ^'evermore.

The Power op Animals axd Plants. — In
animals there is more variety of motion, but
in plants there is more real power. A horse
is certainly far stronger than a man, yefra
small vine can not only support, but can raise
a column of fluid five times higher thar* a
horse can. Indeed, the power which a plant
exercises of holding a leaf erect during an
entire day, without pause and without fatigue,
is an effort of astonishing vigor, and is one of
many proofs that a principle of compensation
is at work, so that the same energy which hi
the animal world is weakened by being directed
to many objects, is in the vegetable world
strengthened by being concentrated on a few.

— Whoever is honorable and candid, honest
and courteous, is a true gentleman, whether
learned or unlearned, rich or poor.

NOVELTIES FOR MAY.

TRAVELLING COSTUJIE, BONNET, COIFFURE, CAPS, WRAPPER, SLEEVE, APRON, ETC.

Fig. 1. — Travelling costume. Rich Balmoral
skirt, printed in a lace design. Steel-colored
alpaca dress, raised in festoons by one of Mme.
Demorest's dress elevators. Black silk sack,
trimmed with gimp ornaments. Standing
collar, with blue silk cravat. Black straw

side trimming is composed of white and black
lace, and loops of lavender-colored ribbon.

Fig. 2.

hat, trimmed with one gray and one black
feather.

Fig. 2. — Bonnet for second mourning. The
front of the bonnet is of black silk. The
crown is of a light lavender silk, covered with
a network of black chenille. The bow on
top of the bonnet is of lavender silk, edged
with black velvet, and the ends embroidered
and trimmed with black chenille. The in-
474

Fig. 3. — Dinner coiffure, formed ofa black
lace. The coronet is formed of loops of Milan
velvet ribbon and black lace.

NOVELTIES FOR MAY.

475

476

godey's lady's book axd magazine.

Fig. 10.

Fig. 4. — A plain night-cap, with scalloped I Fig. 5. — A plain and comfortable night-cap,
edge. The bow on top can be of ribbon or • trimmed with a worked ruffle.
muslin. | Fig. 6. — Peasant waist of black silk, with

Fig: 11.

scalloped tails ; the front and back are trimmed
with velvet, edged with a narrow thread lace;
lapels of velvet extend over the shoulder.

This waist can be worn with a white or colored
dress.

Fig. 7. — Fancy wrapper of pearl-colored de

WORK DEPARTMENT.

477

lain.', trimmed with bauds of rose-oolored de
btine, braided with white silk braid. Heavy
ornaments, or rose-colored silk gimp, trim the
front of the corsage.

Fig. B. — Fancy dinner cap, niade of Valen-
ciennes insertion and lace, with a tulle crown.
It is trimmed with emerald green ribbon and
bunches of frosted autumn h ares.

Fig. 9. — Fancy collar for a l.'uly.

Fig. 10. — The new sleeve. This style of
sleeve is suitable for any material. It is
looped together down the outside with but-
tons and cord. The wrist is trimmed with a
box-plaited ribbon.

Fig. 11. — Black silk apron, trimmed with
guipure insertion, and long pendants on the

pockets.

PATTERNS Fi;<>M MADAME DEMOBBST'S
ESTABLISHMENT,
Xt>. 473 Broadway, .Y. w York.
Jacket (l la M . — This charming coat is

made in black corded silk, faced with blue,
which also forms an inch wide binding round

'ire garment; should be worn over a
buif vest, as it turns back en revers, and is

VOL. LXV1II. 3S

only joined at the bust by two straps buttoned
over, it then retreats so as to display the vest.
The epaulette is formed by a circular piece
plaited so as to stand full and round, and is
very stylish on this kind of jacket.

/■Wanda. — This is one of the graceful
basques of the season, the spring of which is
procured by a seam in the back. It is made
in a rich brown cloth, ornamented with seven
rows of handsome Hat braid, forming angles

upon the skirt. Two serial ornaments, shaped
like epaulettes, occupy the centre of the back.
The illustration shows the shape of the sleeves,
the pockets, and the arrangement of the trim-
ming.

COENEB FOR A POCKET HANDKERCHIEF.

478

godet's lady's book and magazine.

THE SHOE PINCUSHION.

This pincushion serves also as a needle-
book and work-ease, and is useful for holding
the thimble, bodkin, stiletto, etc. It is made
with small pieces of different materials. The
shoe is composed of 2 pieces — the upper part
and the sole ; the upper part is made of black
and cherry-colored silk, the former being used

for the point and the other for the border
round it. This last piece is made with a
straight strip, doubled, in the middle of which
a fold is made the cross-way, to give it the
shape of the top of the shoe. This strip of
cherry-colored silk is edged on each side with
a row of gold braid, divided by a double row
of cross stitch worked with bright blue silk.
When the second row of gold braid is sewn on,
fasten on the black silk which is ornamented
with gold beads and a row of cross stitch in red
silk. The sole, which forms a pincushion,
consists of 2 pieces of cardboard, between
which a layer of wadding is placed. The
under part of the sole is covered with white
silk, and the upper with red ; these 2 pieces
of silk are sewn together and bound with gold
braid. To form a receptacle for the small im-
plements of work, loops of silk are worked on

the upper part of the sole, and each article is
fixed to the sole by 2 loops, one at each end.
Inside the upper part of the slipper, in the
centre, sew on a piece of ribbon in the shape
of a thimble-case ; then unite the upper part
to the sole. Cut out 2 pieces of white flannel
of the shape of the sole, edge them with
button-hole stitch in red silk all round, and
fasten them at one end to the point of the
slipper, inside at the other to the point of the
sole.

THE POMPADOUR POE.TE-JUPE.

This porte-jupe is composed of a belt, which
is worn under the dress ; the belt has eight
joints round it, from each of which depends a
piece of strong braid. These strings are all
joined together in front of the belt, for those
which hang down at the back go round the
waist to join the others in front, where four
ends are united on each side, and sewn on to
a button. To fix the strings to the bottom of
the skirt, eight loops of wide ribbon, provided
each with a button at the top, are sewn on
inside. One loop is generally fastened on the

seam of each width ; but, should there not
happen to be eight widths in the skirt, then
they should be placed at equal distances ail
round. A loop is formed at the end of each
string, and this loop serves as a buttonhole.
It is easy to understand that the two buttons
which unite the strings at the top should both

WORK DEPARTMENT.

479

TIIE POMPAllorR rOKTE-JFTE, Oil t>EE5S ELEVATOR.

pa=s through an opening so as to come out in
front of the dress. If the dress opens in front
there is no difficulty ; but if it opens behind,
an opening is to be formed under the band or
point of the body in front. The belt can be
made of any material ; our pattern was in
white piqut, lined and bound with tape. The

strings which go round the waist to come out
in front should be of ribbon, and should be
arranged so as to run easily between the belt
and the tape. In order to draw up the dress
when thus prepared, there remains nothing
to do but to pull out the buttons and tie the
strings in a bow.

NA1IE FOR MAREISG.

480

godey's lady's book and magazine.

TWO INSERTIONS IN CROCHET.

FOR TRIMMING COUNTERPANES, BERCEAUNETTB
COVERS, OR FOR LETTING IN PETTICOATS.

Materials. — Cotton No. 6 or 8. Some medium-sized
white cord and white cotton braid of the width seen in
the illustration.

Insertion No. 1. Make a chain long enough
to go all round the article intended to be
trimmed, and work in rows. 1st round. — * 8
treble crochet on the first 8 chain, 5 chain,
miss 3 stitches of the chain ; repeat from *.
2d. — In each of the 4 treble crochet in the
centre of the 8 treble crochet work one treble
crochet, 3 chain, 1 double crochet placed over
the 5 chain of the preceding round, 3 chain ;
repeat from *. Zd. — * 1 treble crochet on

each of the two centre stitches of the 4 treble
crochet, 3 chain, 1 double crochet worked
over the first of the two loops of chain stitches,
3 chain, 1 double crochet on the 2d loop, 3
chain ; repeat from *. 4lh. — The same as the
2d. 5th. — The same as the 1st (for the posi-
tion of the treble crochet stitches, see the
illustration). 6th. — All double crochet. 1th. —
In this round form the openings, and work on
some medium-sized round cord ; work alter-
nately * 10 double crochet, coming one stitch
farther on each side, then the 8 treble crochet
of the pattern, then 15 double crochet, over
the cord, not in the stitches of preceding row;

these 15 stitches are to be worked as tightly
as possible ; miss 12 stitches of preceding
round, and repeat from *.

Insertion No. 2. With the exception of the
row where the openings are formed, this
insertion is worked the short way. Make a
chain of 9 stitches ; in the 1st row, work, as
the 1st treble crochet stitch, 3 chain ; then
one treble crochet in the nearest stitch of the
chain : in the next stitch, 2 treble crochet, 3
chain ; 2 treble crochet in the last stitch of
the chain. 2d found. — 3 chain, 1 treble cro-
chet between the 2 treble crochet of preced-
ing row, 3 chain, 2 treble crochet between
the 2 treble cochet of preceding row, 3
chain, 2 treble crochet, between the two last
stitches of preceding row. Repeat this second

row until the insertion is sufficiently long.
The two ends of it may be joined so as to
form a round before the middle with the
openings is worked. This middle row is
worked like that of Insertion No. 1, on some
round cord. Work 10 double crochet on the
insertion, then 15 over the cord, missing
about 3 rows of the insertion, when working
these 15 stitches, as the illustration shows.
The two halves of each of these two insertions
are joined (see the illustration) by running in
and out through the openings a piece of braid,
which, if preferred, may be of some bright
color, and the insertion is complete.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

481

CRAPE BUTTERFLY FOR IIEADDRESSES.

AH it is now the fashion to use butterflies
for ornamenting bonnets and

readers will, perhaps, be glad to fiml the ex-
planation of one. Butterflies are made more
elegant ; but this is one of the simplest

in two different places very tightly with
strong thread; the first time the wire must
be tightly fastened : this is also clearly shown.
Now cover the body over with green crape, or
with any color that may be preferred. To
make the wings, eut out the crape in the
shown in the illustration, and in the
outer edge run a pieoe of very fine wire.
Four similar wings should be cut out.
The places marked with a cross show
the place where the folds are to be
made ; the points a b <■ should be sewn
togethl r. and the wings attached to the
body, as represented in the complete
butterfly. Two beads are added for
the eyes, and the top of the head is
\ finished off by a few stitches in black
or brown silk.

and also of the cheapest kind. To form the
body, which one of our illustrations represents
half finished, twist a piece of wool fourteen
times round the forefinger and the middle fin-
ger ; before taking off the wool from these
fingers, take a piece of wire about one and a
half inch long, round which some black silk

wing for Bid

should previously be neatly rolled : bend it
in half and place it inside the wool, so that
the ends may come out, as shown in the en-
graving. Xext tie the small bunch of wool

38*

A NETTED OPERA OR USEFUL CAP.

Mate™ils.—T',Y<> lint meshes : the small one for the c;j.p
to measure, by a string placed round it, five-eit-'hths of :in
inch, that is, a trifle ovei half an inch; the wide one,
without the ^trini:, half an inch wide or rather over. A
skein of white Andalusia n or white Berlin wool. A very
pretty netted cap for morning wear may !><■ made by
u-inL' Bteel ineshes half the size, and doubling the direc-
tions given, using Cotton No. 20.

Make a foundation of 57 stitches, and net a
plain row.

In the next row, in the 20th stitch, make
an increased stitch by netting another into
the same loop, also one into the last stitch of
the row.

In the next row increase one in the centre,

482

godey's lady's book and magazine.

and one at the end. Continue this till there
are two diamonds (4 rows).

In every row, whether tufted or plain, the stitch
must be increased in the centre and end of long
roto.

Tufted row. — Make 2 plain, a tufted stitch
thus : net into the next diamond ; then put
the wool round the mesh and up through the
stitch without netting, exactly as if for sewing,
only that the needle passes upwards instead
of downwards, do this for seven times, conse-
quently there will he seven loops over the
mesh, hut none of them netted ; now press .
the needle as if for netting, only let it come
out, not in the centre of the stitch hut on the
other side. Net thus the two sides of the
stitch together, inclosing the whole of the
loops in the loop of the stitch which is being
netted into. Now net one plain, then a tuft,
then three plain, and in the last make another
tufted stitch, and so repeat, increasing as
before.

The next row is plain netting.

The next tufted ; and so on alternately til!
there are three rows or tufts in pairs. Now
net 30 plain rows, increasing as before. Then
a row of tufted, two rows plain, a row of tufts,
two rows plain, till there are four rows of
tufts ; then along the sides and net two plain
rows ; then one row along the bottom.

For the border wind on the largest mesh 40
times of Andalnsian wool or 25 of Berlin
wool ; with a rug needle, and wool doubled
and tied in a knot at the two ends ; pass the
needle under the tuft of wool ; secure the
latter by passing the needle through the loop
formed by the knot, passing it again under
the tuft, and making a button-hole stitch, and
the same again ; now fasten it into one of the
stitches in the outside row of the narrowest
side of the netting, or what looks like the
neck. Make another ball, fasten it into the
4th stitch, and so repeat along the neck and
down the two slanting sides.

EMBROIDERY.

oooooooooooo

)ooooooooooooooooooooooof

IKITIALS FOK A PIXLOW-CASE.

\J^

BRAIDING PATTERN.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

483

NEW KM BROIDERY AND BRAIDING PATTERNS.

PREPARED AT THE ESTABLISHMENT OP W. CAMERON,

No. 22S Xorth Eighth Street, Philadelphia.

/°o0W\

■a

INITIAL LETTERS FOR MARKING.

48-i

godey's lady's book and magazine.

tntjjis, #t.

ADVICE TO HOUSEKEEPERS.
A minute account of the annual income and the times
of payment should be kept in writing ; likewise an esti-
mate of the supposed amount of each article of expense;
and those who are early accustomed to calculations on
domestic articles will acquire so accurate a knowledge or
what their establishment requires, as will enable them to
keep the happy medium between prodigality and parsi-
mony.

In apportioning the items of expenditure of a family,
something should always be assigned for the use of the
poor, which enables any pressing case of distress to be at
once attended to, without a question " whether the money
can be spared."

Perhaps few branches of female education are more use-
ful than great readiness in figures. Accounts should be
regularly kept, and not the smallest article omitted to be
entered. If balanced every week or month, the income
and outgoings will be ascertained with facility, and their
proportions to each other be duly observed. Some people
fix on stated sums to be appropriated to each different
article, as house, clothes, pocket, education of children,
etc. Whatever be the amount of household expenditure,
a certain mode should be adopted, and strictly adhered to.
Besides the regular account-book, in which the receipt of
money and every payment should be regularly entered, a
commonplace-book should be always at hand for the entry
of observations regarding agreements with tradesmen,
servants, and various other subjects, so as to enaWe the
mistress of the house at once to ascertain the exact state of
the affairs under her immediate management.

Want of arrangement leads to loss of time ; and time,
if lost, can never be regained. Early hours, order, punc-
tuality, and method, are its great economists, and cannot
be too rigidly enforced. If orders be given soon in tho
morning, there will be more time to execute them ; and
servants, by doing their work without hurry and bustle,
will be more likely to do it well, and fewer might be
necessary.

To give unvarying rules cannot he attempted, as people
ought to act differently under different circumstances: the
minutije of management must therefore be regulated by
every one's fortune, but there are many general rules
which will be found equally advantageous to all.

It is very necessary for the mistress of a family to be in-
formed of the prices and goodness of all articles in common
use, and of the best times, as well as places, for purchasing
them. She should also be acquainted with the compara-
tive prices of provisions, in order that she may be able to
substitute those that are most reasonable, when they will
answer as well, for others of the same kind, but which
are more costly. On this, however, it has been well re-
marked, that "small families should never encumber
themselves with huge and perhaps awkward pieces of
even excellent meat, under the idea that it is cheap, be-
cause offered below the market price ; nominally it may
be so, but in the end it will be found exceedingly dear.
There will necessarily be a large portion of bone ; and if
soups be not wanted, the bones will be made no use of,
although they not only weigh heavy, but are paid for at
the same price as the prime parts of the meat."

Those who cannot afford to give the high prices de-
manded for the best joints are recommended to purchase
what are termed " the inferior joints," provided they be

of the best qua lit}/: thus, a shoulder of good mutton or
veal is far preferable to the leg or fillet of an ill-condi-
tioned sheep or calf. Inferior meat will never do credit
to the cook, but inferior joints may be improved by cook-
ery, and rendered equal to the best. It is the same with
fish ; while one fresh egg will go as far as three which
have lost their richness by long keeping. In short, the
purchase of " cheap things" will generally be found false
economy.

Respecting servants, there are a few things which can-
not be too strongly urged : one is, never to retain a cook
who is not fond of her occupation: for unless she takes^
pleasure in her art, she cannot be depended upon for ac-
curacy in the preparation of dishes with which she is well
acquainted, and will not easily be induced to learn any-
thing new. She must also possess a natural regard for
cleanliness, or all the pains in the world will never ren-
der her cleanly; where dirty habits are manifested, dis-
missal should follow, for in almost every instauce they
will be found incurable. Another point of main import-
ance is her temper ; for if that be not good, she will be
disinclined to receive instruction, and, if found fault with,
may, out of pique, spoil a dinner; whereas a good-hu-
mored, intelligent servant, when acquainted with the
habits of the house, and equal to her common duties, will
hardly fail of success when called upon by her mistress
to try any of those receipts which she has not already
used.

MISCELLANEOUS COOKING.
Veal Potaoe. — Take off a knuckle of veal all the meat
that can be made iuto cutlets, etc., and set the remainder
on to stew, with an onion, a hunch of herbs, a blade of
mace, some whole pepper, and fife pints of water; cover
it close, and let it do on a slow fire, four or five hours at
least. Strain it, and set it by till next day ; then take the
fat and sediment from the jelly, and simmer it with either
turnips, celery, sea-kale, and Jerusalem artichokes, or
some of each, cut into small dice, till tender, seasoning it
wiih salt and pepper. Before serving, rub down half a
spoonful of flour, with half a pint of good cream, and *
butter the size of a walnut, and boil a few minutes. Let
a small roll simmer in the soup, and serve this with it.
It should be as, thick as middling cream, and, if thus made
of the vegetables above mentioned, will make a very
delicate white potage. The potagemay also be thickened
with rice and pearl barley; or the veal may bo minced,
and served up in the tureen.

SaooSocp. — Take gravy soup, quite clear and brown ;
add to it a sufficient quantity of sago to thicken it to the
consistency of pea soup, and season it with soy and
ketchup; to which may be added a small glass of rod
wine, or a little lemon juice It may also be made as a
white smtp, of beef, by leaving out the soy and ketchup,
and using white wine, adding a little cream and mace.

To Bake a Shad. — Empty and wash the fish with care,
but do not open it more than is necessary, and keep on the
head and fins. Then stuff it with forcemeat. Sew it up,
or fasten it with fine skewers, and rub the fish over with
the yolk of egg and a little of the stuffing.

Put into the pan in which the fish is to be baked, about
a gill of wine, or the same quantity of water mixed with
a hiMe^poonful of Cayenne vinegar, or common vinegar
will do. Baked in a moderate oven one and a half or two
hours, or according to its size.

To Souse Rock-fish.— Boil the fish with a little salt in
the water uutil it is thoroughly cooked. Reserve part of

.-=

.■ ir. rl.ivfs, allspice, ami mare, to font

■ tn*to ; boil it up t" extract the strength bom the

a ad add the vim-gar after it is boiled. Cut off the head
' and toil of tho fish and divi.l.- tin- real iu several portions.
Pot it in a stone J the flab Is quite oold, pour

the liquor over it. It will be lit to use in a day or two,
ftnd will keep in a. ooU place two or three w-

To Fkt Haddock. — [f of a very small die, they may be
turned round with their tails run through their jaws ; bul
this cannot be done when they are large ; they are in that

ease either cut in sUeesoc Allotted, and fried with erums
of bread and egg.

BTTia of Ftsn.— Take dressed fish of any kind,
separate it from the bone, mince it with a little seasoning,

, an egg beaten with a teaspoonful of flour, and one of
so. Ik ; roll it into balls ; brush the outside with egg, and
dredge It well with bread eruma, fry them of a nice
color: the bones, heads, tails, with an onion, an anchovy,
and a pint of water, stewed together, will make the
gravy. Lobsters make delicate croquettes ; in whichcase

I the shell should be broken, and boiled down for the
gravy.

Beef Tongue. — If It has been dried and smoked before
it Is dressed, it should be soaked over night, but if only
pickled, a few hours will bo sufficient. Put it in a pot of

' cold water over a slow fire fur au hour or two, before it

! comes to a boil. Then let it simmer gently for from three
and a half to four hours, according to its size; ascertain
when it is done by probing it with ft skewer. Take the
skin oil", and before serving surround the root with a
paper frill.
Vegetable Sorp. — Four quarts of cold water, a half-

| pint of small barley, and two table spoonsful of beef
dripping, or a lump of fat from cold roast beef, or any fat

* from meat which is not otherwise needed ; a teaspoonful

■ of salt; of pepper, half a teaspoonful. Let this boil
gently for two hours, the four quarts will then be reduced
to two. Shred up two large well-cleaued carrots in slices
not too thick, also four largo onioDs finely shred or
chopped, two heads of oelery, and three or four turnips cut
up in very small pieces; put all these in when the soup
la boiling. Let it boil gently for an hour and a half. Mix

j in a basin, a piled tablespoonful of flour with a little cold
i water till it is like cream ; burn in an iron spoon, a tea-
1 spoonful of moist sugar till it resembles treacle. Pour on
1 this a little boiling water, and mix it with the flour, then
; pour the whole into the soup, stir it well, let it simmer
» once, and the soup is ready.

Stewed Veal and Peas. — Cut . Into pieces a breast or a
; neck of veal, and stew it two hours, with two onions,
j pepper and salt, and broth or water to cover it ; then add
j two quarts of green peas and a Sprig of mint, and steW
} half an hour longer: thicken, if required, with butter and
( flour. Dish up the peas, and heap peas In the centre.
I French RFCEm- for Boiling a Ham.— After having

■ soaked, thoroughly cleaned, and trimmed the ham, put
| over )t a little very sweet clean hay, and tie it up in a
j thiu rloth ; place it in a ham kettle, a braising pan, or

any other vessel as nearly of its size as can be, and cover
| it with twnpartsof cold water, and one of light white wine
| (we think the readerwill perhapsfind cider agood substi-
tutc for this) ; add, when it boils and has been skimmed,
four or five carrots, two or three onions, a large bunch of
savory herbs, and the smallest bit of garlic. Let the
whole simmer gently from four to five hours, or longer
should the ham be very large. When perfectly tender,

RECEIPTS.

485

lift it out, take off the rind, and sprinkle over it some fine
crums, or some raspings of bread mixed with a little
finely mineed |

CAKES, PUDDINGS, ETC.

Apples and Kt< k.— Th.- following receipt makes an ex-
cellent dish fbr either luncheon or supper, and, when
Id, it will be found acceptable in hot weather.
It can be made with any sort of fruit. Wash some rice
(the quantity must be regulated by the size of tin- dlah),
poor a little Bold water Oret it. and Bet it to theoven until
the water is absorbed in the rice. Then add a little milk,
and work that iu with a spoon. Place the dish again in
the oven, and keep working it from time to time until the
rice is soft. Whou this is the case, work in a few spoon-
fuls of cream. Take some guod bakiu^-apples, pare, core,
and quarter them, and place them in a tart-dish with
sugar and the grated rind of a lemon. Place the rice at
the top, and bake in a moderate oven until the rice as-
sumes a light-browo surface.

VBKMOn Currant Cake. — One cup of butter, one of

sweet milk, one of currants, three of sugar, four of flour,

a, one teaspoonful cream tartar, half teaspoonful

soda, nutmeg, lemon, or vanilla. Wade sometimes with

less sugar.

A German Trifle. — Put a pint of strawberries, or any
other fresh fruit, in the bottom of a glass dish. Sugar the
fruit, put over it a layer of macaroons ; and pour over it
a custard, made with a quart of fresh milk and the yolks
of eight eggs beaten, sweetened to taste, and scalding hot.
When cold, place on the top the whites of the eggs beaten
to a froth with a little sugar, or cream whipped to a truth,
The egg may be ornamented by beating currant jelly
with part of it, and putting it iu alternate hills of white
and pink.

A Cabinet Pudding. — Boil one and a half pint of new
milk with sufficient loaf-sugar to sweeten it, the peel of a
fresh lemon, cut thinly, a little cinnamon, mace, and
cloves. Boil all these ingredients as if for custard. Beat
up nine eggs, omitting the whites of four. Pour the boil-
ing milk, etc., on to these, stirring continually during the
operation, then strain the whole through a hair sieve, and
let it stand till culd. Take a good-sized pudding mould,
butter it well, and line it with spongecakes, cut into thin
slices (it will probably require four). Pour the costard
into the mould, and tie it close. It will take an hour and
a half to boil. It is an improvement, after buttering the
mould, and before placing the Bpongecakes, to arrange
some stoned raisins, slices of candied peel, and nutmeg.
Serve hot with wine sauce.

Rice Biscrrrs. — Take half a pound of sugar, half a
pound of the best ground rice, half a pound of butter, and
half a pound of flour, and mix the whole into a paste With
eggs (two are sufficient fur this quantity).

Salape d'Oranoes. Delicious for dessert. — Peel and
slice six large oranges, and arrange them in a dessert
centre dish, with powdered loaf sugar sprinkled over
every layer. Add some Madeira wine, and sprinkle white
sugar over all the moment before it is served.

Jenny Lind's Pudding.— Grate the crums of half a loaf,
butter and dish well, and lay in a thick layer of the
crums: pare ten or twelve apples, cut them down, and
put a layer of them and sugar ; then crums alternately,
until the dish is full ; put a bit of butter on the top, and
bake it in an oven or American reflector. Au excellent
and economical pudding.

4S6

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Chocolate Drops. — Take one pound and a half of choc-
olate, put it on a pewter plate, aud put it in the oven just
to warm the chocolate, then put it into a copper stew pan
with three-quarters of a pound of powdered sugar ; mis
it well over the fire, take it off, and roll it in pieces the
size of a small marble, rut them on white paper, and
when they are all on, take the sheets of paper by each
corner and lift it up and down, so that the paper may
touch the table each time, and by that means you will
see the drops come quite fiat, about the size of a sixpence ;
put some sugar nonpareils over them, and cover all that
are on the paper, then shake them off, and you will see
all the chocolate drops are covered with the sugar nonpa-
reils ; let them stand till cold and they will come off well,
and then put them in a box prepared.

Lemon Preserve for Tarts. — Take one pound of sugar,
quarter of a pound of butter, six eggs, leaving out the
whites of two, and the juice and grated rinds of three
lemons. Put these ingredients into a saucepan, and stir
the whole gently over a slow fire, until it becomes as
thick as honey. Then pour the mixture thus prepared
into small jars, and tie brandy papers over them, and
keep them in a cool, dry place,

Apple Charlotte. — Take two pound of apples, pare and
core them, slice them into a pan, and add one pound of
loaf sugar, the juice of three lemons, and the grated rind
of one. Let these boil until they become a thick mass,
which will take about two hours. Turn it into a mould,
and serve it culd with either thick custard or cream.

A Simple Swiss Pudding. — Mix well together the fol-
lowing ingredients : Haifa pound of bread crums, half a
pound of beef suet, minced fine, and half a pound of ap-
ples which have been pared, cored, ami chopped small,
six ounces of sifted loaf sugar, the juice and grated peel
of one lemon, and a little salt. After well mixing, put it
into a mould, and boil four hoars.

Fruit Cake. — Two cups of molasses, two of brown su-
gar, two of butter, one of milk, five of flour, five eggs, one
teaspoon ful salcratus ; cut up thebutteriu the milk, warm
the molasses, stir it into the milk and butter, then stir in
the sugar and let it cool, then add the egg well beaten,
one pound of raisins, one of currants, half pound citron ;
bake in a slow oven.

MISCELLANEOUS.

Preserving Sponges. — If a sponge becomes slimy and
hard, washing it in milk will put it all right again;
washing in buttermilk or whey will make it as good as
new.

Bottle Cement. — Melt together equal parts of yellow
wax and resin, and add powdered Venetian red to colorit.

Marble Stains. — Mix' up very strong soap-lees with
quicklime to the consistency of milk, put it on to the
marble with a brush, leave it on for twenty-four hours,
and afterwards wash it off with soap and water. Should
this fail, the following may be tried: Take two parts of
common soda, one part pumice stone, and one part finely
powdered chalk ; sift through a fine sieve, aud mix with
water. Rub it well over the marble and wash with soap
and water.

Disinfecting Agents. — Either of the following will an-
swer the purpose, while they cost but a trifle: —

1. One pint of the liquor of chloride of zinc in one pail-
ful of water, and one pound of chloride of lime in another
pailful of water. This-is perhaps the most effective of
anything that can be used, and when thrown upon de-

cayed vegetable matter of any description, will effectually
destroy all offensive odors.

2. Two or three pounds of sulphate of iron (copperas)
dissolved in a pailful of water, will, in many cases, be
sufficient to remove all offensive odors.

3. Chloride of lime is better to scatter about in damp
places, in yards, in damp cellars, and upon heaps of filth.

To Perfume Clothes.— Cloven, in coarse powder, one
ounce; cassia, one ounce; lavender flowers, one ounce:
lemon-peel, one ounce. Mix and put them into little bags,
and place them where the clothes are kept, or wrap the
clothes round them. They will keep off injects.

To Make and Fine Coffee. — Put a sufficient quantity of
the coffee into the pot, and pour boiling water on it ; slrx
it, and place it on the fire. Make it boil, and as soon as
four or live bubbles have risen, take it off the fire and pour
out a teacupful and return it ; set it down fox one minute,
then pour gently over the top one teacupful of cold water ;
let it stand one minute longer, and it will be bright
and fine. The cold water, by its great density, sinks and
carries the grounds with it.

Cold Cream. — One pound of lard, three ounces of sper-
maceti. Melt with a gentle heat, and when cooling stir in
orange flower water, one ounce, essence of lavender,
twenty-six drops.

Tincture of Roses. — Take the leaves of the common
rose (centifolia), and place, without pressing them, in a
common bottle ; ponr some good spirits of wine upon them,
close the bottle, and let it stand* till required for use.
This tincture will keep for years, and yield a perfume
little inferior to attar of roses ; a few drops of it will
suffice to impregnate the atmosphere of a room with a de-r
licious odor. Common vinegar \a -i ifcly improved by a
very small quantity being added to it.

Ink.— A few cloves added to ink will prevent it becom-
ing mouldy, and impart an agreeable perfume. •

"Washing Preparation. — Put one pound of saltpetre
Into a gallon of water, and keep it in a corked jug ; two
tablespoonsful for a pint of soap. Soak, wash, and boil
as nsual. This bleaches the clothes beautifully, without
injuring the fabric.

Castle Puddings. — Two eggs in the shell, their weight
in butter, flour and white sugar each. Put the butter ina
pan before the fire till half melted, then beat into a cream.
Beat the yolks and whites of the eggs together for ten
minutes, mix gently with the butter, add the sugar, and
then the flour by degrees, with a very littlo nutmeg and
grated lemon peel. Put it into five or six cups ; half fill
them, and bake in a slow oven about half an hour.

How to Prepare Starcti for use. — Take a quart basin
and put into it a tablespoonful of the best starch, which,
with a clean wooden spoon kept for the purpose, gradually
moisten and rub down with a quarter of a pint of cold
water, adding only a tablespoonful at a time. "When In
a perfectly smooth state, and about the consistence of
cream, gradually stir into it about a pint of boiling water.
Then pour the mixture into a clean glazed pipkin, kept for
the purpose, and stir it over a gentle fire till it boils,
adding a lump of sxtgar which prevents the starch from
sticking to the hot iron. "While in a boiling state take *
piece of wax candle and turn it round two or three times*:
this gives a smooth and glossy surface to the linen after II
has been ironed. Then strain the starch, thus prepared,
through a piece of coarse muslin into a basin, cover \t
over with a plate to prevent a skw forming on the top,
and then before it is quite cold it is ready for use.

fHtats' $abh.

BIBI. LPHS OF WOMEN.

a i.irn.t: maid.

And she said unto her mistress: Would God my lord
prophet that is in Samaria! for he would
prosy. — - Xntjs, chap, v, ro-w 3.

WKfind.iut1- > examples

temtog influence of unmarried women, b
and important events iu God's •

providences OTer the des! a people. These

two are "Miriam the prophetess,'1 and "a little maid
who wi

■ of the King of Syria,
and, like the Di ■' i, seems to have held the

heart of the kingdom in his keeping. " A mighty man of
valor, and honorable : but he was <i leper!"

How deeply this awful plague must have weighed on
the haughty spirit of the "groat man!*' And yet, lie
might have had the " that kept down all

open m;u: HTot thus would his

loving ai'

ednesft, wl and adored husband,

she marked the daily j disease,

■hat was ■ ,i mating out his

life. Tli' ' ■■..■'■■ arse, and

none but

that God's agent, In suggesting the way tor the I
thi.~ heath in Leper, which healing proved o
of his mi .■ Hebrew captive girl — "a little

maid" — torn from her home and country by the I
soldiers of tl captain," and kept in his palace to

wait on his wi

Let us enter the palace, and see Xaaman, as he is leaving
• Icence of his wife's apartment : ar-

rayed in hla r i he goes to attend the King of

Syria, hi- i "leaned on his hand" when wor-

shipping "in the house of his god Bimmon.
we learn that Naaman was a courtier, as well asa" great
captain ;" bis roul must have been bound in thi
of idolatry, by the favors and the honors his king had
i npon him.

What were all these glories but dnst and ashes to the
leprous sufferer's wife ! True, she mast restrain all ex-
of grief while tfaaman is near, although her
bfltft-atfngs seem breaking with the pent-up flood of
borrow; but when her husband has gone forth to attend
the king, does not her hopeless, helpless misery find ex-
's she turns, -
ing, from the farewell kiss of her husband, and buries her
pallid face in the folds of her white cashmere, at
she would hide from herself?

Oh, how sweet must have come to her ear the soft, yet

assured voice of her little Hebrew maid, who, having

perfect faith in God and in His prophet, promised, or

I rTaaman could be cured of his leprosy!

And aa the despairing wife Ufted up her startled glance,

and met the loving. In that in their dove-like

softnes-s, seemed to beam with angelic sympathy, and the

very light of heavenly hope and faith, did she not, that

! heathen woman, feel her own sonl penetrated with the

divine truth of the promise? Did she not feel that her

i husband would be saved ?

One most wonderful feature of this life photograph of

iry, is the perfect faith which all seem to have
■ the prediction of tin- little maid. The Kin
Syria, as well as BTaaman, must have believed In iu
truth, b both acted on its authority as Inspi

The King of J bUity

thrown on him to cure the leper. The prop
i accepted the part assigned him as from the Lord.
The result was , Naaman ; " after he had

dipped (or washed) himself seven times in Jordan, hie
me a onto the flesh of a little child, and

be was clean."' — TV..

Not only did the flesh of Naaman "come again as a

little child;*' but his heart was changed to love the Lord
B nd renounce Idol worship. This is, we believe, the
only record of the conversion of any among the chiel
of the heathen nations that dwelt near Israel. Faith ki
God, and words fitly spoken — these are woman's best re-
sources when she seeks to do good.

Would not our readers like to know more of the story
of this little maid ? Was she freed? loaded with tokens
of gratitude from Naaman and bis wife, and taken in tri-
umph to her own home iu the holy land? These things
n e ca q never know.

But one truth is sure. This little maid had that faith iu
God which incited her to do good. Wherever she went,
she would make sunshine around her pathway. While
she kept her faith pure and warm by doing good, and
thus t< h ching faith and lovo to those who needed her
sympathy, she must have been happy. The ministering
thus bring heaven down to earth. The soul of
faith, the bean of love, aud the hand of sympathy to help
all who suffer, are the glorious wealth of womanhood.
Single women, who have these best gifts of God, may
seem to those whose happiness is the pomps and vanities.
the business and bustle of the world, to be very sad and
lonely. But the ministering angels, who see the silver
lining to the clouds of life, would sing to their golden
harps, the joys of those who follow the Lamb of God —
"the meek" — "the merciful" — "the pure in heart11 — aud
" the peace-makers, for they shall be called the children
of God."

Is it not the beauty of its gospel tenderness that makes
the 1- vi ■ ; of this Bible photograph ;' "A little

maid" who loved her enemies, aud did good to those who
had made her suffer, who sympathized, even in her humble
, with the sorrows of the proud, tho rich, the honoi
able, whom she served as a captive slave ; and more than
all this, " a little maid," who worshipped tho true God,
called on Ilisholy name as if to invoke Him to have mercy
on the afflicted heathen, and by the power of His prophet,
to grant them relief. What sublime generosity ! What
perfect charity.

This picture is a touching illustration of the many
privileges and blessings which lie open in the path of
woman, be she married or single, if she live in a Bible
land. To the young, and particularly to those who have
to straggle with trials aud hardships, seeing only the
dark side of life; to aUssAi sufferers the little maid seems
to say — be patient and hopefnl ; strive to get and keep the
faith that always trusts in God; and then shov. .
generosity of mind, and charity of heart towards otl
which always, finds opportunities of doing good.

4*7

488

godey's lady's book and magazine.

VASSAR COLLEGE— AJJD ITS ORGANIZATION.

We have the authority of Mr. Vassar* for stating1 that
it is the intention of those who have the care of this great
Institution to have it opened nest September; we inti-
mated this in our January number. Aa we have many
inquiries made us respecting this college, we will proceed
to give such items of its progress and general purposes as
seem, in our opinion, most interesting to the public, and
particularly to ladies.

The Trustees, at their meeting in February, had two im-
portant propositions before tliem ; neither of these was
decided finally, but left open for their annual meeting in.
June. The first concerned the style or title of the institu-
tion.: Shall it be called Vassar Female College, or Vassar
Uollegefor Young Women ?

The second proposition related to the organization of
the College. There are to be nine professorships: — the
President is, of course, a gentleman— the head of the In-
stitution. The question is, Shall all the professors be
gentlemen? or shall there be ladies to fill a portion of the
departments? with a Directress or lady Principal, whose
influence and office shall be next in rank to the President ?

It had been argued that men must be appointed to all
the professorships as a necessity, because no women in
our country would be found capable of doing the duties
required. This opinion was not unanimous among the
Trustees, therefore, dissertations on the subj ect were invited
from all who took interest in these matters.

As the Lady's Book, from its title, is pledged to be
the friend of the "weaker vessel," and, in its great
mission <•/ calling women, to their own tlubi s, must
uphold the moral capabilities of the sex, through which
humanity feels its kinship with divinity — "God sent
forth His son made of a woman!" — therefore, we could
not do otherwise than meet the courteous invitation of the
Trustees, and set forth our reasons for believing that this
low estimate of woman's rapacity and qualifications was
a mistake. This article, furnished by a friend of woman,
will be found in the Editors' Table of February.

The writer of the article has since suggested a way by
which these lady candidates may be found. We quote
from his letter; —

"I am satisfied, that if the Trustees of Vassal- College
would pursue a very usual course — announce in the
public journals that certain professorships were to be
filled by ladies, state the --alary to be given, and the
qualifications required, and call upon aspirants to send
the proper testimonials — they would be surprised by the
number of well-qualified applicants, whom they could
then hear of for the first time; we 11- educated and capable
women, who have remained unknown, simply because no
opportunity of rising into public eminence and usefulness
baa ever been offered to them, ox to their class before.
But this will all come right some day, if not in Mr. Vafi-
sar's College, then in some other."

THE GREAT WOKK DEVOLVING OS VASSAR COLLEGE.

In regard to the need of womanly assistance, influence,
and guidance in this important institution, this educational
home for the daughters of America — it seems Unnecessary
to use arguments. The holiest human feelings of man's
heart tell him that woman makes the home. This idea
was beautifully carried out in Mr. Vassar's address
before the Trustees, when he gave his rich endowmem of
half a million to found this college. He says: " The mothers
of a country mould the character of its citizens, determine

* Those of our readers who desire further information
abont this college should address their letter- to Hon.
.Matthew Vassar, Ponghkeepsie, N. Y.

its institutions, and shape its destiny." If with the sons
of the Republic, maternal influence is so potent, shall it
be excluded or weakened in the places where the charac-
}er of our daughters is to be formed?

Would a wise Christian father, whose dying wife com-
mitted to his love and care a large family of daughters
(from the ages of seven to seventeen), even did he deter-
mine to educate these at home, devoting himself entirely
to their culture, because he knew that he was more
learned than any lady he could find, would he call to his
assistance as teachers only men, because they were more
learned than women ? Would he not seek for a pious and
cultivated lady as governess or directress of his household,
and confide to her, even if she were not deeply versed in
scholastic lore, the inner sanctuary of woman's nature,
the heart and conscience, as well as the outward semblance
of mauuer and costume, that is to say, the conduct, con-
versation, and character of his daughters to the training
and example of a Christian lady ?

If Vassar College is to be like a Christian home for the
young ladies, will they not need this maternal instruction,
influence, guidance, and example, only to be gained from
an educated and truly Christian lady ?

A significant circumstance has lately happened in Paris.
The French Academy has accorded a prize of three thou-
sand francs to the writings of Eugenie de Guerin. In life
she was unknown, she has been dead fifteen years j and
now her diary is found to contain such gems of genius
united with true piety, that English Protestants, learned
and religious men, are sounding her praises.

May it not be the noble office of Vassar College to call
to its ranks of celebrated instructors, some of these humble
followers of the Lord Jesus; someone, perhaps, even now,
whose gifts and graces have been, hitherto, hidden from the
world ?

Is not the name of Florence Nightingale the crown and
glory of England's war in the Crimea? Yet, without
that special opportunity for her talents and services, beg
worth would never have been known, her name never
distinguished. It seems to us that one important feature
in the benefits Vassar College has the power of conferring
on woman, and, of course, on humanity, is its recognition
of her capabilities as the teacheress of the human race.

God must have gifted woman for this duty, because He
has given childhood to her especial care. Her influence
and example are paramount over both sexes during the
age when character is forming ; she stamps the soul. Nor
is it in the power of men to abrogate her office ; but they
can mar it, even turn its best good to the worst evil, by
withholding from her the right education and the rigid
opportunities. In heathen lands this injustice of men to
the feminine sex has always prevailed ; the crushing pro-
cess seems now complete. Therefore, those nations are in
moral darkness and political degradation. "The woman t|
Is the glory of the man ;" and man, must he not only ac- H
knowledge this ordinance of Iufinite Wisdom, but act II
upon it in all his relations towards woman, before he will H
become "the glory of God?"

THE STTLE A>T> TITLE OF VASSAR COLLEGE

Let us examine the signification of the first name pro- I
posed.—" Vassar Female College." This title is neither I
true aor proper; it does not define the class of persons for 1
whom such places of education are intended. " A ft- male •
fi place for females. Putting aside the idea I
that it might mean animals— (the word signifies "all
creatures that bear or bring f >rtb young") — as one that no I
Christian would entertain, yet it certainly does include all I
the (feminine sex. Little girls and old ladies are as ■
surely females, as our young ladies from the agea of M
twelve to twenty-five ; yet these last are the only clasa ■

EDITORS TABLE.

489

f<>r winch Yassar College wu endowed. Ooold it bo
truly or propei ly styh d i ■

But the adjective term ts Id popular use, say the

be best and moel suitable. Would these
learned gentlemen allow their own Bible appellation —
"And Qod said, lei us make man, " etc. — to be thus dese-
crated aud degraded? For example, the phrase Is In
r nn ui.tu use, 11 ill.- newspapers, and In speech, "I saw
iman walking with a / male." ware II said, " I
aan a malt walking with a lady," would not the Ian-
i red vulgar and ridiculous I There is no
. t toonum, either as noun or
roi man. The collaterals
die both are ample, significant, and beautiful : man,
teaman; waanly ; maacuUm ./. minim ■; this

last term . best definitions of womanhood In

Its peeulla that our language affords, yet

it is rarely used. Why not say jemtni nt or womanly,
when alluding to women's character, genius, bounty,
. manly or masculine, whan man's
as, pursuits, and tastes are mentioned?
Than are higher considerations In this question The
Bible standard of language and significances Is violated
is used as the name or syno-

Oym for man's helper. "She shall be cull off Woman"" is

the Inspired declaration. And so carefully does God's
authority guard her right to this name and its synonyms,
it the term female is never need for her, except In con-
tradistinction to man as malt- ; this occurs but twelve
times in the Bible ; her other appellations (never applied
to an animal) are used over thirteen hundred times m the
Holy BOO]

Does ii seem suitable 'hat the term ./female, which is
not a synonym for iceman, and never signifies lady, should
have place in the til rtnis noble Institution? The gen-
erous v m ider Intended ll for " young w m." "The

Bible and the Anglo-Saxon Language mark, as the best
and the highest style— Yassab College fob i"od«q
,.

I. s iter to dhe Editress.

Ni:w Youk, Bift. 1'., 1864.

Drab Mrs. Hale: I have read with pleasure, "Hints
for the Nursery, or. The Young .Mother's Guide," written
by your friend Mrs. C. A Hopklnson. Her style is re-
markably elear and pleasing. The book is so' divided,
that it can easily be consulted npon any subject, It is pe-
culiarly adapt*! for the nursery. A mother who has had
nursery experience, is the only one who can instruct in
that department, The advice contained in the second,
third, fourth, and eleventh chapters, should be followed
by every young mother. I have a number of books writ-
ten expressly for mothers, and I often consult them, as t
feel more and more my own unfitness to train, physically
and morally, the children God has given me. I can
scarcely tell which book I have found most interesting and
Instructive. Abbot's "Mother at Home," and "Baconon
Parental Training," certainly rank among the best. Tin?
latter should nol <niy be read by mothers, but by every
father. I have sometimes felt that if fathers would co-op-
erate more with mothers In the governing and training of
their children, we should have a more elevated class of
young meu than we now have. If parents could only
realize that their precious children niav be doomed to
happiness or misery, to bliss eternal or to endless woe,
through their example, influence, and Instruction, how
earnestly would they pray tor light, how eagerly seek out
every book that would aid them in the path of duty !

QUEENLY EXAMTLES— TIIE CONTRAST.
Victoria, of England, is an excellent economist, some-
times called too parsimonious; but then she is always just
auJ punctual. An English writer says ; —

" [1 is certainly a fact, that so far as her milliners and
■■"mod, lor majesty tikes to know

the price of articles before commanding them— a prac-
tice which her subjects would do well to follow; and
nil her trades-people know full well that their accounts
most be punctually rendered every three months, when
they are punctually discharged— another example well
worthy of imitation, and one which, if the ladies of our
aristocracy would but follow, they would find themselves
saving at least fifty per cent, on their milliners' bills."

EcoExm of France.— In a letter from Paris, we find the
following details:—

**The passion of the Empress for dress amounts almost to
vol. lxviii. — 39

i monomania. Bugenle aeren appears twice In the same
dress, but changed the mat. rial and color every day. It
la said] that In the front centre of the celling of her private
room, there is a trap-door opening Into a spacious
■ ■ w, til led wnii • presses, ' each containing a dress
exhibited on a frame, Looking like an effigy of theEmpreas
henelt In a part of these presses there is a little railway
leading to the door, through which Lhe dressed effigy de-
scends in to the Eiupross. it' a please her majesty, I i
dress Is Lifted ii the frame and placed upon the impe-
rial person ; If not, it is whipped up, and anothei ci tu ie

don u in its place, and perhaps another and another."

Qdexh Bkbs.— As we are on the theme of high examples,
it may be Interesting to takes peep at the mode* of respect
and affection which Instinct has written on the feelings
of the working (female) bee towards her queen, A strong

hive of bees will contain 36,000 workers. Bach of these,
iu order to be assured of the presence of their queen,

touches her every day with its antennae or/'" Ut8. Should

the queen die, or be removed, the whole colony disperse

themselves, and are m-.'U in the hive no more, perishing
every one, anil quitting all the store of now useless honey
which they had labored SO industriously to collect for the
use of themselves and of the larva. On the contrary,
should the queen be put into a small wire cage placed at
the bottom Of the hive, so that her subjects can touch and
feed her, they are contented, and the business uf the hive
proceeds as usual.

Anecdotes Anorr Smokinu: —

a young lady was recently asked In a French railway
carriage whether she would be incommoded by the smoke
of ac ;i r. She replied that she <li>t nol know, as d i gen-
tleman had ever smoked iu her presence.

A Scotch lady writes thus of gentlemen who use to-
bacco : —

" May never lady press his lips, his proffered love return-
in tr,

Who t. lakes a furnace of his mouth, aud keeps his chim-
ney burning.

May each true woman shun his sight, for fear his fumes
would choke her.

And uoue but thoso who smoke themselves have kisses
for a Bmoker."

WHTWaSHIKQTOH Irvino did not Marry. — In the fourth
volume of the "Life and Letters" of this distinguished
writer and gentleman, there is a glimpse of his inner
heart, which shows his noble, honorable, and self-sacri-
ficing character in such a manly yet tender light that wo
set it as a rare gem in our Book.

"You wonder why I am not married. I have shown
you why I was nut long since. When I had sufficiently
recovered from that loss [his first love] I became involved
in ruiu. It was not for a man broken down in the world
to drag any woman to his paltry circumstances. 1 was
too proud to tolerate the idea of ever mending my circum-
stances by matrimony. My time has now gone by ; and
I have growing claims upon my thoughts and upon my
means, slender and precarious as they are. I feel as. If I
had already a family [his nieces] to think and preside
for."

HINTS ABOUT HEALTH.

The Mother to be Cared for. — No former's wife who
is a mother ought to be allowed to do the washing of the
family ; it is perilous to any woman who has not a vigor-
ous constitution. The farmer, if too poor to afford help
for that purpose, had better exchange a day's work him-
self There are several dangers to be avoided while at
the tub — it requires a person to stand for hoars at a time ;
this is a strain upon the young wife or mother, which is
especially perilous ; besides, tho evaporation of heal fir
the arms, by being put in warm water and1 then raised in
the air alternately, so rapidly cools th*> system that in-
flammation of the lungs is a very possible result ; then,
the labor of washing excites perspiration and induces
fatigue; in this condition the body is so susceptible to
taking cold that a few moments rest in a chair, or exposure
to a very slight draff of air, is quits enough to cause a
chill, with results painful or even dangerous, according
to the partioular condition of the system at the time. No
man has a right to risk his wife's -health in- i.Uio way.

490

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

however poor, if he has vigorous health himself; and, if
poor, he cannot afford, for the small sum which would
pay for a day's washing, to risk his wife's health, her
time for two or three weeks, and the incurring of a doc-
tor's bill, which it may require painful economies for
months to liquidate. — Dr. Hall.

Sleeping Rooms. — Special attention should be given to
sleeping rooms ; have these well ventilated; pure air is
more necessary when we sleep than when we are awake.
Novel sleep in a close room with all the doors and win-
dows closed; even in the coldest weather, one window
should be partly raised, or (which is best) let down from
the1 top, so as to admit fresh air, without allowing a draft
or current on the sleeper. The window curtains may
always be down, as the air strained through the muslin
loses its dampness, and is more healthful. — Dr. Wilson,

To our Correspondents. — Tbe following articles are
accepted: "The Flower of the Forest" — "Baby Nell" —
"Gloria" — "The Sweet Singer" — and "The Phantom
Skater."

The following are declined for want of room, and other
reasons: "One among Many" — "The two Friends," etc.
—"Home" (well written for a composition) — "The En-
gagement Announced" — "What is Beauty!" (we have
not time to write particular criticisms to our contribu-
tors)—" Growing Old"— "The "Wanderer" — "The Soul
World" (well written)— "I Go"— "The Tie is Broken"
(worth publishing if we had room) — "To Cornelia" —
"Inside a Milliner's Shop"— "The Silver Wedding" —
"Lines" — "Marion's Dream" — "Garrison Moure's First
and Last Love" — "A Sermon at St. Mark's" — "A Page
from my Life" — "My Home" — and "Harry Desmond's
Choice."

We have MSS. on hand to be examined next month.

Sitmtni {Mitts.

From Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia: —

THE WIFE'S SECRET. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, au-
thor of "The Rejected Wife," "Fashion and Famine,"
etc. We need say little of the writings of a lady whose
productions are so well known and so universally ad-
mired. The story before ns is one of exceeding interest ;
full of romance, yet with delineations true to nature.

WILLIAM ALLAIK: or. Running away to Sea. By
Mrs. Henry Wood. Au interesting and instructive story.
THE LIFE. CAMPAIGNS, AND SERVICES OF GENE-
RAX McCLELLAN. This volume claims to contain a full
history of his campaigns and battles, and his report* and
correspondence with the war department and President,
during the period of his command.

THE LIFE AND PUBLIC SERVICES OF MAJOR-
GENERAL BUTLER. This is a book for popular reading,
containing many particulars of the early life of General
Butler, his career as a lawyer, and all his celebrated or-
ders since he has been an officer in the United States ser-
vice.

From Lippinoott &,Co., Philadelphia: —
THE BOOK OF DAYS. Parts 19, 20, 21, 22. A Miscel-
lany of Popular Antiquities in Connection with the Calen-
dar, including Anecdotes, Biography, History, etc. A most
interesting work. Price only 20 cents per number.

CHAMBERS' ENCYCLOPAEDIA. Nos. 71 and 72 A
Dictionary of Universal Knowledge for the People, on
the Basis of the latest editions of the Germsfn Conversa-
tions Lexicon. With wood engravings and maps. The
best Encyclopaedia published, and ou'.y 2ficeuts a number.

From E. H. Bctlek, Philadelphia: —

THE LADIES' BOOK OF READINGS AND RECITA-
TIONS. By John W. S. Hows, author of "The Ladies*
Reader," etc. This boot comprises a collection of ex-
tracts from standard authors, which, considering the
work apart from its special intent as a reader in schools
and seminaries, make it a valuable addition to the library.
The extracts, most of them poetical, are judiciously made,
and of a pleasing variety.

From Harper & Brothers, New York, through I.rrpix-
cott & Co., and Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia: —

THE WIFE'S EVIDENCE. A Novel. By W. G. Wills,
author of "Notice to Quit," etc. A skilfully wrought
tale based upon the facts that by special English law the
wife of a bankrupt may be called as a witness concerning
her husband's affairs, and that common law declares that
"a wife is not competent or compellable to give evidence
for or against her husband in any criminal proceeding."

From D. Appleton &Co., New York, throngh Ashmead
& Evans, successors to W. P. Hazard, Philadelphia: —

THACKERAY THE HUMORIST AND THE MAN OF
LETTERS. By Theodore Taylor, Esq. The present me-
moir, the preface tells us, " may, pephaps, be acceptable as
filling an intermediate space between the newspaper or
review article, and the more elaborate biography which
may be expected in due course." It gives a sketch of his
life and literary labors, with a selection from his charac-
teristic speeches. To the book is appended "In Memo-
riani," by Charles Dickens, and a sketch by Authouy
Trollope.

MOUNT VERNON, and other Poems. By narvey Rice.
These poems are of a superior order, and their real merit
will attract the attention and win the admiration of all
true lovers of the muse Tbe poem from which the volume
takes its name is especially fine.

THE LAW'S AND PRINCIPLES OF WHIST By Cav-
endish. This work has become so popular that a fifth
edition is already reached. It states and explains the
laws and principles of whist, and illustrates its practice on
an original system.

APPLETON'S UNITED STATES POSTAL GUIDE. We
have received the number of this publication for the quar-
ter ending March, 1864.

From Cakleton, New York, through Peterson & Bro-
thers, Philadelphia: —

TALES FROM THE OPERAS. Edited by George Frede-
rick Pardon, author of " Faces in the Fire," etc We can
more heartily commend the plan of this work, thau the
manner in which it is carried out. The writer has con-
fined himself too closely to the literal text of the translated
operas, and not indulged in sufficient freedom of descrip-
tion, to which a story should be indebted for much of
its interest. In their present form they are, however, far
more attractive than is a bald translation of them.

THE ART OF CONVERSATION, with Directions for
Belf Education. This book shows how the art of con-
versing with ease and propriety may be acquired, giving
most judicious hints concerning conversation in all its
phases, followed Indirections for mental culture. Itwill
be read with pleasure and profit.

From Dick & Fitzgerald, New York, through Peter-
son & Brothers, Philadelphia : —

DIARY OF A DETECTIVE POLICE OFFICER. By

LITERARY NOTICES.

401

11 Waters," author of " Tho Experiences of a French De-
tective Officer!" etc. ThU is a ooUeotion "' i score of de-
all of them of engrossing Interest If the
publishers have any more hooks of thy kind, we end the
public are ready for th.iu,

A COMPLETE PRACTICAL GUIDE TO THE AKT OF
DANCING. By Thomas Hillgrove. If the public do not
hannmfl thoroughly versed in the art of dancing, it is not
tho fault of either publishers or author, who have done
their respective parts most commendnDly, Tho book
contains descriptions of all fashiouable and approved
nances, with hints on etiquette, the toilet, etc.

Tin: PARLOR MAGICIAN. By the author of "Parlor
e/ith Cards,'1 etc. This volume includes % targe
number of tricks with dice, cards, rings, etc., illustrated
by numerous engraving*.

__•

From T. O, II. P. BrnxHAa, Boston, through Petkrson
& Bbotbsks, Philadelphia: —

A WOMAN'S RANSOM1 By Frederick William Robiu-
son, author of "Slaves of the King," etc. A romance of
such intrinsic literary worth as this we rarely meet with,
even among tho many excellent novels submitted to our
examiuatiun. We havo not space to give it half the com-
tlon it deserves. The characters are something
more than sketches, and each remains distinct in its own
individuality. The plot is ingenious and intricate, and
the denouement can scarcely even be guessed at until the
proper place for its development. The style is original,
elegant, and finished, and proves Mr. Robinson one of the
best of English writers, although but a recent aopuaint-
anco of American readers.

From TlCKNOB & Fields, Boston, through Peterson &
B&otbkbs, Philadelphia : —

SORDRLLO, STRAFFORD, CHRISTMAS EVE, AMD
EASTER DAY. By Robert Browuing. Remarkable for
iheir pure sentiment, their vigor, and their rhythm, these
poems will receive earnest welcome from old friends and
new, A beautiful steel engraving of their author fronts
the title-page.

From Oliver Ditsox & Co., Boston: —

"BABBLE BROOK"' SONGS. By J. H. McNaughton.
We lhank the author for this volume of his poems, His
works prove him to be a man of cultivated taste, high
literary attainments, and a well-stored mind. They are
elegant and polished, and read with a pleasing musical
chime.

From Roberts Brothers, Boston, through Lippixcott
& Co.. Philadelphia;—

MEET FOR HEAVEN. A State (if Grace upon Earth
the only Preparation for a State of Glory in Haven. By
the author of " Ilea veu our Home." Says the author in
his preface : " In this volume I attempt to give a descrip-
tion of the state of the children of God who are already
glorified ; and I notice what it is — a state of grace upon
earth — that gives us the preparation to join their exalted
ranks."

From Wm. Carter & Brotfter, Boston, through Lippix-
cott & Co., Philadelphia: —

DEATH AND LIFE. By Mary G. Ware, author of
"Elements of Character," and "Thoughts in my Garden."
The earnest, thoughtful, and religious tone of this work
will commend it to many readers. The author is a woman

Striving to do good in ber opportunity, and her effort*
will not sural} be tl row a .may. The boob has the bubm
characteristics as tier previous volumes, and, like them,
are deserving of careful perusal.

From Crosbt & Nichols. Boston :—
PAPERS FCfR THOUGHTFUL GIRLS; with Illurtru-
tin Slittcftt.sof.sumi dirts' Ltcts. By Sarah Tytler. With

Illustrations by J. E. ttillais, A work of its kind amoug
the most beautiful and perfect; in the literature, senti-
ment, and morality, instruction and entertainment are

happily blended ; in the artistic department the book i* a
gem fit for the library of the most lovely and amiable girls
of our land. For birthday presents this will be a valuable
gift. We commend it to our young readers.

THE 8LSTERS ABROAD ; or, An Italian Journey. By
Barbara H. Charming. Au interesting book, giving lilts-
like pictures of foreign travel, that will make it useful to
those who intend going abroad, and pleasant to those
who have returned home after a tour. The style is easy,
graphic, and conversational, so to speak ; we should feel,
even without the teuder dedication, that the work had a
personal mission, and this adds to its interest. It will be
popular with boys as well as girls, and should be iu all
libraries for the young.

DICK RODNEY; or, The Adventures >f an Eton Boy.
By James Grant, author of "The Romance of War,"
"Jack Manly," etc.

MAIiMADUKE MERRY, THE MIDSHIPMAN ; or, My
Early Days at Sta. By Wm. U. Ge, Knight, author of
" Peter the Whaler," "The True Blue," "The Three Mid-
shipmen," etc.

THE RED ERIC ; or, The Whaler's Last Oruiae. A
Tale. By R. M. Ballantyne, author of "The Zouug i-ui-
trader," "The Coral Islands,'' etc.

THE WILD MAN OF THE WEST. A Tale p/ Ute
Bocky Mountains. By R. M. Ballantyne, author of " The
Red Eric," etc.

We give this list of four books, which m:ty be classed
under the head of safe as well as pleasant reading for the
boys of a family We are often requested by mothers to
suggest works which will interest her youthful sous, and
yet be free from the sensational immoralities of the French
and German romances. This list we can commend ; tho
writers are English ; and although thero are wild adven-
tures, yet wickedness is not made fascinating, nor evil
disguised to appear as good. The moral influeuco of all
these works is on the side of honor, truth, and manly
nobleness of character.

From J. E. Tiltos k Co., Boston :—

copies from nature, forth* Use of Young Artists.

These are the best designed and most beautiful set of plate ■
for this purpose that we have ever seen. They an
number. For those who have a little progressed in draw*
ing these plates will be invaluable. Ashmead & Evan.,
of Philadelphia, have them for sale.

From John P. Hhnt, Pittsburg, Pa. :—

HUNTS GAZETTEER OF THE BORDER AND SOUTH-
ERN STATES. By R H. Long, late of the U. S. Army.
This is a handbook and reliable guide for the aoldiers,
with a steel plate map.

From J. D. Menpenhall. Doylestown, Pa. : —
HOUSEHOLD PRAYERS, with Psalms and Hymns.
for the Church in tlte House. By a Country Clergyman.

492

godey's lady's book and magazine.

§ohi)'s Jnn-Cjjair.

MAY, 1864.

"May Flowers." — Beautiful May. Tljis is our leading
plate for the balmy and leafy mouth of May. We have
never published a prettier picture.

Oar Fashion-plate contains six gorgeously colored
figures. Really a May plate also.

Shield-shaped Hanging Pincushion is the title of our
tinted engraving in this number.

"Cupid, Auctioneer," is our humorous plate. Hearts
for sale, and Cupid, auctioneer. The indispensable child
and inevitable Young Pickle, out of the mythology — the
little heathen person with the wings, which he keeps
covered up under his jacket when he goes into the society
of stern purists — isdepicted in the accompanying illustra-
tion in one of his most agreeable exercises. The carte de
visite of Cupid, Auctioneer ! Ordinarily, I believe, he
prefers this sort of airy, playful no-dress— which would
be positively luxurious if ouly sanctioned by the decen-
cies, or the canons of a sultry climate. And the good-na-
tured indulgence of society has always tolerated a certain
latitude of apparel with respect to this amusing child.
*He may indulge those little odd notions of his with im-
punity ; which, after all, must be set down to the inju-
dicious training of his beautiful mother (a famous toast) ;
and has the entrie to our drawing-rooms and public
places, in that particular costume which, it is to be sus-
peeted, he relishes most — without remark or rebuke.

We say nothing of the established tricks of this noto-
rious enfant terrible. — -of his putting peas into the hearts
of elderly people ; of his slyly setting what is behind the
left side of their waistcoats on fire ; of his discharging tiny
arrows from that little pea-shooter of his, and leaving us
sore for months after. These we have learnt to bear with
so long that no one dreams of protest ; especially as it is
well known that there is no nurse to take young Master
Troublesome to his nursery. But this is only one side of
his humors. He is a child of tremendous precocity for his
years, and looks shrewdly to business. And he does a
very brisk business indeed — being a sort of polite Com-
mission Agent, and elegant but unlicensed auctioneer — a
j«uvenile Moses Thomas — a sort of undraped little deputy
of celestial auction stores, who have their original sale-
rooms up in Olympus. An inimitable miniature auc-
tioneer, ladies and gentlemen ! full of sweet invitations to
bid, insinuating tricks, quips, cranks, wit, repartee, jokes;
so that reluctant spectators must perforce bid. But they
do not always buy, unhappily. At these crowded sale-
rooms where Love is "Auctioneer and Valuator," the
bidding— fast and frantic as it may have been — does not
end always in sales. Often the lot is — in technical
phrase — bought in, often withdrawn.

Brodie again contributes one of his valuable patterns
for this number.

We give every variety of dress for the later spring
mouths, with abundance of articles for the ladies' work-
table.

Madame Demorest has sent us a very beautiful supply
of her well cut and ornamented dress patterns. Also some
engravings, several of which we give in this number.

Our June Number. — We intend to devote that number
mostly to children's dresses. Mothers will be pleased at
this announcement.

Our Amazing Increase. — There is no cessation to the
flood of subscribers that continue to pour in upon us.
Usually at this season of the year there would be a lull,
but there is none this year. Everybody seems to be
taking advantage of the present low rates — lower, very
much lower than those of any other $3 magazine.

"Godey has won for himself imperishable honors as a
writer and manager of a popular magazine. No monthly
in our land has as many eager eyes waiting for its arrival
as Godey's. We have concluded to cheat him no more ;
therefore we notify our friends, one and all, that we will
not lend our numbers of the Lady's Book this year."

We thank the editor of the Springfield Mirror. We
have endeavored to do our duty. We have not been con-
tent, as many have, to take the money for a magazine
based upon a prospectus, and not fulfil the promises there
made, and probably we hdve found in the long run that
our honesty was the best policy. We have faithfully
performed every obligation we have ever entered into,
and we still intend to do so. How many magazines have
been started, during our career of thirty-four years, with
infinitely more promises than we ever made, and how many
of them are there that now exist? Not one. Could the
Lady's Book have been published for thirty-four years, if
honesty of purpose had not b£en tho basis of it?" No!
Keep faith ; that is the great secret.

Earle's Gallery of Paintings, S16 Chestnut Street. —
A visit to this gallery of splendid paintings is at any time
agreeable ; but lately Messrs. Earle & Sou have added to
it the celebrated " Derby Day," by Firth, of London. A
most peculiarly interesting picture, or rather pictures
within a picture, for it could be cut iutoseverak It gives
to the American public the idea of what the great "Derby
Day" is in England, to attend which both Houses of
Lords and Commons adjourn. Another picture is also
there, "The Inventors of America," painted bySchussele.

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
tho numbers are sent from their respective offices.

Music Received. — We have received the following from
Horace Waters, 481 Broadway, New York, and 0. Ditson
& Co., 277 Washington Street, Boston, Mass. :—

When old Friends were here.

She was all the World to me.

These two songs are by the late Stephen C. Foster.

Foster's Melodies: Bury roe in the Morning, Mother.

Beauties of Terpsichore. The King. Dance music.

The Goldeu Bow. A mazurka.

The Young Volunteer. A song.

The Cloud with a Silver Lining. Fantasie for piano.

Katy did ; Katy didn't. A comic song.

From J. W. Fortune, New York. Nos. 1, 2, and 3 of
"Musical Host."

A pretty strong hint for borrowers. The Jefferson
Banner says: —

" We have never refused to lend our number, but now
we shall positively refuse any one who asks a loan. If
you want to see a specimen number, go to the dealers, or
if you wish the Book for one year, you can be accommo-
dated by leaving the money with the editor. We would
not lose the pleasure of the monthly visits of the Lady's
Book for five dollars a year."

We ask attention to the Fashion Editor's advertisement
on the cover of this number.

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

493

"Thk Kiveki-alk Institute," at Iliverdale, on the Had*
eon River. If w« were asked to point out tho most
fal place for a residence on that nohle river, we
should at once mention Kiv.rd.ili>, only fourteen miles
from Hew fork, nod opposite tho Palisades. From this
place is obtained one of the most enchanting views. Haw
often have we watched the turning of the tide that woold
■ring with it the numerous sails that havebeeu ana
waiting that event, We have counted one hnndi
t-ols at one time, with tide favoring, and wind "in tho
bhoulder of their Bails," wending their way up the noblest
river of them all. Rlverdale we may term a close corpo-
ration, a> no one la allowed to purchase land then- unites
11 known to those who hold the laud for sale,
- of the place, and who own all the property in
the neighborhood. There is nut a tavern in tho place,
and we are under the belief Chat the inhabitants are all
temperance men. No eon Stop her.1 on the Babhath, and
no steambo.it is allowed to make a landing at any time.
We have given these particulars to introduce the fact that
stitutlon for young ladies has been estab-
lished then by the Rev. W. C. Leverett, M. A. The
Board of Truateea comprise the names of the most respect-
able Inhabitants, The college, which we hare seen, stands
upon very blgb ground] some hundreds of feet above tho
river, and about an eighth of a mile from it. A more
healthy and desirable spot conld not be found. We
recommend this college to all Who wish to provide for
their daughters a delightful residence, excellent society,
and competent teachers. Any further information cau be
obtained by addressing II. F. Spaulding, Esq., Xew York
City.

Ma. CIodby: Your Book has afforded us so much plea-
sure for the last two years thai I have come to the
sion that I cannot do without it So I boi myself to work
to make up a club. It is the best Lady's liook printed,
lent that you spare no pains or expense to make
it worthy of a place in every family. Nothing is more
welcome to our fireside thau it is, and I have recommended
i: to my friends for its moral purity and ennobling senti-
ments; and they should make it a fixed institution in
their families. Long may you live t.. do good.

B. P. >'., MRnneeata,

A Lady was lately seen walking along Broadway, New
York, with the following articles, among others, adhering
to the skirt of her dress: A cooper's shaving, a dead
mouse, a half-consumed cigar, a wisp of straw coated
with street filth, a DUUCb of horsehair, a second-hand ojttid
of tobacco, the heel of au old boot, and a quantity of street
droppings ! This might be paralleled any day in Loudon.

Mas. Hale is not the Fashion Editress. Will our sub-
scribers please remember that? Address your letters

"Fashion Editress, care of Godey's Lady's Book, Phila-
delphia. Pa.''

A Ladt writing to us says : "You are a bachelor, with
no family raves.11 It has taken ■ great deal of writing in
trying to explaiu that we are no bachelor, but a married
man with a fair lot of children.

CoHPiroarsis : —

What fruit involves a paradox?
A pear ; because one is a pear (pair).
What beams often fall on men's heads without hurting
them?
Sunbeams.

When is an umbrella like a person convalescent?
When it is re-covered.

39*

S. P. Borden's Excelsior Braidi.no and Embkoidkhv
Stamps.— We again call the attention of oar readers to
these uneqaalled stamps. Thej nave become very popu-
lar, and deservedly so, as they will stamp on any male-
rial, and have novel hUed I satisfaction to
the thousands who USO them. Send for a few dozen.

Price only S-'i per doien. Inking cushion, pattern book,
and full printed Instructions each order, free

of charge.

Address & P. Borden, HaasiUon, Ohio, or the following
agents: J. M. Pickering, No. 06 West Fourth Street, Cin-
cinnati, Ohio; Mrs. a. J. Brooks, N 63S Nortb Tenth
Street, Philadelphia; J. M, Newlt, Chicopee, Hast
<;. Whipple, Moiueuce, 111. ; L. L. Rosenstein, Vi
ton, D. C. ; Mrs. L. A. Colbaih, Exeter, N. U. j Mr- N
Crisman, Placerville, Cal. ; Sirs. M. A. Hawkins, Indian-
apolis, Iud. ; Mrs. J. W. Wellington, Kingston, Wis. ; Mrs,
N. S. Belcher, 2fo. 41 Market Street, New ark, New J< reey.

The principle upon which we act — "Nothing cheap

We clip the following from the Carthage Republican ; —
" Every lady in the laud who can afford it ought to t iko

Godey. It is the best lad es' magazine iuexisi^uee. We
have taken it well nigh fifteeu years, and we have yet to
ceo within its oovers oue engraving or one article that
bore the stamp of "cheap."'

On St. Valentine's Day, upwards of 453,000 letters—
140,000 more than usual — were despatched frj>m London,
and ;.t.i4,O0(t— 110,000 abOfe the average — were delivered
by the earner-.

Yocsu Ladies' Seminar v. for Boarding and Day
Pcpils. — Mrs. Gertrude J. Cary, Principal, South-east
corner Sixteenth and Spruce Streets, Philadelphia, Pa
The nineteenth session of this school commenced & ptem-
ber 14th, 1863.

The course of study pursued embraces the fundamen-
tal and higher brandies of a thorough English education
Particular attention is given to the acquisition of tin-
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 taleut iu the city. It
is her constant endeavor t" secure an equal devrlopmeut
of body, mind, and heart, and the formation of habits of
neatness and industry.

Mrs. S. J. Halo, Rev. FI. A. Boardmau, D. D., Eev. J.
Jenkins, D. D., Rev. M. A. De Wolfe Howe. D. D., Louis
A. Godey, Esq , Philadelphia ; Rev. J. XfCandee, D D .
Galesburg, 111. ; Louis H. Jenkins, Jacksonville, 111. ;
Rev. George DuffiVld, Jr., Adrian, Mich.

Circulars sent on application.

From a very old volume We take the following speci-
men of spelling in the olden time: —

" Lady Cheeke," we read, "writing to her dear EM) ■
on some dateless "new-year's night,'1 is "hartilj
to hear that her husband is not well. "1 wish.
the hospitable mother to her daughter, "he wold oonio
and lye at Pergo, that he might have all the helpe of
phissitiane." She wonders that Bases had not Mreaayved
her letters" [there Is no mention of her having been
. . , and sends her by an "oportunety, some :
and*afeuwe nickta,rrinsand graps." Some fruit sin- send •
(•• Essex's Lord, also, (tor, as she says; "I observed whea
he was heur he licked the peaches,"

"NoCards." — This is getting to be very customary at

the end of a marriage notice We hope Boon to see an-
nounced, "No presents received."' up >n cards of invitation.

494

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Mr. Godey requests anecdotes of servants. One occurs
to rue which, at the time, amused me very much.

A few years since, while spending a winter in Missis-
sippi, a protracted, or three days' meeting, was announced
to be held in one of the churches. One of the servants,
or "contrabands" as they are now called, came to me iu
great excitement, "0! Miss Mary, we are to have a
contracted meeting, and now Missus is very unwell, and
we shall have to carry basket dinners — heaps on 'em.

To one not initiated in the "modus operandi" of con-
ducting meetings in the southern villages formerly, these
basket dinners need explanation. As the hour for dinner
and intermission between the services approaches, the
servants are seen issuing from the neighboring plantations
with trays upou their heads, and baskets in their hands,
containing pies, puddings, cake, roast turkeys, vegetables,
hot coffee, tablo linen, crockery, etc., in fine, all the re-
quisites for a good old-fashioned picnic. A rude table is
soon constructed. If the weather is fine it is placed in the
grove, if otherwise, in the church, and then all are invited
to partake, of all ages, sex, and condition, the servants
removing the fragments. I assure you that whatever the
character of the services may have been, the entertain-
ment was anything but contracted. M. E. H.

The following advertisement recently appeared in a
French paper: —

"A young lady, aged twenty-five years, with a very
strong beard, which will attract the curious, wishes to
become demoiselle in a cafe."

Postage on the Lady's Book, according to the late law
passed last winter.

Section 36. — Postage on Godey's Lady's Book, 21 ceuts
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.

A Strong Team. — Messrs. Sinclair Tousey & Dexter,
Hamilton & Co., the enterprising and rival newsdealers of
New York city, have formed a co-partnership, and will
carry on the same business, under the name of "The
American News Company," at the stand of the former,
No. 121 Nassau Street.

Tiltox's New Drawing Cards. " Copies from Nature,
for Yoong Artists." — A beautiful series of picturesque
sketches for the pencil. They have been long needed,
and teachers ifnd pupils will gladly welcome their appear-
ance. Price 50 cents. J. E. Tilton & Co., Boston, Pub-
lishers.

The first railroad made in Russia was that between St.
Petersburg and Moscow, 400 miles in length. It was
made by an American firm, and they ran it for the Russian
government for twelve years, for which they were paid
2,500,000 roubles per anuum. This firm, it is said, netted
out of their Russian contracts, 30,000,000 silver roubles.

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.

Ttte story of the P. H. B. Society was publishad in April,
1663.

OUR MUSICAL COLUMN.

Solloway^s Musical Monthly. — The May number of
this favorite periodical is now ready, containing music
appropriate to the season. First, is, The First "Violet, a
delightful romance, or divertimento, by Jungmann, author
of Heirnweh. Second, the beautiful song, What Joy to
Listen.

What joy to hear from bough and tree
The birds their flood of music pour,
from Balfe's new opera, The Armorer of Nantes. Third,
the celebrated Faust waltz, from Gounod's grand opera.
This last is the third piece we have published in this
volume from this most remarkable and successful opera.
When it is remembered that every piece of music in every
number of the Monthly is prefaced by a showy title-page
engraved expressly for the work, a feature that no other
musical periodical has ever dared to attempt, and that the
work is printed on the best heavy music paper (not news-
paper), from engraved plates (not type), and in other
features resembles the highest cost sheet music, it will be
seen how cheap and desirable a year's subscription to
Holloway's Musical Monthly really is.

Our subscription list this year has already doubled that
of last year, and every mail continues to bring in namci
from all parts of the country. Opera-music, songs, bal-
lads,'transcriptions, variations, polkas, waltzes, etc., from
the best composers in this country and in Europe, fill the
pages ofthe Monthly, and at the end of the yearavolume
is formed, with title page and index complete, which
would co^t several times the price of the year's subscrip-
tion if purchased in the regular way. Terms, $3 00 per
annum in advance. Four copies one year, $10 00. The
February, March, April, and May numbers will be sent
free of postage to any address, on receipt of $1 00. We
have but few copies of the January Double number re-
maining, and these will only be sent to new subscribers
who send in the entire year's subscription of $3 00.
Address, J. Starr Holloway, Publisher Musical Monthly,
Box Post Office, Philadelphia.

Neio Sheet Music, — Sawyer and Thompson, Brooklyn,
New York, have j ust published, I know my Mother weeps
for Me, a very touching song and chorus, by Chas. F.
Thompson; Oh sing once more that Song for Me; and
Who would not go ? a beautiful sacred song and chorus,
hy Chas. Carroll Sawyer, author of the famous melodies,
When this Cruel War is over, Who will Care for Mother
now, etc., ■each 25 cents. Also Musseola, quadrille intro-
ducing Sawyer's beautiful melodies, Who will Care for
Mother now, When the Boys come Home, etc. Price 40
cents.

We can send the above, or any of the following, on
receipt of price. Gov. Stone's March, a spirited and beau-
tiful composition, with fine lithographic portrait, by Geo.
E. Fawcette, 50 cents. Moment Musicale, a charming
reverie, by Charles W. Ohm, 25. An Alpine Farewell,
nocturne, by Riche, 25. Musings at Twilight, Fritz Spin-
dler, 30. A Night on the Ocean, nocturne, 30. On the
Rialto, by Oesten,,25. La Plainte Indienne, by Ascher, 15.
Down by the Tide, song without words, 15. The Soldiers'
Chorus, by Brinley Richards, from Gounod's Faust, 40.
What Bells are Those? variations by Brinley Richards, 40.

Also, Home of my Youth, sweet song, by Glover;
Forget Thee, beautiful ballad, by Balfe: O ye Tears, by
Franz Abt ; Mother, is the Battle over? Mother waiting for
the News, The Soldier's Return, and Oh, I wish th« War
were over, four songs for the time ; All Day Long, charm-
ing song by S. C. Foster. Price of each 25 cents. Address,
as above, J. Starr Hodloway,

godey's arm-chair.

495

LETTER FROM PARK.

The last large bull at the Tulleries was much moro
brilliant than tne preceding oue, aud mi Likewise non
I ,L.i: ,,,i, .1. Tiir Uia oj carriages were so long
thai many of the guests who arrived at ihe Tuilcries at
half-pasl nine o'clock ware not sol down uutil eleven, aud
when they did enter, the dresses wen m long and the
■ -* so wide thai no little management was re-
quired t.> enter the taUa dm nfarecAauc, where all the
Roemhen of the imperial family were seated.

The loilets were magnificent, but all were eclipsed by
thai worn by U a Empreea. Every one ramuked thai iier
Majesty had never appeared to neater advantage ; the

tuT dress was novel, aud suited her admirably.
The following is a description of the entire toUst

SRirts of white tulle, with pollings and capU<-nn-$,
wah small sprays of pink acacias. (Wo have before ex-
. of capitnu , which is produced by
'tunn s being fastened down at intervals with
flowers BO as to form squares or diamonds, in the same
way that buttons are employed upon stuffed leather
c)j;ur>, BOUVS, etc etc.) Over this tulle dress, there de-

seended a tunic made of sky-blue grain royal, edged w Lth

n:de, h<:» u ou very full, aud headed with sprays
of piuk acacias. This tunic was opened in front, showing
the white tulle skirl, studd* d with flowers; underneath
it was rounded off at the sid. ■*, terralnaMng at the back,

where it lengthened considerably with a sort of half point.
At the back of the bodice there WM a basque, very narrow
at the top, anil wide at the cud, where it was rounded off
in the forru of a spoon ; it was attached to the waist
with two wide plaits. This basque was made of sky-blue
grain royal, and was edged as the tunic, with blondeand
' The folds npon the bodice were very small, and
were made of white tulle. They formed a heart in the
centre, aud were crossed by sprays of acacia. They were
rilh blonde headed by a wide tress or plait of sky-
blue ribbon.

The headdress was truly imperial ; the hair formed two
bandeaux which were slightly turned back from the tem-
ples, and two small curl> I laantiqtu u U ou the forehead;
[ hah was massed together aud then fell in ring-
let-. A diamond ooronet sparkled upon the Empress's
forehead — this coronet was \audyked in the form of the
1 crown. The imperial bandeau was placed flat
upon the head, formed small sonata at the sides, and with
long diamond drops fell among the curls at the back.
Diamonds fastened to a sky-blue velvet ribbon encircled
the throat ; the ribbon was lied at the back and fell with
long ends upon the shoulders. This style of necklet is
verv becoming as well as fashionable, and is called collier
de chi> it.

The Princess Clotilde and the Princess Mathilde both
wore white, and were covered with diamonds; around
the throat Of the former youthful lady a splendid necklace
was remarked ; the drops nearly touched the top of the
dress.

Ume. de Metternieh, wlio is always remarkable for the
extreme elegance of her toilet, wore upou this occasion
a njhlte moire' dress; the skirt was very lung 'and was
untrimmed, but over it there was a short rounded tnnk
of white satin, elaborately ornamented with blonde aud

ribbons. The Duchess de'M , who is a blonde, wore

a maize cr pe dress, an extraordinary selectiou when we
lake into consideration the cornplexiou. The skirt was
trimmed with undulating rows Of maize satin ribbon ;
over ilii- (ell atunic edged with white blonde and maize
salin ribbou; the tunic was short in front, and very long
at the back, a style now adopted by all the ladies of the
court.

The brilliant Marchioness de G , was dressed with

the simplicity of a school-girl, a white gauze dress orna-
mented with berries of the mountain ash, a plain bodice
without folds, trimmed also with similar berries, likewise
berries forming epaulettes.

Mil... H was in white tulle bouillonn-', each

bouillvnnc separated by narrow crossway bands of sky-
blue satin, the whole being studded With sky-blue satin
bows ; a long blue satin sash was tied at ihe back.

The generality of ihe young unmarried guests, and
Indeed many of Ihe young married ones, wore those long
sashes; many were cut from the piece and trimmed with
blonde, whilst others were made simply with wide ribbon.
The newest style of sash isinade with white gros grain
ribbon very wide, with colored satin stripes, and these are
called ctinturea pekiniea. They are fastened at the back
with three hanging loops, the centre one falling upon the
two others. They form a good finish to many toilet*.

Many aigrette* of spun glass in the centre of velvet
poufs, and fastened at the side of the b^aul, were seen at
this bail.

Mme. de F-

■ wore a tulip dre.«s ; U consisted of a

White tulle skirt, with a lining of stiff net in the hem, and
a tunic of poppy-red Velvet, the brightest red which can
be imagined : this was cut as the petals of a tulip, and
Was edged with white lace; the lower part of the bodice
w as oT red velvet, the upper part in white tulle with hil.it.
In the hair a j,,,"f of red velvet with an aigrette of tpuu
glass lastcned with a diamond.

The feather trimmings appear likewise to bo in great
favor. There was a profusion of p-iu-neks' feathers ar-
ranged as bouquets for looping up dresses, and also some

exquisite while satiu dresses trimmed with swansdown.

Many young girls wore white Ghambery gauss dresses
over white tatrntas petticoats ; these plaiu gauze dresses
have a charming effect, especially cerise gauze over whito
silk.

The thaw has put a stop to the pleasures of skating— an
exercise which has been pursued ' y many of our leaders ;
the favorite lake in the Bois was the Suresne, because tho
Em pre** selected it, aud was frequently seen upon it. The
last time her Majesty appeared as a skaier, Bhe wore a
small round hat with feathers, a short violet skirt looped
over a violet satin petticoat, and a velvet jacket trimmed
with fur.

The fashion of colored stockings has certainly extended
since the skating mania. Naturally the ankles are visible
during this exercise, and White stockings haven miserable
effect with a colored petticoat. Never, therefore, have
colored stockings appeared to such advantage ; plaid
especially looked well. They are worn in silk, spun
silk, and fine wool, and they are always selected to match
the dress. The white silk stockings, which were aban-
doned last winter, are the only ones admitted during the
present season for full evening dress.

Boots* are also made fantastically ; with the present
style of looping up the dresses, both in fine aud wet
weather, the feet are seen very plainly. In fine days lire
dress is not drawn up so high as when the streets are
muddy, but in all weathers the feet of pedestrians are,
now-a-days, visible. Unless the precaution of drawing
up the skirts was taken, considering their present length,
even when made of the richest materials, they would nut
last more than a couple of days. The only alternatives
are, therefore, highly ornamented petticoats, and dainty
boots. For damp, rainy weather small buttoned kid
boots, with tassels are worn; also French satin boots,
likewise buttoned, and trimmed with Astrakan fur up the
front aud round the ankle. But for fine days in the Bois,
black velvet boots, embroidered with while silk, are to bo
seen.

Such boots are carried half-way up the leg, where they
are finished off with long silk tassels falling at the side ;
the heel of the boot is likewise covered with velvet. I
see also a new style of boot much worn; it is called
Leckinzka, and is made of black quilted satin, the heel
being likewise covered with satin. This boot opens down
Ihe centre, where it is ornamented with silk or chenille
fringe, and is laced.

For demi-toilet the petticoats are usually made of the
same material as ihe dress. For poplin or cachemire
dresses the petticoat is similar, and is trimmed with a
band of black velvet, embroidered with flowers or the
Greek design, or sometimes the hand is made with plaid
poplin, and, in this ca,-e, a narrow quilling to match is
placed round the edge. As chenille seems to ornament
most garments, it has at last found its way to petticoats.
Three bands of black velvet, each separated by a row of
narrow silk chenille fringe upon a violet cachemire petti-
coat produces a very pretty effect. White cachemire
petticoats are still trimmed with either black guipure or
yak lace, and long cloth petticoats are embroidered witb
black wool or braided with black braid.

Crinolines are very wide round the edge, and very
narrow round the hips, and dresses are so cut that they
require scarcely a plait when mounted to the waistband.
It is frequently a matter of curiosity to kuow how the
Empress contrives always to appear with such well-
setting skirts, for her Majesty has never worn a cage, she
only wears muslin petticoats which are gored to a point
and" trimmed with well-starched flounces ; these are mnch
deeper at the back than in the front. This is a costly con-
trivance, and is not suitable for those wEo take wiwli
walking exercise.

A Tor/xo Gestlema.v having acquired a knowledge of
Italian, addressed a few words to an organ-grinder in
his puiest accent, but was astonished at receiving Iht*
following response : " I no speak IngUs."

Ladies should never put pins in their mouths. Thslr
lip? should be roses without thurmi.

496

godey's lady's book and magazine.

From Captain Spekes' '"Discovery of the Sources of the
Kile:—"

"Fat Belles of Karague. — la the afternoon, as I had
heard from Wusa that the wives of the king and princes
■were fattened to such an extent that they
could nut stand upright, I paid my respects
to Waz6z6ru, the king's eldest brother—
who, having been born before his father
ascended his throne, did not come in the
line of succession — with the hope of being
able to see for myself the truth of the story.
There was no mistake about it. On entering
the hut I found the old man and his chief
wife sitting side by side on a bench of
earth strewed over with grass, and par-
titioned like stalls for sleeping apartments,
whilst in front of them were placed nume-
rous wooden pots of milk, and, hanging
from the poles that supported the beehive*
shaped hut, a large collection of bows, sis
feet in length, whilst below them were
tied an even larger collection of spears,
intermixed with a goodly assortment of
heavy-headed assages. I was struck with
no small surprise at the way he received
me, as well as with the extraordinary di-
mensions, yet pleasing beauty of the im-
moderately fat fair one, his wife. She could
not rise, and so largo were her arms that,
between the joints, the flesh hung down
like large, loose-stuffed puddings. Then
in came their children, all models of the
Abyssinian type of beauty, and as polite in
their manners as thorough-bred gentlemen.
They had heard of my pieture-books from
the king, and all wished to see them ; which
they no sooner did, to their infinite delight,
especially when they recognized any of the
animals, than the subject was turned by
my inquiring what they did with so many
milk-pots. This was easily explained by
WazJzeru himself, who, pointing to his wife, said : ' This
is all the product of those pots ; from early youth upwards
we keep those pots to their mouths, as it is the fashion at
court to have very fat wives.1 "

A robber who was seized for stealing snuff out of a
tobacconist's shop, by way of excusing himself, exclaimed
that he was not aware of any law that forbade a man to
take snuff.

Something New in* the Crow Line. — From an English
paper: —

"The Americans <rive the name of carrion crow to a
species of small vulture which has multiplied witb so
much the more facility that the law of the United States
protects it against all attacks, for purposes of salubrity.
As a result, in many cities, the carrion crows are distin-
guished for a familiarity, we might almost say effrontery,
which immensely surpasses that of our boldest sparrow*.
In the United States, no trouble is taken to bury the cattle
that die of djsease. Twenty-four hours are sufficient for
the carrion crows to devour a prey of this kind.

To tip one fashion over to another is undoubtedly the
tip of fashion.

A thick warm dress in winter is a portable wood-econo-
mizing stove.

Sin has a great many tools ; but a lie is the handle
which fits them all.

JUVENILE DEPARTMENT.

SUNDAY-SCHOOL HYMN.

While many a child in heathen lands

Of Jesus never heard,
In our own country we are taught

To know and fear the Lord.

While there the little children bow

To gods of stone and wood,
The Bible here to us reveals

The true and only God.

How glad and grateful should we be

That we are taught so plain ;
And oh. how deeply should we fear

Lest we be taught in vain !

The light and knowledge we possess,

To us so freely tiven,
Will but increase our sin and shame

Unless it leads to heaven.

Lord, may we love the truth we learn,

The Saviour's laws obey ;
And. as we 're taught in wisdom's schoo!,

Be found in wisdom's way.

A Mother's Affection.— A writer beautifully remarks
that a man's mother is the representative of his Maker. •
Misfortune and mere crime set no barriers between her
and her son. While his mother lives, a man has ono
friend on earth who will not desert him when he is needy.
Her affection flows from a pure fountain, and ceases only
at the ocean of eternity.

godey's arm-chair.

497

RCRAL on SUBURBAN RESIDENCE.
Xttsiffned crprtssbj for Godty's JUuty't Bvok, by Uaao II. IIobqs, ArdtUcct, Philadelphia.

PERSPECTIVE VrEW.

The above design is in the Grecian style of architecture,
and will make a very comfortable and pretty residence.
The building is drawn for frame, and by adapting it to
etone it would have to by made larger. It contains on the

first floor a snite of three rooms, water-closet, shed, and
pantry. The second story contains four bedrooms. It is
of a style of architecture (hat needs to be carefully pro-
portioned to obtain much beauty. It has breadth in its

J=L

k f- J

'-J

- !

■

l l

FfRST STORT.

proportions, and the form and size of its details will
either make it beautiful or hideous. The sizes of rooms
are as follows: —

A kitchen, 15 by 16 feet; B living room. 20 by 16 ; C
bedroom, 1.5 by la ; D is a wood shed, B by 16 ; E water-
closet, 4 by 4 ; Fa passage to cellar and wood shed ; H

SEC05D PTORT.

porch in front, r> by 10. Second storv: K bedroom, 9 by
14 : Ldo. 9 by 16; M do. 8 by 9 ; N do. 9 by 11.

Tracings of the building, drawn large, with sufficient
information to build the wime. can be obtained by inclos-
ing $15 to Isaac H. Hobbs, Architect, Philadelphia.

408

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

No order attended lu 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 6ent
by mail, stamps must be sent to pay return postage.

Be particular, when writing, to mention the town,
county, aud State you reside in. Nothing can be made
out of post-marks.

R, 31. R. — Sent sleeve protectors February 22d.

3Iiss J. 31. C. — Sent work-bag pattern 22d.

Mrs. C. A. N.— Sent India-rubber gloves 22d.

Mrs. G. C. — Sent slipper pattern 22d.

Mrs. S. S. E.— Sent dress shields 22d.

Mrs. G. C. E. — Sent dress goods by express 24th.

Mrs. J. E. B.— Sent wool 24th.

Miss M. M. — Sent trimmings by Adams's express 24th.

C. M. F.— Sent articles 25th.

Lieut. II. A. B. — Sent hair chain 29th.

Mrs. W. W. W.— Sent articles 29th.

Mrs. T. W. W.— Sent pattern March 2d. ,

Mrs. W. C. — Sent box by express 3d.

3Iiss M. J. S. — Sent plain gold ring 4th.

Miss F. A. \V. — Sent pattern 4th.

Miss S. E. V. F.— Sent pattern 4th.

Miss L. B.— Sent pattern 8th.

E. N. L. — Sent box of articles by express 9th.

Mrs. V. C. B.— Sent hair-work 12th.

Mrs. B. B. C— Sent infant's dress 12th.

C. D. C. — Sent dress elevator 12ih.

Mrs. C. F. H.— Sent pattern 12th.

Miss L. P. — Sent pattern 12th.

Miss J. S. T.— Sent collars 12th.

Mrs. U. II. — Sent infant's dress 12th.

Mrs. B, L. M. — Sent pattern loch.

Mrs. E. C. C. — Sent darning needles 15th.

Mrs. J. de P. — Sent pattern Loth.

R. McC. — Sent needles 18th.

Mrs. A. J. B. — Sent pattern 15th..

Miss 31. A. R. — Sent ring by express 15th.

L. W. — Sent pattern 16th.

Mrs. J. W. L. — Sent articles by express 17;h.

H. G. K. — Sent articles by express lSth.

Mrs. W. P. T.— Sent gloves 19th.

Mrs. L. A. S.— Sent pattern 19th.

Mrs. J. B.— Sent pattern 19th.

Mrs. G. E. 31.— Sent pattern 19th.

E. M. 1). — We published these articles long since. It
will not do for ns to repeat them.

Subscriber. — We can furnish a pattern of the Cordovan
cloak ; price $1. India-rubber gloves, $1 50 per pair.

April. — We do not pay for patterns of embroidery, as
we receive more from our foreign magazines, and from
Cameron's establishment, in one month than we can use
in three.

L. N. — Much obliged for the receipt.
.. Mrs. J. F. W. — Why take up the room to insert two old
patterns fur the accommodation of one person when the
same room can be occupied with two patterns that will
be new to our 160,000 subscribers. Why.do you wish
them reinserted, when yon know where they are? We
can send you the two numbers for 50 cents.

G. L. B.— " Please reply in your April number." Why,
the April number was in California when your note was
received. When will our subscribers find out that our
immense edition requires us to go to press two months
previous to date. Address J. E. Tilton k Co , 161 Wash-
ington Street, Boston, Mass. Cannot answer the other
question.

An Old Subscriber. — Answer about wedding-rings in
March number. The Postillion girdle can be worn by
married ladies. Ready made, it costs $7 ; materials, $5 ;
pattern, alone, 50 cents.

Henri — will see that her design is in this number. We
thank her.

J. P. — Thank you for the receipts. Those you ask for
we published long since, but cannot refer to the number.

J? its I] ions.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Having had frequent applications for the purchase of
jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the
Editress of Hit 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 j>roposed expen-
diture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey* Esq.

No order will be attended to unless the money is first
received. Neither the Editor nor Publisher will be account-
ablefnr losses thai may occur in remitting.

The Publisher of the Lady's Book has no interest in
this department, and knows uothiug 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, aud general style of
tlie person, on which much depends in choice. l>re>s
(roods 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 ; bonnet* from the
most celebrated establishments ; jewelry from Wriggeus
i 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
SIAY.

Fig. 1. — Dinner-dress of a light green silk, trimmed
with pointed pieces of black velvet, edged with narrow
black lace. On the points of the velvet are black chenille
tassels. The corsage is in the jacket form, very much cut
away in front to show the double-breasted white silk vest,
buttoned with very small gilt buttons. The jacket is
made quite deep at the back, and is trimmed with black
velvet and chenille tassels. The cap is of lace, with droop-
ing crown aud Marie Stuart front, trimmed with scarltt
flowers and ribbons.

Fig. 2. — Walking-dress of a rich purple silk, trimmed
with a deep flounce of black guipure lace. The mantle is
of the shawl shape, of the same silk as the dress, and
matching it in trimming. The bonnet is of black and
white crin, or horsehair, bound with black velvet, and
trimmed with a natural feather. The inside trimming is
of scarlet geraniums, and the strings are of black ribbon.

Jfig, 3. — Visiting dress of gray silk. The skirt is richly
embossed with black velvet, in the pyramidal style on
each breadth. The mantle matches the dress, is very
small, and of the scarf shape. It is also embossed with
velvet, and edged with a flounce of deep thread lace.
Leghorn bonnet, wilH violet silk cape, and trimmed with
violet- colored flowers.

Fig. 4. — Rich dinner-dress of a gray plaid silk, trimmed
on the edge of the skirt with a very deep chenille fringe

FASHIONS.

•iOO

of various color* to match the plaid of the dress, The
sash la Bniahed with a chenille Irln e, n Itfa r deep head-
in,*. The corsage is plain. The lower edge of tbi
it trimmed with three rows of narrow chenille fringe, and
(he npper pari is trimmed with i chenll •■ epaulette. The
e i]' hi of rich lace, trimmed v* 1th loops of ribbon matching

-- in C lion.

Ttg, 3.— Evt i ■ arning. Laven-

der-oolored silk dress, with three eripi puffs on the edge

of the skirt. The over-skirt la a network of One black
chenille, finished with a very rich chenille fringe, winch
ehea the er'pe puffings on the skirt. Theoorsagc
is low, and pointed both back and front The fichu is
farmed of white and black lace anil lavender ribbons.
The coiffure la of black velvet and lavender dalt

Fig. o. — Child's walking- li tng of a skirt of

white all I and ornamented with awid

colored braid. A Zounvc Jacket, trimmed with braid, is
w irn OTera muslin Garibaldi shirt. A deep talma cape
la trimmed to match the skirt of the dress, White straw
li.it, trimmed With a white plume and gold-colored velvet.

SHIELD-SHAPED HANGING PINCUSHION.
[8 ■ Plate printed in Colon, in front.)
Tma is a very pretty variety to the usual square end
round pincushion, and it will be found very useful as
ornamental, as it can ise at hand

r a lady may happen to be sitting with her work.
■ > equally suitable for bond as II is a

Tory pretty article when hung from bead chains. As il is
quite a little novelty, it would he found appropriate for a
contribution to any charitable bazaar. The materials of
which it is composed are colored velvet and bead- . these
ure the tn innd transparent, and a

few gold to terminate the -;■ may 1 ■ substi-

tuted if preferred. Tl ire In the transparent

beads, with gold centres, the leaves being in the
white; the small sprays are also in the clear white, the
end of each being finished with throe opaque white beads,

a little larger than the others. ThecushJ m IS made with

a mattrass edge, on which is worked a border to corre-
spond. The lower pari is finished with a fringe of beads,

lually deeper towar
and formed of the two different sorts of beads. The chains

made of the two sorts. The bow at the 1
chains mi Itherasa rosette — that Is, by thread-

ing the beads on fine wire, and arranging them as a Dow- "
er — or they may be rich tassels of beads, wh chel

take too much time, a
bow of ribbon Lvet, with n tew

g .id heads iu the centres, will look very pretty.
We recommend this cushion for its ornamental appear-
ance.

chitchat up .;; :;?.\v yoke and Philadelphia

FASHIONS FOR MAY.

It is said that, as regards invention, one milliner does
. a mouth than the world of architects In
of years. We were forcibly reminded of this while
walking, lately, through the show rooms of Mine. N.
Tilman. of 14$ Bast Ninth Street, New York. Al this
establishment we are c instantly surprised with r.
n Ahing pretty or new appears in Europe »u the millinery
line, but is to begfound at the MotSOK Tilman.

An entire novelty consists of straw gnipnro, equal iu
appearance to the finest lace. Straw ribbons are also
fcomethiug quite new, and just introduced on the new

spring bonnets. Mother of pearl, of which we have

dy spoken as being worn on coiffures and ball

-. -.- ii.w i d< pted for bonnets, and, in contrast with

trimmings of rich velvet, produces an admirable

We are able n m to speak with certs pring

style of bonnets, as announced bj --lied

artistes.

Scotch plaid, in silk and velvet, la very much in vo|
but we notice that Mine. Tilman uses ii sparingly, and only
In the finest and choicest pan. ins and combinations,
following will serve as examples; —

A rich wrought Neapolitan, the braidsan Inch apart, and
each displaying a fine cord-Hk« edge of bint and

crimson plaid. The curtain was i ihellof

plaid silk upon blonde, also Id a n A puff <■(

i bbon and meadow grass, tipped w th dew, c instituted

the decoration, which was placed high on one sub? of the
brim.

Trimming of all kinds is used very moderately, but it
must be of the very beet, whether in il >wers, lace, or
ribbon. It is no longer massed on the top of the I

I but is arranged on the top Or side of the crown, or across
the side of the brim from its tip to the crown. The shape
i> perfect, neither too large nor too small, but -erving as S
at frame for a fair face. It is still rather high in front,
very much compressed at the sides, and slopes low behind
to the base of the CTOWU, which is wider than formerly,
in order to allow for the present Btyle of c

a charming novelty imported byMme, Tilman consists
of fine white and black Neapolitans embroidered in flowers
and trailing branches infinejet. The design is so delicate
and graceful, the workmanship so exquisite, that there is
nothing of the ordinary appearance which is frequently
objected to in embr ridered bonnets. On the contrary, iu
black upon white, and black upon black, we have rarely
seen anything so olegantly effective Very little trim-
ming, iu addition t i the cape of velvet or lace, and the
decorations of the interior, is required for these bonnets.

Fringes of crystal and jet now replace the feather
fringes, and are arranged to fall over the front of the
bonnet and shade the interior.

Round hats will be more in vogue than ever, for the
reason that they are. if possible, prettier than ever before.
The brims axe very narr >w, the ci iwns high and sloping.
They are very elegantly trimmed with plaid reive! and
pearl aigrettes, also with branches of coral, trailing ivy,
tufts of hay. the Scotch thistle, heather, and grass. An-
other ornament which Dame Fashion has introduced is
spun glass; this is used on both round bats and bonnets.

Imagine a child's hat with a large mother of pearl aigrette
in front, and from this springs a bunch of those silken-like
threads which most of our readers have si en in the glass
peacocks' tails. This fashion is very much censured by
some, and said to have been invented by the Godde
Folly ami Ignorance. The objection to it is this: The
little filaments of glass are so delicate that the wind or
the Brightest touch will break them, and should a minute
particle lodge in the eye, great sufferingwould ensue from
it. We would not recommend the arrangement Of these
radiant and glossy little ornaments as an ins de trimming
to a bonnet, nor would we have them to droop over the
brim, but we think they may be arranged on the outside
with pood effect and without darngl r.

Natural grasses are very much used this spring. They
are preserved so that thee dor is retained, and form charm-
ing additions to the brlllls nt Bcotch flowers.

Children's hat* ar' generally trimmed with plaid velvet*.
the green and blue being the favorite, and in front la

5(70

godey's lady s book and magazine.

either a tuft of feathers suiting the velvet in colors, or a
brilliant wing.

The demand for novelty is great, and, thanks to inven-
tive genius, the supply keeps pace with it.

The latest novelty in the way of lingerie is the fable
handkerchief. This style of mouchoir has in one corner an
elegantly embroidered design, illustrating some fable;
for instance, "The fox and grapes," "The fox and the
crow," and various others.- Another quite new style of
handkerchief has a border of colored lozenges, and in each
is a French motto.

Lace bows are now very much worn to match the
collars'; for instance, a point lace collar should have a
point lace bow, or a Honitoncollara Honitonbow. These
bows are only narrow barbes, and are also very pretty to
arrange in the hair.

Gloves are worn with quite deep gauntlets, those for
evening wear being buttoned with four or five buttons.
The most elegant we have seen, besides being beautifully
stitched on the hand with a contrasting color, had a fluted
gauntlet of kid, scalloped and elegantly stitched. These,
though very suitable for the street, were particularly
pretty for evening wear.

Colored embroidery is now very much used for under-
clothing. Not only do we see chemises and night-dresses
embroidered in colors, but flannel skirts are now highly
ornamented with colored silks or wools.

Nothiug can be prettier than the dress goods of this
soason. The grounds are generally of the lightest possible
tints, with figures of a darker shade, or a sombre color,
forming a good contrast, or else black, the latter being
very fashionable. We will describe a few as illustrations
of the present style of goods.

Imagine a cuir-colored ground, approaching a corn-color,
covered with designs representing bows of black ribbon.
The contrast was good, and the effect lovely. On a sea-
green ground were angular figures of a chocolate brown,
round which were twined wreaths of tiny black flowers.

Few high colors are to be seen in the finest figured or-
gandies and percales. Plaids have also appeared in cotton
goods. A very beautiful percale or cambric was cross-
barred with threads of black, and down each breadth was
a wide stripe in the most brilliant Tartan colors.

Foulards are in great profusion this season and ex-
ceedingly pretty, but are, however, of the same style as
the cotton goods — small flowers, dots, or figures of a
darker shade on light grounds. Formerly, most of the
foulards were of black or dark grounds, with brilliant
flowers or figures.

A new material for travelling or for morning promenade
is cr'pe poplin. It is exceedingly pretty and cr'py in
appearance, and can be had both figured and plain. The
latter we consider decidedly the prettiest.

A very pretty grenadine-like material has come out in
white grounds, crossbarred with brilliant colors in satin.
This is one of the prettiest styles of thin goods for Misses.

The silks are plain grounds, with dashed and chinle
figures, or else plaids of the same color, or bright plaids
very much relieved by white. Another style is a plain
ground with a rich Tartan stripe. Very large checks are
also fashionable. The moires are also plaided with ex-
quisite effect. Others have the figures embroidered in white
silk, which produces a silver like appearance.

Shetland shawls have appeared with brilliant Tartan
borders, and for summer we know of no prettier or softer
wrap.

Some of our readers may possibly not be able to distin-
guish the different plaids, and for their benefit we will

describe a few of the most fashionable. The Stuart is
composed of red, green, and a little yellow ; the Campbell
of blue, green, and yellow ; Rob Roy, of red and black;
and the Douglas plaid of violet, green, yellow, and blue.
Besides these, there is an infinite variety of brilliant fancy
plaids, which are quite as much admired as the clans.

Mme. Demorest has just brought out a great variety of
new sleeve patterns, suitable for silk and thin goods.
They are all made in the coat style, though larger at the
wrist than last season's sleeves. Several very pretty new
points and bodices have appeared among Mme. Demorest's
new patterns which we think will be very acceptable
to young ladies, to wear with their white waists in the
coming warm season.

There is nothing particularly novel in the make of
dresses. The wheel of Fashion is constantly revolving, and
old friends are again introduced. The latest instance of
this is the revival of basques, which seem to be very well
received by our most distinguished modistes. Most of
them are made quite deep at the back, shallow at the sides,
and pointed in front. Evening dresses ate all made low
in the neck, and very long, forming a graceful drapery
when well managed, but if not, proving a snare and tor-
ment both to the wearer and her neighbors.

Jackets of every description are worn. Among the new
ones are the Cora, American, and the Spahi. Another one,
which we particularly admire, has long pointed ends all
round the waist, each point being finished with a tassel.
The collar and sleeves are also pointed, and trimmed with
tassels.

The skirts of dresses are now plaited. The object now
to be obtained is to have the figure as slim as possible just
below the waist, and of very great expansion ronnd the
edge of the skirt. To obtain this fashionable end, it is
necessary to gure the skirts ; not only the dress skirts,
but the underskirts also.

In plaiting the skirts, one large single plait should be
placed directly in the front, and a large donble box plait
in the centre of the back. The wide bux plait in front
causes the skirt to hang mure gracefully than when the
single plaits meet.

The tendency seems now towards the masculine stylo
of dress. We see it in the round hats, canes, standing
collars, wristbands, boots, jackets, vests, and paletots.

Young ladies are wearing, as street wraps, peculiar little
affairs made of silk or cloth. They are a tight fitting
body, with a short basque in front, which very gradually
slopes to quite a long tail at the back.

Brodie's assortment of silk wraps is as excellent as usual.
Paletots made somewhat in the Louis 14th style are
amoDg the favorites, though there are very many other
styles equally beautiful. Most of them fit tightly to the
figure, while others are cut to the figure without fitting ic
closely.

Chenille fringes and gimps with lace are the principal
ornaments.

Missos are wearing very short loose sacks made of cloth i
or silk, or else of the same material as the dress. The
jacket of the morning dress, Fig. 3, double fashion-plate
December Number, will give our readers the idea of the
wrap, as it is made precisely like it. It can be copied cx-
actly'as to length, the only addition we would suggest
would be pockets on either side.

Fluted trimmings are still worn, though deeper than
formerly. The newest style is to have one very deep
fluted flounce on the edge of the skirt, and as the skirts
are made very long, this trimming has been very appro-
priately termed by some an balai — a broom. Fashiujj.

•

StfUlDEY'S FA&lMMS mm; nu&E'SM L

vol. Lxvm. — 40

509

COMPOSED AND ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO FOR GODET's LADY'S BOOK,

By GEOKGE E. FAWCETT.

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SUMMER DRESS

(From the celebrated establishment of Messrs. A. T. Stewakt & Co., of New York.)

Suit of ciiir-colored Glaciiia, stamped in a lace design. The shawl is edged with a light silk fringe. Cravat of scarlet
KUK. Leghorn hat, trimmed witb a straw ribbon and white plumes.

512

SUMMER DRESS,
(from the celebrated establishment of Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., of New York.)

Hobe of steel-colored mohair, ornamented with a very rirh design of flowers and foliage in brilliant colore.

40* 513

SUMMER DRESS.

{From the celebrated establuJivunt of Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., of New York.

Dress of mode-colored foulard, bordered with a plaid of blue, green, black, aud yellow. The same style of trimming i
on the corsage and sleeves.

514

SUMMER DRESS.

■ the celebrated establishment of Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., of New York.)

Pearl -colored crfpe poplin dre««. rriih a drop bordering on the edge of the iklrt, composed of a braiding design, a bril-
liant plaid, and a band of black on the extreme edge of the skirt. The hair la dressed in large wave-, with an Alexandra
cnrl on the right wde.

515

ZOUAVE JACKET, WITH VEST.

(Pronl view.)

The jacket can be made of cloth or velvet, trimmed with a chenille gimp and a frinire of drop buttons. The vest
should be of silk or cloth, of some bright color. It is cut with three points in front/and bouud all round with a
516

ZCTJAVE JACKET. WITH VEST.

[Uaek

braid miiichinif the reel in color, The buttons can be of cilt OP steel. The tie is of black silk, bound with the co'or
rest. The cap is of muslin, trimmed with scarlet ribbons and flowers.

517

THE MADRILENA.

[From the establishment of G. Brodie, 51 Canal Street, New York. Drawn by L. T. Yoigt, from actual articles

of costume.]

This is a charming style. There is a simplicity, and yet a piquant character about it that renders it more than
ordinary attractive ; easily adjured to the back, it displays the touraure admirably. According to the season, it is
made in light thin fabrie-> or silks, and the ornament varies greatly, A neat passementerie and buttons adorns this
one. Some of the silk ones have lace edgintrs instead, etc., as the taste of the lady may prefer. Of course, at this sea-
son, laces share a large portion of favur. They are in a variety of styles, and some of great beauty ; the patterns being
more elegant than ever.
518

CROCHET TRIMMING AND FRINGE,

FOB MASTLES, DRESSES, ETC.

(&e Description, Work Department.)

519

CHILD'S SLIPPER, WITH STEAPS.

To be braided on scarlet cashmere or velvet with white silk braid. No. 2 is the size of the sole suitable lor the slipper
520 PP '

GODEY'S

■aWs ^ooli gift Ipappi:

PHILADELPHIA, JUNE, 1864.

"NOBODY TO BLAME."

JT MARION HARLAXD.

[Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1m;:i, by Locis A. God^t, in the clerk's offlce of the District Court
of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.]

(Continued from page 344.)

CHAPTER XI.
Ik a small room of a fourth-rate boarding-
house, Maggie Lorraine sat, one autumn
afternoon, three years after her secret mar-
riage. The furniture of the apartment was
dingy and ill-matched, evidently consisting of
superfluous or cast-off articles from other
portions of the establishment. Through an
open door was visible the interior of the
chamber adjoining, a mere closet, just large
enough to hold a bed .and washstand, and
ventilated, as well as warmed, from the so-
called parlor. There was a fire in the grate,
for the day was cold, and Maggie's chair was
drawn close to it. Upon the rug at her feet,
was a pretty delicate-looking child, a little
over two years old, whose striking resemblance
to her once beautiful mother impressed the
most casual observer. She was busy with a
pile of wooden blocks, building houses, whieh
she, ever and anon, called upon her parent
to admire. Maggie's answer was always a
fond smile and pleasant word, but such
smiles and forced cheerfulness as would hare
deceived no one but a baby. The transient
and sickly gleam made yet sadder the wan
cheek and thoughtful brow. Disappointment,
the tortures of a wounded spirit, and the
wearing cares of her daily life had left un-
mistakable imprints upon her features. She
looked nearer thirty, than twenty-two years
Of aue.

VOL. LXV11I.-

Hcr very hands bore traces of toil, such as
had never disfigured her shapely outlines in
her girlish days. Besides the sweeping,
dusting, etc., necessary to keep her rooms in
order, the slender fingers were used to plying
the needle many hours of each day, some-
times, when her husband was absent, far
into the night. He never suspected that she
had so far demeaned herself and him, as to
beg of their landlady the privilege of doing
plain and fancy sewing for her, that their
board-bill might not go altogether unpaid.
His wife had learned the lesson of necessary
deceits too well in other days, not to practise
it now where it seemed needful. He did
wonder, sometimes, that the grim-faced host-
ess was not more restive, when he paid her
only a part of the sum due her, and this
forbearance induced him to patronize her
house for a longer period than a gentleman of
his tastes would have been likely to endure
its want of style and lack of minor comforts.
After all, it was a matter of small moment to
him what kind of place his wife and child
called home. He seldom saw the interior of
it from breakfast until late at night. But for
her babe, Maggie, with her social, lnvinu' dis-
position, would have been wretchedly lonely.
Her old acquaintances had ostracized her, or
dropped off by degrees, after the news of her
marriage and rumors of her husband's dis-
grace were spread abroad. Her family had

521

522

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

renounced her utterly, and she had not the
heart or courage to seek other associates.

Therefore, when she* heard the sound of
coming footsteps, and sweeping silken skirts
along the thinly-carpeted, narrow hall, she
had no thought that she was to be blest with a
call, until there came a rap at the door. The
color rushed up into her face as she opened
it, and she saw Marie, now Mrs. Clement
Lorraine. The two kissed one another, but
it was a frigid, meaningless salute, vejy uulike
the fervent greeting of olden times.

" How do, little one ?" said Marie, brushing
the forehead of her niece with her cold lips.

" She is not very well," answered Maggie,
drawing the wondering creature closer to her
side. It was an involuntary impulse to secure
to herself something of comfort and sincerity,
duringthe heartless conversation she expected.
"She was threatened with the cnoup, last
night."

"No wonder!" Mrs. Clement seated her-
self in the most respectable chair of the poor
collection, drawing up her flounces as if she
feared they would be soiled by contact with
the faded carpet. "No wonder! when you
keep her cooped up in this place from one
week's end to the other. Of course, if a breath
of fresh air reaches her, she takes cold. I
send Clement out for an airing every day,
when it is not actually storming. The conse-
quence is, his health is perfect."

Maggie thought, but did not say, that
Master Clement Lorraine, seated upon the
nursery-maid's lap, wrapped in a furred man-
tle, and rolling in a close carriage down
Broadway, might reasonably be less liable to
take cold than her darling, holding to her
mother's hand, and tottering over the muddy
or slippery pavements in this unfashionable
quarter of the city. She reflected, moreover,
upon the slight inconvenience it would occa-
sion Mrs. Lorraine, her lazy coachman, and
well-fed horses, to drive by, occasionally, on
damp days, and invite baby Louise to share
in the "airing" that wrought such salutary
results to her boy-cousin.

But she only said, "I blame myself for
having taken her to walk yesterday. I had
no idea the weather was so raw before I went
out. She was not very warmly clad, either.
And that reminds me of a surprise which I
had to-day. Perhaps you can tell me what
kind friend has remembered my daughter in
tliis way."

She took from a drawer an embroidered
child's cloak of softest merino, a blue silk
hood, and a pair of tiny rubber boots, lined
with wool and edged with fur. If she had
truly imagined that these acceptable additions
to her babe's wardrobe came from her hus-
band's rich brother or his wife, Marie's coun-
tenance undeceived her. Her ignorance as to
their donor was genuine, and with her scant
praises of the articles, there was mingled ill-
concealed surprise that any one should have
thought enough of the child to present them.

"It must have been Marian, or perhaps
poor mamma!" sighed Maggie, as she laid
them back. " I cannot bring myself to believe
that they have ceased entirely to care for
me."

' ' They choose a singular method of showing
their affection," remarked Mrs. Clement. It
is a pity they do not drop the anonymous and
do something to aid you, instead of wasting
money upon unsuitable finery for Louise."

Maggie's heart swelled. As if her pure
lily-bud were not entitled to as much of the
sunshine of life as the pampered nursling of
the speaker's rich conservatory ! She picked
up her work and went on with it, in silence.
Marie eyed it almost angrily. It was a slip of
white cambric, too small for Louise, and in
its very pattern and size, a mute and touch-
ing appeal to a mother's heart.

"You are extravagant in your preparat-
ions," said the wealthy sister. " That cam-
bric is altogether too tine for such a purpose.
I should think that you had enough of Louise's
clothes left to obviate the necessity of making
up new ones now."

"Louise wore out nearly everything. I
altered whatever I could for her last summer's
wear. And this cambric is not new. It is
part of a wrapper which I had before I was
married."

There was no hidden meaning in the re-
joinder. It was the truth, simply spoken,
but even Marie's bold forehead felt a glow of
shame. " Before I was married !" Ah! there
was no need of economical contrivances then !
The phrase had a significancy and a pathos that
reached the vain, world-hardened heart of the
summer friend. Reached — but not melted.
The memory of the guileless school-fellow,
her docile pupil and loving slave ; the happy,
popular daughter of a luxurious home ; the
passive instrument in her hands, when she
urged the step that had maile her the broken-

TO BLAME.

523

hearted woman she now saw before her, all
this stung Mario into a sort of impatient
resentment towards the one, upon whoso inju-
riea it made her uncomfortable to dwell.

Louise had settled down quietly again to
her blocks, and Maggie's patient features
retained no mark of wounded feeling. Out-
wardly, there was nothing Mrs. Lorraine
eould lay hold of as a text for the lecture she
had come to deliver. So, she had to begin
out of the abundance of her inborn discontent.

'•My visit to-day is partly on business,
Maggie. Clement wanted me to see you and
talk to you about the way Albert is going on.
It is really too bad that he should show such
disregard of the feelings, and so neglect the
interests of a brother, who had sacrificed so
much on his account. You must know that
his habits of dissipation are growing worse
and worse."

She paused, but Maggie made no reply.

" I need scarcely remind you, Maggie, of
■what was your husband's situation at the
time of Clement's return from abroad. But
for his charity in taking Albert into his em-
ployment, when every one else shunned him,
you would have been homeless and penniless
long ago. But what sign of gratitude has
Albert ever showed to his benefactor? lam
sorry to say it to you, but you ought to know-
that his behavior, from first to last, has been
unpardonable. Clement was too prudent to
put him into a position of much responsibility,
but, few as were his opportunities of betraying
trust, he has contrived to do mischief; has
bitten the hand that fed him. Only yesterday
there came to light a transaction which
displayed such wanton carelessness on his
part, or intentional foul play, that the other
members of the firm have insjsted upon his
discharge. Of course, Clement could urge
nothing against so necessary a measure."

Maggie's work fell from her hand.

" 0, Marie ! what will he do ? what will
hecome of us ?"

"Just what I said to Clement, my dear!
And his answer was, that it was high time
Albert was forced to see the consequences of
his evil practices. Yon cannot expect a man
to ruin himself, even for his own brother.
Clement has exhibited wonderful patience."

" I know it ! He befriended us when no
one else did. I am deeply grateful to him.
But if he would only give us one more trial 1

You have nnbonnded influence with him,
Marie. Will you not use it in our behalf'

••Really, Maggie, you are going too far!"
returned Mrs. (lenient, in a tone of displea-
sure. "There are limits to everything. I
fee] an interest in you, and pity for your
child ; but 1 cannot deny that the alienation
between Albert and myself is now complete.
I have been bitterly disappointed in him,
throughout, and I could never yield my con-
sent to his brother's further test of one he
has found so unworthy. A little consideration
would have taught you the impropriety of
your request."

Maggie had taken her baby into her arms,
and the tears fell fast upon the sadly per-
plexed little face that looked up into hers.

"My darling, this is dreadful news for
yon !"

Mrs. Lorraine became more and more vexed,
as she felt herself growing uneasy at this
scene.

" This is a most disagreeable task for me,"
she resumed. ".The thought of it has niado
me nervous all day. I told Clement just how
you would take it. I wish you had more
energy, more self-command, Maggie. This
weak way of breaking down under every trial
has occasioned you a vast deal of unhappiness.
•Clement and I were saying to-day, that if you
were a person of more character, of firmer
will, you might do much to guide your hus-
band back to the right path. It is always a
wife's fault, in part, if her husband throws
himself away. You ought to take a decided
stand with Albert, and say — ' I will do thus
and so ! I will not do that !' Your passive,
yielding disposition, has been your great
snare in life."

"No one knows that better than you do,
Marie 1" The bruised, crushed, insulted crea-
ture, gathered strength to retort from the
very pain that racked her. "It was never
more my snare than when I weakly, wickedly
allowed myself to be persuaded by you and
him, whom you then eulogized, as much as
you now condemn, into the private marriage
that has ruined me for time, if not for eter-
nity. I was a sick, nervous, unworldly
child. You were a strong-minded, strong-
willed woman. I had leaned upon, and clung
to you, until I had no judgment of my own.
You took me away from my father's house,
out of the hands of a loving, tender sister,
whom I would never, of myself, have esO I

524

godey's lady's book and magazine.

You could argue, and I could not. You
coaxed and caressed, and I could never with-
stand the entreaties of those I loved. From
the hour when you almost dragged me to the
altar and encouraged me to repeat the vows,
I was too faint and terrified to comprehend,
until the present time, I have not had one
moment of real happiness. 0, Marie ! Marie !
upon me has fallen all the punishment of
that rash, fatal step ; but surely, I was not the
only one to blame!"

Mrs. Lorraine fairly lost her breath with
wrathful astonishment. If the stones she
trod upon in the streets had cried out against
her, she could hardly have marvelled more
than at this appeal from the meek, long-suf-
fering friend of her youth. Her love for
Maggie had waned so naturally, as it was
overgrown by other and more selfish interests,
that she had not noted the hour of its death,
Lad never confessed that it was no longer in
being. She had no difficulty in persuading
herself that the flame, she used to declare
was deathless, had gone out- like a candle in
a puff of wind, before the outburst of recrim-
ination from the "poor relation" she had
insulted. In all the majesty of offended dig-
nity, she arose, and drew her India shawl
about her shoulders.

"If this is the state of your mind towards
me, Mrs. Albert Lorraine, it is useless, worse
than useless, for me to prolong this visit. I
came here with the kindest intentions, to
break as gently as possible, intelligence that
I thought would afflict you. I offered my
advice in the spirit that has ever characterized
my conduct towards you — a disinterestedness
as pure* as I now perceive that it was ill-
directed. That your marriage has been un-
fortunate, and mine happy, may be a source
of mortification to you ; but a sense of what
is decent and becoming in a wife ought, it
seems to me, to prevent such a tirade of
reproaches as you have just launched at me.
Since you choose to be independent of me, to
despise my friendship, I have no disposition
to resist your decision.. I hope that you and
your husband will be more prosperous without
the aid of my husband and myself, than you
have been with it. Good afternoon !"

Maggie made no response as the incensed
dame swept from the room, shaking off the
dust from her feet upon the worn carpet, that
could not have sustained any sensible damage
liad the said dust been literal, instead of

figurative. And this was the finale of an
endless friendship.

CHAPTER XII.

For a long while after Mrs. Clement's de-
parture, the mother sat rocking her child in
mute sorrow, holding the little figure tightly
to her breast with the bewildered, dizzy
feeling, that it was the one object upon earth
to which she could cling, for cling and twine
such natures as hers must and will, until
death loosens the tendrils' hold.

Louise submitted to the silent embrace,
without complaint. She was a sensitive,
affectionate babe, and had learned, at this
early age, that she was not only her mother's
companion, but her sole comfort. Now and
then, the small hand stole quietly up to the
tear-stained cheek of her parent, and the
pretty mouth was held up for a kiss, and once
she sighed — a sound too full of thought and
sorrow to have its rise in so young a heart —
and murmured, half aloud, "Poor mamma!"

Maggie's very infant pitied and fondled her.
It was the natural impulse with all who knew
her, unless the kindlier feelings of humanity
were dead or perverted within them. With
the twilight, came the summons to tea> and
although sickening at the thought of food, she
arose with Louise in her arms, and went down
stairs. It was contrary to the landlady's
rules to have children at the table unless full
price were paid for their board ; but in con-
sideration of Mr. Lorraine's frequent absences,
and his wife's valuable services with her
needle, the presence of Louise was graciously
allowed by the presiding genius of the inele-
gant feasts, and welcomed by most of the
boarders. It w"as especially agreeable to the
"gentlemen," as Mrs. Richards, the pro-
prietress of the establishment called them,
their interest in the engaging, well-behaved
child, being enhanced by the respectful sym-
pathy they felt for the neglected wife and
devoted mother. Maggie's meals were thus
rendered more tolerable than might have been
expected by one in her unprotected position.
Already she recognized her child's benefi-
cent influence upon her daily life, and, in
her more sanguine moments, hoped that it
might accomplish great things for her in the
future.

Having finished her slight repast, and seen

"XOBODY TO BLAME.

525

that Louise's appetite was satisfied, she wended
her my ap to the dismal '• third stury back,"
without waiting for her husbaud's return. It
was a rare oircumet&noe, indeed, when the
girl's lips received a good-night kiss
from "papa." She knew almost all of the
men, who plied her with biscuits and sweet
cakes down Btairs, better than she did him,
and certainly loved several of them more.
Still, when she knelt at her mother's knee,
after she was undressed, and repeated the
simple nursery prayer,

" Now I lay me down to sleep,"

she added, by her teacher's dictation — "Pray
God bless and take care of dear papa and
mammal" coupling the names upon her
i, if never within her heart. Soon she
slept the happy sleep of infancy, and Maggie
could weep or work, uninterrupted.

Scarcely an hour had been worn away in
mechanical toil and dreary musings, when a
well-known tread upon the stair announced
the unexpectedly early arrival of her lord.
The step was heavy, but not firm. It had a
peculiar, and even to uninitiated ears, an
unpleasant shuffle at every few paces, and
Maggie's uneasy expression showed that it
was no strange sound to her. She had just
time to hide her work and draw Louise's
cradle further into the shade and quite out of
;!:•• way of any one sitting by the hearth,
when Lorraine fumbled at the door for the
lock. His wife opened it.

" Hullo, Mag!" In- said, chucking her under
the chin, "it's well you let some light into
that dirty hole of an entry. • When we get
into our new house, there will be an end of
such filthy arrangements."

He was half-intoxicated, according" to his
nightly custom ; but he was in a good humor,
which was a more uncommon occurrence.
When this was the case, he was boastful in
prophecies of better — that is, richer days,
predictions that had. long ago, ceased even to.
tantalize his wife's imagination, much less
awaken any hopes of their fulfilment. She
was only thankful that his mood was not
surly or violent. He was often both, and
i bused her in terms of shocking vulgarity and
profanity, and, more than once, her timid
attempts to pacify him had brought down the
weight of his heavy arm upon her shrinking
form. She bore it all ! she, the shy, delicate
girl, who had always trembled at a harsh
word from the father, whose control, by

41*

contrast with this ruffian's rule, Beemed like
11 of peace and gentleness. To whom
could she complain? Besides this man
had no protector in the wide world, and cruel
as were his tender mercies, she had no alter-
native but to endure whatever he chose to lay
upon her.

Every wife is dependent, no matter what
may be her fortune or strength of character,
and seldom, indeed, even among those who
are styled "good husbands," are found those
shining examples to the rest of their sex and
the world — men, who seek to convert this de-
pendence into a glory — who would esteem it
a lasting shame to themselves, if their wives
bad ever the least occasion to look back long-
ingly to lost liberty, or to speculate secretly,
whether wifehood — after all that has been
said and written to dignify it — be anything
more than honorable and licensed beggary.

Maggie had no speculations on the subject.
She was the abject slave of this one of the
masters of creation, who lolled before the fire
in his arm-chair, bloated, and red-eyed ; his
breath hot and rank with brandy and tobacco ;
rowdyish in dress ; foul and blasphemous in
talk ; such a sight as men despise, and angels
weep to behold. He had never possessed any
refinement, except the polished surface, an 1
the corroding atmosphere of evil associations
had joined to inward corruption, to destroy
the thin crust.

lie laughed aloud several times, after he
took his seat, looking into the lire, and rub-
bing his swollen hands in drunken glee. At
last he spoke.

" Great news, old girl ! great news '."

"Indeed!" said Maggie, sadly, thinking
how soon his mood would change, when she
summoned courage to tell her news.

"The best joke going! Clem, has turned
me out of doors ! given me my walking
papers !"

Maggie stared at him like one petrified.
Was he really mad, that he could jest at
irrevocable ruin ?

lie chuckled again. i; Yes! genteelly kicked
me out ! He couldn't do anything ungenteel,
you know. Paid me my wages, and threw in
a moral lecture free gratis, <tn<l for nothing !
Says I crook my elbow too often ! throw too
many cards ! don't attend to business '. am a
disgrace and a nuisance. Pious saint, he is !
Says be has given me six hundred a year ever
since he came home, just to keep me and you

526

godey's lady's book and magazine.

out of the almshouse ; that I 've done him a
deal of harm, and no good. Ha ! ha ! I 'm
glad to hear that I have hurt him a little, the
sneaking, canting hypocrite I Wish I could
have ruined him ! He says I must never show
my face in his house again. It 's a hetter
looking phiz than his, that 's one comfort.
And now comes the fun of the thing. As I
was coming up town, whom should I meet
hut Jim Dolan, a first rate fellow, and a grand
friend of mine. So we turned into an oyster-
saloon to take supper together — his treat,
you understand. Before we got to the bottom
of one glass, I told him what a fix I was in.
He brought me a slap on the hack that made
me jump, and says he: 'Old fellow, you are
just the chap for my use !' "

But we are sick of writing, and we are
sure that our readers are of perusing this stuff,
which, purified as it is, from the senseless
oaths interjected at every breath, still remains
disgusting slang. The sense of his communi-
cation, as nearly as Maggie could make it out,
was that .this Dolan was the proprietor of a
gambling-house in St. Louis, a branch of one
of longer standing in New York, and had
engaged him, Lorraine, to act as door-keeper
and decoy to the concern. The two worthies
were to set out for the West that night at
twelve o'clock.

Maggie was stunned by the tidings. This
shameless confession of the nature of his call-
ing ; the delight he expressed in undertaking it,
the jocular indifference with which he prepared
to leave her and his child, forweeks, perhaps for
months, gave Maggie a clearer realization than
she had ever had before, of the thorough per-
version of every right sentiment ; the deaden-
ing of natural affection within him. Afraid
to remonstrate, she set to work, by his direc-
tions, to collect and make ready the clothes
he was to take with him. He packed his
cigars, meerschaum, and a travelling case of
liquors ; then re-seated himself, and smoked
at his ease, while the weary, patient woman
attended to the rest. Once, as she was getting
together his socks and handkerchiefs, she
opened the drawer where lay the anonymous
gifts, but she was too sick-hearted to display
them, and listen to his silly conjectures as to
the giver. He was very talkative, and evi-
dently took to himself great credit for endea-
voring to keep her spirits up. under the
approaching affliction of parting with so ex-
emplary a companion.

"Don't yon think I met that scoundrel
Cleveland, twice to-day ?" he said, by and by.
With all the vindictiveness of a mean
nature, he had hated John, since the day on
which the latter had witnessed his capture by
Mr. Lawrence's agent, and his knowledge of
Cleveland's feelings towards Maggie, prior to
the announcement of her marriage, did not
detract from this enmity. He never named
him without a curse and abusive term, and
his wife learned, at a very early period of their
wedded life, that it was dangerous to attempt
the defence of her friend. She said nothing
now, and he talked on.

"The first time, I. came upon him in a
fancy store. I don't mind letting you into
the secrets of my flirtations, once and a while,
and I may as well say, out and out, that I ate
a philipena with a lady at a party the other
night, and she met me in the street to-day
and caught me. So, I stepped into this place,
you see, to pick up some trifle to send her,
and, as I went in, I passed this puppy stand-
ing at the front counter. He did not see me,
although I brushed right by him. He was
busy looking at baby-cloaks."

"Baby-cloaks!" Maggie ejaculated, im-
prudently.

"Yes!" bursting into a horse-laugh. "I
guess he is training up another wife to his
hand, and means to begin, this time, before
she is out of long clothes. Hope she will
serve him exactly as you did I When I came
out, he was in the same place, and had a
blue cap or bonnet, or something of that kind
on his fist, studying it with a most solemncoUy
face. I vow it was the most ridiculous sight
I ever saw in all my born daj-s ! But he was
always a milk-sop and a spooney !"

Maggie was kneeling by the trunk,- with
her back to her husband. He could not see
the convulsed features, or the great, scalding
drops, that bedewed the garments she was
tpretending to pack. It was the bitterest
moment of her life ; but how was he to sus-
pect it ? How could he imagine that his
down-trodden thrall dared to compare his
conduct, in letting his wife and infant suffer
for the necessary comforts of existence, while
he squandered his earnings upon the vile
companion of his disreputable orgies, for thus,
she rightly interpreted the errand that took
him to the store; and the secret benefaction
of the one who, of all mankind, had' most
reason to despise her f

'NOBODY TO BLAME.'

527

'■I met li i in to-night, face to face, right
under a street-lamp," continued Lorraine.
••Jim and 1 were walking, arm-in-arm, and

laughing lit to split our sides at one of Jim's
stories. He is the wittiest dog in oreation —

Irish humor, you know. It was at a crossing,
and this rascal, seeing us coming, stepped one
side to give us a wide berth, afraid of soiling
i.i- respectability, I suppose, if he touched a
pair of jolly tipplers. I was on the side next
to him, and we looked one another straight
in the eyes. I saw his countenance change as
he recognized me. lie turned as white as a
sheet, and then his eye flashed, and his lip
curled as if he were a king, and I a hog in his
path. I tell you, I swore at him handsomely
by name ; and if Dolan had not held my arm
so tight, I would have laid him in the gutter
in no time. There is an account to be settled
between us yet. I have not forgotten it, if he
has I"

Maggie's tears were all dried as she arose,
anil asked, steadily, "what else there was to
do?"

"That 's all. I guess. Upon my word, it 's
eleven o'clock! I haven't a second to lose.
See here, old lady!'' (he pulled out his
pocket-book), " I need every cent I can rake
and Borons to pay my expenses out West.
Dolan would do it, he says, but he is hard up,
just now, for cash. Here is an X for you, to
keep that old she dragon down stairs quiet
until I can forward more. When my fortune
is made,' we will sink her and her pig-sty.
I 11 let you hear from me when I am settled,
and if trade is brisk, maybe I'll send for
you to come out and pass the winter in St.
Louis."

" How shall I direct my letters ?'■' asked
Maggie.

"I can't say, yet. Don't write until you
hear from me. Good-by ! Don't cry your
pretty eyes out, when I am gone !"

He kissed her, and ran noisily down stairs
to send a porter up for his trunk. Ten
minutes later, it too was gone, and no vestige
of his recent presence remained in the room,
except the Mended fumes of had cigars and
worse liquor. Maggie threw up the windows
that the noxious air might not poison her
child, then tucked the cradle-blanket closely
ahout the tender little throat.

••He forgot you, my angel!" she murmured.
"He left no kiss for his baby, bnt never
mind, darling ! You and your mother are

left to one another, and he will soon forget
me too 1"

There was no philosophy in this calm cal-
culation of a possibility that would have
wrung blood from the heart of most wives.
It was unfeigned apathy, the candid expul-
sion of one whose love for her husband had
never beeu more than a girlish fancy, fostered,
if not engendered by the representations of a
wily anil dangerous friend, and being formed
only for holiday use, had soon worn out. She
felt lonely and forsaken, as the midnight chimes
rang out, but her thoughts turned to other
days and other associates.

Deep would have been Lorraine's wrath, and
bitter his imprecations, if he had known that
his wife's last look that night, was at the identi-
cal cloak and hat he had ridiculed Cleveland for
buying, and the only tears she shed after his
going, were those that filled her eyes, as she
whispered — "If I should die, there is one
noble heart that would not let my baby
starve, for the sake of what her mother once
was!"

(Conclusion next month.)

AN ARTICLE ON CORSETS.

A writer in Once a Week (1862), computes
that 12,000,000 pairs of stays of different kinds
are annually made for British consumption
alone, which would certainly put the unstayed
portion of the female community in a minority,
justifying the application of the fable of the
tailless fox to themselves, rather than to the
wearers of corsets. -\s far back as we have
any written record of the tastes of our ances-
tors up to the preseut time, a small and
Slender waist has been praised and admired
by the men, and sought after by the women,
and at the present time, we have only to
notice descriptions of heroines and beauties in
our fashionable poets and novelists to be
equally certain, notwithstanding one or two
assertions to the contrary, that it has not lost
its charm and attraction. This being the case,
and slenderness being neither naturally com-
mon to all, nor permanent in the few, women
have sought artificial means, either to obtain
the grace that was denied to them, or to
preserve what they naturally possessed. The
kirtles, or kertiles, seem to have answered this
purpose in early English dress, "and some-
times they were laced close to the body, and
probably answered the purpose of the boddiee

528

godey's lady's book and magazine.

or stays." — (Strutt). "In the fourteenth
century," says the same author, "the women
introduced the corset or boddice, a stiff and
unnatural disguisement even in its origin.
To the boddice succeeded the whalebone
prison, as Bulwer calls the stays, which are
even more formal than the boddice." And in
another place: "Towards the conclusion of
the fourteenth century, the women were
pleased with the appearance of a long waist,
and, in order to produce that effect, they
invented a strange disguisement called a corse,
or corset. ' ' The word corset appears, however,
as early as the thirteenth century, as an item
in the household roll of Eleanor. Countess of
Leicester, date May 24, 1265, shows: "Item.
Pro ix ulnis radii Pariensis, pro robas cestivas,
corsetto et clochia pro eodem." The persons
previously mentioned are Richard, King of the
Normans, and his son Edmund, who died in
130S. It was, therefore, an article of apparel
not confined to the female sex, and, in Mr.
Planche's opinion, only a close-fitting body
garment. There is reason, (too, to believe
that, though not mentioned in England before
the thirteenth century, the corset was worn
by women in Europe even as early as the
tenth century, for Strutt gives an engraving
"taken from a curious illuminated manuscript
of the Gospels, which, from the writing and
style of the drawings, appears to have been
made in Italy, and as early as the tenth cen-
tury. The MS. is preserved in the Harleian
Library at the British Museum, and marked
2821. The figure is meant to represent the
devil, and the artist has thought proper to
dress his infernal majesty in a lady's surcoat.
A curious circumstance attends the body part
of the surcoat, which, in this instance — and
singular, indeed, it is — resembles the bodice
or stays of more modern times. It is laced in
the front from the top to the waist, and the
lace itself, with the tag at the end of it, hangs
carelessly down from the bottom of the inter-
lacing. This fashion was certainly not com-
mon at the period, and from being appro-
priated to the Prince of Darkness by the
satirical artist, we may naturally conclude that
in his day it was considered indelicate or
improper to be followed by ladies." More
probably the corset was worn then, as now,
under the dress, to improve the figure, which
would account for its not appearing elsewhere,
and the satirist, to expose the practice, rep-
resented it as in the text. It will be observed

that, besides the two busks through which
the lace runs, there is also some stiffening
material run from behind and in front of the
hip to under the arm. The whalebone bodice
is said to have been introduced into France
from Italy by Catherine de Medici, 1519. Strutt
derives "corset, from corps, formerly written
cors, a body, and so called because it covered
the greater part of the body. The stays were
called a pair of bodies in the seventeenth
century, and the word boddice, so commonly
used, is evidently a corruption of bodies."
Webster gives the derivation from corse, and
describes the corset as "a bodice; jumps;
something worn to give shape to the body ;
used by ladies and dandies." It seems likely
that corse was a kind of silk of which the
corset was originally made. "By the sump-
tuary laws of Edward IV. no woman, under
the degree of a knight's daughter or wife,
might wear wrought corse ; and corse worked
with gold was prohibited to all women under
the rank of wife or daughter to an earl."
"In Richard the Third's letter from York,"
says Mr. Planche, "he orders one and three-
quarter yards corse of silk meddled with gold,
and as much black corse of silk for our spurs."
This word corse is mistaken by Mr. Strutt for
corset.

Towards the close of the fifteenth, and
during the sixteenth century, the use of the
corset to compress the figure can be traced
very clearly in the costumes of the period.
"It was then called boddice, which was a
kind of sleeveless waistcoat, quilted, having
slips of whalebone between the quilting. In
the reign of Elizabeth this boddice was used
by men. It is uncertain when this part of the
dress obtained the name of stays, but probably
not long before the commencement of the
eighteenth century." Gay is the earliest
classical writer who uses the word stays —

I own her taper form is made to please,

Vet if you saw her unconfined hy stays. — The Toilet.

Gay flourished about 1720. Ben Jonsou spelt
bodice bodies, thus clearly showing the origin
of the word, and the frequency of their use
in his time (1600)—

The whalebone man
That quilts those bodies I have leave to span.

Hogarth gives many drawings of the form
of stays worn in his time (1730), and they
appear very formal, indeed. The writer iu
Once a Week, referred to above, says: "The
corsets worn by the majority of females among

AN* ARTICLE OX CORSETS.

the wealthier olassea are made on compara-
tively commendable principles as contrasted

with those donned hy the generality of their
humbler Bisters, who prefer an article whioh
Bets at defiance every hygienic rule and law ;
bat even they are an improvement on those
worn hy our grandmothers in their maiden
lor the stays of that period contained
almost as much whalebone as they did buck-
ram and jean, and in many instances were
made entirely of heavy, solid shoe-leather,
I;, arly a quarter of an inch in thickness."

The only period in which the general use of
the corset appears to have been discontinued,
are the few years immediately following the
French Revolution (when the general licen-
tiousness of manners and morals was accom-
panied by a corresponding indecency of dress,
which, it was pretended, was modelled on the
antique"), and during the equally licentious
times of Charles II. A curious proof that the
fashionable admiration for a slender waist is
not necessarily the result of education or
custom will be found in the following extract
fi om the genuine letter of a genuine Chinaman,
tjy name Woo-tan-zhin, who visited England
in 1—11 15, and who thus describes the"
beauties of the ladies of England. (The whole
of the letter, with an account of the writer,
will be found in Chambers's Journal for March
1 355.) " Their eyes, having the blue tint of
the waters of autumn, are charming beyond
description, and their waists are laced as
tight and thin as a willow branch. What
perhaps caught my fancy most was the sight
of elegantly-dressed young ladies, with pearl-
like necks and tight-laced waists. Nothing
can possibly be so enchanting as to see ladies
that compress themselves into taper forms of
the most exquisite shape, the like of which [
have never seen before." It would he inter-
esting to know the dimensions of those waists
which have most excited the admiration of
the circles in which their owners moved ; but
the sanctity with which the under garments
of ladies are more or less invested has raised
an obstacle to the accurate inquirer. We
have seen a collection of ladies' shoes, but
never one of ladies' stays. The span is the
only measure to which we are referred by the
poets, except Waller. Now the span varies
from sixteen to eighteen inches, according to
the length of fingers. Waller, however,
praising the slender waist of his mistress,
binds the girdle round his head, which would

probably give a girth of twenty or twenty one
inches ; and this he considers slender. The
girdle made for the Empress of Austria, and
exhibited in the Exhibition of 1862, was only
lti inches in length. The waist of a famous
horsewoman, whose figure is the admiration
of loungers in the park, is eighteen inches.
We may, therefore, conclude that a "slender
waist" is not a fixed quantity, but varies
with the height, etc., of the possessor, from
about sixteen to twenty-one inches. The
corset does not appear ever to have been gen-
erally worn by men in this country, if we
except part of the reigns of Queen Elizabeth
and George III. The practice has been long
condemned as effeminate in England, but on
the Continent it is very prevalent, especially
in the Austrian, Russian, and French armies.
The officers of the famous Gustavus Adolphus
were, says Dr. Doran, "the tightest-laced
exquisites of suffering humanity ;" and the
Prince de Ligne, that famous beau and warrior,
is said always to have worn black satin stays.
Pope also wore stays, but it was through
bodily infirmity, and not from vanity. Dr.
Johnson says of him, in his life, " When he
rose, he was invested in bodice made of stiff
canvas, being scarcely able to hold himself
upright till they were laced." But it is
obvious that the male figure does not require
the same support as the corset gives to the
woman, except in cases of weakness arising
from infirmity.

LINES.

BT P. 8. T.

It is a quiet summer's daj,
I dream, whilst gazing on the sky,

Bright dreams that quickly speed away,
And leave fond hopes that droop and die.

Tpon the wall I see a face —

A face which mildly rookfl on me —

And round that saintrd forehead trace
The emblems of eternity.

Aslant the sunbeams cast a ray,

Which, 111 ating through my lonely room,
I' - Ives the clouds of sombre gray —

Moves hastily its silent gloom.

I listen, as I hear again

A voice, which echoes to mine own,
Borne onward in a sweet refrain —

And am content with this atone.

I clasp the picture to my breast —
The voice and sunshine all are fled — ■

My heart is soothed to quiet rest —
In prayer I humbly bow my head.

TOM SNUGGERY IN SEARCH OF A WIFE.

I Y J. BUNTING.

Mr. Thomas Snuggery, a rich bachelor of
thirty-five, had reached this advanced age
without having fallen in love, and hence
without getting married. Not that he had
suffered from lack of kind advisers. He had
been again and again told that it was a very-
nice thing to be married ; that he had much
better take a wife, etc. etc. ; but as these
kind instructions had invariably proceeded
from slightly faded single ladies, or anxious
mothers of large, grown-up families, he had
thought it just possible that they might not
know so much about connubial bliss as some
of the connubials themselves.

Being, however, somewhat anxious to know
for a certainty the whole truth of the matter,
he determined, one fine morning, to set off on
a voyage of investigation and discovery. In
order to satisfy not only himself but all the
world, and settle the question for all tkne to
come, he resolved to take no half-way mea-
sures, but to visit all classes of acquaintances
hi all conditions of life. Being a merchant of
considerable connections, he had naturally
fallen into intimate relations with various
grades of social life, some higher, and many
lower than his own, and he deeided to exam-
ine into the married conditions of them all.
So, providing himself with passports in the
shape of sweetmeats for such children as. he
might meet on his travels, he sallied forth.

As the morning was fair, and it was yet
quite cool, Mr. Snuggery determined to for-
sake the crowded streets, and so bent his way
first, to the suburbs, where sturdy Jonah
Tlowman, who served Tom with fresh milk
and vegetables every morning, kept a little
truck farm, and lived along in great health
and apparent happiness.

Tom found Jonah in a field near his house,
setting out cabbage plants.

"Well, Jonah, how are you, to-day?"

" Hale and strong, your honor. And how
are you ? and what takes you out so early in
the morning, if I may be so bold ?"

Now, Tom being, as I have said, a bachelor,

had never learned the art known as "beating

round the bush," which husbands are so soon

obliged to study, so he answered, promptly: —

530

"Why, Jonah, I want to ask you some
questions. How came you ever to think of
being married ?"

"Well, now, that isn't so hard to answer as
a question I might ask you, by your leave."

" Ah ! and what 's that, Jonah ?"

" Why, how came you to live this long and
not to think of it?"

" Ha ! that is a question ; but now, answer
mine."

"Why, you see, Mr. Snuggery, I was a
livin' here on this patch, and bein' forced to
go to market every day, I had to pay a woman
to stay here and mind things. But one day,
while I was a-standin' at my stall, there comes
up such a well-built specimen of a girl as I
hadn't often seen. I thought to myself I
never saw a better pair of hands for milkin'..
and dairy-work, and the way she lifted her
big market basket showed she was none of
your weakly sort. So I made up my mind
that, unless I could get her on my patch, the
crops and things would pretty much all go to
ruin. So, by dint of persuadin' and a deal of
courtin' (for it took so long that I began to
think she liked courtin' better than marryin'),
I managed to get Margery safe out to my
place, and I must say, sir, that my onions
grow bigger, and my hot-corn comes in earlier
than ever it did."

" Then you would not like to change back
again, I suppose," said Tom.

"No, sir, not I ; for, true as I'm standin'
here, sir, them cows of mine have give more
milk every season since she 's been here ;
because, don't you see, she has such nice big
hands, and never slights the milkin'. Ah,
sir, I wasn't mistaken about the hands."

" Well, Jonah, bring in two extra quarts to-
morrow, and don't forget the Lima beans."

So saying, Tom started off, thinking to him-
self, "Well, /am not a farmer, so /am clear
of reasons yet for wanting a wife."

As he walked back to the city, a fine car-
riage overtook him, and as it drove opposite
it stopped, and the occupant cried out : —

" Why, hullo, Tom ! where have you been ?
Jump in, and I '11 give you a lift down to
town."

TOM SXITOOERY IX SEARCH OF A WIFE.

>31

The speaker was no less than a young mem-
ber of tlie legislature, one Charley Osborne,
who, with an immense fortune and a fashion-
able young wife, was as far removed from
Jonah in social condition as it was possible to
imagine. So, Tom, being philosopher enough
ive the advantages to his present un-
dertaking, which were likely to arise from
Bnoh an invitation, was not backward in ac-
cepting it, and they were soon talking amicably
aer on the back seat.

Now, Osborne held in his hand a MS. which
he appeared to study semi-attentivcly during
the pauses of conversation, so Tom asked him
what it was.

'■ Oli, it 's a speech that I am to deliver on
a city railway bill, to-day, and as I have not
seen it all yet, I think it will be well to look
o'er it some, or I shall make some blunders."

" NQt read it yet!" said Tom. "What do
you mean by that P"

"Why, just this; you see, between our-
selves, Mrs. Osborne writes all my speeches,
and I had no time to read this off after break-
fast before the carriage came round."

"So, then, you think a wife necessary to
One's happiness, do you?"

•' Happiness! Yes, necessary to your very
existence. Why, before I was married, I had
three sisters to please. If I bought a pair of
gloves or a cravat, I mustn't put them on
until they passed their inspection. Ah, a
hard life it was ! But, now, I only have one
t i please : and as soon as I learned all her lit-
tle ways, I found that the best way to manage
her, as Artemus Ward says, was to let her
h we her own way. And now she takes all
trouble off my hands. I don't have to drive
c it with her after adjournment, as I did with
sters, for she finds some one else ; and
not a servant have I had to dismiss or engage
since I was married. And as for my political
affairs, you see how she does those up for
me. Ah, Tom, if you want to live without
trouble, hunt up some fine woman, soon as
you can ; I tell you it will he the making of
you."

"So," thought Tom, as he reached the
city, and bade hi- friend good-by, "wives,
after all, appear to be only wanted to do one's
o-.vn business for him, when he should do it
himself. They may do for truck farmers or
fer politicians, but I am lazy enough as it is,
and if wives have the effect they seem to, I
am wise to keep clear of them.

He had not gono far when he met the pastor
of his church, making calls. Patting on a
sober countenance, as became one addressing
so reverend a personage, he thus accosted
him : —

" My dear sir, I have been asked, time and
again, why I did not get married, and as I
have never yet seen my way clear, I have
concluded to ask you whether it is best to
marry or not."

"My dear Mr. Snuggery, when Adam was
placed in the garden, surrounded by so much
bounty and profusion, the Lord thought it
not good for him to be alone, and provided an
help-meet for him. Would you ask higher
authority than that?"

" No, reverend sir, not higher, but lower.
I am utilitarian ; what is the use of a wife ?
In short, sir, without offence, what do you do
with a wife ?"

"A strange question, Mr. Snuggery, and
one that shows your exceeding hardness of
heart. You convince me that yon have never
known properly of the many duties and re-
sponsibilities of a man in the world."

"Then, practically speaking, you find a
wife useful only in these, do you?"

"Sir, I will not take offence at the coarse-
ness of your manner. My wife is a good
Christian. She teaches a Sabbath class ; she
presides over the sewing society ; she visits
and provides for the poor ; she keeps my
house in order, and in a hundred ways les-
sens tlie weight of my laborious avocation."

" Does she ever write your sermons for

you I

asked Tom.

(Exit the man of God, in wrath.)

"Well," thought Tom, "perhaps I was
impudent, but I have become so disgusted. I
always imagined that wives were to be loved
ami protected, and not made to protect as
and do our work. I hear all about labor, but
nothing about love. Here goes for one more
trial," said Tom. " I see my Irish porter
coming from his breakfast. Let me see what
he has to say. Well, Pat, where have you
been '"

"Bin down to the old woman's, to ate me
brikfast, yer honor."

"The 'old woman's!' why, are you mar-
ried?"

"And faix, bad luck till it, it's jist I that
am, yer honor, and more 's the pity."

"Why ? Doesn't the married life seem to
work well ?"

532

GODET S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

" Niver ye mind, sir. It's I that daren't
tell all the sacrets connected wid me own
house and family, or I 'd have her afther me
in a short space."

" Oh, you need not be afraid of that ; she
won't hear of it, I guess."

"Is it hear it, she won't do? Sure' she
hears iverything. She 's just here and there,
and i very where all at the same time, sir."

" Why, how did you happen to get so taken
in?"

" Taken in, sir ! She didn't take me in. I
had a house of my own, and it was / took her
in ; sorra the day that I did it."

"You didn't marry her out of charity, did
you?"

" No, no ; ye see when I first knew her she
kept a little corner grocery, and I thought she
was doin' a nate trade, all to herself, and she
thought I was havin' a nice situation all to
myself, and so there was a mutual attraction
presinted itself immadiately. But when the
deed was done and no backin' out, I found
meself mortally desaved, for the crathur didn't
own her corner grocery, and all the bisness
was jist none at all, and she in debt more 'n
the stock and fixin's would bring, and there
was I with a savage wife upon me hands, and
money out of pocket both together, bless yer
presince, sir !"

"And she don't abuse you, I hope, Pat?"

Pat made no reply ; but looking cautiously
around to see that the dreadful Mrs. Patrick
was not visible, showed his teeth, and shook
his fist in a decidedly belligerent manner, and
walked off to the store.

"Well, I'm satisfied now," thought poor
Tom Snuggery, as he turned his feet in the
same direction.

Before he had gone a square, he met a per-
son whose appearance brought him to a full
pause. He was a tall, slender, melancholy
looking man, with black hair, a black suit of
clothes, black crape on his hat, dark com-
plexion, and dark, sad eyes. He was fully
five years younger than Tom, perhaps more ;
but his shoulders had the slight stoop which
indicate student life, and gave him an older
appearance than his years would warrant. In
short, Tom knew, presently, that the indi-
vidual before him was no other than his old
college chum, Harry Brown, who had been
out of sight and out of mind to him for the
past five years.

After the first interchange of salutations

was over, Tom forced his friend to return with
him to his own house, and accompany him to
a late breakfast. It was not until the said
meal had been finished, and the two friends
in their easy chairs, that Tom remembered
and detailed to his friend, in a jocular way,
his project of the morning, and the adventures
which had befallen him. Nor did he fail to
express the decision he had arrived at, on the
strength of his newly-bought experience.
Finishing, he asked the other, with a lively
air, what his opinions were, without noticing
the sadness that had been deepening on Harry
Brown's face while he had been speaking.

"If you ask me whether a married life is
necessarily happy," replied Harry, "I shall
be obliged to answer indefinitely ; for it de-
pends altogether on the feelings. Unless the
hearts have been long previously wedded, the
mere outward bond cannot make the most
desirable marriages happy. But is it possible,
Tom," he continued, surveying the bachelor
apartments in which they sat, "that you
have been all this while in the world, and
never loved ? for I perceive that you have not,
or you would not be undecided on these ques-
tions. You have never had all your thoughts
to centre around one form ; all your efforts
made for her benefit ; all the regions of your
ideal world peopled with one image. , You
have never wished for omnipresence, that you
might always be near her ; never longed to
be invisible, that you might guard her from
danger, without her knowing from whose
hand the help had come. You have never
watched for the spring time and the season of
flowers only that the warmth of the breezy
days might bring health to her cheek if she
were ill, or lightness to her heart if she were
sad."

"No, by George! I haven't," said Tom.
Then, seeing the melancholy which had deep-
ened on the face of his friend, and "noticing
for the first time the crape on his hat, his tone
softened apologetically, as he asked, "Harry,
who 's dead ?"

" Two years ago, Tom," said his friend, " I
was married."

"You married !" cried Tom, in much aston-
ishment.

"No ordinary friend has a right to know
the deep secrets of human hearts," continued
the speaker, unheeding the interruption ; but
I will tell you, since you seem so incredu-
lous, that / was happy. My wife was young,

TOM SNCGGERY IN SEARCH OF A WIFE.

533

younger than I, and we were both poor. I
i id in.' el' the lowest fellowships at the col-
lege, and we could barely lire oomfortably

on my salary. But although my home was
meagrely furnished, and my dinners far from
luxurious, I was as happy as God ever per-
mits mortals to be; happiei than He ever
permits unto the end. My mental tasks at
tho college were long and arduous. It was
always dark in winter before I reached home ;
but my wife's kiss would dispel a day's
weariness in a moment. And when she met
me at the door, and her sweet voice ques-
tioned me, or her eyes looked into mine as
no i-yes over 1' inked into yours, Tom, I would
forget that the world was wide, and its great
bosom stormy with human passions, and its
heart cold and uncharitable to the poor. If
she went out of my little sitting-room to
prepare supper, I could hear her light step,
and the sound of her voice singing somo music
that we both loved. And I knew that the
music came from a heart that was happier
because I was near, and I knew that this
heart was mine. Mino! Ah, that was my
fatal mistake ! I only thought it was mine.
It was not mine. It was God's own heart, too
lovely for this earth — too lovely for me. My
wife is dead, Tom ; she is gone before me, and
I am alone. The first tears she ever shed
after she was my wife fell on her pale check
when she first knew that we were to be parted.

" Do not ask idle questions, Tom, on these
divine things. Do not ask me for metaphysical
dissertations on human love ; but remember
this, and believe it forever, for it was said by
one greater than either of us : ' No revelation
from God, no dissertation from man can tell
you what love is. Nothing but the mirror,
the broken, shattered mirror of the human
heart ever can. Out of your own heart you
may know what love is. In no other possible
way, by no other help or sign. All the words
and sounds ever uttered, all the revelations
of cloud or flame are utterly powerless. They
cannot tell you in the smallest point what
love means. Only the broken mirror can.' "

Harry Brown arose, put on his coat, bade
adieu to his friend, and withdrew.

"Well,"' thought Tom Snuggery, as he
rang to have the breakfast cleared away,
" I 'm worse off than I was before. If I get a
bad wife she '11 beat me, and if I get a good
one she '11 die. I think I '11 be a bachelor,
after all."

TOL. LXVIII. 42

DUTIES OF BROTHERS TO SISTERS.

An American writer gives the following ex-
cellent advice to young men : You may, by
your example, exert a very salutary Influence
upon your sisters and the younger members
of your family ; also upon female society ;it
large. Sisters may do much towards restrain-
ing their brothers from vice, but brothers may
do still more for their sisters ; for sisters gene-
rally love their brothers with moro ardor and
tenderness of affection than brothers exercise
towards their sisters. They also look up to
their brothers, respect their opinions, enjoy
their protection, seek their Bociety, imbibe
their views, follow their example. Hence,
brothers are, in a great degree, responsible
for the character of their sisters, and also, for
the same reason, of the younger members of
their family.

2fake it your Jirst object to secure your sisters
to religion. — However beautiful and accom-
plished, unless they are pious, they lack the
essential glory and ornament of their sex.
You can hardly be faithful to them in vain.
It is very rare that a good brother puts forth
kind, judicious, persevering efforts to bring
his sisters to the knowledge and love of the
Saviour, which are not crowned with suc-
cess.

Always treat them with affectionate respect. —
Every young man ought to feel that his honor
is involved in the character and dignity of his
sisters. There is ho insult which he should
sooner rebuke than one offered to them. But
if you would have others to esteem and honor
them, you must esteem and honor them your-
self. Treat them with far less reserve, but
with no less delicacy, than you would the
most genteel stranger. Nothing in a family
strikes the eye of a visitor with moro delight
than to see brothers treat their sisters with
kindness, civility, attention, and love. On
the contrary, nothing is more offensive, or
speaks worso for the honor of a family, than
that coarse, rude, unkind manner which
brothers sometimes exhibit.

Beware how you speak of your sisters. — Even
gold is tarnished by much handling. If you
speak in their praise — of their beauty, learn-
ing, manners, wit, or attentions — you will
subject them to taunt and ridicule ; if you
say anything against them, you will bring
reproach upon yourself and them too. If you
have occasion to speak of them, do it with

534

godey's lady's book and magazine.

modesty and few words. Let others do all the
praising, and yourself enjoy it.

//" you are separated from them, maintain with
them a correspondence. — This will do yourself
good as well as them. Do not neglect this
duty, nor grow remiss in it. Give your
friendly advice, and seek theirs in return. As
they mingle intimately with their sex, they
can enlighten your mind respecting many
particulars relating to female character im-
portant for you to know ; and, on the other
hand, you have the same opportunity to do
them a similar service. However long or
widely separated from them, keep np your
fraternal affection and intercourse. It is omi-
nous of evil when a young man forgets his
sister.

If you are living at home with them, you
may do them a thousand little services, which
will cost you nothing but pleasure, and which
will greatly add to theirs. If they wish to go
out of an evening — to a religious meeting, or
a concert, or a visit, or for any other object —
always be happy, if possible, to wait upon
them. Consider their situation, and think
how you would wish them to treat you if the
case were reversed.

THE CASKET OF TEMPERANCE.

BY WILLIE B. PABOK.

{Penrith? Suih.)

THE PLEDGE.— AX APPEAL.

Come sign the pledge, come sign the pledge, young mon

and maidens all,
And keep the young years of your life so that, when Time

shall call
White hairs on heads now raven- crowned, and weakness

where is power,
Tour hearti may be as pure and true as in this happy

hour.
0 ye who on youth's confines staud, flushed with the rays

of hope,
Along the vista of whose years the beams of promise slope,
Ye launch your shallop ou a stream beside whose banks

thero grow
The tulip tree of happiness, tho tangle weeds of wo !
The evil blending with the good, the false mixed with the

true,
The shadow and the sunlight, each, old, yet forever new ;
And as ye choose, ye must abide ; for hate or for love's

sake
On the white pages of your lives your record ye must

make ;
The pen of glad experience is ready at command,
The unseen angel of good deeds is by to guide your hand,
And you can write a record there of such good deeds as go
To make up human happiness in this our world of wo.
About your pathway ye may shed the sunshine of a love
Equalled by angels only in the beautiful above;

And you can scatter blessings where the need is sorest

felt,
In such sweet guise of charity that flinty hearts will melt,
And many call you blessed, for the sweet sense of relief
Rising out of desolation, rising up from beds of grief.
Oh ye may each one be Howards in this good cause, if

you will 1
For the prisons of Intemperance the drunkards daily fill ;
Scarce a cell is ever empty ; no tenant sunk so low
But some word uttered there in love may waken into

flow
The better nature of tho man, the hope that seldom dies
Within man's bosom till the seal of Death is on his eyes ;
And he who wakens one to life, to temperance, to truth,
Who breaks the shackles of a vice fatal to age or youth,
A victor is, more worthy crown of laurel or of bay
Thau he who bases all his claim upon his skill to slay.
The battle-fields of life are not alone where foemeu meet.
We find them in our daily walks and on the public street ;
The young and innocent are there, aud learning all too

fast
To taste the cup whose hidden lees shall poison them at

last.
They do not see the serpent hid within the sparkling cup,
They do uot taste the bitterness that swiftly follows up
Tho draining of the beverage of sorrow and of sin,
They only catch tho sparkles as they puur the poison in.

Come sign the pledge, come sign the pledge, ye cannot

sign too soon,
The time is coming when you'll ask in vain for such a

boon !
We ask you by tho hopes you hold, the loves you cherish

most,
Sail with ns in the Temperance ship to that enchanted

coast
Where happiness and peaceabide, and where time's rapid

tide
Forever flows between the banks where joy and peace

abide.
Sail with ns in the Temperance ship ; Neptune shall guard

the sails
And speed us on our journey with fair and gentle gales ;
Aud over and above us all, our pleasure to enhance,
Will shine in the clear sky of time the Sun of Temper-
ance.
Sail with ns in the Temperance ship I Of those who sail

alone
By far the greater number are upon the breakers thrown ;
Their fragile boat cannot resist the fearful tide that sweeps
Toward the fatal whirlpool where the storni-lashcd water

leaps ;
And though the Temperance lighthouse throws its warn-
ing beams around,
Thoy only see the breakers dash where safety is not found.
Oh down along the shore of time, how many wrecks are

strown !
They scorned the Temperance pilot — they sailed their ship

alone —
And never one returned to port. How many a darkened

hearth
These ships that went, but came not back, have made

upon the earth 1

Fame. — As the pearl ripens in the obscurity
of the shell, so ripens in the tomb all the
fame that is truly precious.

UXTO THE EXD.

I> T MAROAKLT HfNTEU tIKlNT.

Tiik slant sunbeams made golden ladders
for the departing day to pass to other lands,
and a calm, tool evening was succeeding to a
sultry day. a? we stool together in tlie garden,
Jocclyn. and Ethel, and I. The day had been
close and oppressive, threatening rain : luit
towards evening the clouds had scattered,
leaving their promise unfulfilled; the snn
shone out in royal splendor, and now "the
day was dying like a king."

Looking westward over the broad, level
meadows, the air seemed Hooded with a haze
of golden dust, while here and there a solitary
tree stood up, distiuct and dark against the
fiery sky ; the three tall old poplars in the
garden, that had wrestled with the fierce sea-
breezes till they had grown gnarled and
ragged in the struggle, cast long, slanting
shadows down the gnndy road ; the wind was
coming up, fresh and strong from the sea. and
d their crisp leaves, while ahove our
heads large flocks of crows, by twos and threes,
and then in larger detachments, were flying
lazily homeward to their nests among the
cedars, from the sea-shore where they had
passed the day feeding upon the waifs cast up
by the waves.

Lynn lay on the edge of a wide tract of
level laud stretching backward from the sea.
Beyond it lay the wide, desolate marshes,
wasted and ravaged by the ocean, the melan-
choly wash of its advancing tides as they
crept among its reedy islands, and the cry of
i-fowl, the only sounds that broke the
death-like stillness that hung like a white
mist over its empty solitudes. Behind the
village, a long range of low hills, covered with
a dense growth of stunted cedars and hardy
underbrush, shut in the view to the north,
while eastward and southward, sea and sky,
ever mutable yet ever the same, beautiful
alike in storm and calm, old yet ever new,
rounded and completed the scene I looked
on, as I stood there in the garden, gazing
idly at the familiar sweep of marsh and
meadow, hill and wood, and village street.

There are some days and scenes that stamp
themselves indelibly upon the memory, though
unmarked by any startling event, not memo-

rable above a thousand other days, yet stand-
Lng out from the misty past in strong relief,
and remembered with unaccountable tenacity,
when far more important scenes and incidents
have failed from the mind! and when some
subtle link of memory is struck — it may be a
wind, a flower, an odor — that day comes back
to us. tic I never feel the fresh wind from off
the sea but it brings back to me that summer
afternoon when we all stood together under
the poplars.

While we stood there, Earl Hathaway,
Jocelyn's friend and ours, came up and joined
us. I had known Earl for years. He was the
son of a neighboring wealthy squire, and we
had been friends and playmates from child-
hood.

When the rich midsummer trailed its af-
fluence of splendor through the lengthened
days, filling the land with the flush of blos-
soms and the song of birds, we wandered
through the silent, odorous woods, and up the
slanting hill-sides, where the wild roses trailed
over the thickets, and held up their delicate
pink goblets for the sunlight to pour in its
golden wine — through shady, brier-hedged
lanes and sun-gilt meadows, where the yellow
lilies swung their burnished bells. And
later, when autumn had hung out his red
banner in the woods, and the white mist came
up damp and chilling from the marshes in the
gray morning, like some pale presence slowly
folding up its ghostly garments and stealing
back to the land of shadows ; and later still,
when winter's icy spears had stripped autumn's
scarlet ensign from the forest-boughs, and
wrapped up in its burial robes the bloom and
lush magnificence of summer, to await its
spring-tide resurrection. We had sat together
by the ruddy fire, watching the pictures come
and go in the dropping coals, as the blue
smoke- wreaths curled up the ample chimney ;
and though of late years be had been absent
from Lynn pursuing his studies in a distant
city, we had taken up the old mode of life on
his return, and scarcely a day passed but saw
him at the parsonage, where his bright,
pleasant face, and Bunny temper always made
a welcome addition to our quiet little circle.

ffS5

536

godey's lady's book and magazine.

I watched him as he sauntered up the road,
with'' a swift thought of all this in my heart.

"Is it possible I find you all still in the
land of the living, after this Egyptian desert
of a day ? Why, Agnes, you pale little thing,
I made sure you would be melted away like
a snow-wreath, crystallized into a dew-drop,
or transmuted by some such desiccating pro-
cess."

We all laughed at Earl's quaint expression,
which, if incorrect as a figure of speech, cer-
tainly did convey some idea of the intense,
breathless warmth of that day, and I answered
his jesting salutation with a merry reply, as
I opened the gate for him ; but he declined to
enter, saying, gayly : —

"I have been guarding 'the Oaks' all day
in the absence of my father, who has been
over to Ashleigh to transact some business.
It 's a whim of his that the place must never be
left alone, lest it might slide off into the sea,
I suppose, or be pocketed by dishonest ser-
vants, if left unguarded. So I have passed
the day a prisoner upon my paternal acres,
in melancholy efforts to kill time. I have
studied the portraits of my ancestors in the
great hall till I know every seam and crack
in the canvas ; I have read the last Gazette
through three times, advertisements and all ;
and — ' '

"Poor fellow!" interrupted Jocelyn. "What
a pitiable case — absolute destitution of any
rational occupation I what can we do to reward
your past suffering ?"

Earl smiled at Jocelyn' s good-humored rail-
lery, and answered : —

" The evening is too beautiful to lose ; there-
fore I propose that you shall all help me to
enjoy it by way of a 'reward,' as Jocelyn calls
it. Come, let us go down to the shore ; it is
beautiful there now ; the tide is coming in,
and this fresh wind is sending the waves in,
curling and sparkling as if crested with fire ;
or do you prefer a ramble on the hills, Ethel ?"

She smiled, and answered carelessly : —

" Let us go down to the beach."

I was surprised, for Ethel did not like the
sea, and seldom went to the shore when she
could avoid it ; but I had begun to notice that
Bhe consulted Earl's tastes rather than her
own in many things, even when I knew she
could not understand or sympathize. She
had been leaning against one of the poplars,
but as she spoke she came forward, and by a
slight movement, placed herself by his side.

A shadow passed over Jocelyn's face as he
noticed the motion, and then his own sweet
smile came back, and we were soon talking
gayly as we followed them through sandy
lanes, hedged with tangled vines and briars,
with the dust of that hot day lying white on
their leaves, and over wide, barren fields of
coarse, tufted grass, down to the beach.

It was beautiful there, as Earl had said — a
broad stretch of sand, now damp with the
incoming tide, and beyond it the sea, the blue,
the grand old sea, that Earl and I loved so
well. The tide was coming in, and the waves
dashed and tumbled in heavy masses against
the crags that lay half buried in the sand, and
flung their wreaths of foam far up the beach.
Earl looked out over the water with a kin-
dling eye, the blood coming to his cheek slowly,
as it was wont to do in excitement.

"How beautiful it is!" he said, softly,
almost reverently, as he lifted his cap and
let the strong wind toss back his hair. "I
love it, the free, restless ocean. See how
the great waves climb and wrestle with each
other as they come plunging in among the
rocks ; see the white gulls flying home through
the sunset to their homes among the marshes. ' '
He spoke to Ethel, but he never looked away
from the water where the splendor had begun
to fade a little. "See what beautiful sprays
of sea-weed the tide is bringing in, and look,
Ethel, yonder comes a log — perhaps a plank
from some foundered vessel, rolling and
plunging in towards shore. I could fancy it
the lifeless corpse of some shipwrecked mar-
iner cast up at our feet by the waves."

Ethel shivered. The evenings were chilly,
though it was August, but I knew it was not
that. She had a strong, and to me an in-
comprehensible dread of the sea, a terror as
unconquerable as it was irrational. The
everlasting thunder of its waves awed and
oppressed her with a sense of overwhelming
power; Hs eternal silence, its empty vastness of
uninhabitable brine, chilled and repelled her ;
all that was weak and untrue in her nature
quailed before its stern, solemn grandeur.
To her it always suggested weird, gloomy
images of storm and darkness, broken spars
drifting helplessly on the desolate mid-seas,
and clinging to them, half-naked forms of
drowning sailors, pinched with famine, mad
with despair, great splintered bergs, gleaming
white and ghastly in the pale polar moonlight,
crunching and grinding as they drift onward

UNTO TIIE EN'D.

53 7

through the death-like silence of those regions
of eternal night and f r i ■ > t : white, dea I

blank eyes and floating hair, slowly
lifted np into the light through the clear

n water.

B i I knew why Bhe shuddered at this
fan.iful conceit of Earl's, as she tried to look
steadily at t! a dark ohjeot that tossed an I
Bwayed on the Bhifting currents, gradually
coming nearer ami nearer to the shore, half
fearing a realization of her superstitious dread.
Even when the tide washed it upon the beach
rods from where we stood, and at last
she knew it to be only a broken spar, sad
memorial of some brave ship that had goue
down, perhaps leagues and leagues away from
land, she could not wholly conquer her inde-
finite dread.

•'Why, Ethel, this chilly wind has driven
all the color from your face ; you are as pale
as a ghost," said Earl, glancing at her as she
stood silent, looking uneasily out toward the
sea. "The sea air doesn't agree with your
cousin, Agnes; but you are as bright and
blooming as ' the guardian Naiad of the strand.'
I could imagine myself some ancient ocean
deity in search of a throne and a kingdom, a
little reduced in circumstances it is true, but
what does it signify? I have the gods of old
for an illustrious precedent. Come, who will
follow me to Black Rock ? That is a most fitting
throne for an aquatic monarch. Agnes, my
little subject, I command your obedience."

"Most humbly I comply, my lord," I an-
swered, laughing, as I yielded to his assump-
tion of mock royalty.

"Then follow me; Ethel and .Toeelyn, will
you share the splendors of my B1

She drew back with a jesting reply, and
Bar] and I passed on together to Black Rock,
leaving her alone upon the sands with Jo
tender, patient, loving Jocelyn, to whom she
was the fate, the destiny that ruled his life,
the moon beneath whose varying influence
his tides of feeling sank or swelled.

Black Rock was a huge granite crag termi-
nating a long, low ledge of rocks that ran out
into the sea some distance, and separated from
them by a narrow channel, over which Earl
swung me lightly.

" There," said he, as he leaped to my side.
" Now we are alone at last, sole inhabitants
of my island kingdom. Yon are not afraid of
the sea, Agnes ; I know you love it a.s I do.
for you understand me when I talk of it, and

42*

listen patiently to my boyish enthusiasm. I
hare been wanting to talk to you all Che
afternoon ; why hare you avoided me, Agnes .'"
" I have not avoided you. Earl," I answered.
"Rut you were walking with my cousin, and
I thought she could amuse you better than I."
He had dropped his bantering tone, and
as I sj oke he took both my hands in hi.-., and
said, softly : —

"0, my little Sea Queen! do you know I
think you have stolen the beauty of the
sunset to-night ? All its Hush is on your oheek,
all the splendor of its tire is in your eyes, and
its warm glory has turned your brown hair
into shining bronze." He raised his haul
and just touched my hair, and then checked
himself. We were too far from shore for her
to hear our words, but I felt sure that Ethel
bad noticed the quick, caressing gesture.
Perhaps he thought so too, for he turned a
little, so our faces were hidden from the
beach.

As he stood there before me, looking down
on me with his frank, joyous eyes, I thought,
in all the years 1 had known Earl Hathaway,
I had never seen him look so handsome, that
he had never been so near my heart as then.
As the passing years had wrought the promise
of his bright-eyed, active boyhood in the tall,
powerfully-knit frame of manhood, with a
man's clear intellect and ardent impulses, the
warm friendship of my childhood had deepened
into the firmest, truest, best love of my
woman's nature, and I loved him with a silent
strength, sure of his answering love, although
no spoken words had ever flung a shining span
across the sweet uncertainty, making a golden
bridge whereon our thoughts could pass from
heart to heart. I felt the tender meaning of
his words; but one of those strange, secret
impulses, which seem without or beyond
ourselves, and which sometimes keeps us
silent at the very moment when to have
spoken would have changed the current of a
life, when afterwards we would give worlds
if we had spoken, kept me silent, looking
out towards the twilight sky where now
the dun and purple shadows were gathering
swiftly.

"Agnes," he said, as I did not speak,
"you are not displeased with me ? That is not
what has kept you so absorbed in Jbcelyn's
grave philosophizing ever since I met you at
the gate ""

"0 no, Earl; but I thought that Ethel

533

godet's lady's book and magazine.

was amusing you better than I could do," I
answered as before. "She is so gay and
lively, always flashing into song and laughter,
while I am always grave and still, not at all
like you."

" According to the law of contraries, I ought
to like you all the better for that," he an-
swered, gayly. "Your calm face and quiet
voice are a sort of counterpoise to my more
restless temperament ; your gravity against
my levity ; your deliberate judgment against
my thoughtless impulses, that would keep the
balance even. And to prove that you are not
displeased — "

"Hark!" I interrupted. "There is Ethel
calling us." She had a voice of strange
power and sweetness, and as it ran along the
twilight sands, it thrilled me like a strain of
unearthly music —

"The horns of Elf land faintlyblowing."
"Let me go, Earl," I said, trying to disengage
my hands from Ms. "It is time we were
going back, and she will be impatient."

"0, Agnes! my little Agnes!" he stopped,
and released me suddenly ; then he led me
over the rocks back to the beach where Ethel
and Jocelyn were waiting for us. After that,
we wandered slowly home through the dusky
lanes and over the shadowy fields, Earl walk-
ing close by my side, talking gayly on indifferent
themes, Jocelyn with a grave, calm, rested
face, less silent than was his wont ; Ethel as
brilliant and gay as ever.

Ethel and I were cousins, but very unlike
in mind and person. I was small, pale,
brown-eyed, my only beauty the gleamy gold
of my shining chestnut braids ; quiet and
undemonstrative in temperament, with an
intense love of the beautiful, the grand, and
true, a quick, fiery scorn of all things mean
and base, and a strong, silent intensity of
feeling few thought me capable of possessing.
Ethel was the only child of my mother's
brother, who had married, while travelling
on the Continent, a beautiful, but low-born
Spanish or Italian lady, I have forgotten which,
for my uncle's story was never alluded to in
my hearing by my mother, whose hatred of
the " foreign woman," as she called her, was
intense and lasting. Bitterly reproached by
his family and friends at home for his rash
and unfortunate alliance, he had never brought
his young wife to England, but had remained
abroad with her, where he had died soon after
his marriage. Ethel herself was born at

Gordo, a little sea-port town of Spain, from
whence she had been sent to receive her
education at the conventual school at Brionne
in France. After the death of her mother,
about two years before, she had come to live
with us, the only living relatives she had who
could offer her a home ; and she was made
welcome for the sake of her dead father,
though I am not sure my mother ever forgot
she was the child of a stranger.

She inherited from her ill-fated father only
her Saxon name, while from the dusky-eyed
Spanish mother, who slept by the banks of the
Tarro, she inherited the clear olive of her
complexion, with the red blood flushing
through the delicate skin, the lustrous. splen-
dor of her largo, soft eyes, black as death, as
beautiful, as unfathomable as the starry,
purple midnights of her own tropic skies, the
shining waves of night-black hair that swept
back from her face in heavy, rippling masses,
and the lithe grace of her tall, finely-propor-
tioned figure, faultless from the white, proudly
curved throat to the slender foot. But for
her temperament she must have gone back to
a more distant source : cool, selfish, brilliant,
fascinating all who came within the circle of
her influence by her graceful assumption of
the very virtue she did not possess, subtle and
self-centred, strong in her very subtlety, and
veiling all defects of character with a rare
grace and tenderness of manner, that hut few
suspected was not the sterling gold of truth, •
stamped in God's mint and bearing his image.
Perhaps her superficial foreign education had
assisted in developing whatsoever was least
pure and lofty in her character. Perhaps, had
she shared the advantages I had possessed,
she might have been a better woman.

My father had been the curate of Lynn,
and upon his death, his successor, Jocelyn
Thorne, had taken up his residence with us
at the parsonage, thus sparing us the pain of
a removal from our old home, and we had
come to love and honor him, treating him
with the pleasant freedom of a brother.

The parsonage stood just on the edge of the
village, on a slight slope. It was not beau-
tiful, not even picturesque, but I loved it with
its three gray old poplars and its wide reach
of sea and sky. It was a tall, narrow, old-
fashioned house, with numerous dormer win-
dows projecting from the steep roof, and
clustering chimneys irregularly grouped at
convenient angles. In front, a small garden

UNTO THE END.

539

snrronnded by a high white paling, opened on
the sandy village road, and beyond it, wide,
sedgy meadows, skirted with stunted, storm-
blown willows, stretched downward to the
sea.

We had lingered and loitered on onr way,
until the soft gray of twilight had deepened
into the dun of early evening, and as a bend
in the road brought us in sight of home, a
bright light was gleaming from the window of
the little parlor, while a fine horse standing
fastened at the gate announced the presence
of a stranger.

Earl left us at tho door, and we passed in.
A tall, handsome young man was sitting in
the parlot with my mother and my sister
Maud, and as we entered, he rose quickly to
meet us with an expression of pleasure. To
my surprise, Ethel advanced to meet him
with outstretched hands, and greeted him
warmly, introducing him to us as "my
cousin, Mr. Bell."

"This is an unexpected pleasure," said
Ethel, in her clear, rich voice that lent a
subtle charm to even the commonest phrase.
" Who would have thought of seeing you
down here in this unfashionable corner of the
globe?"

" Yes, I have taken you quite by surprise,
I own, "he answered, laughing. "Unexpected,
but not wholly unwelcome, I hope. The fact
is,' I have been a little ill, and have been
ordered down to the sea-shore for a month or
so ; so I thought I could not do better than
to come down to Lynn, where I was sure
of finding other attractions beyond the air
and scenery."

He glanced impressively at Ethel as he
spoke. She colored a little, and replied she
hoped he had not been kept waiting long.

"O, no, not more than half an hour. So
you have turned sea-nymph since I saw you
last summer ; Mrs. Fanshawe told me yon
were down at the beach. I did not know the
roads round here, or I should have gone in
search of you. Miss Brand."

"A profitless quest," she answered, laugh-
ing. " Have you been in the neighborhood
loxg ? I presume not, however, or you would
have learned the way to the beach ; that is our
greatest attraction to strangers."

" Only since morning. I reached Barforth
Station about noon, and rode over here di-
rectly after dinner."

After a courteous acknowledgment of his

introduction, he had not spoken to me, and ne
I sat silent aud unobserved, I studied his
handsome face closely from the shadowy se-
curity of my distant corner. He was tall,
with a slight, well-knit figure, a clear, pale
complexion, fine eyes, ami delicate, regular
features framed in dark-brown hair ; with
that indefinable something in the easy self-
possession of his manner that stamps the
man of the world. He was distantly related
to Ethel through her mother, though he had
no title to the cousinship he claimed. She
had formed a slight acquaintance with hiui
during a visit to London the year before, and
since her return I had often heard her speak
of Jack Bell ; and from her occasional remarks
I had gathered, as one will without any defi-
nite knowledge of facts, a clear impression of
his character, which time proved to be correct.
Wealthy, good-tempered, and not bad at
heart, but possessing no firm, settled princi-
ples, lacking even the sardonic energy of
soul to say, in the very strength of despair,
"Evil, be thou my good," not even vicious
through the love of vice, but drifting care-
lessly along the current of events wherever a
strong, restless will impelled him, simply
because to do wrong was easier than to do
right — to yield was easier than to resist ; yet
passing among his fashionable associates for
a man of honesty and honor.

He exerted himself to make the evening pass
pleasantly, engaging us all in conversation
with graceful tact ; but devoting himself espe-
cially to Ethel, whose sparkling spirits and ripe
loveliness of face and form possessed a pow-
erful charm for him. It was late when he
left us, with a promise to call the next even-
ing, if it would not be intruding on Mrs.
Fanshawe'a courtesy.

This was the beginning of a long series of
evening visits, morning rides, and twilight
walks, in which Maud and I were always
included, and Jocelyn and Earl frequently
accompanied us.

Jack Bell took lodgings in the village, and
was a constant visitor at the parsonage. His
admiration of Ethel's dark, glorious beauty
was undisguised and ardent ; but, in spite of
his watchful attentions, she often managed,
by some dextrous and apparently unconscious
movement, to place herself by Earl's side
during these long rides aud rambles, leaving
Jack Bell to laugh, and talk, and jest with
Maud, fun-loving, merry Maud, with an un

540

godet's lady's book and magazine.

meaning gallantry that was habitual to him ;
and I was necessarily left to the companion-
ship of Jocelyn, whom I loved and trusted as
a brother— grave, gentle, pure-souled Jocelyn,
who, with a rare tenderness of nature, honor-
ing all women next to his God, bravely put
aside all selfish feelings, and devoted himself
to make these rambles pleasant to me.

It was on one of those bland, delicious days
Hhat come in early September, that we passed
out of the little parsonage gate for one of
these long, aimless strolls. The noisy crows
were flying with discordant clamor to their
morning banquet on the beach, and now and
then a startled sea-fowl whirled inland in
wide, sweeping circles, and then swept back
to the silent marshes that lay hidden by a
thin line of white vapor ; and as we climbed
the rough peaks of the Storm Crags, the calm
sea lay at our feet, rising and sinking in
shining swells — now flashing into a clear am-
ber in the sunlight — now glooming into purple
and amethyst in the shadow. Just at this
point the land rose abruptly into a line of
rugged and precipitate cliffs, just visible from
the east window of the parsonage, and known
through the country as the Storm Crags —
huge, shapeless masses of rock confusedly
piled together, and at their base worn into
innumerable hollows and winding passages by
the action of the waves, that washed through
tliem with a wild, ghostly music, at certain
periods of the tide.

The weariness of toiling up its rugged steps
was forgotten in the barren grandeur of the
scene beyond — the boundless stretch of sea
and sky, with their winds, and waves, and
ebbing tides, their stars, and clouds, and
changing shadows. The sun was looking
down from the mid heaven with a golden
smile, and the gray crags stood crowned in
the morning splendor like grim old sea-kings
on their rocky thrones.

"This is grand 1 this is glorious 1" cried
Earl, as he led Ethel, a little flushed and
wearied with her long walk, to a comfortable
seat among the smooth rocks on the summit
of the cliff. "This is glorious !" he repeated,
looking out at sky and water with the glow of
strong emotion on his face. "It is the very
sublimity of beauty ; it stirs all that is best
and deepest in my heart, and I feel half a
poet up here so near the sky. I could fancy
this the very 'crag Caucasian,' where the
Heaven-forsaken Titan met and battled with

avenging fate, sending down through the
misty centu-^cs that cry of pain which has
reached our wn in ringing echoes." •

" I love tl at grand old fable, with .he dim
foreshadowings of its sublime mystiry; but
these crags and cliffs have a deeper meaning
to nie," said Jocelyn, f >ftly. " See how their
shadows stretch away over the rough, stony
slopes below, suggesting images of that rest
and peace which are like the shadow of a great
rock in a weary land."

"Nice place for a picnic, if there was a
little more of that shade," said Jack Bell,
lazily stretching himself on a convenient
stone.

His shallow nature could not understand
the boyish enthusiasm of Earl, or the reverent
tenderness of Jocelyn. To him the sky was
simply a reservoir for snow and vapor, the
sea a highway for commerce or an agreeable
source of amusement in the way of boating or
bathing.

"I say, Hathaway," he went on, "what
sort of fishing do you have round here ? I
brought my rods and tackle down with me,
but I haven't had them out of their cases yet."

Earl looked like one suddenly brought back
from a different world, but he checked the
half contemptuous smile that curled his Up,
and answered : — ■

" If you 'd like to try them, we will ride over
to Stanwick any morning ; the fishing is better
there than here."

"Agreed, provided the ladies will spare us
all day."

"To be sure; we can get along without
you very well, but you must bring home
plenty of fish as a peace offering," said Maud,
gayly. " I don't see how you can bear to
catch the poor little things ; I know it must
be cruel."

"Why, Maud, "said Ethel, laughing, "don't
you remember how you went over to Stanwick
ouly last summer and caught fifteen?"

"Oh, that was a year ago, and I 'm a great
deal wiser now," retorted Maud, in playful
contradiction.

"How far is Stanwick from here, Thorne ?"
inquired Jack Bell.

" About five miles."

"Oh, let us go, too!" cried Maud, eagerly.
"I should like that above all things."

" I thought you were the young lady who
did not approve of fishing," remarked Jocelyn,
gravely. "Now, as you are really conscien-

UNTO THE END.

541

tiously opposed to snch barbarous amuse-
ments, we will uot urge you to accompany us,
Maui. I think I ran Induce the rest to go."

"0 Jocelyn, you dear old torment!" said
she, with the child-like freedom with which
slic always treated him, in consideration of
the fait that he was nearly ten years her
senior. " I know you only say that to tcazo
mo. I shall go ; sha'n't I, Earl?"

"Certainly you shall," said Jocelyn. "And
I herewith constitute myself your special
guardian and protector on that eventful day.
But you must consent to let me do all the
fishing; of course you will not want to fish
yourself; it 's wicked, you know," he added,
mischievously.

Between him and Maud there existed a close,
tender friendship, which was not lessened by
tlie playful raillery that often passed between
them. Jocelyn Thome was one of those raro
incn who walk the earth like the gods of old,
claiming kinship with the immortals. His
was one of those large, earnest, unselfish na-
tures to which we instinctively pay the homage
of trust and reverence ; his pure soul had no
touch of the base or ignoble in it ; generous,
truo, and tender, with that rare blending of
strength and sweetness which is the highest
type of manhood ; grave and silent, but never
gloomy, always gentle, patient, and hopeful,
never losing his deep faith in God and his
brother man — serene and strong' in that calm
happiness beyond the restless current of life's
shallow joys.

He had been with us sis years, and Maud
had grown up from a careloss, frolicsome
child in his companionship, to the joyous
grace of maidenhood. Maud was my only sis-
ter, and two years my junior. She was like
mo so far as we both had brown hair and eyes
and regular features ; but her brown hair had
a tinge of brighter gold ; her eyes wrro darker,
and her clicks had a rich color mine never
wore. All that was merely passable in my
faco was perfected into absolute beauty in
hers, and I loved her as a sort of gloried self,
in whom the undeveloped possibilities of my
nature were wrought into the ripe fulfilment
of the actual. In temperament she was frank,
gay, and ardent, very different from Jocelyn's
quiet nature ; but the very difference between
him and our pretty, sunny-tempered Maud,
half child, half woman, seemed to draw them
together in a closer bond. Her innocent gayety
seemed to win him from his habitual reserve ;

and now, as Maud insisted, with pretty wil-
fulness, on trimming his hat with leaves she
had gathered as she came through the lanes
and fields, "by way of rewarding his mag-
nanimous offer of guardianship," as she de-
clared, he submitted laughingly, protesting
he felt like a victim decked for the sacrifice.

"If the ladies would really like to go, 1
think we can make arrangements for their
accommodation. Ethel, of course, you will
go?"

Then followed a lively discussion of tho
details of the expedition, Maud declaring her-
self in favor of our all walking over there,
with John tirimm, our old gray-headed man
of all work to carry the rods and tacfile, while
Ethel advocated the light wagon and old Roan,
with John to drive.

While this debate was going on, I slipped
away unnoticed, and began cautiously de-
scending the rocks until I reached a sheltered
spot where I was hidden from their sight.
Below me lay a shelving ledge of rocks, slant-
ing down in shingly layers, mottled with
irregular patches of green and gray lichens,
to a steep cliff that descended to the sea in an
unbroken sweep. I sat down in a recess of
tho rocks that rose behind me like a wall, and
covered my face with my hands, hating the
bright, flaunting sunshine, the laughter, and
the merry voices that faintly reached me from
the cliff above.

There are times in the experience of every
one when a vague, crushing sense of misery,
that defies analysis and resists the efforts of
reason to dispel, overwhelms us with an irre-
sistible pressure — when the soul sits desolate
among its household gods, and can find no
help or comfort In their familiar faces. The
waters of this unknown bitterness were pass-
ing over my soul as I sat and listened to the
dreamy murmur of the waves, lazily lapping
among the sunken rocks far below me, with
an indefinite feeling, that scarcely amounted
to a wish, to shut my eyes forever on that
wide ring of sky and water, and float off into
the great unknown to the rhythmical pulsing
of the tide.

Soothed by the stillness, the soft fluttering
rush of the wind, and the monotonous wash
of the waves, I must have wandered for a
moment among the misty shadows of the bor-
der land of sleep, for I came slowly back to
an identity of self with a dim sense that I was
falling. Every nerve and fibre thrilled with

542

godkt's lady's book and magazine.

a sickening intensity of consciousness, as I
struggled helplessly to stop myself, and
shrieked in agony, " O Jocelyn, Jocelyn, save
me ! I arn falling — help ! help ! 0 my God !
will no one help me '!" I grappled desperately
for some support ; I clutched madly at the
short, slippery grass that grew in the seams
and crevices, but the treacherous, shelving
ledges afforded no foothold ; I felt the smooth
warm stones slowly slipping from my grasp,
as I sank slowly, slowly, bat with a horrible
certainty to my death. My brain whirled
with crowding thoughts, and in the midst of
my mad agony came a mocking memory of
the long, sunny days when I had wandered
over the summer meadows with Earl Hath-
away in my far childhood time — of the happy
days before Ethel came among us like an evil
presence. I thought how he was laughing
and jesting with her even then, while I was
dying, dying alone. I seemed to see myself
lying a bruised, ghastly corpse upon the sharp,
pitiless rocks below, slowly lifted by the tide
and carried out to sea, floating, swaying with
the rocking currents, with white, upturned
face and tangled hair, perhaps tossed up at
last upon the sandy crescent of the beach —
perhaps finding a rest among the reedy inlets
and black, tide-filled pools of the vast, silent,
desolate marshes, without a burial — gnawed
by the waves, torn and hacked by the beaks
of ravenous sea-fowl.

Already I felt a fresher air come up damp
with spray from the edge of the precipice, the
dash of the waves grew more distract, and,
mad with despair, I shrieked again, "0 Joce-
lyn, I am dying ! help me ! save me 1 Earl,
Earl, come tome, quick, andsave me! Oh the
sharp, cruel rocks ! 0 God 1 0 Jocelyn, help
me !" I heard a cry of horror, swift footsteps
on the rocks above ; I felt a strong arm around
me, and then thought and feeling circled into
the black blank of unconsciousness.

When I slowly grew back into recollection
again, I was lying on the bank above, leaning
against Jocelyn' s knee, my head upon his
arm. Maud was weeping convulsively, and
there was a thrill of tears in Jocelyn's voice
as he said, solemnly : —

"Father in heaven, I thank Thee! 0
Agnes, if you had died" — he stopped sud-
denly.

"You have had a narrow escape, Miss
Fanshawe. Great Heaven ! if you had fainted
one moment before you did — I shudder to

think of it. Allow me to compliment you on
the heroism you displayed," said the smooth,
flattering voice of Jack Bell, with a touch of
real feeling in it.

"0 Agnes, Agnes, my dearest, dearest sis-
ter," sobbed Maud, throwing herself on the
ground beside me ; "I never can forgive my-
self ; it is all my fault. Earl heard your cry,
but I laughed at him and said it was only the
gulls. I did not dream that any harm could
happen to you, you know the Crags so well ;
but oh, Agnes, if you had died, I should have
been your murderer."

" How did it happen, Agnes? did you fall?"
asked Ethel.

I could not speak, but yielding to my wish,
Jocelyn lifted me gently to my feet.

"Agnes, my sister, are you sure you are
strong enough to stand ? Lean on me; don't
try to walk."

' ' Jocelyn, was it you ?" He did not answer,
but wrung my offered hand in silence.

" We were all talking about the fishing-
party, Miss Fanshawe," said Bell ; " and Earl
thought he heard a cry ; we listened for it,
thinking it only the screaming of the gulls,
and presently it came again plainer than be-
fore, and Jocelyn, who was nearest to the
cliff, sprang down the rocks like a deer, and
before we could reach the place we met him
coming up with you lying in his arms, dead,
as we thought, you looked so lifeless.

" She does not look much better now, poor
child! so pale and weak," said Jocelyn.

And then I noticed Earl had not spoken
like the rest. He was standing apart, pale
and silent, with gleaming eyes and quivering
lips, and a look on his face I had never seen
before. He did not speak to me or take my
hand to welcome me back from the gates of
death, but stood with tightly-folded arms and
eyes that saw nothing, as if the splintered
peaks of the Storm Crags held no human
being but himself. It stung me to the quick,
and I broke into a stormy rain of tears, re-
peating to myself, " I wish that I had died, I
wish that I had died."

When, calmed and rested, we spoke of my
accident that evening in the parsonage parlor,
his old manner had returned ; and during the
rides, and walks, and summer pleasures that
filled the succeeding days, he was always the
same — always kind, tender, and watchful of
my comfort.

So the days and weeks, pale wanderers from

CONCERNING RINGS AND PRECIOUS STONES.

5-43

the gardens of the Infinite, crossed the golden

bridges of tile present, and passed out of sight
among the shadows of the past.

(Conclusion noxt luouth.)

CONCERNING RINGS AND PRECIOUS
STONES.

Charts and necklaces havo been worn as
feminine ornaments sineo the remotest period ;
thus Homer describes to us the amber and
gold necklace, set with precious stones, pre-
sented to Penelope by one of her suitors.
Wealthy Roman ladies wore them of gold and
silver, those of the lower classes of OOpper.
It was the custom to wind them round the
waist as well as the neck, and to hang from
them pearls and trinkets of various sizes. In
France, necklaces were first worn by ladies in
the reign of Charles VII., who presented one
of precious stones to Agnes Sorel. The gems
were probably uncut, for the lady complained
of them hurting her neck ; but as the king
admired it, she continued to wear it, saying
that women might surely bear a little pain to
please those they loved. The fashion, of
course, was at once adopted by the ladies of
the court, and soon became general. During
the reign of Henri II. pearls were greatly in
rogue for necklaces, as we find from tho
portraits of Diane de Poitiers and Mary Queen
of Scots. The Queen Dowager of- Prussia
possesses a very beautiful pearl necklace,
formed in a remarkable way. On the day of
her marriage the king gave her a splendid
pearl, and added one on each anniversary.
An interesting anecdoto about necklaces is
connected with the Empress Eugenie. 'When
the ruler of France marries, it is the custom
for the city of Paris to present the bride with
some costly gift. In 1853 the city of Paris
voted the sum of 600,000 francs to purchase
a diamond necklace for tho empress. But
the young empress expressed a wish that
the money should be worthily expended in
founding a school for poor young girls in the
Faubourg St. Antoine. This school, called
liaison Eugenie Napoleon, was opened in 1 v." 7,
and now shelters 400 girls, who are instructed
by those excellent teachers the Sisters of St.
Vincent de Paul.

The fashion of wearing gold crosses can bo
traced to the beginning of the sixteenth
century. A portrait of Anne of Cleves shows
her adorned with three necklaces, to one of

which a jewelled cross is attached. The
priests vehemently assailed this custom from
the pulpit, bnt the ladies held fast, and now

and then added a ln-art of precious stones.
Eventually an anchor was placed with tho
other two, and bene.- we have the now ordi-
nary symbols of Faith, Hope, and Charity.

Clasps were first worn by the military to
fasten their cloaks, but the fashion gradually
became general with both sexes during the
third and fourth centuries. These clasps
became with time excessively large, and repre-
sented the more modern fashion of brooches.

Girdles are of very great antiquity, ami
were used in lieu of a purse or pocket. The
belt of the Roman ladies during the empire,
was formed in front like a stomacher, and set
with precious stones. Hence we probably
have the first idea of a corset. In the Middle
Ages bankrupts used to surrender their girdles
in open court. The reason was that, as they
carried all articles of daily use in them, it
was typical of a surrender of their estate.
Taking off the belt was also a sign of doing
homage. Although not fashionable now-a-
days, jewelled girdles have their uses, as was
proved when an attempt was made to assas-
sinate the present Queen of Spain by the
curate Merino. The point of the da
striking on the diamond belt, slipped aside,
and only inflicted a harmless flesh wound.

We have not space to describe in exU nso all
the ornaments of male and female use to which
gems have been applied. For a time valuable
snuff-boxes were considered indispensable by
men, while ladies imitated the fashion by
carrying a bonboniire. Shoe-buckles, too,
have had their day, although in the reign of
Louis XVI. they were so large as to cover the
instep. Gold-headed canes, once the distin-
guishing signs of physicians, who had a species
of smelling-box in the top to protect tho
carrier from infection, are now rarely seen,
except at sea-side French watering-places,
where the Empress of France has brought
them into fashion again, and in the hands of
state footmen.

Rings have in all ages been regarded as the
most important of all ornaments. As a sym-
bol of spiritual alliance and insignia of eternal
dignity, they date hack to the fourth century,
when we find a ring used in the consecration
of bishops. In conformity with the ancient
usage recorded in Scripture, the primitive
Christian Church early adopted the ceremony

544

godet's lady's book and magazine.

of the ring of betrothal as a symbol of the
authority which the husband gave the wife
over his household and over the earthly goods
with which he endowed her.

" A contract of eternal bond of love,
Confirmed by natural joinder of your hands,
Attested by the holy close of lips,
Strengthened byinterchangement of your rings. M

In the ancient marriage ritual, the husband
placed the ring on the first joint of the bride's
thumb, saying, "In the name of the Father ;"
he then removed it to the forefinger with the
words, "In the name of the Son;" then to
the middle finger, adding, "And of the Holy
Ghost ; " ' finally the ring was left on the fourth
finger with the word "Amen!" About a
century ago it was the custom to wear the
marriage ring on the thumb, although at the
nuptial ceremony it was placed on the fourth
finger.

The coronation ring of the kings of England
is plain gold, with a large violet table ruby,
whereon a plain cross of St. George is curi-
ously engraved. The queen's ring is also of
gold, with a large table ruby and sixteen
small diamonds round the ring. Nor must we
omit the curious Venetian fashion of the Doge
of Venice wedding the Adriatic. Annually
for six hundred years, the magnificently-
appointed Bucentaur bore' the doge to the
shores of the Lido, near the mouth of the
harbor. Here, letting a ring fall into the
bosom of his bride, the bridegroom uttered
the words, "We wed thee with this ring in
token of otw true and perpetual sovereignty."
Napoleon I. dissolved the marriage, and the
couple never came together again.

Among ring curiosities we may mention the
gimmal, often alluded to in old writers. It is
composed'Of twin or double hoops, fitting so
exactly into each other that, when united, they
form but one circlet. Each hoop is generally
surmounted by a hand, the two being clasped
when the rings are brought together. One
hoop was sometimes of gold, and the other of
silver. The custom of wearing mourning-
rings is ancient : thus we find Shakspeare
bequeathing to John Henninge, H. Burbage,
and Henry Condell "twenty-six shillings
eightpence apiece to buy them rings." Rings
were also given away to attendants on the day
of their master's marriage. The fashion of
wearing thumb-rings is very ancient in Eng-
land. When the tomb of the Venerable Bede
was opened in 1831, a large thumb-ring of

iron, covered with a thick coating of gold,
was found in the place which the right hand
had occupied before it fell into dust.

TO MY WIFE,

On the Nineteenth Anniversary of our Wedding,

Br 3. R. B.

Full twenty years their course have run.

Of shade and sunny weather,
Since first we took each other's hand

To tread life's path together.

That path hath not been ever smooth,

Our happiness unclouded:
For sorrow with her sable fold

Some earlier hopes hath shrouded.

Ah, who could ask a cloudless sky ;

One bright, continual noon ;
Eternal spring — or endless day

Of roses and of June?

The day will all the brighter 6eem

If clouds obscured the morn;
The sweetest flower of Flora's train

Still bears the sharpest thorn.

Dark clonds may sometimes hover o'er
A bright and beauteous heaven ;

They pass — and give our rapture*! view
The rainbow tints of even.

So pass we on ; let grief or joy

In varying turn betide us;
We '11 pluck the flower, avoid the thorn.

And love's true light shall guide us,

THE VESPER.

BY 0. MITCHELL.

BEAUTIFUL star,
A gleaming coronet adorns thy brow,
Thy shining pathway is beset with gems,
A myriad host add lustre to thy train,
And the cerulean of the arching skies,
Now pales at thy approach.

The belted Orion,
The Constellations, and the Pleiades,
Thy sister planets, and their satellites,
With bright Arcturus, thy pavilion-grace;
While numerous stars of lesser magnitude
Glitter and sparkle in the milkmaid's path.

Now Luna comes.
In qneenlike beauty ; with majestic step
She treads the azure palaces on high,
Glances arou,nd immeasurable space,
And spreads her mantle of soft silver beams
O'er this green earth below.

Bright vesper star,
Though this great orb illumes the crown of night.
Thy brilliance dues not fade, through her thin vl:1
Thy rays resplendent shine, and heaven's expanse
Portrays her wonders to the universe,
And proves the work Omnipotent, Divine.

"THE OTHER ONE."

BY B . A»X1H FROST.

It was a distinctive title, which was almost
as much her name as the Antoinette inscribed
upon the baptismal register. People talked
of the beautiful Miss Hammond, the talented
Miss Hammond, and the other one ; or of the
eldest Miss Hammond, the youngest Miss
Hammond, and the other one ; or varied this
by the brunette, the blonde, and the other
one; and I am sure all the large circle of ac-
quaintance who thus distinguished them will
ridicule the idea of making a heroine out of
"the other one."

Looking at her, upon the dreary December
njght which opens my story, you will see
there is but little outwardly to mark her as
, fitted for the post. The slender little figure,
so neatly draped in pretty blue merino ; the
glossy braids of brown hair, with no flower or
jewel to decorate their profusion ; the delicate
complexion, soft brown eyes, and sweet flexi-
ble mouth, are each graceful and winning ;
but glancing from her to the sisters who stand
near her, you admit their advantages. Leonie,
the tall, superb brunette, in her black lace
dress, gleaming here and there with rich
crimson knots of ribbon, her hair drooping
low and crowned with crimson flowers, is
Juno like and bewildering iu her regal beauty ;
while Lucy, the blonde, tall too, but exqui-
sitely ethereal in her floating robes of white,
With -tarry jasmine twisted in her short curls,
is only second to Leonie in loveliness. Mamma,
tall anil dark, with worldliness written upon
every feature of her handsome face, is in gala
dress too, for to-night one of the crowning
festivities of the season is waiting the arrival
of the Misses Hammond, and Mrs. Hammond
always accompanies her daughters. Nettie,
of course, was invited, but Nettie don't care
mnch for parties, and has chosen to wait at
home for papa ; for papa, being a physician
in full practice, has a fashion of popping in at
all sorts of eccentric hours, and Nettie has
noticed that he seems to relish his coffee or
dinner more, when she hovers about him to
pay personal attention to the sugar or salt
question ; to ask questions of the day's duties ;
to pepper his dinner with rattling anecdotes
of home ; or sympathize with him over some
vol. lxviii. — 43

newly discovered case of distress. Leonie and
Lucy have declared it a horrid shame that
she won't go ; her mother has added that
Nettie has queer notions, and she has had hor
own way in the matter.

As soon as the carriage rolls away with the
party-goers, Nettie tidies the pretty sitting-
room, and takes out her knitting, a pair of
wonderful crimson and brown comforts for
papa's wrists. She has not long to knit ; for
by nine o'clock she hears the gig drive up,
and tosses aside needles and wool, to fly down
stairs and greet her father.

"Come in the sitting-room, papa," she
cries, drawing him forward; "it is so nice
and warm there, and I have told Martha to
bring up your supper, so you won't have to
go down again."

"Rest all out?" asks the doctor.

" Yes ; gone to Mrs. Moseley's, the large
party, you know, that we had cards for last
week."

" Why didn't you go ?"

"Oh, I didn't care for it. Three of us are
enough, and where Leo and Lou are, they
won't miss me. Oh, father, Leo was superb
to-night ; she had her hair dressed in the
new fashion, with crimson flowers all woven
in among the braids, and drooping on the
neck. She wore grandma's diamonds, too,
and her dress was very becoming."

"You should have gone ; Martha can wait
upon me."

Yet while he said it, the doctor knew that
Martha's fingers could never arrange a tray so
temptingly, never wait upon him so thought-
fully and noiselessly, Martha's voice make
such music in his heart, or give him such a
sense of rest after the day's fatigue and anx-
iety.

"And now, papa, while you eat your sup-
per, I want to read you a story Lou wrote to-
day. One of her gems, with the prettiest song
verses introduced. You are not too tired ?"

The proud father was never too tired to
admire Lucy's graceful sketches ; so the story
was read and admired to Nettie's full satis-
faction.

"Ain't it lovely?" she said, as she folded

545

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godey's lady's book and magazine.

the papers. " I am so proud of Lucy. It is so
nice when I hear strangers wondering who
L. H. is, to think that 's niy sister, and to have
such a delicious little mystery to unfold."

' ' And now tell me what you have been doing
all day?"

"All sorts of things. I helped Lou a little
by copying her article for her, and I made the
knots of Leo's dress, and trimmed mamma's
gloves, and concocted that chicken-pie you
are eating, and did a lot of odds and ends,
nothing much."

" Are you too tired to read me this article
in the Lancet? My eyes are snow dazzled,
and I should like to hear what this fellow has
to say — ' Diseases of the Eye.' "

" I am sure he recommends green specta-
cles for doctors who drive about on sunlit
snow. By the way, papa, do you suppose
any doctor ever practises what he preaches ?"

"I don't know, dear, I'm sure; I should
probably preach very loudly at any of my
patients who drank such strong coffee as this
in the evening, or who ate his eggs as I do
mine, boiled to perfect bullets."

"lam so glad you are not going out again, "
said Nettie, as her father donned dressing-
gown and slippers, and struck an attitude,
peculiar to tired doctors, upon the sofa —
"though," she added, thoughtfully, "itmust
pay for being tired, to comfort so many-poor
sick folks as you do."

"And to have such a nice little girl to
make one lazy," said her father. " You are
right, Nettie ; the power to soothe a sufferer,
to comfort a mourner, to aid nature to restore
or smooth the path to the grave, is a gift God
sent, for which I give him humble and hearty

thanks. I was sent for to-day to the C

Hotel, to prescribe for a gentleman, a stranger
here, who fell. upon the ice, and has got an
ugly compound fracture to keep him a prisoner
for a long time. He is all alone, his family
being in California, and I really think was
more grateful for an hour's chat than for all
my bandages and splints."

"I should say the chat was decidedly the
most agreeable. Foor fellow ! Who is he ?"

"You '11 find his card in my coat pocket.
Not that — nor that — that's it 1"

"Leonard Williams 1 Why, papa, that's
Leonard William*."

"Well, dear?"

"But, papa, you remember Hattie Simp-
son?"

"Yes, dear," said the bewildered doctor,
looking at Nettie's flushed cheeks.

" Who went to California three years ago,
with her father, and married John Coles.
Well, her father married the widow of the
great banker, Willis Williams, and she wrote
that Leonard, the only son, was coming here
on his tour through the States. You must
have heard Leo talk of it."

"Well, you know, dear, I don't hear Leo
talk much. As she never comes down to
breakfast, and is out every evening, and as I
am away all day, there is not much chance of
her telling me the news. But I remember
Hattie very well. So this is a connection of
hers ?"

" Why, papa, all the girls are crazy to see
him. His father left him an immense for-
tune, and he is one of the most successful
lawyers in San Francisco. Hattie describes
him as about as near perfection as one of
Lou's heroes."

" He 's rather a fine looking fellow, with
large, frank eyes, that look straight at one,
and he has a good, clear voice, too, as if he
was ashamed of nothing he had to say. He
a hero ! Well, he won't captivate a heroine
just yet, Nettie, for his arm is in a bad way.
Now, the Lancet T'

The long, able article was read and criti-
cized, and quite a perceptible impression
made upon the knitting before the doctor and
Nettie concluded to seek their respective apart-
ments, and if there had been one lingering
regret on Nettie's mind for the brilliant party
she had lost, her father's warm kiss and " God
bless you, darling," quite drove it away.

The next morning, Leonard Williams was
fully discussed at the breakfast-table. Leonie
and Lucy were still dreaming of the conquests
of the previous evening, but Mrs. Hammond
decided that the invalid must be their guest.
The doctor was only too glad to offer his hos-
pitality to the stranger, and Mrs. Hammond
fully appreciated the "chance" thrown in her.
way. Leonie and Lucy were much too fasci-
nating for a resident in the house to leave
the heart whole, and visions of the stranger's
immense wealth danced in fascinating profu-
sion through mamma's brain as she dressed

for the ride to the C Hotel to offer her.

motherly care to Leonard Williams.

He was up and dressed when the doctor
entered the room, but there was a contraction
of lip and brow, a deadly pallor and weary

<:TIIE OTIIER ONE.

547

-ion that told of acute pain, 1>orne
quietly. To say that he accepted the doctor's
invitation gratefully, gives but a feeble idea
of the glow in his cheek, tho light in his eyes
that expressed his pleasure. A home !

'• We can all feel independent enough when
we ar.> well, doctor." he said, smiling ; "but
there is nothing like a twingeof pain to reoall
mother love, or a good fit of sickness to bring
out home memories. But I am afraid to tax
yonr kindness so far. A stranger — "

"Not at all, tho women folks have disco-
vered an old friend. You may have heard
Hattie Coles speak of the Hammonds."

" Speak of them ! Haven't I bowed in
spirit before Miss Leonie's picture, and ad-
mired even to Hattie's content the exquisite
stories of Miss Lucy. And you are really Dr.
Hammond.''

"Really, and Mrs. Hammond is waiting in
the parlor to add her invitation to mine, and
to see that you have the proper number of
pillows in the carriage."

The reception and first impressions of our
hero, are best put in his own words. In a
pile of letters tied with ribbon, and tucked
away in Mrs. Cole's work-table drawer, there
is one which reads thus : —

P , Dec. IS—.

Dear Hattie : You were very anxious to
have me write as soon as I had seen your
dear friend Leonie Hammond, and tell you
how she impressed me, so here goes for a long
letter. First and foremost, you must go to
mother for the details of a lueky fall I had,
and the subsequent invitation to make Dr.
Hammond's house my home ; then, fancy me
fairly domesticated, in a charming room, with
that dear old gentleman to pay me daily visits,
his stately wife to see that I have every com-
fort, and the young ladies flying in or out as
the whim takes them. I have never been too
sick to come down stairs, but appear daily in
a charming crimson wrapper that suits my
Spanish complexion to a nicety, and slippers
that would make anybody lazy.

But all this time you are waiting to hear
of your friend. Hattie, she is bewildering,
even your descriptions fall short of the reality,
and your vignette portrait is a miserable libel.
Such eyes — now full of fire, now beaming with
mirth, now melting with pathos — such a
queenly figure, such beautiful, rich tresses,
such a sunny complexion — well, words do her

no justice. She is the most wonderfully
beautiful woman I ever saw.

Of Lucy, I see but little ; she is abstracted
and self-contained, spends whole days shut
up in the doctor's library, and seems to pass
her whole time in dreaming out her new
stories or poems, which are certainly worth
the trouble.

But, Hattie, why did you never tell me of
the other one; Nettie, the household fairy,
the wee, witching, graceful Cinderella to these
lovely sisters. No, not Cinderella, for that
heroine was neglected and abused, and Nettie
just wraps round her warm heart the love of
the whole family. While Leonie is riding,
driving, dancing, skating, or sleeping, and
Lucy is shut up in the library bewailing the
sorrows of Aramenta or creating a situation
for Clementina, Nettie is the home fairy. She
appears in the sitting-room daily with deli-
cious compounds which she informs me she
has manufactured for my especial delight,
though I notice there is always a duplicate
dish for the doctor's dinner or supper. She
comes in demurely to sit down to great piles
of white stuff which she gravely states to bo
the "week's mending," and shoots a tiny
glittering needle in and out, reducing long
ends of thread to miserable inches in less time
than it takes to tell it, her tongue all the
while keeping up a merry rattle, or tracing
out deeper thought as the whim takes her.
The others are very gay, and dazzle me night
after night by coming in to twist round before
the pier glass as they are starting for a party,
sometimes dragging Nettie off too, spite of her
reluctance, to bring her home full of pleasure
at the admiration lavished upon her sisters.
But the most charming time of all is the
evening. Dr. Hammond is generally at home,
or when he is out, one of the sisters remains.
On the latter occasions, we have music and
small talk ; but when the doctor presides,
then Nettie lets all her hidden inner self out,
and a charming self it is, so womanly, so true,
pure, and good. No deep thought to startle,
but the quiet, reliable intelligence of a child,
frank and questioning, yet full of beauty.
She reads beautifully, and we have all Lucy's
stories, as she writes them, varied by tho
articles in the Lancet, the news of the day,
poetry, fiction, history, anything that one of
the trio will suggest. She seldom plays when
her sisters are present ; but for the doctor
and I she will accompany herself to simple

548

godey's lady's book and magazine.

ballads, which she sings with taste, in a clear,
sweet, but not very powerful voice, often
giving me the use of her fingers to carry out
the tenor you are so fond of. It is very beau-
tiful to see how they all love her, and rely
upon her. She can always produce the
doctor's lost spectacles or instrument case,
knows exactly where her mother laid her fan
last evening, is always ready to trim Leonie's
dresses, lend her finery, or braid her magnifi-
cent hair, has time to copy Lucy's articles,
hunt up her quotations, pet her headaches, or
find out the complimentary notices in the
papers, and feels amply rewarded by being
kissed, petted, and imposed upon by every
member of the loving family.

Ah, Leonie is superb, Lucy hag wonderful
talent, but, Hattio, for a home bird, for a
companion, friend, and wife, give me the
"other one."

It created something of an excitement in
the family when the millionaire, the gentle-
manly invalid who had won the affection of
all, made his sentiments public, but when he
announced his intention of taking an ad-
joining house and setting up his ofliee in the
city, the doctor gave a glad consent to take
him for a son-in-law, while Leo and Lou
declared he would make the most delightful
brother-in-law imaginable.

"To think," said Leo, laughing, as she
stood contemplating a pile of silk and lace,
heaped up in the sitting-room, "that the first
wedding in the family should carry off — "

" Not the beauty," said Lucy.

"Nor the authoress," said her mother.

"But," in chorus, "the other one."

THE MANAGEMENT OF FLOWERS IN
DWELLINGS.

At this season of the year, when flowers are
plentiful, a note of warning respecting their
sanitary effect in dwellings may be useful ;
for, notwithstanding all their beauty, flowers,
if not properly managed, are a source of sick-
ness and danger. In closed and darkened
apartments, and in the night, flowers which
are so delightful to the eye throw off quanti-
ties of carbonic acid gas, which mixes with
and poisons the atmosphere ; and, to add to
the evil, in the night, while the leaves are
distributing the unwholesome carbonic acid,
they absorb largely the oxygen of the atmo-

sphere ; and, in this way, in a close apartment,
flowers have precisely the same effect as hu-
man beings sleeping. Fatal results are said
to have arisen from this cause. In the day-
light, the effect of flowers upon health is dif-
ferent ; for, if the sun's rays are admitted
freely into an apartment, the effect of plants
is beneficial, as is shown by the result of an
experiment made by Dr. Gilly. It is clearly
advisable that plants and flowers should at
night be kept as carefully as possible from
bedrooms ; and, while the sun is set, even
from other apartments in which persons live.
Such, however, is the charm of flowers, it is
not probable that, from any sanitary consider-
ations, they will ever be driven from dining-
rooms, ball-rooms, and elsewhere ; but the
peculiar effects to which we have referred
show how necessary it is in such places to
have thorough ventilation. During the day-
time, if the light be freely admitted, plants, if
healthy, and flowers, if they be fresh, are
beneficial to the atmosphere of a bedroom ;
but if the bedroom be kept darkened during
the day, the flowers will vitiate the air ; for
then the carbonic acid will fail to be decom-
posed, and the oxygen to be distributed ; the
plants, therefore, will act in the most injurious
manner as in the night time. The daugerof
retaining stale bouquets is evident ; for while
withering they throw off volumes of carbonic
acid.

A VISION BY MOONLIGHT.

BY THOMAS O. GENTRY.

■When the moon with beams resplendent,

Faint illumines every hill ;
And each animated being

Is profoundly hushed and still ;
Then, oh then, I love to wander,

Led by vision's fairy wand,
From this world of transient beauty

To fair Canaan's happy land ;
Then with angels, pure, celestial,

Range those hallowed plains of light ;
Drink in never-ending pleasures,

Bathe my soul in pure dtlight.
Over blooming hills and valleys

Deck'd with flowers of every hue,
Breathing incense, pure, unsullied,

Glistening with ambrosial dew ;
By the side of purling streamlets,

In some shady, cool reces6,
Where the ever-blooming life-tree

Bears its tall and lofty crest :
There my thoughts delight to wander

When they fly this earthly dome,
There 'mid scenes like these to revel,

There to find a welcome home.

AUNT SOPHIE'S VISITS.— NO. XVI.

KT THE LATB I-ri'Y N. OODFKEY.

' It ir^ a charming rural landscape, upon
which Aunt Sopllio looked, as her husband,
stopping his horses on the brow of the hill
they hail just ascended, said : —

"There is brothel Gilbert's home."

"A happy one it surely ought to be, mid
such delightful surroundings," replied Aunt
Sophie, as her eye feasted upon the bright
summer scene.

Luxuriantly wooded hills came compara-
tively near the home fields at the north,
while, towards the south, a broad, bright
river wound, like a silver ribbon, through
rich green meadows and waving fields of grain.
At the west, clrarch spires and roofs of build-
ings suggested pleasant thoughts of the neigh-
boring village. In the foreground of the sweet
picture, they saw the quaint, roomy farm-
house, with gay flower beds in front, and
luxuriant vines wreathing the pillars of the
porch, while ample barns and well-kept fences
told of thrift and abundance.

Uncle Charles looked for a few moments
upon the many pleasant indications of his
brother's prosperity with evident satisfaction,
then, driving slowly on, he said: — ■

" I hope Gilbert's life is as much happier,
than when I was here during his widowhood,
as his home is brighter. I well remember
how desolate and dreary everything about
here seemed, beneath the cold light of the
moon, on that morning in late November, as
I rode away from the lonely house, with its
morbidly melancholy owner, to take the early
train for home. Not even the flushing of the
violet skies, which betokened approaching
dawn, could dispel the depressing influence of
the gloomy scene, and I was obliged to re-
proach myself that I gave no cheerful, hopeful
word to my sad-heartod brother at parting ;
while his sombre face continually intruded
upon my fancy, till he wrote that cheery
letter announcing his approaching marriage to
one whom he termed emphatically the most
cheerful woman he had ever known. Do you
remember how confident he was, that she,
who had met poverty and hardships with a
song on her lips and a strong will for labor in
her heart, would brighten his home with her

43*

cheerful spirit, even more than he might
gladden her by his affection and his wealth .'"

"I recollect that his sanguine hopes of
renewed happiness furnished a pleasant lesson
for me, in that my thoughts were thrown
upon the elasticity of our natures. He had
seemed to be crushed to earth by the loss of
all his precious children, and the long illness
and death of his wife, yet his written words
proved the buoyancy with which he had risen
to be again the strong man, rejoicing in noble
capacities for happiness. His hopes seemed
well-founded, in that he rested them even
more upon 'his will and ability to make a
worthy woman, whom fortune had hitherto
abused, happy, than upon any advantage ho
might gain. But there he is, erect and
smiling — see ! he recognizes us !"

An instant later, and they were cordially
welcomed by Mr. Gilbert Laselle, who hastened
to introduce his wife, a short, fleshy woman,
with twinkling black eyes, and a generally
youthful appearanoe for one who had, as they,
knew, seen near fifty years. She greeted them
in a lively, hearty way, which showed her
disposition to sociability, and then bustled
about to insure their comfort. The prepara-
tion of the bountiful repast was not left to
the housemaid ; for mistress went with more
than equal steps through dining-room, pan-
try, and kitchen, while occasional remarks at
the parlor door showed that she was interested
in the conversation going on there.

In a very short time they were seated at the
loaded table, and the hostess had opportunity
for the eager questions she had been longing
to ask of her native village, where our friends
had visited on their way thither. Even tho
keen observation of Uncle Charles and Aunt
Sophie had failed to make them competent' to
answer her queries ; but she was exceedingly _
gratified by what they could tell her of mutual
acquaintances and public improvements.

"You see her heart is in the old place yet,
though I certainly try to make her new home
pleasant for her," said her husband, half
sadly.

"Indeed you do too much for me, more than
I deserve," she answered, quickly. "This

549

550

godey's lady's book and magazine.

home is only too good, and I am happy here,
you know, Mr. Laselle, though I am so foolish,
sometimes, as to long for the old discomforts,
if thus I might win the society of my children.
It is silly and ungrateful, I know, since they
do not need me now ; but I am not yet used
to being petted and taken care of, and so I
make awkward work of appreciating your
indulgence. I hope I shall do better by and
by." The tear which glistened in her eye as
she closed, partly indicated the depth of her
feeling.

Aunt Sophie soon saw through the puzzle,
which had wholly baffled her brother-in-law.
He could not understand why the woman
who had sung so gayly and laughed so
merrily in a little poverty-marked home,
should lose the spontaneity of her cheerfulness
when lifted above the necessity for care or
toil, as mistress of his home. Neither did the
wife herself know why she found it so almost
constantly necessary to combat an inclination
to homesickness. She chided herself as
unreasonable and ungrateful, but self-re-
proaches did not help her in her efforts to be
cheerful. The old songs died on her lips,
and the old stories had lost their wit, so she
sometimes felt a painful consciousness that
she was fast growing old, and at other times
assured herself that, if she were only back
among the old duties and associations, she
should again be happy. Aunt Sophie saw
that she needed the duties quite as much as
the associations. Gilbert, in his well-meant
but mistaken efforts to secure her happiness,
insisted on her leaving everything to hired
help, and, in the ordinary daily routine, she .
had done so mostly, but now that there was
company in the house, her love for open-
handed, old-fashioned hospitality gave her an
unwonted interest in the housekeeping, and
the result was soon obvious in her increased
cheerfulness. Since her second marriage,
depression of spirits had led her to avoid
making new acquaintances as much as pos-
sible ; she had, however, anticipated the visit
of our friends, on her own account as well as
upon that of her husband, for of them she
hoped to learn of her native town, and
perhaps of her children, and she had enjoyed
the visit even beyond her expectations.

One morning, as they sat at work together,
Aunt Sophie referring to her departure on the
morrow, her sister-in-law said : —

"I am so sorry to have you go so soon; I

am just beginning to cheer up a bit, and feel
really at home here, and I am afraid if you
leave now I shall fall back into the old foolish
feelings. I know that I ought to be happy as
a bird, for Mr. Laselle is very kind, and no
want that money can meet is left ungratified,
but I have been most unreasonably homesick
ever since I came here. I used to think I
ought to be thankful for my cheerful, con-
tented disposition ; but it has deserted me
now, and I don't know as it can be hired or
flattered to return."

"We rarely obtain our most coveted trea-
sures for mere hire or persuasion," replied
Aunt Sophie, smiling.

" Then how can I regain my wonted cheer-
fulness ?" exclaimed the lady, in a half de-
spairing tone.

" Do you know how you lost it ?" asked our
friend.

Her companion thought for a moment, and
then replied : —

"I don't know as I do; let me tell you of
my past life, and perhaps you will see mora
clearly than I."

Aunt Sophie expressed her lively interest,
and her sister, in a cold, impassive tone, told
of the labors and privations of her girlhood.
Left an orphan at an early age, there had been
little to brighten her early life, save sturdy
health, a naturally lively temper, and unfail-
ing animal spirits— these had enabled her to
laugh and sing over tasks which would have
been sad and weary ones to most young girls,
and even then the burden of her favorite song
was —

" Oh for a home beside the hills !"
for vague hopes of a future home lay in the
heart of her who had never shared home's
choicest blessings, and were often warmed
into charming beauty by her youthful fancy.

The face of the narrator kindled, and her
voice grew tender as she spoke of the love
which rose upon her life like the spring sun
upon the winter-bound earth. How wonder-
fully her whole being expanded beneath the
genial influence ! She had labored from habit
and the necessity of earning her livelihood,
now she tried to do everything in the best
manner possible, that she might the better fit
herself to preside in the home of Richard
Martin. Idealizing him as all that was good
and noble, as a true love always does, she
strove to make herself worthy of his sympathy
and companionship. The hopes, which had

ACXT SOPniE's VISITS.

and indefinite, assumed forms
ttiiirh, though humble, delighted her. There
it two j)laces in the world for her, the
one brightened by her lover's presence, the
other dark from his absence. The lowly tene-
ment, whioh made their first home together,
was more blest than many a palace, for Lovo
and Content chose it as a dwelling-place,
while Hope threw a rosy light upon the future
of the young couple.

They were very happy in each other, yet
the dream of a permanent home had equal
charms for both. Each loving nature, they
determined upon a little farm ; for this they
would labor, for this they would economize.
They built many a fair air-castle together,
and it was well for them so to do. When we
shall "lose our sleep and find our dreams,"
shall we not learn that many a veined
ing has flowed into human life, from just such
sources as this sweet intercourse between
those God had united ? It may be that the
hopes are often blasted, the purposes thwarted,
and the dreams vain, yet do not they live in
their expanding influence upon that life which
is real, though unseen ?

Often, of an evening, the voices of husband
and wife mingled in charming melody, and
still the most frequent refrain was —
"Oh for a homo beside the hills I"

Other hopes came to enlarge their lives as,
one after another, little claimants of love and
care blessed their home. The yearly saving
for the future grew less and less, as little
mouths increased, but Richard and Mary felt
that their surplus funds were far better in-
vested in making their children comfortable
and happy than in houses or lands, for thus
there came to them large increase of love,
happiness, and hope. How easy it was for
fancy to frame glowing pictures of the coming
years, when younger hands should take hold,
with youthful strength and vigor, to help in
building the home of which they had dreamed
so long.

Those were ' ! seed years. Doubtless there
had been many little trials to be met, many
cares to be borne, but Mary had no memory
for these, for the trials had only been tem-
porary and the cares had not been heavy or
wearing ones, while the love, the oontent, and
the joy had been perennial. Her little ones
were remarkably healthy and merry. It was
far pleasanter taking care of them, and pre-
serving order in the home of her precious

husband, than it had been drudging in the
kitchens of others. Having a very line voice,
her happiness naturally found utterance in
song, and each day she went about her hemse-
hold duties with lively melodies upon her
lips, which Richard was accustomed to say
kept the children always in tune. IS'ot only
were daily duties pleasures to his loving
heart, but almost every day brought its hour
of relaxation and sweet converse with him on
whom she leaned in placid, wifely trust. How
she loved to remember the unalloyed happi-
ness of those summer twilights, when she had
sat in the porch at Richard's side, while the
children frolicked in the yard ! those quiet
winter evenings too, when, with their treasures
all safely sleeping near, her husband read to
her or talked of their little plans ! and those
sunny Sabbath mornings, when, the baby
being left with some kind neighbor, with
whom she would soon reciprocate the favor,
she walked with the rest of her family to the
house of God ! Memory's pictures of these
years were all bright, but a time of anxiety
and suffering came, though the dark fore-
boding was concealed as long as possible, and
the pain was ever meekly and patiently borne,
that neither might unnecessarily sadden the
other.

They had live boys and two girls, all rosy
cheeked, laughter-loving children, of whom
much aid might be expected by and by ; but
they must be claimants of care at present, for
Richie, the eldest, was only ten, and the
youngest was a tiny infant, whose brief life
was numbered in weeks, when their father's
cough became alarming. No medicine availed
anything, though the little fund they had
saved several years before was almost wholly
sacrificed in fruitless efforts to stay the pro-
gress of the destroyer. A few holy months
followed, when disinterested, devoted love
made that humble home bright beneath the
eyes of the angels, though Content, her long-
time, songful companion, sat with veiled face
and mute, patient lips beside the hearthstone.
■When Richard's strength for outdoor labor
failed, he amused the baby, and Mary sought
profitable employment. In her girlhood she
had learned something of the art of coloring :
this knowledge had often helped her to ac-
commodate a neighbor, now she turned to it
as a means of subsistence, and was quite as
successful as she could reasonably have hoped.
Richard not only aided her by his sympathy,

552

godey's lady's book and magazine.

but his acquaintance with chemistry helped
him to teach her new skill in the work she
hail chosen. Consumption flattered them to
the very !ast ; and often, for days together,
their intercourse was intensely gladdened by
the hopes which more favorable symptoms
brought to them.

Her husband's death was very sudden to
Mary. With simple pathos she told Aunt
Sophie that " she felt as though the light was
blown out, and she left alone in the dark, cold
world." Never before had she realized how
fully she had depended on him. Not other-
wise than by the supports being withdrawn,
could she have learned how his sympathy and
encouragement, and her fear of grieving him
had helped her to retain her cheerful manner
during his sickness. But there was no time
to indulge her grief. There were no more
invalid comforts to be purchased, but those
seven little awe-struck, wondering faces would
soon turn to her for food. Resolutely and
hopefully she set herself to the task of pro-
viding for them. First, came the trial of
parting from her home. It was an humble
one, but she could gather her little brood in
smaller space. The little garden, from which
Richard had gathered an abundant supply of
vegetables, would be profitless now, and her
little corner, where the sweet peas, migno-
nette, pinks, pansies, and asters had flour-
ished so luxuriantly, must be given up ; even
the grassy yard was a luxury she prized, as
she returned from her expedition tenement
hunting, having decided upon two large rooms,
with a small woodshed, and a privilege in a
sandy yard, at one-fourth her present rent.
Resolutely she set about the work of removal,
never stopping for a moment to indulge the
sad feelings which welled in her heart. Every
spot in the old home spoke to her of him, of
whom she loved to be reminded, but she could
never forget him in any other place.

Mary felt the children's grief at their change
nf abode, and in striving to make them con-
tented, she was led to manyan effort which
had a healthful influence on herself. For
them she filled the window seats with boxes
containing her pet flowers ; for their sakes
she helped them train the vine which must
serve as a window-blind ; to please them she
placed the pictures Richard had bought for
her before marriage on walls she felt were
unworthy to be thus graced, and thus not
only was a h}ve of beauty implanted in their

young hearts, but the new rooms became
home to her.

To Richie she looked for sympathy ; bpy
though he was, his intercourse with his father
during his illness had given him thoughtful-
ness beyond his years. His mother talked
with him of her plans, and he not only felt
the warmest interest in her preserving their
independence, but was anxious to do some-
thing to assist her. She insisted upon it that
he should continue at the public school for
the present, at least, and help her nights and
mornings. He proved a most faithful errand
boy, going for, and returning the articles
which his mother colored, with ready prompt-
ness, and pleasing her patrons by his modest,
respectful manners.

It was not long before the walls of Mary
Martin's home echoed to lively songs and
cheerful talk. She cherished her husband's
memory, and often, of a Sunday, dressing all
the children in their best, she put the baby
in his little carriage and walked with them
past the old home. She necessarily gave up
going to church till the baby should be old
enough to leave with his little sister ; but '
these Sabbath walks refreshed her for the
severe toil of each coming week. She had
great cause for gratitude in that her own
health was spared, and that of her little Ones.
Never were children healthier, and they lost
nothing of their hearty appetites and plump,
rosy cheeks, when their fare was potato and
salt, or mush and milk. Simple diet they
had, from necessity, and plenty of fresh air,
for the younger ones were left very much to
the older for amusement, out of school hours,
and to themselves, when their brothers and
sister were at school. They were dirty some-
times, and even ragged, at home ; for, though
Mary Martin's needle flew swiftly during the
long evenings, it was often all she could do
to keep tidy suits for the street. Any mother
will readily imagine that so many little knees
needed a mnltitnde of panties, and the call
for new aprons was very frequent. Mary was,
however, able to preserve her independence,
and from her daily talk and example, her
children learned many a better lesson than
they were taught at school. She also retained
her old friends. Though she was rarely able
to return their calls, they often came of an
evening to listen to her lively stories, and join
in her merry laughs. All said she was the
best of company, though they wondered at

AUXT SOPniK S VISITS.

5 5 -3

Lit buoyant spirits, for none doubted her
quick sensibilities ; and they proved t li n t they
sincere by coming often to the lowly
room to sew with her. Thus she lost none of
her interest iu the world about her, anil her
life was kept healthful in its social relations.

Years passed, and Richie was fifteen. He
had impatiently waited his mother's permis-
sion to bare school, that he might help her
more. His heart was full of Quixotic dreams
of what he would do for her. He intended
that she should very soon devote all her time
to her own family, and by and by, when they
should be nicely settled in a better tenement,
she should have a hired girl, as other peoplo
(lid. Mary had often listened with a fond,
half sad smile to his extravagant plans for
making her future life easy, glad in the filial
love of her child, though she knew she could
not shield him from disappointment. Most
keenly she sympathized with him in his search
for work, now proudly and buoyantly he
Trent out, on the very first morning of vaca-
tion, feeling that his good mother was now to
be taken care of, by his own right arm. His
fancy had already seen the harvest of the
labor he was so anxious to sow.

His mother saw his want of success in his
face, upon his return, and greeted him with —

" Well, bub, you have not made our fortune
yet. I see; but, you know, 'a bad beginning
makes a good ending.' I had a most shabby
color at first this morning, and had to make
my dye three times before it was right. Now
I have a splendid shade upon that silk. Look !
It will just suit Mrs. Joy, I am sure."

"Yes, mother, it is nice; but I should be
a great deal more glad if I could suit Mr. Joy.
I wish I could work for him, he has always
been so kind abont the chores and errands I
have done for him."

"I wish you could, my son; but whoever
you work for yon must remember that a good
servant often makes a kind master."

Richie went again and again upon his search
for work. His mother encouraged him all she
could ; but it grieved her to see the brightness
fading from his face, and a weary, careworn
look settling in his eyes. One evening, coming
in late, and finding her alone, he threw his
cap passionately upon the table, exclaiming : —

" I wish I were dead !"

nis mother looked up in grieved surprise,
but before she could speak he went on, im-
petuously : —

"I do, mother; what is the use of li
if one is not good for anything ? I am not ! I
am near-sighted, and I don't know anything
that I ought to ! I have walked the streets
hunting and begging for work, till I am
ashamed to be seen out ! I can't go again,
mother; it is no use. Ido wish I could die!"
The boy's voice broke, and he sat nervously
sobbing.

Poor fellow ! life's illusions were vanishing
early. He was not the strong man he had
fancied himself, and people had carelessly
failed to recognize him for even what he was.
His mother was shocked by his unwonted
expressions. She rebuked him very gently,
then soothed and cheered him, reassuring his
wounded self-confidence by reminding him of
how much she depended on him, playfully
proposing to take him into partnership, and
put out a sign to call the attention of the pub-
lio to the skill of "Mrs. Martin & Son" in the
dyeing line. Mary's son could have no false
pride, and it was not long before he dried his
tears, ready to face the old life, resolving to
lose no opportunity for helping his mother.
Looking in the glass, he tried to rub away the
tear-stains as he said : —

" Well, it is lucky I can lift dye-pots and
do errands ; shall I goto Mrs. Joy's with that
silk to-night?"

"No, my son, it will do me good to go out.
I will go, if you will rip this dress in pieces.
The lady who sent it promised to pay a quar-
ter of a dollar to cither of my children whom
I could trust to rip it : that is a good job for
the first one, is it not ? If you get tired, you
may go out when Amy and Charlie come
home."

The careful mother, after looking to her
sleeping little ones, went to Mr. Joy's with a
double errand. Mrs. Joy very readily pro-
mised to use her influence in persuading her
husband to give Richie some kind of perma-
nent employment. The lady's feelings were
enlisted, and her plea was an earnest one for
the boy, who was already a favorite with
herself and husband, whose only objection to
taking him as an apprentice had arisen from
his unfortunate nearsightedness. The m >::
morning Mr. Joy called at the Widow Martin's
to tell Richie that he would find work for him
if he would be ready to do anything within
his capacity, either at the shop or at the
homes of himself and partner. The boy
eagerly accepted the offer, leaving his work at

55-i

godey's lady's booe and magazine.

home to his younger brothers. Mr. Joy was a
just, Christian man, and each Saturday night
he paid Richie what he had earned during the
week. The boy being always prompt and
ready to do any kind of work at the shop or
chore at the houses, soon became a general
favorite, and more than that, spite of his near-
sightedness, he was gradually acquiring the
trade, which should prove capital for him in
after years, for his will to do all that he
possibly could more than atoned for his
physical disadvantage. He carried all his
wages to his mother each Saturday night.
This addition to her funds was most opportune,
since the children, though needing less watch-
ful care than when younger, required more
clothes.

Time moved steadily on, one after another
the children, reaching the age of fifteen, left
school and went to some employment where
they might wholly or partially take care of
themselves. Richie was still the same faithful
son, but at about the time his youngest
brother left school, he, with his mother's
cordial approval, married, and thenceforth
devoted his best energies to a home of his own,
where he assured her his mother would
always be welcome. The widow's daughters,
too, married well, and resided in the same
village.

Later, when all the children except her
youngest son had settled themselves to their
liking, she and Jamie moved into a little
tenement near Emily's home. Here, though
they had but three little rooms, they had a
little yard where flowers soon bloomed gayly.
In tending these, and doing everything possible
for Jamie's comfort and happiness, Mary found
satisfying happiness. Her voice was some-
what cracked, but it was still hearty, and she
sang the old songs with spirit.

It was at this time that Mr. Gilbert Laselle
came to visit near her. A mutual acquaintance
thought there might be a capital match made
between the gloomy-faced wealthy man and
the poor, but merry widow. She spoke of it
to others, who approved, and the subject was
soon broached to Mr. Laselle, who consented
to an introduction. They met, the widow was
allowed to suppose by accident, though there
had been considerable plotting among third
parties before the meeting was brought about,
and the gentleman was exceedingly pleased
with Mrs. Martin's appearance. Through the
zeal of friends, they soon met again, and

ere long he sought her in her own home,
where he immediately commenced his wooing.
She was surprised, she had no love which
could hallow marriage to bestow. Her whole
heart had been given to the father of her
children, and his claim was not annulled by
his being called to a higher home. Mr.
Laselle thought that they were too old for any
merely romantic objections, he had no. wish to
deprive her of any precious memory ; but he
wanted her to make his desolate house a home
once more, and he was sure that he could
make her happy there. Her friends gladly
advised the marriage, looking upon wealth
and position as a well-deserved reward for her
cheerful toil. Her children, too, though they
regretted very much that she should move to
a djstance, rejoiced in that she might have an
easier and more luxurious life.

Mr. Laselle found a very desirable situation
for Jamie in a neighboring city, and, in a little
time, arrangements were made for a quiet
wedding. Of her life since, she said to Aunt
Sophie, as she closed her account of herself: —

"I have been here two unprofitable years.
I have a beautiful home and one of the best of
husbands, yet I lead a useless, unhappy life.
I was never educated for a fine lady, and I
cannot become such in my old age contentedly.
My children have visited me, and were de-
lighted at finding me so pleasantly situated,
and to none but Jamie did I tell how much
happier I was in our three little rooms. Ah,
if I were only t>ack there, I would never again
sigh for ' a home beside the hills.' I used to
think I should be happy if I could have a
patch of ground for my flowers ; now acres
are at mydisposal, and I value them less than
I did the old boxes in the'windows."

" But do you give the same careful tending
to your flowers that you used?" asked Aunt
Sophie.

" Oh, no, that is the gardener's business.
Mr. Laselle would object to my working out
of doors."

"But," replied Aunt Sophie, "you could
readily set aside his objections if he saw that
you were really happier for the exercise, as
you certainly would be. From what I have
seen, and what you have told me, I see ample
cause for your homesickness. You have not
yet appropriated to yourself the home of
which your husband made you mistress.
You have been living here almost as a boarder.
He has been greatly mistaken in urging you

AUNT SOPHIE'S VISITS.

555

to as ir present lift with your past ;

but ho is not alone in supposing thai ease and
luxi. E&il to make happiness. Idou't

know when we shall all learn to prize our
characters above money, and all that money
can buy. I ■ are means of improvement,
and thus blessings to all, but they are usees'
sities for one with your experience. Would
you not be happier, would not this house
seem more really your home, if its care were
more in your hands? Would not the flow-
ers have the old interest, should you watch
their unfolding as you weed and water them
More than these, if you were doing more for
your husband, planning pleasant little sur-
prises, studying his tastes at table and grati-
fying them, in short, paying him a thousand
little attentions, valuable because you thought
to bestow them, would not your love for hini
increase faster than it has done, while all the
care and thought have been on his side ? And
as for your being a Cue lady, you do not need
to be au idle one to grace any home. You
■will be far more worthy of respect, and will
command more, if you apply your energies to
• worthy objects. Be yourself, as naturally and
unaffectedly as when you sang over your dyes,
and though you may occasionally blunder in
the nicer points of etiquette, you need never
blush for snob mistakes. Affectation is always
silly and pitiable ; a kind heart teaches a tar
better politeness. Talk the matter over with
Gilbert, show him that to be lively as of old
you need something of the old activity. Take
an interest in all that concerns your home.
Propose little alterations which shall be sug-
gestive to you of old associations, taking care
always to change nothing which is sacred in
your husband's memory. Do not avoid so-
ciety— Gilbert loves a social gathering, and
also to welcome guests to his home, and you
will soon lind new friends to remind you of
the old. Your husband is charitable, too ;
your experience should teach you how to
discern the d. serving, audgive without wound-
ing, to those who are striving to maintain
their iud with the odds against them;

seek out Such and interest Gilbert in their
behalf, for common interests have a uniting
power, which it is well for us wives to remem-
ber. You may think that I am giving you a
long list of duties, but only the heart work
and the head work need be wholly yours ; you
may have all the assistance you require in the
mere manual labor."

"There is truth in what you have said,
and I will not forget it," replied the listener,
and Aunt Sophie responded : —

"I earnestly hope you will not, for, in a
few more years, old age will make itself felt,
and then you will have no inclination for
such activity as will help you to feel that
this is your home. For Gilbert's sake you
mast be content.''

The reply was a low, but earnest "I will."

A few years later, our friends visited their
brother again. Everything was cheery, both
within and without the pleasant home. As
Uncle Charles laughingly told his lively sister-
in-law that she seemed to be rejuvenating,
she remarked, expressively, to Aunt Sophie : —

"I have mingled all the brightness of the
old life with the realization of my dreams of
a 'home beside the hills!' 'We wish for no
change till, in God's good time, we may enter
our glorious home beyond the hills."

THE DREAMER.

BY HARRIET M . BEAN*.

She was a genius, 30 tbey said,

Untitled fur the common themee
That wake to thought the vulgar mind —

A child of visions, fancies, dreams.

She studied little, reading much ;

Her tresses tangled and unbound ;
And, negligent in air and dress,

She gaiued the name of "The Profound."

And thus she grew to womanhood,
Reading romances bo bJgh-WTOnght,

That she disdained life's peaceful ways,
And all stern discipline of thought.

She looked in vain for gallant hearts.

Like those possessed by knights in armor,
Or that devotion which inspired

The breast of ancient, wand, ring palmer.

And when by carelessness she found

Herself exposed to sudden dangi
Where was the ill-averting hand

Of some "unlooked-for, manly stranger.'''

Where was the watchful human eye-
To study every fond caprice

Of hers? and where the tireless love
To give her from all care 1

Alas, she sought for these in

Watching for bliss to culminate,
She lost the simple, quiet joys

That are the huni!! 1 state.

And days, and months, ami yean went by,

And happiness was unattained ;
Le-~ thought for «>//. more thought foi a

Would, mayhap, that fond boon have gained !

556

godey's lady's book and magazine.

THE FAMILY DRAWING MASTER.

IN A SEK1ES OF FAMILIAR CONVERSATIONS.

ANGLES.
W. See, papa, I have formed forty angles
with five lines.

Ton. And here are six lines, forming sixty
angles.

P. These are formed correctly. To-day we
will talk about different sorts of angles. Look
at these angles, and tell me if they are all
alike.

W. No, they are of different sizes. What
a large angle this end one is !

P. Why is the end one larger than the
other ?

W. Because it has longer "legs," I sup-
pose. «

Ion. I don't think that is the reason, be-
cause I noticed that all their legs were of
nearly the same length.

W. No, I see it now ; it is the direction of
the lines which makes the angles larger ; for,
if you make the two lines stretch out in a
direction very far from each other, the opening
becomes larger, and then, of course, the angle
is larger.

Ion. Or, if you make the two legs point in
nearly the same direction, like those in the

first angle, then the opening becomes smaller,
and the point (no, the vertex) becomes
sharper— so the sizes of angles depend on the
direction of the lines.

P. Lend me your pencil, Willie. New, I
will draw on this piece of paper two angles,
with two lines. I have marked them 1 and 2.
Tell me, are they alike ?
1

W. No. No. 1 is much smaller than No. 2.
But, if you were to move the oblique line up
a little, No. 1 would become larger, and No. 2
smaller.

L. Yes. No. 1 would be made just as much
larger as No. 2 would be smaller. The piece
taken from No. 2 would be added to No. 1 —
that is fair !

P. But, if I were to make the line lean
in the opposite direction, then No. 2 would
be too small. That would not be fair, you
know. When should I leave off moving the
line, so that the angles- might be of the same
size ?

L. When you have made the line quite up-
right— perpendicular, I mean.

P. Suppose I make an upright line ; then
we shall see.

L. Ah, papa, now they are equal !

P. There is a proper name for
the size of these angles. I will
make the rule for you : When one line stand-
ing on another makes the angles on each sfde
of equal size, they are called —

W. Square angles ! For, see ! they are both
square.

P. No, Willie, a square must have four
angles. Such angles are called right angles.
What does the dotted line which I have made
show you ?

W. It shows how much No. 1 was too large
before.

Ion. And, of course, it shows too how much
No. 2 was too small. And what are we to call
the two angles which are not of the same size ?
What is the name of the large one, with a
blunt vertex ?

P. I have a Latin name ready for it. The

THE FAMILY DRAWING-MASTER.

557

Latin word for blunt is obtusus, so we call it an
obtuse angle.

■ L. And has the small angle a Latin name
too?

P. Yes. As an angle smaller than a right
angle has a sharp vertex, we call it —

W. I know the Latin for sharp — acutus.

P. That is it. So we call it an acute angle.

Ion. Now I see a rule, which I can make :
When you join a perpendicular line to the
middle of a horizontal line —

W. "It need not be exactly in the middle,
Ion.

Ion. Well, never mind. When you join a
perpendicular Ijpe to a horizontal line, the
angles on each Bide of it are of equal size, and
are called right angles; and, when you place
an oblique line on a horizontal line, the angles
on each side are of unequal size — the small
one is called an acute angle, and the large one
an obtuse angle.

P. But the two lines need not always be
perpendicular and horizontal. You may make
right, and acute, and obtuse angles in all
manner of directions ; so : —

Now we will easily make the lesson : —

LESSON No. 4.

Angles may differ in size. Their size de-
pen Is on the direction of the lines.

When one line standing on another makes
the angles on each side of it equal, they are
ceiled right angles.

An angle smaller than a right angle is called
an acute angle.

An angle larger than a right angle is called
an obtuse angle.

Ion. I shall always remember them in this
way : —

Square angles are called right angles.

Sharp angles are called acute angles.

Blunt angles are called obtuse angles.

P. Did you ever take pains to notice any
of these angles in nature ?

W. I do not think we have noticed many in
nature, but we have seen them In the streets.
The other day Ion and I were talking about
the lesson on angles, as we came home from

VOL. LXVIII. 14

school. We counted up all the right angles
we saw — we called them square angles then.
As we came out of the school-door, we saw that
the corners of the door-steps were right angles ;
so were the corners of the door, of the panels,
of the railings, the window, the bricks. There
were right angles in the corners of the paving
stones, the corners of the houses, the balco-
nies, the public-house sign, and the omnibuses.
Everything seemed to have a right angle in it.
The little railing sticking out from the lamp-
post made a right angle ; we met a man with
a box that was full of angles ! another came
with a book ; another with bills ; another
brought au organ. There was a carpenter
with right angles in his cap, and a girl with
right angles in her apron. The old woman's
stall had right angles in it, and so had the
hardbake she sold. The right angles seemed
to be coming up to our faces — everywhere !

P. And you might have had one in your
mouth, if you had had some hardbake !

X. Ah ! I have never tasted a right angle.

Ion. Excepting, Lucy, the corner of your
bread and butter, which you are biting off
now.

THE WIND AS A MUSK/IAN.
The wind is a musician by birth. We ex-
tend a silken thread into the crevices of a
window, and the wind finds it and sings over
it, and goes up and down the scale upon it,
and poor Paginini must go somewhere else for
honor, for lo ! it tries almost anything on
earth to see if there is music in it ; it per-
suades a tone out of the great bell in the tower,
when the sexton is at home and asleep ; it
makes a mournful harp of the giant pines,
and it does not disdain to try what sort of a
whistle can be made of the humblest chimney
in the world. How it will play upon a great
tree until every leaf thrills with the note in
it, and the wind up the river that funs at its
base is a sort of murmuring accompaniment.
And what a melody it sings when it gives a
concert with a full choir of the waves of the
sea, and performs an anthem, between the two
worlds, that goes up, perhaps, to the stars,
which love music the most and sung it the
first. Then how fondly it haunts old houses :
mourning under eaves, singing in the halls,
opening the old doors without fingers, and
singing a measure of some sad old song
around the tireless and deserted hearth.

A FEW FEIENDS.

BT E 0 It 41 A H LYNN.

THIRD EVENING.

Evert one belonging to the "Few Friends'
Society" was delighted with the announce-
ment that their third evening would be held
at the residence of Captain Gliddon, No. — ,
Lexington Avenue. The captain, himself,
possessed that one great metropolitan virtue,
a fine house — to say nothing of the secondary
qualifications of a good name and a warm
• heart — while Mary, his only child, was an
acknowledged favorite. Mrs. Captain Glid-
don, as people insisted upon calling her, was
also extremely popular. She was the "Cap-
tain's Mate,'' in every sense of the word — a
clear-headed, kind-hearted, energetic woman,
who, in her matrimonial career, had, charade-
like, rejoiced in the fact that her "first" had
been very unlike her "second," and her
"second" had proved infinitely bettervthan
her "first." Having, as will be inferred,
been able to "husband" her resources a second
time, she found herself at forty-five the hap-
piest woman, as she verily believed, in all
Gotham. What wonder, then, that, with
contentment at the helm, their ship of life
sailed smoothly on, or that when they touched
for a holiday on the shores of social enjoy-
ment, friends were more than glad to "go
aboard," as on the present occasion.

Scarcely were the happy guests assembled,
and almanac matters duly attended to, as
usual, when the chairman of the society, Mr.
Benjamin Stykes, opened the meeting in
rather a remarkable way by half rising from
his seat, turning deadly pale, then flushing
crimson, and finally, in his effort to conceal
his agitation, stammering out as he stood
erect : —

"Ladies and Gentlemen: I propose that
we open the scoundrel — ahem ! I mean the
meeting, with — Good-evening, sir!"

This sudden 'change of subject was a re-
sponse uttered most freezingly to Mary Glid-
don's embarrassed —

"Charley, my friend Mr. Stykes. Mr.
Stykes, Lieutenant Hunter."

[Poor girl ! in her hurried entrance she had
quite overlooked the fact that Ben was ad-
dressing the meeting; nor was she aware that
558

the speaker's agitation was caused by his
having caught a glimpse through the half
closed door, of a loving caress just performed
in the hall by herself and the said lieutenant.]

Mary soon added insult to injury by whis-
pering to the wretched Ben : —

"I am so glad to have you know Charley.
He has a furlough for two weeks."

"Indeed!" faltered Ben,"stui>idly, with a
ghastly expression of delight on his counte-
nance, though he secretly wished that Charley
had fallen in the last engagement.

"Yes," rejoined the unconscious girl; "and
he 's so capital in charades. We must have
one to-night ; you and he would act splen-
didly together !"

Notwithstanding the chairman's doubts re-
garding this latter statement, he soon found
himself compelled to announce to the "Few
Friends" that a vote would " now be taken
concerning the amusement question."

"Those in favor of appropriating the eve-
ning to an impromptu charade will please
signify the same by saying 'Aye !' "

An enthusiastic response.

" Contrary, 'Nay!' "

Deadly silence.

" Ayes have it !"

"Mother," said Mary, bending lovingly
over the comely Mrs. Captain G., "do start
something while we are out of the room — mu-
sic, or anything to make the time seem short
between the acts. You may open the doors
when we ring the bell."

In another moment, Mary, Teresa Adams,
Ben, and Lieutenant Hunter found themselves
shut up in the third parlor, all staring rather
blankly at each other.

"Well, what shall we have?" asked the
Lieutenant, cheerily. "We need not be ac-
curate as far as the spelling is concerned. In
fact, I think it better to pun a little to make
out the syllables."

Dozens of words were suggested at once.

Indolent — Carpet — Hamlet — Pillow — Rubi-
con— Shylock — Catnip — Tennyson — Classic —
Milton — Wedlock— Courage— Society — Picnic
— Petulent — Matrimony — Phantom — Belfry,
etc. etc.

A FEW FRIEXDS.

559

" Hold 1" oried Ben. "We '11 not have time
to act tin- whole of Webster's 1'uabridged to-
night. We must settle upon something ;
what say yon all to Indolent?"

"That will .!.•," they re-ponded, and Mary
added : '-We can have an inn for the first
syllable, and show up the horrors of the bor-
rowing mania for the last ; but how can we
manage the 'do' ?"

"Couldn't we have bakers kneading bread?''
suggested Teresa, timidly. " It 's easy to get
up a baker by just pinning a piece of paper
around the head and making a towel serve for
a long bib-apron. You '11 have to take off
your coats and turn up your sleeves you
know" (turning to the gentlemen), "and —
and perhaps roll up your pautaloons a little
and daub your arms and faces with flour."

"Oh, yes ; and one of you can have a pipe
in your mouth," laughed Mary, clapping her
hands. " Teresa and I '11 be two ladies visit-
ing the establishment and horrified at the
shocking way in which bread-making is car-
ried on. A pillow in a tub, covered with a
piece of flannel, makes capital dough, and
you can both be kneading it in fine style."

"Dropping in our caps and pipes, occa-
sionally," suggested Charley.

" Yes. Anything you please."

Ben did not quite relish the idea of being
placed in such amiable juxtaposition with the
lieutenant. He therefore deliberated with
an air of intense wisdom —

"The 'Dough' would be admirable, but I
fear the ' Inn' scene is rather hackneyed.
Landlady in white cap and apron, you know —
travellers with overcoats, umbrellas, and bun-
dles— done to death. On second thoughts, it
seems to me we might make something better
out of Definite. I know a good ' deaf scene."

Charley, all complaisance, exclaimed: "So
we might, far better, but we must be expe-
ditious."

While the rest were planning the word,
Mary hastened away to collect certain stage
properties, first and foremost of which were
pins, a burnt cork, and a pair of scissors.
Then a few shawls, an outlandish old hat be-
longing to mother, a pair of green spectacles,
father's dressing-gown and slippers, some
>le.-ts of white p.aper from which to cut mam-
moth collars for the gentlemen, and, finally, a
ball of cord and a handful or two of matted
horse-hair, stolen that day from an old chair-
cushion in the garret.

These valuables, collected in but little more
time than it has required to enumerate them,
were duly borne to the dressing-room where
the ilr'imntir mrps were now assembled. Mean-
while, a grand overture, performed by Miss
Pundaway. reverberated through the mansion.

Ben hurriedly gave Mary the plots : —
" First scene is to be a doctor's study. (We
have put the little stand, filled with big books,
in the centre of the room, and the armchair
beside it.) I am to personate an eccentric
doctor. Miss Teresa is to be my ward. You
are to be the Biddy, if you can fix for it, and
Mr., ahem ! Lieutenant, Hunter is to be Miss
Teresa's lover, whose very existence has been
kept a profound secret from the doctor. Ho
visits her surreptitiously on the very morning
upon which I, the doctor, expect a new deaf
patient upon whom I am to put in practice my
great system for curing deaf mutes, namely:
by frightening them into speech."

During Ben's exposition, Mary commenced
cutting out a huge turn-down collar for the
•doctor, and Teresa folded a stunning paper
"choker" for her lover, to which she soon
added a bright plaid silk apron by way of
cravat. "You are to be a shy, cowardly sort
of person, you know," she whispered, as she
handed the enormous "tie" to the lieutenant,
" and a little gawkiness in dress will help the
character."

Ben continued, "While Teresa and her lover
are having their stolen interview in the study
during the doctor's absence, you, Biddy, must
rush in and tell them that the doctor is coming
up the street, and that he expects a deaf and
dumb patient this blissed morning, a young
gentleman from fhe country that he 's niver
seen. 'Lor' bless you, Miss,' you must say,
' but won't the doctor rave if he finds you here
convarsing with a gentleman, and it against
his particular orders for you to see company
afore you 're eighteen.' "

"Mercy!" interrupted Mary, in dismay,
"I never can remember all that I"

Ben, with a confident "yes-you-can" look
at the prospective Biddy, resumed: —

"You need not follow my language, of
course, as long as you retain the important
points. Then/ you, Miss Teresa, must clasp
your hands in anguish, and beg Adolphus to
personate the deaf man, and thus save you
from the doctor's wrath. The doctor's voice
will then be heard in the hall ; you will just
have time to implore Adolphus not to make a

560

godey's lady's book and magazine.

sound if he loves you, and I will enter with
my books and instruments under my arm.
Let me see, have you a gun or pistol ?"

"No, but we have a sword and a pair of
Lewis' Gymnastic Clubs ; will they do ?"

"Yes. Let me have them in the hall, please,
and a poker and big carving knife also — any-
thing of the weapon kind you have. A big
bell and a tea-kettle, if handy, would be in-
valuable. All you, Biddy, will have to do in
the scene is to obey the doctor's orders, with
any by-play you may see fit. For Scene 2d,
we '11 have a travelling party, with one of the
number disgusted because the rest have no
eye for the beautiful, but prefer eating lunch-
eons and chatting, even amid the grandest
scenery. For the last syllable, we '11 call out
little Carrie and have something in the tableau
line, while you two ladies are dressing for the
whole word — Definite — for which Miss Teresa
has just planned a good scene — will that do ?"

"Oh, yes, capitally," cried Mary; only" —

"Only what, Miss Mary?"

"Why, Charley and I ought to act the love
scene together, because — because" — stam-
mered the ingenuous girl, laughing and blush-
ing, "we could be affectionate without horri-
fying anybody. But never mind. Remember,
Teresa, great artists never stop at trifles, so
I '11 thank yon not to slight Charley's feelings
on the coming occasion." And Mary ran off
to prepare for the Biddy effect, little dreaming
of the pain she had inflicted upon poor, be-
wildered Ben.

"Mary doesn't make any secret of her senti-
ments towards you either in charades or out
of them, does she, Charley ?'_' laughed Teresa,
as she pinned the strips of paper together
which she had ■ folded, fan fashion, for the
ruffle to Biddy's cap.

"No, indeed," responded the lieutenant,
heartily. " God bless her !"

It might have been caused by the green
spectacles, or the captain's old brown coat ;
but certainly Ben, the brilliant orator of the
first meeting of the " Few Friends," and Ben,
the sole auditor of this interesting dialogue,
were two very different seeming personages.

Just then Mary came hurriedly into the
room, minus hoops, arrayed in a calico skirt,
a red woollen short-gown, confined at the
waist by the band of her pink cotton apron —
a dusting brush in one hand, and a dust-pan
in the other.

" Teresa, dear," she panted, " have you my

cap ready? Miss Pundaway is on the last
page of her overture."

Ben sei zed an opportunity to whisper bitterly
into Mary's ear as they all descended together
to the third parlor, "Really, Miss Gliddon, I
was not aware, until ten minutes ago, of the
tender relation existing between yourself and
Lieutenant Hunter."

"Is it possible!" exclaimed Mary, looking
up at the green spectacles in blank surprise.
" Why, I thought of course you knew it ; but in
fact very few of my recent friends do. He
has been in the army for a year, and I haven't
really known him myself very long."

SCRAPS.

Truth and its Developments. — A philosopher
should aim solely at truth, and should refuse
to estimate the practical tendency of his spec-
ulations. If they are true, let them stand ;
if they are false let them fall. But whether
they are. agreeable or disagreeable, consolatory
or disheartening, safe or mischievous, is a
question not for philosophers, but for practical
men. Every new truth which has ever been
propounded has for a time caused mischief:
it has produced discomfort, and often unhap-
piness, sometimes by disturbing social or
religious arrangements, and sometimes merely
by the disruption of old and cherished associa-
tions of thought.

The Tkue Physician. — To the true physcian
there is an inexpressible sanctity in the sick
chamber. At its threshold the mere human
passions quit their hold ou his heart. Love
there would be profanation. Even the grief
permitted to others must be put aside. He
must enter that room a calm intelligence. He
is disabled for his mission if he suffer aught
to obscure the keen, quiet glance of his
science. Age or youth, beauty or deformity,
innocence or guilt, merge their distinction in
one common attribute — human suffering ap-
pealing to human skill. Woe to the house-
hold in which the trusted healer feels not on
his conscience the solemn obligations of his
glorious art.

Flattekt. — It is easy to tell when others
are flattered, but not when we ourselves are,
and every man and woman will lend firm
belief to the soft nothings of the very man
they believe to be an arrant flatterer, when
others are in the case.

MY FIRST, SECOND, AND THIRD LOVE.

i Y AMY U R A H A M .

I hap just left boarding school, with my
certificate! of profioienoy and delinquency in
my trunk, a largo stock of romance in my
head, and a store of undeveloped affection in
my heart, when I fell in love. For nine long
vi ars that Bchool Lad been my only home,
its months of study varied by vacation trips
with my father, who had broken up house-
keeping on my mother's death, and lived with
his sister in New York, coming in the summer

months to D to take me, his only child,

for his travelling companion in the most
delicious jaunts over mountains and on rivers
to view the foaming waters of Niagara, across
the broad Northwestern Lakes, up the White
Mountains, or, sometimes, to nestle down in
some cosy farm-house far away from any gay
resort, to ride, drive, fish, and ruralize to our
hearts' content. And I was just released from
school, with the consoling certainty that I
was not to return, when I fell in love.

It seemed very silly to me then, and may
: .1 so to others now, yet when I look back
I can truly say that the first emotions of my
girlish heart, stirred then, have answered to
no other touch as warmly as to that one. We,
my dear father and myself, were at Cape May,
for one of my passions then was to sport in the
ocean, and I had only to express a wish for a
dash amongst the waves to have it gratified.

It had been an oppressive day, and I was
lying in my own room trying to catch the air
from the ocean as it came sighing in at my
window, when from the room next my own,
which had been unoccupied, I heard a voice
whoso music even then attracted me. It was
a voice deep and yet clear, strong, yet sweetly
elated, a voice which, while its power
aed to promise protection, its tenderness
spoke of a heart full of warm sympathies.

"You are very tired, sister," the voice said,
lovingly : " are you sure that this exertion is
the best medicine for you ?"

A low voice answered, and sickness seemed
to have worn it to a mere whisper, for I
.aught no word that came, only the murmur-
ing sound fell drowsily upon my ear.

Then the voice, in its clear, sweet tones,
came again.

44*

" Sing for you ? Ah ! you are a baby still,
little one," and in a few moments he sang,
and I, like the little fool I was, listened till
my heart filled almost to bursting, and I
sobbed out the sweet pain the music roused.
I am always sensitive to music, but there was
a power in that voice that no other sound
had ever exerted over my feelings. It was a
simple Italian hymn that he sang, with no
voice trials of wondrous execution, rousing no
astonishment at the performance ; but every
word, as it came out clearly in those waves of
melody, seemed praising and worshipping the
Creator it addressed, and each modulation,
made without any effort, was a new volume of
sweetest melody. I could hear the low mur-
muring that thanked him. and then again the
voice, sweet in its speaking tones as when
modulated to song.

"If it did tire me, Meta. I would sing for
you, but it does not. Lie here in my arms,
and I will rock you and sing you to sleep,
my darling," and oh, the infinite fund of love
that made those last words sweeter than any
song. Softly, at first, rising gradually to
power, the voice that stirred my heart so
strangely filled my room with his burst of
song. Twilight faded, and the gathering
shadows of night closed round me, yet I lay
very quiet, listening with a strange fascina-
tion to every word and every note that left
my neighbor's lips. It was the first of many
evenings which he unconsciously lightened
for me. I had been imprudent in bathing, a
most unromantie illness seized me, and for
four weeks I lay in that little room suffering
the agonies of inflammatory rheumatism. How
I listened for that voice. Every word of tender
love which was given to the suffering sister he
watched so faithfully, seemed sent to comfort
me, the stranger whose pain was soothed an I
sick nerves calmed by the magic of the won-
drous melody he poured forth so lavishly for
his own heart's treasure. Other conversations
showed me something of the life wasting in
the room divided from mine only by a thin
partition which did not reach up to the ceiling.
Every morning there was a doctor's visit, and
I knew that the spine disease which was to

5J1

502

godey's lady's book and magazine.

yield to sea-bathing was aggravated into acute"
pain, and I heard the tender tones growing
daily more pitying, sweeter, and lower ; I
heard the steady, firm tread that carried the
frail, fading form up and down the room,
seeking ease from pain in the motion. I heard
the choking sob that sometimes stopped the
song, and last of all, in the stillness of night,
I heard the wailing cry — "My sister! My
only one ! 0 God, can she be dead !"

I would ask no questions, my neighbors
had become sacred to me in their suffering
and sorrow, but I heard the servant who
spoke so pityingly of "the poor young lady
only seventeen, who had been a sufferer for
ten years, and was no bigger than a little
child."

And my first day of restored health was
the one which saw the little form carried to
the boat to go to its last resting place. I did
not see the faithful brother who had won the
first love of my heart by his words and ten-
derness, for they left before daybreak, and I
could only whisper a prayer for his comforting
as I heard his slow step pass my door.

It was my first love, and its substance was
shadowy enough — a voice. As soon as I was
well enough, my father hurried me from the
spot where I had had such pain, and, unknown'
to him, such comfort, and we went to my
aunt's, our own future home.

And here I fell in love again ; and a second
time my susceptible, and I began to fear very
foolish, heart was stirred by that strange,
'longing impulse which the mysterious voice
had awakened.

My aunt's house stood in the heart of New
York, and directly behind it was one of those
narrow courts where suffering crowds in our
large cities. From the window of the room I
occupied, I looked out upon two rows of high,
narrow houses, facing each other, with a brick
path between. The stairs going up outside,
with the platform at each story, marked the
numbers of inhabitants to each house, for
••very story held a family. My father ex-
pressly forbade me even to go into the court,
and promised himself to see that any charity
I might wish to give there should reach its
destination, and exacted the promise that I
would obey his command. We had been at
liome but a few days when I found an interest
in my window, which filled my romantic
heart with a fund of reveries.

Every morning, at about eight o'clock, a

doctor's gig drove up the little street upon
which the court opened, and I saw the occu-
pant come into the narrow entrance to visit
his patients. He was neither very young nor
very handsome. For aught I knew, he had a
wife and little children waiting for him in
some pleasant little home, yet I loved that
doctor, and every day found me at the window
watching for him. He was a tall, powerfully
built man, between thirty and forty years of
age, with a face that, in repose, was almost
ugly. The dark complexion was unrelieved
by color, and his hat showed only a border of
curling hair, just tinged with white. His
features were large, and not very regular, and
his eyes were never raised to me, so I could
only judge by the heavy black lashes that
they were large. But his smile transfigured
this strong, plain face to perfect beauty. It
was a smile of marvellous sweetness, and it
came with every greeting he gave the poor
who crossed his path at every step in that
narrow court. I could see him from my
window, as he bent over the poor little chil-
dren who were brought from the little stifling
rooms to breathe a somewhat purer air on the
narrow platforms. Little thin arms were
stretched out for him, whenever the child
caught the radiance of that pitying smile, and
no mother's hand could have been gentler
than the strong one that raised these babes for
the touch of healiug. I knew whose servant
it was who brought huge baskets of food to
the houses where sickness or nursing para-
lyzed the hand of the bread-winner. I knew
who was in the heart of the mother whose
lips formed the God bless him, as she took
back her babe from his kind caress. And I
too whispered a blessing, as I watched the
light, yet firm step, that carried that tall
figure from my sight. Where the light
burned for nights in some poor room, I knew
whose knock came after dark, and whose tall
shadow fell across the window curtain, some-
times kueeling beside the mother's knee to
soothe the restless child, sometimes bending
over the bed of pain to exert all his skill,
with no hope of reward save in his own heart
and that blessing God sends to those working
in his cause. And, with a reverential heart,
I laid my love at the feet of the unknown
doctor.

Winter came on, and my father wished me
to go with him on a business trip to the West.
I packed up my clothes, gave a sort of pitying

MY FIRST, SECOXD, AND THIRD LOVE.

563

sigh over my own foolish dreams, anil wo
started for St. Louis. For five months we
moved from one city to another, and then I
was left for a visit to a friend in Cincinnati
while my father returned home. It was fall
again when I returned to New York, and my
window view was gone. The court had been
destroyed by fire, and in its place there was
rising a large, handsome house. I thought
myself grown wiser as I put my doctor down
in the list with the lost voice as among the
dreams of a silly, romantic heart.

"I have a new friend to introduce to you,"
was my father's remark as I took my place
beside him the evening of my return. "I
have been lately introduced to a gentleman
whom I am sure will please you. He is one
of the most charming persons with whom I
have ever conversed, full of deep intellectual
resources, with a ready fund of chit-chat, yet
who will bear fathoming on the most serious
subjects. I am sure you will like him."

■\Te were sitting in the evening in his library
with only the glow of the firelight to illuminate
the room, and my father's words were followed
by a tap on the doof.

"There he is I" father said, gladly, and his
'•Come in," was followed by the door opening
liuit his friend.

"Ah, doctor! I am glad to see you ; this
is my daughter, of whom I have spoken to
you."

"I am very glad to meet her," said the
doctor, giving my hand a cordial grasp, and
s'irring my heart with an old memory never
forgotten, for his voice was that which had
dwelt on my ear so sweetly, and by the fire's
glow, which fell upon his face, I knew him
for the kind physician who had won my
reverence a year before.

The long evening passed quickly, and the
doctor's visits became once more the romance
of my life. 'What he found in the silly little
girl who writes to love, I cannot tell; but
the voice whose music made my heart glad,
never sounded more sweetly than when it
was softened to ask me to share a life that
early orphanage and his sister's death had
lift very lonely, and the strong arms never
gave a tenderer clasp than when they folded
me to the heart which seemed too noble for
me to hope to be worthy to fill it.

We were sitting alone, the firelight playing
on his dear face, and as I lay contentedly in
his arms, I whispered — " Sing for me!"

"Sing," he said, a spasm as of pain crossing
his face. I have never sung since — but I will
sing for you, my darling 1"

And once more the clear, pure strains fell
upon my ear and heart, breathing a new spirit
of love, and, as of old, my tears fell softly
before the power of that wondrous voice.

" How did you kuowl could sing f" he said,
as he ceased.

And resting in the place my heart had
found for life, I told him the story of my first,
second, and third love.

MY IDEAL.

BT OAT H. NARAMORf:.

Tnrs far my life 's a desert life,

Wild as Zahara's wildest waste,
Unloved I straggle on, and strife

Is all the bitter fruit I taste :
And yet Hope cheers me first and la-t,

And over paints the roses fair
Which shall o'ergrow the thorny past,

And bloom a perfect Eden there.

I hope that some time I shall gTeet

The love which tints the orient skies,
That some time, even / shall meet

The fairy form with laughing eyaa
Which now so thrills my paradise

Of dreams, that I can scarce awake;
Oh the wild witchory that Ilea

In Love, though he no form may take.

This is a weary life at best,

Care, trouble, grief, where'er we go ;
Even Goodness is not sure of rest,

>"o more is Truth — and yet I know
Tltat some time in this world of wo

My soul shall find its fuller t-phere,
And drink Love's golden overflow

From eyes an angel might hold dear 1

A SIMILE.

Et J. C. Bt'RNETT.

Go to the little moss-bound sprin r.

Whence living waters flow,
When happy birds their carols sing,

and spring-time flowers blow ;
Ii.to its depths a pebble toss,

And see how sweetly glide
The little waves to kiss the moss

That grows along its side.

Go to the little prattling child

Whose heart is full ofglae,
Whose tongue but lisps au accent mild

In sweet response to thee ;
And drop a word, with love and grace,

And note its glad surprise —
The dimpling wavelets o'er its face,

Its love-lit, laughing ejOS,

NOVELTIES FOR JUNE.

CHILDREN'S DRESSES, ETC. ETC.
Fig. 1.

As stated in our last number, we devote a
large portion of our space for illustrations of
fashions for children's dresses and patterns.

Fig. 1. — Infant's christening robe. This

elegant robe is made in the tablier style, and

ornamented with rows of insertion and tucks.

The trimming edging the tablier, and e-xtend-

564

ing up the waist in the bretelle style, is a
very fine worked ruffle.

Fig. 2. — Piqtu' dress for a little girl; trimmed
on the skirt with four rows of piqut braid.
The body and sleeves are trimmed with a nar-
row fluted ruffle.

Fig. Z.—Piqut suit for a little girl. The

NOVELTIES FOR Jl'.VE.

56{

Fig. 2.

Zouave jacket is cut in large scallops, and
trimmed with six rows of plain braid. The
seventh row is put on in a little design, and
the edge of the scallops is finished with tat-

ting. The skirt is made in the tablier style,
and trimmed to match. The Garibaldi shirt
is formed of fine tucks, and one row of tatting
down the front.

Fig. 3.

566

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Fig. i.

Fig. 5.

Fig. 4. — Night-dress for a little girl. It is
made of cambric muslin, and has a. joke both
back and front. The collar and cuffs cross,
and are fastened with a fancy button.

Fig. 5. — Fancy braided dress for a little boy
or girl. The Fashion Editor can furnish full
braided patterns of this dress.

Fig. 6. — Little girl's dress of white piqut,

NOVELTIES FOR JUNK.

567

made low In the neck, and short puff sleeve.
The skirt is trimmed with a pointed piece, set
on tin- bottom, either of the same or some
contrasting color; the bauds on waist are of
the Bame. Full muslin spencer, longsleeves.
White straw hat, trimmed with ornaments of
straw.

7. — Walking-dress of cuir-colored mo-
Fig. 8.

hair, trimmed with narrow silk braid and a
thick chenille cord. The front is cut plain,
the plaits are all at the sides and back. A
broad sash is fastened at the back with a bow
and streamers. The hat is of onir-oolored
straw, trimmed with black velvet and an
aigrette of mother of pearl.

Fig. S. — Suit for a little boy, of light cassi-

Fig. 8.

Fig. 9.

mere, trimmed with military braid of a darker
«olor, and silk buttons to correspond.

Fig. '.'. — The little dress which is repre-
sented in our illustration is made of white
Tlie trimming is of black braid. The
scarf is of the same. A line of mother of
pear! buttons i- placed up the front.

Fig. 10. — Night drawers for a child from

three to five years old, suitable for muslin or
ikinnel.

Fig. 11. — A sack chemise for a girl from six
to twelve years old. The neck and sleeves
are trimmed with an embroidered vine and a
worked ruffle.

Fig. 12. — Dress for a child of two or three
years old. It is made of fine muslin or piqut,

563

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Fig. 10.

Fig. 11.

NOVELTIES FOR JUNE.

569

and til naed of bands of insertion and

i very desirable style of dress
for .1 child.

Fig. 1j. — Child's braided dress, coral pat-

tern. The Fashion Editor can furnish full
braiding patterns for this dress.

Fig. 14. — Apron for a little girl, ten years
old, suitable for silk or muslin.

vol. Lxvnr.- — 45

570

GODEYS LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Fig. 15. — Band for anew-born infant. It is
made of soft muslin, quilted, or else muslin

Fig. 15.

lined with flannel. The cords are of elastic
ribbon. It will be found a decided improve-
ment on the old-fashioned band.

PATTERNS FROM MADAME DEMOREST'S
ESTABLISHMENT,
-Yo. 473 Broadway, New York:
Sacquc Cloak: — A beautiful French sacque
in pale leather-colored velvet cloth, braided
in a very effective pattern, with three differ-
ent colors, a rather darker shade of leather,
with white on one side and black on the other.

The braid pattern extends down in an epau-
let upon the shoulders, and up to the bend of
the arm. Velvet cloth must not be confounded
with velvet plush, or velvet beaver ; it is a
much finer fabric than either, and decidedly
the most fashionable material for cloaks of the
season.

The Zouave Sack. — This is a pretty plaited
coat for a boy of three or four years. The
little jacket only extends to the shoulder and

side seams. The sleeve is shaped to the arm ;
the trimming on the front of the wrist imitat-
ing a cuff. The decoration consists of a neat

embroidery, executed in black braid. Three
yards of double width, or four yards of single
width material would be requisite and two full
knots of braid.

Frankie Sack. — Little boy's sack of dark
blue cloth, trimmed with rows of black velvet
and steel buttons. This sack, with a pair of
short pants of the same material, and a round

beaver hat, forms one of the prettiest dresses
of the season for a boy from three to six years
of age ; requires about one and a half yard
of three-quarter goods.

The Little Prince. — A beautiful little gored
coat, made in rich gray or plaid poplin, or
French merino, for a boy of three. The trim-
ming consists of a pyramidical border, an inch
and a quarter in depth, and made in black

velvet, or if the material is merino, silk will
answer. The body is opened in front, and
turned back, disclosing an elegant little tucked
and embroidered shirt, which has sleeves with
worked cuffs descending below the loose sleeves
of the coat. Two yards and a half of poplin
would be required for this coat, and about
half a yard for trimming.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

571

CROCHKT TRIMMING AND FRINGE, FOR
MANTLES, DRESSES, ETC.

(See engravfnff, 519.)

Material*. — Coarse netting Bilk : f>>r every yard, three-
quarters of an oonoeof black, anil, ha > of white;
Penelope uccdlo Xo. '2. The crochet nhould be worked
loosely.

Tims description of trimming ia very fash-
ionable, being used for the newest Parisian
mantles and dressea : 3 oord sewing silk is
generally nsed, or the second best quality of
I silk will answer for the purpose, and
if purchased by the ounce, will make an
inexpensive and at the same time most elegant
trimming. Directions are given for two colors,
hut it can he made with one if preferred.

The following directions will make a trim-
ming nine inches deep, the usual width for a
mantle ; but if required for a dress, the fringe
should not be more than three or four inches
deep, and will therefore useless silk. When
InUhed, the crochet heading should be ap-
pliqued on to the silk or whatever material is
used.

FIRST VANDYKE.

1st Trefoil. — Commence with the black silk,
work 15 chain, turn, miss 3, 1 single in the
4th stitch, turn hack, leaving 11 chain ; and
in the round loop, work (9 chain and 1 plain,
3 times), turn back, and in the 9 chain, work

I plain 3 treble ; join to the 5th stitch of the

II chain, then in the same 9 chain, work S
treble and 1 plain : miss 1, *, and in the next
9 chain, work (1 plain, 11 treble, and 1 plain) :
miss 1, and in the next 9 chain, 1 plain (!
treble, and before finishing this trefoil, make
the

'2d Trefoil. — Work 10 chain, turn, miss 3,
1 single, turn bark, and in the round loop,
work (9 chain and 1 plain, 3 times), turn
back, and in the 1st 0 chain, work (1 plain,
."> treble join to the 9th treble stitch of the 2d
division of the 1st trefoil : then 6 treble, 1
plain in the same 9 chain), (miss 1, and in
the next 9 chain, work 1 plain, 11 treble and
1 plain, twice), 1 single in the round loop, G
plain down the stem, and to finish the 1st
trefoil, 1 single on the last treble stitch of the
1st trefoil, 5 treble, 1 plain in the same 9
chain, 1 single in the round loop, 1 plain on
em, then 5 chain, join to the 9th treble
stitch of the last division of the 1st trefoil;
and for the

3d Trefoil. — Work 15 chain, turn, miss 3,

1 single in the 4th stitch, leaving 11 chain,
turn hack, and iu the round loop, work (9
chain and 1 plain, 3 times), turn back, miss 1,
and in the '.I chain, work (1 plain, 3 treble,
join to the 6th stitch of the 11th chain, then
3 treble in the 9 chain, join to the 6th plain
stitch of the stem of the 2d trefoil ; then work
"i treble and 1 plain in the same 9 chain),
miss 1 (1 plain, 3 treble in the next 9 chain,
join to the Gth treble stitch of the last division
of the 2d trefoil ; then S treble and 1 plain in
the same 9 chain), (miss 1, 1 plain, 11 treble
and 1 plain in the next 9 chain), 1 single in
the round loop, 1 plain on the stem, 5 chain,
join to the 9th treble stitch of the division
last worked ; and for the

SECOND VANDYKE.

1st Trefoil. — 15 chain, turn, miss 3, 1 single
in the 4th stitch, leaving 11 chain, turn back,
and in the round loop, work (9 chain and 1
plain. 3 times), turn back, and in the 9 chain,
work (1 plain, 3 treble, join to the 5th stitch
of the 11 chain ; then 3 treble in the 9 chain,
join to the 5th treble stitch of the last division
of the 3d trefoil of the 1st Vandyke ; then 5
treble, 1 plain in the same 9 chain) ; and
repeat from * in the 1st Vandyke until the
length required is worked, ending with the 5
chain in italic ; then work for

THE EDGE.

With the white silk, commence on the 7th
treble stitch of the 1st Vandyke, 2 chain, miss

1 and 1 plain. Repeat all round the edge of
the Vandykes.

For/NHATION BOWS FOR TnE FRINGE.

1st row. — Commence with the black silk, and
work G treble in the last 5 chain of the las'
Vandyke ; then G treble in the next 5 chain.
5 treble in the 4 chain. Repeat to the end
and fasten off.

'2d. — With the white silk, work 1 plain on
the 1st treble of the last row, * 4 chain, miss

2 and 1 plain. Repeat from * to the end.
Fasten off.

THE FRINGE.

Cut^some of the black silk into lengths of
14 inches, take- 4 of the cut lengths, put the
crochet needle into one of the loops of the 4
chain, double the 4 pieces of silk on the
lee, lie and bring them through the 4 chain,
then bring all the ends through the loop now
on the needle. Repeat iu every 4 chain,
v, nich finishes the trimming. Should the silk

572

godey's lady's book and magazine.

used for the fringe not hang well, it will only
require clamping before cutting the ends even.

HOUSEWIFE.

Materials. — A piece of black cloth, eight and one-half
inches long, five and one-half inches wide ; a piece of
toile cir'e the same size ; one and one-half yard of blue
sarsnet ribbon ; one skein of coarse black purse silk ; a few
needlefuls of various colored silks ; buttons, etc.

IB 1 «i

The stars on our pattern should be worked
rather larger than represented in our illus-
tration, and the extreme simplicity of the
design renders it easy to imitate. They are

worked in broderie & la minute. The stars are
worked either of one color or in several bright
and varied colors ;" but our pattern is made in
the latter style. The stars of the same color
form slanting lines ; those in a light shade are
white ; then, two lines farther, yellow ; the two
intermediate lines are one red and the other
blue ; then, after the yellow stars, one line of
green, the other of lilac. When the embroi-
dery is finished line the cloth with
toile cirte, and bind botli the out-
side and inside together with blue
sarsnet ribbon, stitching it neatly
on. Cover each end of the round
pocket, or housewife, with a round
of crochet worked in black silk.
To do this, make a chain of four
\ or five stitches, join the first to

the last so as to form a circle ;
take some fine round cord, and
over this cord work in crochet 8
rounds, increasing here and there,
so that the round may be a little
convex. When finished, it should
measure about two inches round.
Sew these rounds on to each side of
the embroidered cloth, beginning at
one of the ends. The rounds, form
the sides of the pocket, aud the
embroidery is sewn round them,
leaving a space of about one inch
for the opening. The handle con-
sists of apiece ctf bright blue ribbon,
10 inches long, fastened on each
side in the middle of each round,
and finished with a small bow.
Two buttons (see illustration) are
then added, and at the edge of the
work two button-holes made to shut
the housewife. This little article
will be found very convenient for
the pocket, and will hold a small
piece of embroidery, a pair of scis-
sors, a thimble, and cotton neces-
sary for working. The two round
ends of the crochet form the straight
piece of cloth into a kind of pocket
to hold firmly and securely any
work that may be laid in. To make
the housewife still neater and more
a piece of ribbon may be stitched
hold scissors, bodkin, or knife,
without putting these things into the pocket
loosely. *

complete,
inside to

WORK DEPARTMENT.

573

INITIALS FOR MARKING PILLOW-CASES, BTC.

EMBROIDERY.

'^Cbood

574

godey's lady's book axd magazine.

Jenipts, ftt.

DIRECTIONS FOR PRESERVING FRUITS, ETC.

During the months of June, July, and August for 1S63,
we published six pages of receipts for preserving nil kinds
of fruit. We had intended publishing them again, but we
do not think it an act of justice to our old subscribers to
take up the room. We will send the three numbers on
receipt of seventy-five cents.

Preserves of all kinds should be kept entirely secluded
from the air and in a dry place. In ranging them on
the shelves of a store-closet, they should not be suffered
to come in contact with the wall. Moisture in winter
and spring exudes from some of the driest walls, and
preserves invariably imbibe it, both in dampness and
t;iste. It is necessary occasionally to look at them, and
if they have been attacked by mould, boil them up gently
again. To prevent all risks, it is always as well to lay a
brandy paper over the fruit before tying down. This may
be renewed in the spring.

■ Fruit jellies are made in the ratio of a quart of fruit to
two pounds of sugar. They must not be boiled quick,
nor very long. Practice and a general discretion will
be found the best guides to regulate the exact time, which
necessarily must be affected, more or less, by local causes.

To Preserve Strawberries.— To two pounds of fine
large stra wherries, add two pounds of powdered sugar,
and put them in a preserving kettle, over a slow tire,
till the sugar is melted ; then boil them precisely twenty
minutes, as fust as possible ; have ready a number of
small jars, and put the fruit in boiling hot. Cork and
seal the jars immediately, and keep them through the
summer in a cold, dry cellar. The jars must be heated
before the hot fruit is poured in, otherwise they will
break.

Strawberry Jelly. — Express the juice from the fruit
throngb a cloth, strain it clear, weigh, and stir to it an
eqxial proportion of the finest sugar dried and reduced to
powder ; when this is dissolved, place the preserving-pan
over a very clear fire, and stir the jelly often until it
boils; clear it carefully from scum, and boil it quickly
from fifteen to twenty-five minutes. This receipt is for a
moderate quantity of the preserve; a very small portion
will require much less time.

Raspberry Jam. — Weigh the fruit, and add three-
quarters of the weight of sugar; put the former into a
preserving-pan, boil, and break it; stir constantly, and
let it boil very quickly; when the juice has boiled an
hour, add the sugar and simmer half an hour. In this
way the jam is superior in color and flavor to that which
is made by putting the sugar in first.

Currant Jelly. — Pick fine red, but long ripe currants
from the sicm-* ; bmi-e them, and strain the juice from a
quart at a time through a thin muslin; wring it gently,
to get all the liquid ; put a pound of white sugar to each
pound of juice ; stir it until it is all dissolved ; set it over
a gentle fire ; let it become hot, and boil for fifteen min-
ute- : then try it by taking a spoonful into a saucer;
when cold, if it is not quite firm enough, boil it for a few
minutes longer.

Cherries Preserved. — Take fine large cherries, not
very ripe; take off the stems, and take out the stones;
save whatever juice runs from them ; take an equal
weight of white sugar; make the syrup of a teacup of
water for each pound, set it over the fire until it is dissolved

and boiling hot, then put in the juice and cherries, boil
them gently until clear throughout ; take them from the
syrup with a skimmer, and spread them on flat dishes to
cool ; let the syrup boil until it is rich and quite thick ;
set it to cool and settle ; take the fruit into jars and pots,
aud pour the syrup carefully over ; let them remain open
till the next day ; then cover as directed. Sweet cherries
are improved by the addition of a pint of red currant-juice,
aud half a pound of sugar to it, for four or five pounds of
cherries.

Apple Jelly. — Boil your apples in watr^r till they are
quite to a mash ; then put them through a flannel bag to
drip. To every pint of the juice put one pound of sugar;
boil till it jellies; season with lemon juice aud peel to
your taste a little before it is finished. I may as well add
that I can say, from experience, that this jelly is excellent,
and of a beautiful color.

To Preserve Purple Plums. — Make a syrup of clean
brown sugar; clarify it; when perfectly cleat and boil-
ing hot, pour it over the plums, having picked out all
unsound ones aud stems; let them remain in the syrup
two days, then drain it off, make it boiling hot, skim it,
and pour it over again ; let them remain another day or
two, then put them in a preserving-kettle over the fire,
and simmer gently until the syrup is reduced, and thick
or rich. One pound of sugar foreach pound of plums.

Greengages. — Weigh a pound of sugar to a pound of
fruit; the largest when they begin to get soft are the
best ; split them, and take out the kernels and stew them
in part of the sugar, take out the kernels from the shells
and blanch thein ; the next day strain off the syrup and
boil it with the remaining' sugar about ten minutes; skim
it and aJd the fruit aud kernels, skim it until clear, then
put it into small pots with syrup and kernels.

To Preserve Peaches. — The clear-stone yellow peaches,
white at the stone, are the best. Weigh the fruit after it
is pared. To each pound of fruit allow a pound of loaf-
sugar. Put a layer of sugar at the bottom of the preserv-
ing-kettle, and then a layer of fruit, and so on until the
fruit is all in. Stand it over hot ashes until the sugar is
entirely dissolved ; then boil them until they are clear;
take them out piece by piece, and spread them on a dish
free from syrup. Boil the syrup in the pan until it jellies ;
when the peaches are cold, fill the jars half full with them,
and fill up with the boiling syrup. Let them stand a short
time covered with a thin cloth, then put on brandy paper,
and cover them close with corks, skin, or paper. From
twenty to thirty minutes will generally be sufficient to
preserve them.

Quinces Preserved Whole. — Pare and put them into a
saucepan, with the parings at the top ; then fill it with
hard water; cover it close; set it over a gentle fire tilL
they turn reddisfa ; let them stand till cold ; put them into
a clear, thick syrup ; boil them tor a few minutes ; set them
on one side till quite cold ; boil them again in the same
manner ; the next day boil them until they look clear ; if
the syrup is not thick enough, boil it more; when cold,
put braudied paper over them. The quinces may he
halved or quartered.

Blackberries. — Preserve these as strawberries or cur-
rants, either liquid, or jam, or jelly. Blackberry jelly or
jam is an excellent medicine in summer complaints or
dysentery. To make it, crush a quart of fully ripe black-
berries with a pound of the best loaf sugar ; put it over a
gentle fire and cook it until thick ; then put to it a gill of
the best fourth-proof brandy ; stir it awhile over the fire,
then put it in pots.

RECEIPTS.

575

ADVICE TO HOUSBKH
To youi - Ing brief

hints ou ' ii> Tit of a

j perhaps pr> n
Whenever anything la bought a bill of parcels and a
inlred, even if the m<
I
sh ml. i be compared with these \^ i borne; If

the money Is t.- be paid al a future period, n b ■
be seat with the) articles and regularly Aled.

Ad inventory of furniture, linen, and ohlna should be
V'-yi. ;ni.i the shhujrs examined by it twice a-year, oroftener

■ ■I" servants ; the i :
servants should be intrusted to their care with e list, as
is done with plate. The heel means

from in

in u-.'. and shake them : \\ hen

nred.
She most durable sort of linens for sheeting

Gi rmau. or Iii-li fabrics; a good stock of which,

a- well as ol table-linen, should be laid in la avoid the

i washing.

a pi pi r quantity of household articles should always

be allowed for daily use, Each should also be kept to its

proper place, and applied to its proper use. Let all

q as wanted, remembering
adage of " a stitch in I and never, if |

Id concern beyond the time
wheo it ought to i"* attended to.

In th< ind crockery-ware, either the

m">t customary patterns should be chosen, in order to
secure th-ir being easily matched when broken, or, if a
scare- d an extra quantity should be

bought, i : annoyance i

spoiled by breakage, \\ hich In the course of time must be
i to happen. There should likewise bo plenty of
common dishes, that the table-set may not be used for
putting away cold meat, etc.

The cook should be encouraged to be careful
and cinders. Small coal wotted makes the strongest ftre
for the v rate, but must remain untouched till

Cinders Lightly wetted give a great degree of
heat, and are better than coal for furnaces, Ironinj
and ov

room is essential for the custody of art
cou.-tant use, as well as for others which are only occa-
sionally called for. Th he at hand when wanted,
each in separate drawers, or on j ■_•-. ,i|

under the lock and key of the mistress, and nevi c given
out to the servants but under hor inspection.

Pickles and ] land purchased sauces,

and all sorts of groceries .should be there stored; the
spices pounded and corked up in small bottle
broken, and everything In readiness for use. Lemon-peel,
thyme, parsley, and sweet herbs, should be

i grated for use in seasons of plenty; the tops of
tongues saved, and dried tor grating into
and care taken that nothing be wasted that can be turned
to .: "d account.

Bread is BO heavy an article of expense, that all waste

should be guarded against, and having it cut in tk

will tend much to prevent it ; but, for company, small

napkin of each guest, are the most

convents \ the most elegmns. Bread should be

kepi in earthen pans with c

Bugar being also an article of considerable expense in

demands partioalar attention.

The ehe far as that more refiued, and

there li a difference even in thi I

close, heavy, and shining v honld bo

The best botI of brow d has s bri I
nee, as if mixed with salt ; and. f to
when rubbed between the Angers, is better than when
more powdery. Bast India sugars are finer for the price,
■ . :■; for n ines and sweet-
meats, but do well for i To pound

agar, rolling it with al
Less than ■ mortar.

Soap should bs cul into pieces when Brat brought In,
and kept out of the ;iir two Ol

it will crack, and. tyhen wet, I reak. Put it ona

ahelfi leaving s space between each p cce, and let It grow

hard gradually: thus it wilt save a full third in the

<• maumption ; but, for coarse washing, Boft soap will go

■ ban the hard.

s ,1;. i be water, saves a great deal of soap.

It should be melted in s large jug or pail of water, som
of which pour into tl

Many good laundr seses advise soaping linen into warm
water the night previous tc washing, a- facilitating the
operal ion, and less friction being i ■■ t\
The best starch will kei p good in a dry, warm room fur

j ars.
Everything should be kept in the place best suited to it,

b waste may thereby be &\
Great care should be taken of Jelly-bags, tapes for
not perfectly Resided and
kept dry, give an unpleasant flavor n hi o next used.

CAKES, PUDDINGS, ETC.

Gold Cake. — One cup butter, two of sugar, three of flour,

_ 3 (the yolks), half cup milk, teas] nfi

tartar, half teaspooniul soda, nutmeg; mix the flour- and
cream tartar together.

Lemon Cheesecakes'. — < »nr pound of loaf sugar, six eggs,
but the whites of four only, the juice of three large lemons,
but first, before cutting them, rub the sugar on the rinds to
extract the flavor. Beat the eggs well ; add them to the
juice of the lemons; then strain them into a bright tin
saucepan ; add a quarter of a pound ot/re$h butter and all
the other ingredients L it simmer slowly over a slow
fire till the whole is the c- i -tir the

mixture till cool, when, after having lined the patty-pans
with puff paste, bake them, then put on the lemon mixture]
and return them to the oven a few minutes just to very •
slightly brown over.

Harrison PexoHBO, — Pour cups B< ur, two-thirds cup
melted butter, one cup molassi b, one< one cup

milk, one teaspoonfol soda. Boil in a bag OX tin dish.
three hours.

Tbi Buss .— ' me pound and n quarter of Dour, one-half

of butter
rubbed In the flour, about a pint of sweet milk warmed,

of yeast, the y .ik .if an <■.
carraway seeds to your taste; mix well these ingredients
together, and beat them up as for a seed cake; set them
before the ftre to rise for an hour, make them op in what
, ikes you please, lay them oi ratime

before the fire, and feather them over with white of egg
before baking them.

Sally Lckhs. — A pint of the best new milk lukewarm,

quarter of a pom a

teacupful of yeast, one and a half pound of fine Hour;

mix them together, and Let it stand three-quarters of an

hoar. Bake them on tins nearly an hour.

576

GODEY 3 LADY'S BOOK AXD MAGAZINE.

MUFFINS. — Mix a quart of wheat flour, with a pint and
a half of milk, half a teacup of yeast, a couple of beaten
eggs, a teaspoonful of salt, aud a couple of tablespoonsful
of lukewarm melted butter. Set the batter in a warm
place to rise. When light, butter your muffin cups, turu
in the mixture and bake muffins to a light brown.

A Plain Lemon Pudding.— The juice and peel of two
lemons, the peel to be rubbed off with lumps of sugar ; six
ounces of loaf sugar pounded (excepting what lias been
used for the lemon peel), a good-sized tcacupful of grated
bread cruras ; whilst these are soaking together, beat up
four eggs, leaving out two of the whites ; melt one ounce
of fresh butter, aud mix aR the above ingredients well
together. Edge and trim a dish with puff paste; pour in
the above mixture, and bake in a quick oven for three-
quarters of an hour.

Cup Cake. — Five cups of flour, one cup of treacle, one
cup of cream, one cup of sugar, three cups of currants, three
cups of raisins, a quarter of a pound of candied-peel, four
eggs well beaten, one teaspoonful of carbonate of soda,
one cup of butter melted, and spices to taste. It will require
four hours baking in a moderate oven.

Taylor Podding. — One cup of molasses, half cup of
chopped raisins, one cup of suet, one cup of sour milk,
omit cream tartar, two eggs, teaspoonful of soda, two tea-
spoonsful cream tartar, spice and salt to taste, flour to
make thick batter, steam three or four hours. Cream of
tartar omitted when sour milk is used.

Batii Cakes. — Rub half a pound of butter into a pound
of flour; take one tablespoonful of good barm, and warm
sufficient cream to make the flour and butter into a light
paste, then set it before the fire to rise. When you mako
the paste into cakes, work two ounces of carraway seeds
into it, make it into round cakes, and strew a few carraway
seeds at the top of each. Bake them upon sheet tins, and
serve them hot for breakfast or tea.

Bread and Bitter Pudding. —Butter a dish well ; then
lay in a few slices of bread and butter. Boil one pint of
milk, pour it over two eggs well beaten, and then on the
bread and butter. Bake in a hot oven half an hour;
currants or raisins may be added.

LlQHT Cakes — To three-quarters of a pound of flue flour,
add one-half pint of lukewarm milk, mix in thxee
spoonsful of light barm ; cover it over, and set it by the
flie for half an hour to rise. Work in the paste four ounces
of sugar, and the same quantity of butter ; make into tea
cakes with as little flour as possible, and bake them in a
quick oven.

MISCELLANEOUS.

To keep Sixver always Bright. — Silver, in constant
.use, should be washed every day in a pan of suds made of
good white soap aud.warm water; drying it with old soft
linen cloths. Twice a week (after this washing), give it a
thorough brightening with finely powdered whiting,
mixed to a thin paste with alcohol ; rubbing longer and
harder where thero are stains. Then wipe this off, and
polish with clean soft old linen. Silver is cleaned in this
manner at the best hutels.

To Destroy Worms in Garden Walks. — Pour into the
worm-holes a strong lye, made of wood ashes, lime, and
water. Or, if more convenient, use, fur this purpose,
strong salt and water.

Cure for Prickly Heat — Mix a large portion of wheat
bran with either cold or lukewarm water, and use it as a
bath twice or thrico a day. Children who are covered

with prickly heat in warm weather will be thus effectu-
ally relieved from that tormenting eruption. As soon a ^
it begins to appear on the neck, face, or arms, commence
using the bran water on these parts repeatedly through
the day, and it may probably spread no farther. If it
does, the bran water bath will certainly cure it, if per-
sisted in.

When velvet gets plushed from pressure hold the parts
over a basin of hot water, with the lining of the dress
next the water; the pile will soon rise and resume its
original beauty.

To Make Grease Balls.— Shave down half a pound of
white soap, and mix it with three ounces of fuller's earth
powdered. Then mix together three ounces of ox-gall,
and two ounces of spirits of turpentine. With this,
moisten the soap and fuller's earth, till you have a stiff
paste. Mix it thoroughly, and beat it well. Make it into
balls with your hands, and place the balls where they
will dry slowly. To use it, scrape down a sufficiency'
and spread it on the grease spot. Let it rest awhile ; then
brush it off, and scrape and apply some more. A few
applications will generally remove the grease.

Treatment of Sun-stroke. — A person whose uncovered
head is exposed to the rays of a vertical sun is not very
unfrequently attacked with a sort of fit, which sometimes
bears a resemblance to apoplexy; but at other times is
more like an ordinary swoon. The proper remedy for an
attack of this kind, during the primary fit, is to pour cold
water over the head. This is the plan pursued by the
natives of Iudia, who are peculiarly exposed to the affec-
tion in question.

Straw Mattihg may be cleaned with a large eoaree
cloth, dipped in salt and water, and then wiped dry ; the
salt prevents the matting from turning yellow.

Treatment of Oil-cloth. — Oil-cloth ought never to be
wetted— if it can be possibly avoided — but merely to bo
rubbed with a flannel, and polished with a brush of mod-
erate hardness, exactly like a mahogany table, and by
this simple means the fading of the colors, and the rotting
of the canvas, which are inevitably attendant upon the
oil-cloth being kept in a state of moisture or dampness,
are entirely avoided.

Gold and silver lace may be cleaned by sewing it in
clean lioen cloth, boiling it in a pint of soft water and two
ounces of soap, washing it in cold water; if it be tar-
nished, apply a little warm spirits of wine to the tar-
uished parts.

To bleach a faded dress, wash it well in hot suds, and
boil it until the color seems to be gone, then wash ami
rinse, and dry it in the sun ; if not sufficiently white,
repeat the boiling.

Saponaceous Cream of Almonds.— The preparation sold
under this title is a potash soft soap of lard. It has a
beautiful pearly appearauce, and has met with extensive
demand as a shaving soap. It is made thus: Clarified
lard, seven pounds; potash of lye (containing twenty-six
percent, of caustic potash) three and three-quarter pounds ;
rectified spirit, three ouuees; otto ofalmonds, two drachms.
Manipulation : Melt the lard in a porcelain vessel by a
salt water bath ; then run in the lye, very slowly, agi-
tating the whole time ; when about half the lye is in, the
mixture begins to curdle; it will, however, become so
firm that it cannot bestirred. The cream is then finished,
but is not pearly ; it will, however, assume that appear-
ance by long trituration in a mortar, gradually adding
the alcohol in which has been dissolved the perfume.

iitflrs'

Saih.

VASSAR COLLEGE: WOMAN'S OWN.

Aoaih we make Bus educational wonder oar to
; ing demands mora inf inn

ad the mode of Its Intended
- Happily we can now gii

■ Founder Ln his own honesl words, Bhowing that his

. n -. uid is, to be il aw bl ■■ gill b ■ b< nefli df

■ • i i

j, and opportunities of culture and use

mi ii iue sex.

We will give from Mr. Vassar'e eloquent

a Idress* (would thai we had room for the whole!] on the

anation of the College Faculty . on the

! h bioh he would eommend.

Tin: CBABACTEB OP THE UUTIYUTIOSI WTBT RE PERFECT.

[ustitntion, a-; an tmpera inallty, i- the object of
our caro. We launch it fora blessing to ;iii time We
have the world from wh ■ our lnstrum<

We each and all of us, as Individuals, Bin oul ol sight, in
Tiew of the j Let

us forget men ror,

plant this seed, whose
. nations, and « b ise

■ . i be pei Scrutinize, w m very
■i losition, every plan, ever] p rson frankly, freely,

Be means and instruments are

fully abreast <>f tbi mt, of

the highest public expectation, and be such that they may
ail grow «md expand

THE 0B5I8H IS TO BXBVATB Wom.W

" It is my hope, ii was my only hope and desire, indeed it

a main incentive to all 1 have already done or

may b >, to inaugurate ;i new era

in the history and : The attem] i yon are to

i iking, fails wholly of Its p a it an

I wish to give one Bex

;iH the advantages too long monopolized by

0 ira is, i is ' i i"-. an institution I >r women — not men.

I.i all its lab 'i -. !'■■- ti ins, rewards and bope
the dei ng to

mi, and the preferment of women -of their p iwers,
ery Bide, dem instrative of their equality with men —
demonstrative, indeed, >>i' such ■

ttxed ■ mi d. This, I con© ' re,

may be fully accomplished within the rational limits of
■'. thout the slightest hazard to the
aitracl i character.

■• We are indeed already del we commence, if

development be in the least dangerous to the dearest
attributes of her class. We are not :ii- lesa defeated, if it
1'.' hazardous for her to avail herself of her highest educated
powers, when that point is gained. We are defeat

art up. mi the assumption that Bhe has no powers,

Bave those - re or imitate from the other sex.

We are defeated if i »y not

with every propriety con thei latured

fees We are esp< c

i i i express oc r pra* In hi c

. - an instructor of her own sex."

WOMBS TO SHARE THE PROFESSORSHIPS.

" Geut! ti. or will give

ns an exclusive patent for originating thenbilitiea of genius
man out if nothing. We m

are In the world before us We shall

fa I to make all coming women what many already are

We can, ami shall fill up many valleys, elevate many

! build higher many natural summits. But we

y hope that every future height will wear our

high aa we may, or can hope to do,

* Delivered before the Trustees at their meeting. Feb.
23, 1864.

n hich will nol rail our college 'mother,1 will
stand all the i to abn ; of us.

••in ray jodgmeut. It Is clearly due to the idea which
nndei Lie "■:' are, that wed i liere

Lei ii- nol add another to I of man' wan

generosity, or of b edrec >g nil ion ol I b< pow ors

ie m I. We sl ' ■ led to d it, a!

Ii r the mask of an institution winch pr iffq e I i

be her peculiar ahampiou and which is l ibededicaled I i

her benefit alone. We cannot hope to mo i n be! of

world when we voluntarlij oppose it in our

\\ ■■ .. : a \. it ad to act upon our ] and

to Illustrate our idea at the very start. Only aid mo

■: the select! in of the besf InAtru ats to be

found emon I and mpl abed

women of this country, and lei bei lard if there

bo one. I, at least, have g met lofar already to allow me
to shrink one instant from sharing or being Intimidated by
that risk. Lei woman then, at least, share the moat
prominent and responsible positions in your gift, and let
them be proffered her as her unquestionable right, as far
can ill i them with equal abHity to men."

INAUGURATE.

. urate woman's elevation and power, genius and
baste, at the same moment thai \ ■ i doors to

i.i- Givi bei i pn senl c infideHce, e nd not push her

i ■ ipon Borne fuf are bope. Lei the foremosl

women of our land be among the most advanced and
honored p I >! and guardians of coming women, and I
cheerfu lly leave mj name to be associated with the result.
•• Hi due* . if if •■"" In so, ,>/■■ ' proftesorships

ty one-haty, so that all th ■ <'■/' (©Mm natural

.,■■■ of woman as distinctly heri I have not the
slightest fear, those may 1"- found tally equal to the
remaining half of these positions. Music, pa nting, lan-
guages, literature, the natural science -. and hygiene are
her native elements, and she has nol (ailed to reach the
highest points iu astronomy and mathematics."

CHBTSTIAS DN10S ]>J RELIGION.

"Against thi i me when the subject of appointments
arrive, and even now, while the distribution uf
duties hi the various departments will receive your
i shall venture to refresh your memories in
regard to the care to be taken in regard to the exclusion
of all sectarian Influences, and to thai end that the
in ever] i Le shall fairly represent the prin-
cipal Christian denominations among na. Por myself I

n onld rather be remi i ired b - one who earn ■ >ug bt

t>» fuse the Christian element of the world Into one grand
catholic body. -\i any rate, as one who baa ■

miner than recognize or cherish
any exclusively.
"As the legitimate and practical result of this Idea, I
.■ i Invite to the College di lays of public

worship, alternately, the representatives of every Christian
ch. I am assured that ho difficulty need be appre-
hended in effecting ;i permanent arrangement of this kind

in this city. Let our pupils thus see fort] elve

ku iw that beyond ■ ere is after all bu

God, oneChrist, one Gospel, and that the spire of whatevei
church forever points towards one. Heaven.

this point, Without any o msc one -I 3p "-' ■■ ■"■■ Bl I

othei i permit meto add thai I bi i r

incentives to t Iness, and the mosl \

tendencies will be found to flow most of all, like an
emanation, from the presence of gifted, cultivated l
tian women."

Such are the enlightened views of Mr. Vassar, If these
are faithfully carried out, his College must become the
glory of Christian civilization. From it will go forth an
influence essentially Bubsi ring peace and

good-will union:.' the churches of OUT land and Of all

Christendom, This power of womanly influence! has
never yet had proper training, right direction, or ample
encouragement Lei ;ill women thank God and Mr. Vae-
sar — "and take courage."

577

573

GODEY'S LADY S BOOK A>'P MAGAZINE.

"THE BOATMAN."

This is the title of the last poem of Sir Edward Bulwer
Lytton ; the British critics pronounce it his best. The
poem might, appropriately, have been styled, "My Mar-
riage, Separation, and Reunion ;" these three incidents
giving the exquisite coloring to his pictures of the living
world, and the expression to his own inner feelings of heart
and conscience.

The education (or voyage) of life, which the poem depicts,
seems often to improve the better sort of mankind, while
weak and vicious natures rapidly deteriorate in breathing
the mephitic gas of evil. That Sir Edward Bulwer is of
the better type, his improvement in the morals of litera-
ture, from "Pel ham" and 'Tan I Clifford,'' to "The
Caxtons" and "My Novel," affords satisfactory proof.
This little poem will deepen the impression in his favor
among those who honor genius only when it seeks its
highest glory, that of promoting the good.

That this great writer has thought deeply upon one of
the holiest concerns of humanity, one of the most vital
questions of civilized society, and has regretted the course
which poisoned his own domestic happiness, is apparent.
His separation from his wife is too well known to require
our comments. The poem appears to be a lament over the
early faults and passions which caused those family
difficulties; a confession of the inadequacy of worldly
success to make a full and happy life; a, weariness and
" unrest" in all pleasures which wealth gives, and in all
honors that fame confers; and that the best wisdom for
himself and wife is reunion (we have heard that they are
reunited), before the last strokeVf the "Boatman's oar,"
when "the river is lost in the ocean."

If this poetic reconciliation be not already the truth of
history, devoutly do we hope that it may become true,
before the greatest living novelist — who now feels himself
so near the end of his life-voyage that

"One chime of the oar, ere it halt evermore,
Muffled, and dirge-like, and sternly steady,"
is all he anticipates — shall have reached the lost bourne
of humanity. We hope this, because the reunion would
give both husband and wife the purest and best honors
either has yet attained, the honor of doing morally right
where both had been wrong. And then this reunion
would remove forever from all young aspirants for literary
fame one bad example in the career of successful genius,

In our free country there is, from the fatal facility of
divorce, great danger of laxity in the marriage contract ;
this danger seems fastincreasing, as the reports of divmves
increase every year, and -almost every year sees new
facilities offered in some one or more of the States for
obtaining these patents af miserable marriages.

The divine Law of Jesus Christ does not sanction this
easy mode of escape from the solemn responsibilities
of wedded life. Every woman who takes on herself,
voluntarily, the duties of wife, should for herself consider
her own act irrevocable. Never, till death parts the
married pair, should either expect to be made free from
their vow at the bridal altar, unless the law of Christ
permit the separation.

It was thus that English law sternly held Sir Edward
Bulwer, even while living apart many years from his
wife, to his marriage responsibility. And now he must
feel that the restraint was good, giving both husband and
wife time for reflection and repentance, and opportunity
to return to their duties, without leaving on their name
and fame the indelible Hot of divorce, as an inheritance to
their only son.

We will give our readers a touching illustration of
the duty which wedded life may impose on woman. This
beautiful poem, written by a lady whose lot is richly
blest in domestic happiness, thrills the tenderest chords of
the heart that sorrows or sympathizes with the trials of an
unfortunate marriage. And the moral sentiment is
loftier than the highest heroism — it is Heavenly grace.

THE WIFE: A POEM.

BY MRS. T. J. CRAM,

PART I. THE APPEAL.

Mother, sweet mother, hide me beneath thy sheltering

wing!
I 'm perishing, I 'm drowning ! I must to some rock cling !
I left thee for a stronger, a cold and cruel one,
Whom I, and not God, mother, made thy unworthy son.

Oh, mother, how I loved him! I fled from thy warm nest,
And thought his home a safer, a sweeter place of rest.
I left thee in the spring-time, the May of my young life,
And never at the altar stood a more happy wife.

He took me to his dwelling, and loved me for a while,
But soon to some one fairer hi_- gave a -« eeter smile ;
And every smile he gave hertouk mure than une from mo,
Till I became the sad one whose grief Will sadden thee.

Now, mother, I have left him — I will return no more!
His terrible no kindness I long in silence bore:
But I can bear no longer, back to thy nest I fly ;
Keceive me, gentle mother, receive me or I die.

Open thy fold, sweet mother, invite me to return ;
Give me the fond caresses for which I wildly yearn.
I ask not for the first place, give me the very least ;
I '11 feed on crums coutented, while all the others feast.

Our lb-avenly Father loveth His chastened children best ;
The sad ones are more precious to Him than all the rest.
Love thy blest children, mother, more than thou luvest

me,
But let me in thy dear face one look of welcome see.

Sweet mother, there are flowers that open in the day,
And Look up at the sunlight in a fond, trusting way ;
Bui when the evening cometh, those lovely flowers close,
And each one looks more happy than when it was a iu;>e.

Outside a bud the dust rests that enters in a rose ;
Outside a mother's dwelling are all her children's foes :
Blest are the buds that linger long on the parent stem ;
God help the ones that sutler man's hand to gather them!

Make me a bud, dear mother, a bud upon thy breast ;
Not blooming in the garden, where gaily bloom the rest ;
But with thy loving lingers my laded Leaflets close,
And make a* whole bud. mother, out of thy broken rose.

PAKT II. THE RESPONSE.
Daughter, I dare not hide thee; I've room beneath my

WillL',

But there is not the shelter to which a wife should cling.
My child, my stricken darling, to keep thee hen1 1 yearn ;
But, dearest, to thy husband God bids thee to return.

Woman is born to suffer, Christ made her so like Him,

That life t-i her is often a shadow dark and grim.

Christ came not here for pleasure, He came to bless and

save ;
Can women a more holy, a better mission crave?

Thank God, thou ait selected to work with His dear Son ;
To be thyself a blighted, a wrecked, maltreated one.
To be perhaps a saviour to an immortal soul ;
To be thyself crushed, broken, that he may be made
whole!

Go to the cross like Jesus : some there will only kneel ;
Others its piercing anguish, its heavy burden feel :
God loves the humblest knee lor ; but closer draw- to those
Who ask not His Son's glory till they have shared his
woes.

Go seek a grave, a deep place, where dead things can bo

laid ;
Ami bury self forever, where that deep grave is made :
Then, when that self is buried, thine eyes will not grow

dim,
When unkiud things are spoken and done to thee by Mm.

EDITORS' TABLE.

Thy pride will all be conquered* tUou *ll

foro
And wh
prayer,

II n>t always snfler, Iti >u will not always weep:
I to give His loved one

My daughter, grow eel weary, be not a mini weak one ;

i r Heaven l I woi

'Toil till the morning cometh, trust though the night be

dark ;

Go, Life boal on the tossed sea, and save thy ibipv n oked
bai k,

My darling, it' I hide thi our Sai lour may 'not e

Bui cast l to 1 1 ■ ■ I fish ono and «"<

.: :m . 'i- that blissful heig hi
■ ■:■! II.- lifts those ria-i.sii.ius who in Uia work
delight.

Go, take my blessing, dearest, and with deep, thankful

i< me day coming to the blest port e
;.u vessel, shattered and tempest tost,
Bat bringing from Ufo'B ooean a treasure that wa

(rhere tby boal da n d to go,
oking i" everlasting woe .
If thou i unwilling to peril on lifi 'a sea,

. ; Christ will rescueand keep Lu Heaven for

SINGLE LADIES.
In England the "old maids," as they are vulgarly
styled, hold a deservedly high place In public estimation,
this pleasant picturing of their cha-
racteristics : —

"The single lady of a certain ago la a personage

on, al any rate In her proper position, except
ia England. En Roman Catholic countries she takes re-
vent; she Is hardly considered respectable,
whereas here Bheia respectability Itself Theold maid of
ad plays, Inde id— prim, censorious, and spiteful —
Is disappearing. In her place we have a most cheerful,
i benevolent, and popular lady, seldom behind
the fashion or behind the news ami literature of the day —
beloved by nephews and nieces, married brothers, sisters,
and cousins, a tower of strength iu times of sickness and
family troubles; a favorite visitor, and not always visit-
ing, noi staying too long; Bometlmee, on the contrary,
having a snug httle borne of her own, where pet nephews
es spend a fewdaysmost delightfully ; a guardian
angel to the poor, a valuable auxiliary to the cl<
and clergyman's wife : In high esteem and respect
Lhe tradespeople ; a famous tetter- writer and the fabricator
of most beautiful fan Of this genus we are

1 rivileged to know sevt ral specimens, some of whom, we
to hope, will bridle when they read this little
account, and say, with a pleased, hall doubtful look,
• Well, I 'm sure ; this can' I be /»■ '. ' Ye-, it is you. Aunt
Kate, and Ann! Maria, and ever so many aunts with pretty
names who have been pretty women in your time, and
who now have Bometh i inty dearer. Von are

c inntry ; as long b - you are the objects and
;' warm and kindly feelings, you greatly
contribute to the support of the social atfections."

D BASS OP LITERARY La.

mghter of "Barry Cornwall,"
died lately in England* Her father. In his poems, calls
her his " golden-haired Adelaide." Her poems are dis-
tinguished by tenderness of feeling am! serious tbougnt-
her taste was refined, and her productions were
generally admired.

Mrt. Caroline .V. S. KirkXana\ well known us an ex-
cellent Instructress of y mng ladies and a successful writer,
died suddenly iu New York, April 6th. Tier first

i New Home Found ; WhoUlFollou '"descrip-
tive of ''Life in the Far West," was (
She has since written much for periodicals and annuals.
books, which have been popular, may be
mentioned, "Personal Memoirs of George Washington,*1
Sirl's Garland," '■ Fireside Talk in Manners

and Morals," "Holidays Abr iad," " West* rnCleai

" Forest Life," ami other highly mer it m i u

Thb Foanos^HEss. — Wo are much gratified to find that
the United States government is appointing won
the places of Postmasters. We hope, however, that their
tnu> tiih- — Postmistress — will be given, on their papers of
appointment and In their address. The adoption of ma |
cttliue titles for or by the feminine sex La worse than a
folly, it Is a falsehood, and ail bucd shams are morally
Injurious. Woman lias her own appellations which she
should be careful to uphold and make honorable; and we
trust the ladies, whose Dames we append, wall do honor
tit their sex by faithfulness in the responsible office with
which they are Intrusted.

Postmistresses.

AkensTllle, Fulton, Pa., Miss Amanita Akon«.
Cross Plains, Ripley, 1ml., Mrs. Jaqnellne Roberts.
Deer Gra k, Livingston, Mich., Mrs. Lovicy How.
i istville, Del., Iowa, Mrs. Henrietta Vankuren.
Glasgow, New Castle, Dol . Miss Margaret .Adair. •
Jackson, Jackson, W. Va., Mr.-. Henrietta Rogers,
Neshonoe, La Cross. Wis., Mrs. Belinda Bircnard.
Penobscot, Hancock, Me., Miss Sylvia W. Perkins.
Band Lake, Lake, 111., Mrs. Eunice Taylor.
Stony Fork, Tioga, Pa., Miss Elizabeth Hoadley.

A Child's Imagination. — Miss Edgeworth somewhere
remarks thai ki eping a journal of the Bayings of children
would be a great help iu studying the philosophy of mind.
< >f course, the children were not to know of t lie chronicles
thus kept. The following original ami ttut/itntia anec-
dotes may Interest young mothers, if not of much value to
philosophers : —

"Walking on the crisp Bnow, with our little three year
old, she began to step very carefully, Baying, 'I hurt the
grass ; don't you hear it cry when I .step on it?'

"The same little one was swinging, when she had to
be taken out of the swing, from giddiness ; describing her
sensations to her father afterwards, she said, 'Father, I
was swinging, and began to laugh, right in here,' putting
hex hands on her breast; 'then the tough went Into my
hands, nod I could not hold on, and when I got out, the
laugh went into my feet, and 1 could not stand up.' Can
any one describe swinging any better?

"This same little one, in playful anger, caught hold of
an older sister, saying, tKow 1 'Jl Bhake the sawdust out
of yon,' thinking the human species was got np on the
Ba me plan as her dolls.

"She was one day very anxious to go visiting, and
urged her great desire 'to see Mrs. L.*s tittle d ■-

" ■ Why.' said her Bister, ' they bav'n't any dog.'

"• Ihiv'n'r ' Who does the barking /' was her astsnr
i bed reply.*'

MoETOx'fl Gold Pbfb. — Among the absolute necessaries
of life we must reckon the pen. Ther lis no interest in our
. n i article of service or >-f ornament in our hands
that we might not dispense with more easily than with
the pi ii. In this little helper wo hold the power of con-
solation to the afflicted, and of c nversatlon with the ab-
sent ; it is the regulator of daily routine, the Interpret f
of domestic affections, and the soother of individual cares
and heart-sorrows. It Is the supporter of law, the coun-
sellor of duty, the expounder of the world's doing.- in its
record of daily news ; essential to the loan of the lover
and the hand of the warrior, to the officer of justice and
the teacher of Divine Truth. The pen is an Ins1

re a good pen is of inestimable importance to all
v. Ii ' write.

The Editors «»f the Lady's Book can conscientiously
commend the gold pensot "A Morton, 33 Maiden Lane,
rT, Y," to their friends as worth] universal patronag >.

580

GOPEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Wheeler & "Wilson's Sewing-Machine. — To our friends
who wish for directions where to find the best Si unity-ma-
chine, we give tbis notice. The Wheeler & Wilson ma-
chine makes a perfect stitch, and alike on. both sides. It
also makes the lock-stitch ; it has no shuttle, nor com-
plicated machinery, with which ladies are so often per-
plexed. It is almost noiseless, simple in its construction,
easily adjusted, and performs every variety of sewing.
In short, we think it is what it claims to be, the queen of
sewisg-machines.

Offices, 50o Broadway, New York, and 704 Chestnut
Street, Philadelphia.

To our Correspondents. — The following articles are
accepted: 'The Sister and Wife" — "Only" — "Be Cheer-
ful"— "The Mounted Rifleman" — "An Authoress and a
Fanatic" — "The Ages" — "The Minister's Wife"— "La
Mouehe do Nuit" — "My Uonie" — and " Foot-prints iu the
Snow."

We must decline tire toll., wing: "A Word to the Girls"
— "Ou the Death of F. M. II" — "Bear Jennie" — "Snn-
sliine in the Heart" — "Twilight" (we have too much
poetry offered) — "The Image Boy" — "A Word for all" —
"Song" — '• Loiterer by the way" (the writer can do bet-
ter)— "Answering Glances" — "The' Deaf" — "Fairs, and
other Humbugs" (better send the article to a newspaper)
— "A Great Bargain" — "Marching and Countermarch-
ing"— "Lost Moments" — "A Dream" (wo are overflow-
ing with puetic favor-) — "Ethel Moreland" — "The Acci-
dent"— " My Story" (the writer might do better by care
and study; we want the heat) — "Gallantry" — and "The
Best Beloved."

Wo have other MS3. on hand.

lit t rar i) Do tins.

Frora Lipfincott & Co.) Philadelphia: —
SCHOOL ECONOMY. .1 Treatise on the reparation,
Organization, Employments, Government, and Authori-
ties of Schools, By James Pyle Wickersham, A. M,,
Principal of the Pennsylvania State Normal School, Mil-
lersville, Pa. This is the first of a series of four books
treating uf the theory of teaching and of its practice. The
author is eminently practical iu all that he has to Bay,
and enters into the minutiae of school life with the readi-
ness of one who-'- knowledge is thorough and whose
judgment sound. He treats of many things of importance
not only to the teacher, but equally so to parents and
school directors, such as the location, architecture, and
arrangement of the school-bouse.

THE BOOK OF DAYS. Parts 23 and 24. PrloeSOct nts
each. This useful and fascinating work is rapidly ap-
proaching completion. This number brings us up to Wil-
helm Grimm's Marriage,

From Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia: —
THE RED TRACK. By Gustavo Aimard, author of
"The Gold Seekers," "The Tiger Slayer," etc. This work
brings to a conclusion the somewhat extended series of
novels from the pen of Aimard, recently issued from the
bouse of the Messrs. Peterson. Those books have been
exceedingly popular, and no one who has read them thus
far will miss the sequel to them all.

THE LIFE AND PUBLIC SERVICES OF MAJOR-
GENERAL MEADE. This is a brief history of the life of
General Meade, and a description of the various positions

be has filled, and the services he has rendered the country,
from the time he entered the U. S. army in 1S30, up to the
present day.

From the Presbyterian Board op Publication, Phila-
delphia : —

THOUGHTS ON SABBATH SCHOOLS. By John S.
Hart, LL. D. Tbis little book has been prepared to meot
the especial needs of Sabbath-school teachers, by a gentle-
man who has had, added to a lively interest in the sub-
ject, an extended observation and opportunities for careful
study. His " thoughts" are excellent, and many of his
hints worthy of earnest consideration.

From D. Appleton & Co., New York, through Ashmead
& Evans, Philadelphia: —

ILLUSTRATIONS OF UNIVERSAL PROGRESS; .-1 S -
ries of -Discussions. By Herbert Spencer, author of " The
Principles of Psychology," etc. This book is so original
in its character, so varied iu its subjects, aud so bold In
thought and manner, that it is difficult to give even an
adequate description of it. The preface to the present edi-
tion, says Mr. Spencer, "proposes nothing less than to
unfold such a complete philosophy of nature, physical,
organic, mental, and social, as science has now for the
first time made possible, and which, if successfully exe-
cuted, will constitute a momentous step in the progress of
thought." /

HINTS TO RIFLEMEN. By H. W. S. Cleveland. To
sportsmen and military men these hints will prove of
especial interest. They are offered by one who has pur-
surd careful investigations, and who has spared no pains
to procure materials and information concerning the sub-
jects of which lie treats. The book is illustrated by nu-
merous engravings.

MY CAVE LIFE AT YICKSBT'RG, with Letters of Trial
and Travel. By a Lady. This volume is written by an
eye-witness of the siege and capture of VicUsburg. She
Writes vivaciously ; and gives the reader an Insight into
thedomestic life of the denizens of the besieged city during
that fearful period. Her lively narrative Of incidents and
events, and all the little details that go to make up the
whole, is exceedingly interesting, and stand out in strong
contrast with the conciseness of official reports, and the
bold and sometimes unreliable statements of "reliable
gentlemen" and newspaper correspondents.

CHURCH ESSAYS. By George Gumming McWhorter,
author of a " Popular Hand-Book of the New Testament."
Most of these essays appeared originally in the "Church
Monthly Magazine," an Episcopal publication. The book
will prove especially acceptable to members of that church,
while its subjects will be found not uninteresting to read-
ers in general.

From TTarper & Brothers, New York, through Peter-
son- & Brothers, and Lippincott& Co., Philadelphia: —

ANNISWARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. A Novel. By Holme
Lee, author of "Sylvan Unit's Daughter,"' etc. This novel
excels for its excellent character painting. The story is
interesting, though so deliberate in its progress that the
hasty reader will think it occasionally dull.

From Cart.eton, New York, through Peterson & Bro-
thers, Philadelphia: —

RED TAPE AND PIGEON-HOLE GENERALS. As seen
from tlic Banks during a- Campaign in the Army of lha
Potomac. By a Citizen-Soldier. A lively book, some-
what severe upon Red Tape Generals, and expressing the

LITERARY NOTICES.

581

author's opinions pretl yel taking the reader

Into the i -amp life, with all its Incidents and

adventures. As a bnok illustrative of soldier lite, sol-
dier spirit, iiii-I f<.'iiiik', it is worth raiding.

LTBICS Of A DAY; '<r, Feiospaper Poetry. By a
Volunteer in the 17. S. service. These poems are full of
Are and spirit; yet, as the author admits, having been
written to rait the time sod ■ cession, they cannot well bo
i - :. r. Being bora

to die, they are at least deserving of a present popularity.

From Derbt & Miller, Now York, through Lippiscott
& Co., Philadelphia: —

GENERAL GRANT AND HIS CAMPAIGNS. By Jnlian
K. Larke. Illustrated with a portrait on steel. This is a
carefully prepared and an apparently reliable biography
of General Grant, by a man who has had excellent oppor-
tunities for becoming acquainted with the various cir-
flpmntanr - i f his life, and for forming a correct estimate
of hi;* character. The first two chapters are devoted to
his early life, at home; and at Wast Point The third
r reader to the Mexican War; and in the fifth
Grant b- « 1. and afterwards Brigadier-General

of Illinois Volunteers in the present rebellion. Then on
to the does of the book follows a minute account of all his
movement*, interspersed with characteristic anecdotes;
until the sixty-tirst ohi - him newly appointed

to the Lieutenant-Generalship in March of the present
year. This will prove a most acceptable book to the
public

From TtrKXOR & FrELDs, Boston, through Petebsox &
Brothers. Philadelphia; —
001 PfSKL AND COMFORT, Spokenfroma City Pulpit.

By the author of "The Recreations of a Country Parson."
Somewhat graver, these sermons are, as their title indl-
- with which we all who love good
reading, have now become so familiar. Butthesame hand
which penned those essays penned these sermon?, the
same kindly spirit prompted them, and the same freshness
and geniality animates them. Beautiful and musical,
gems of literary production, they are all the more valuable
for the deep religious tone which pervades them.

INDUSTRIAL BIOGRAPHY: iron- TTorfctT* and Toot-
hy Samuel Smiles, author of "Self Ilelp," etc.
Most of the chapters of this book are devoted, each to a
brief biography of some distinguished mechanic or engi-
neer. Smiles Is so well known as a writer for the benefit
of working men that we need enter into no full descrip-
tion of this volume. It is entertaining as well as in-
struct

THE GAMPANER TTTAL, and other Writings. From
the German of Jean Paul Friedrich Richter. Tl
paner Thai," or, Discourses on the Immortality of the
Soul, one of Blotter's favorite productions, has been care-
fully translated for us by Julietto Bauer. .Richter was
engaged, we are told, at the time of bis death, in enlarging
and remodelling it. It is a characteristic work,

iers will call it, yet rich with thought and senti-
ment for eaih the mists of meta-
phorical expression. The production from which the book
fakes its nameoccupi> ' '>ne-fourth of its pages.
The remainder is filled with miscellaneous matter from
the sam-- s itht r, by different translators.

THE VEIL TARTLY LIFTED AND JESUS BROOMING

VISIBLE. By vT. H. Furness, author of "Remarks on

the Four Gospel*," ■■ A History of Jesus," etc. Thasl ';

has been written by one who has made the New Testa-

VOL. LXVIII. iG

ment, and all that pertains to the history of Jesus, his
e-pecinl study; by one who has studied every line,
weighed every tact, and rifted out every falsity fin d
and tradition, according to his nwn best }adgmei I
a man cannot fail to treat such a subject clearly, reve-
reutly, and ediiyiugly.

From G. P. Fttnam, New York, through LirrixroTT 8t
Co., Philadelphia:—

REBEL RHYMES AND RHArSnDlRS. CoUecM and
edited by Frank Moore. This is a full and (air col
of the songs and ballads of th< Bonthern people, i
lng the spirit whloh aotnates them In their presenl
lion. Most of them have appeared in Southern magazines
aud newspapers, though some are only copies of ballad
sheets and songs circulated in their armies.

From B. B. RrssEi.L. Boston. Mass. : —
UOTON LEAGUE MELODIES. An excellent collection
of patriotic Lymns and tunes, by Rev. J. \Y. Dadmun.

From Robert Carter & Brothers, New York, through
Wm. S. and Alfrkh Mamtbh, 606 Chestnut Street, Phila-
delphia:—

THE PROPHET OF FIRE: or, The Life and Times of
Elijah, with their Lessons. By J. A Macduff, D. D.,
author of" Memoirs of Gi'iiur-ari/t," " Morning and Night
Watch* s" ''Mind aud Words of Jesus," etc. This work
Is a masterpiece of word painting : the awful ^ceue* in the
life of the great prophet stand out like living realities.
We feel the truth of Divine Inspiration in the Bible narra-
tive, thus illustrated, with deeper convictions of God's
mercy to his chosen people, and with a firmer faith in the
Gospel of Jesus Christ. It is a wonderful book ; we hope
it will be widely read.

THE FORTY DAYS AFTER OUR LORD'S RESURREC-
TION. By the Rev. William Hanna, LL. D., author of
" The Last Day of our Lord's Passion." The deep interest
felt by all truo Christians in tracing out all the works and
words of our Blessed Saviour will find much satlsfacliun
as well as help from this interesting work.

THE CHRIST OF HISTORY: Aa Argument grounded
in tlie facts of His Life on Earth. By John Young. LL. D.
There was never more need of the firm faith in Christ
as our "Lord and our God,*' than at the present time,
when unbelief in the Bible and pride in huraai
are uttering their "great, swelling words11 against His
Divinity. This work of Mr. Young meet* the question
in a manner never before set forth with such clean
c^i-ency. It is a remarkable book, and should be read by
every man and woman who valnes the Christian religion
as the best inheritance of humanity.

TnE TOST OF HONOR. By the author of "Broad
Shadows of Life's rathw;iy.'' "Doing and Suffering," etc.
This will be a very interesting work for young people,
particularly; its l"-sons of ambition are intended to

heart and mind after "the honor th;;r .
from God." The Madagascar persecution affords the
groundwork of the st>>ry and the truth of its moral.

LrCETTA AND THE ABBE: or, R&uling the Bible.
By Adolphe Monad, D. D. The distinguished scholar and
shining Christian Divine who wrote this book has by bis
genius and faith in the Bible, given nn absorbing interest
to the story. It was written for the French Pr ifc
who have often had gi aeles and many donbts to

- before they >:■ to read the Bible as

their inspired guide to the true faith in Jevu |
This work must have great influence in other countries.

582

godet's lady's book axd magazine.

Even to us it will give new interest to the "Book of
books." We shall feel more deeply the invaluable privi-
lege of the open Bible in our homes. This is the result
the writer sought ; to draw all who can read to the Bible,
was his most important object.

From Gould & Lincoln-, Boston, through Smith, Eng-
lish, & Co., Philadelphia: —

SATAN'S DEVICES AND THE BELIEVER'S VICTORY.
By Rev. William L. Parsons, A. M., Pastor of the Con-
gregational Church, Mattapoisett, Massachusetts. The
work aims to be a sort of "hand-book" for all who
would "fight the good fight of faith;" so says the
author iu his sensible and earnest preface. Mr. Parsons
holds the Bible teaching to be true, that mankind has a
wicked, relentless, and terrible enemy — even Satan " the
father of lies" — whose temptations and deceivings must be
resisted and overcome, or destruction will follow. It is a
live book, and those who are in earnest to understand the
Bible doctrine concerning the "Old Serpent," whose
subtle devices wrought such woe in Eden, will find much
instruction in this hook. To women, its teachings are of
importance, as Satan is their proclaimed enemy. v 7"
will put enmity between tliee cmd tlie woman," said the
Lord God to the tempter in Eden. Is not this " enmity" of
Satan against the woman seen in the miserable condition
of the feminine sex in every part of the world, except
where the " seed of the woman," Christ Jesus, has broken
the bonds? Rev. Mr. Parsons has not noticed this import-
ant portion of Satan's devices ; we trust he will do this
in his next edition.

ANNUAL OF SCIENTIFIC DISCOVERT: or, Yearbook
of Fnrts in Science and Art lfor 1S64. Exhibiting the most
important discoveries and improvements in Mechanics,
Useful Arts, Natural Philosophy, Chemistry, Astronomy,
Geology, Zoology, Botany, Mineralogy, Geography, Anti-
quities, etc. Together with notes on the progress of
science during the year 1S63: a list of recent Scientific
publications ; obituaries of eminent scientific men, etc.
Edited by David A. Wells, A. M., M. D., author of "Nat-
ural Philosophy," "Principles of Chemistry," "First
Principles of Geology," etc. We have given the whole
title as the best description of this multifarious work. It
will bo a mine of useful and curious information in all
households. Pp. 351, price $1 50.

(iohjj's ^rin-C{}dr.

JUNE, 1S64.

The last number of the thirty-fourth year of tho Lady's
Book. Can any magazine challenge that? Thirty-four
years of uninterrupted success, every year increa>iji^, un-
til now it has grown unto the largest circulation of any
magazine in the United States.

Our first plate, "A Helping Hand to the Aged," a timely
and beautiful plate.

Look at the Fashion-plate in this number. Independ-
ent of its worth as a fashion, it is beautiful as a picture.

It will be seen that we devote a large portion of this
number, as promised last month, to fashions for children's
dresses. Next month we shall give our usual variety.

"Nobody to Blame," by Marion Harland, increases in
interest as it progresses. What a world of inquiry there
is to know what the conclusion is to be !

Fashions from A. T. Stewart & Co. — Wo are again
favored by this celebrated bouse with early fashions for
the summer months. No other magazine possesses this
advantage. Our subscribers by this contribution receive
the fashions down to the latest dates. The house of
Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., of New York, is known to be
in possession of the latest dates of fashionable intelligence.

A Jovial Host. — Everybody has heard of Trenton Falls,
in the State of New York, and if they have not been there
they should go at once. Now is the season, or more pro-
perly next month will be the proper time. "Moore's" is
the great house of the place; hut there is another hotel
kept by our friend Joy, and an excellent name it is for a
host, and well dues our fat friend deserve the name. Al-
though arriving there before the season, we were received
with joy, and by Joy — and a pleasant time we had, equally
pleased with the Falls, our hotel, our host, and his excel-
lent family. We were sent on our way in the morning
re-joy-cing behind a spanking pair of grays, and in all
the beauty of an April snow storm.

The Cry is Still they Come. — There is but little dimi-
nution in the amount of subscribers received. We never
tell the secrets of our business, or we could astonish many
of the trade with the daily, number of subscribers re-
ceived.

Holloway's Mcsical Monthly is a most decided suc-
cess. No opportunity has ever before been offered to the
American public to receive so much good music at so
moderate a price. Godey's Lady's Book and Holloway's
Musical Monthly will both be sent one year on receipt of
five dollars.

now TRrE. — An old man said, "When I was young, I
was poor; when old, I became rich ; but in each condition
I found disappointment. When the faculties of enjoyment
were, I had not the means ; when the means came, the
faculties were gone."

Brodie continues to furnish us with his admirable
fashions. Will our lady subscribers call on Brodie when
they visit New York? He is in Canal Street, just round
the corner from Broadway. Any one can tell them, for
every one in New York knows where Brodie is to be
found.

New Mantjfactttrtng Firm.— Mr. Oakley Purdy, who
has been for several years connected with the American
Telegraph Company of this city, and well known to the
business community, has resigned his position in that
office for the purpose of associating with Mr. Sidney De-
ming, Jate correspondent of the Associated Press with tbe
Army of the Potomac, in the extensive manufacture of a
new article of vinegar from corn. The firm have erected
extensive works for the purpose of carrying on their busi-
ness, and we doubt not but that they will be enabled to
extend their trade in this important article as fully as
their utmost expectations go.

Demorest's Illustrated News. — There are some men
who are born to keep a hotel, and can do it. But this is
an easy matter to publishing an illustrated paper; but
this Demorest can do, as is shown by his weekly issue "f
one of the most splendid and profusely illustrated papers
in the United States.

GODEY 3 ARM-CHAIR.

5S3

Covoaras Hail, BecaotanB, N. Y — Let us advise all
our friends, who are f*»ud <>f the oomforta of ;> good hotel,
to ohoon this one when visiting the good cltg
ter. It is kept by Mr. 11. 1> Bet antott, a worthy boat, with
a most able assistant. The table La excellent, the bed-
11 large, neat, aud very clean; the situation, in im-
late contiguity to the depot. "Wo were charmed with
the house, it-- host, aud its situation. From this hostelry
you can see some of the business of Rochester. This re-
minds us of a story we once heard of a Rochesieriau, who,
in the early days of that now great city, went on a visit to
New \\ rk. It was iu the days of the canal, which gave
the earliest Impetus to Rochester. Well, he went and
returned, and upon being questioned as to what the city
of New York Looked like, replied, "Well, boys, to tell
you the truth, it put me more in mind of Rochester than
any place I have ever Been.11

TnK following is a parody on Leigh Hunt's beautiful
poem of '■ Abou Ben Adhem"": —

Mrs. Ben Blifkins (may she ne'er grow" less)
■ one fight with nightmare, iu distress,
■ 1 oil t i -J hex room —
While from his meersehaum poured a rich perfume—
Her Blifkins writing In a little fa

Bive sharpness made her keenly look,
i r Benja wonderingly she raid —
*■ What Lire yon writing ?" Blifkins raised his head,
^And, with a smile, expressing njore than words,
Replied, "The names of those who love their lords."
"Aud ts mine one?" said she; " Nay, ne'er a show."
Then, with a voice significantly low,

I, "Take up your pencil, now, my pet,
And write me one who loves a nek."

Blifkins thus wrote and vanished in the night.
But came in soon with a big camphene light,
And lo ! among the names, a fret coolest,
Airs. B. Blifkins' name led all the rest.

Cixcixnati, Ohio, March 22rf, 1864,
Dear Mr. Godet: After enjoying the exquisite delights
of the April number, I feel impelled to contribute a mite
to some future book. I have a little daughter of five
years who is very fond of going abroad (" like the gener-
ality of her sex," I think I hear some spiteful old bach-
elor interpolate), and in consequence of which penchant,
is quite observant of the state of the atmosphere. The
other morning, after a series of days in which we had been
1 with veritable poetry in the shape of weather, she
ran, as is her custom on rising, to the window, when lo !
the face of nature was changed, the " rain came down iu
slanting lines," as Alex. Smith has it. After gazing
awhile disconsolately, " Papa,*1 said she, " is this a nice
day?" "Oh ye-," said papa. Again she turned her
haiel eyes with rather a doubtful expression on the rainy,
mist-blurred scene without. " Well ! but, papa," said
she, "isn't it a/atfyday?" I had some verses to send
with this epistle, ; but understanding that you were
blessed with a superabundance of such articles, I refrain.
Aint you glad ?

P. S. I have just almost finished one of your beautiful
embroidery patterns, which is much admired, and shall
commence one of those new ones contained in the last
" Book," when I get through with it.

Yours, etc., J. D. L.

Postaob on the Lady's Book, according to the late law
passed last winter.

- on Oodey's Lady's Book, 24 cents

a year, payable yearly, semi-yearly, or quarterly in ad-

Tance, at the Peat-office where the Booh i- received.

News dealers may receive their packages at the same

that is. 2 cuts for each copy of the magazine, and

may pay separately for each package as received.

A Gem PicTUBJB for all. — We are in receipt of one of
NxxxJB Williams's nm ©am Pictured of herself, set on

photograph card to Mill any album, ami Bald to 1"' B
feet likeness of Nellie, :t little girl wlm publishes iu the
village of Penfield, Monroe County, N. Y., the Patf* Id
u as eleven yean of age w hen she commenced
the publication, which has been prolific and aelf sustain-
ing from the comn i the present time W Uie
is now in her fiftei and stands only four feet
eight inches in her boots ; she has, done eleven yean of
age, supported and educated her motherless sisters, and
assisted iu supporting au invalid father from the avails of
her little paper, which subscription price is only fifty
cents a year.

We have been solicited to say, which we most cheer-
fully do, that Nellie will send oue of her Gem Pictures,
free of postage, to any rerson inclosing to her addresf
cents, or she will Bend three pictures for twenty-five cents.

We think there is a slight error in the following, which
we cut from an English paper :—

"The terror of the great desert of Sahara is being re-
moved by the application of science. In 1S60, five wells
had been opened, bringing fith to the surface from the
depth of live hundred feet. Vegetation is springing up
around the wells, and the desert will 'blossom like the
ruse.' "

We think it was water that was brought to the sur-
face, as that is the article for which wells are opened.
Fish would rather tend to make a person thirsty.

It js said of a certain acting Brigadier, in his march
through Missouri, whenever they halted near a settle-
ment, his first orders were to have his own tent set, and a
guard placed around it. Then he harangued the soldiers
thus; "Boys, I go to sleep for tree hours; I not know
anyting what you do," and ordering the guard to call
him in "three hours," he disappeared in his tent. Then
everything broke loose; the soldiers availed themselves
to the utmost of their liberty, and by the time the Gene-
ral's nap was done, a great crowd had gathered round to
make complaints, for all the inhabitants had, had to suf-
fer. The General's answer invariably was, " Too bad,
too bad, I will have a guard set right away."

We ask attention to the Fashion Editor's advertisement
on the cover of this number.

A Word to Writers. — The great length of many of the
articles on baud prevents our giving them an early inser-
tion. If writers would give us short articles, they would
be published much sooner. Racy and to the point, not
abounding in description about the beauty of the parties,
which most persons skip, but go into the story at once,
and, if possible, avoid making the heroine a school-teacher
or a governess.

Before our President probably dreamed of being Presi-
dent, he was travelling with a friend of ours in Kan
They came to a little stream ; he inquired the name.
"Weeping Water!1" said another passenger in the stage.
" Weeping Water," he repeated; "Minnie 000 ftoo, men,"
which raised a shout, recalling •' Minnie ha ha," or
" Laughing Water,'' in Minnesota.

The lady making the request for instruction in Grecian
Painting, in our March number, can receive information
on the subject by applying to Miss L. M. Aidrich, No. 709
South Tenth Street, Philadelphia.

584

godey's lady's book and magazine.

OUR MUSICAL COLUMN.

Bollmoay^s Musical Monthly, for June. — Among the
contents of this month's number of the Monthly is another
of Brinley Richards' charming piano-forte compositions,
the fourth that we have published in this year's volume.
It is a beautiful arrangement of the gems of Balfe's new
Opera, The Puritan's Daughter, charming in the original
melodies of the composer, and in the arrangement of them
by the transcriber. Our subscribers everywhere are
delighted with the compositions of Brinley Richards.
One lady writes, " Give us a new one every month," and
a celebrated professor says, speaking of The Soldier's
Chorus, in the March number, " I consider it one of the
grandest arrangements ever made." We also publish in
the June number a beautiful new song, Oh say that yon.
ne'er will Forget Me, composed for the Monthly by Jas,
M. Stewart, author of the charming song, *We met and
talked of Other Days, which was so popular in the
Monthly last year. Our friends will perceive that whether
it is for the songs and ballads given from month to month,
or for the transcriptions, or the opera music, or the polkas
and waltzes, every one will find something to his taste,
and enough of it to more than pay for the cost of sub-
scription. Add to this the beauty of the publication, and
the fact that it is the only musical periodical published
printed from engraved plates as sheet music is printed,
witli title pages to correspond, and it will not be wondered
at that the Monthly is the favorite of the Musical public,
old and young, teacher and pupil. Notwithstanding the
constantly increasing rise in price of all printing material,
we shall still adhere to the old terms for the present, viz:
1 copy 1 year, $3 00 ; 4 copies 1 year, $10 00. Four
months' numbers will he sent, free of postage, for $1 00.
Address all orders to J. Starr Holloway, Publisher Mu-
sical Monthly, Box Post Office, Philadelphia.

Sew Sheet Music. — S. Braiuard & Co., the extensive
publishers of Cleveland, Ohio, have just issued Kucken's
beautiful Cradle Song, 25 cents. In the Starlight, splen-
did duet by Glover, 40. The Darkies' Rally, comic song
by Partridge, 35. Juanita, new edition, 25. "Watching
all Alone, 25. How are You, Telegraph? comic, 25.
Evangeline, with beautiful lithographic title, 35.

Also, the following pieces; Tete a Tete Galop, by
Kinkel, with beautiful colored lithographic title, 50 cente.
Sanitary Fair Grand March, by Schneider, a grand com-
position and just in season for the many Sanitary Fairs
now being held, 50. Karl Merz's elegant transcription of
Do They Think of Me at Home, 35. Console Toi, by
Runnel, 25. Baumbach's transcription of Evangeline;
this is a most beautiful and showy composition, 35. Le
Manceoillier, Serenade, by the distinguished composer and
pianist, Gottschalk, fingered, 50. Our Governor's Schot-
tische, very pretty and easy piece by Rink, 25. Rigoletto
-de Verdi, Grand Paraphrase de Concert, by F. Liszt ; this
is a magnificent composition of fifteen closely printed
pages, intended for far advanced players, 75. Alpine
Melody, by the celebrated composer, W. V. Wallace, 35.
Also the same arranged for four hands, 50 ; this is a splen-
did composition whether as a solo or duet. Altogether
the above list is well worthy the attention of our friends.

We have just published new editions of Forgot Thee,
beautiful song by Balfe ; O Ye Tears, by Franz Abt;
Home of my Youth, by Glover ; Among the Roses, Beau-
tiful Valley, At the Gate, and The Minstrel's Grave.
Each 25 cents.

Any music in the "Column" sent to any address on re-
ceipt of price. Address,

J. Stake Holloway.

A very good story is told of the Marquis de Boissy, that
original speaker and declaimer against England and the
English, who acts in the French Senate somewhat the
part of the jester of old in the courts of kings.

"It appears that being invited to the fancy ball at the
Due de Bassano, and being determined not to purchase a
costume for the occasion, he ferreted out from an ancient
wardrobe a suit which had formerly belonged to and
been worn by his grandfather. Habited in this somewhat
faded attire, bewigged aud powdered, he made his en-
trance, and was quickly recognized in the brilliant saloons
of the Pavilion Mersau. A titter ran through the circles
around him ; some friends even suggested a hint or two
on his rocacco aud eccentric appearance, all of which he
bore with imperturbable gravity. At last the Emperor,
who had been told of the strange figure the choleric old
senator was cutting, came up to him, and after a few
words of greeting, said: 'But, Monsieur le Marquis,
what a strange-looking coat you have put ou!' 'Well,
Sire,' answered the marquis, looking fixedly at Prince
Murat, who was standing close to the Emperor, aud is a
hugely fat man, 'if every one else here attempted to wear
their grandfather's coats, I think they would cut a far
more stange figure here than I do 1' "

Who about New Jersey does Jiot remember our 'fat
friend' Murat, Many of the innkeepers about Eordentown
knew him well, and it is said to their cost. If all the
court is like this same Murat, what a nice set they must
be? De Boissy, mentioned above, married the Countess
Guiccioli, and every one knows what she was.

Tilton's New Drawing Cards. "Copies from Natfhe, '
for Young Artists."— A beautiful series of picturesque
sketches for the peucil. They have been long needed,
and teachers and pupils will gladly welcome their appear-
ance. Price 50 cents. J. E. Tllton & Co., Boston, Pub-
Ushers.

A correspondent has asked us to correct an erroneous
quotation often used, "When Greek meets Greek, then
comes the tug of war." He says it is, "When Greek join'd
Greek, then was the tug of war," signifying the formida-
ble character of a contest when Greeks united for a com-
mon object. The vulgar reading is erroneous, audeutirely
reverses the meaning. It is from Lee's Alexander the
Great.

Origin of "Sally Lunns." — Mr. Gronow called some
half century ago on the Countess of Buckingham at
Pimlico: "Chocolate and teacakes were served to our
party, when Lady Harrington related a curious anecdote
^bout those cakes. She said her friend Madame de Nar-
bonne, during the emigration, determining not to live
upon the bounty of foreigners, found means to amass
money enough to enable her to open a shop in Chelsea,
not far from the then fashionable balls of Reuelagh. It
has been the custom in France, before the Revolution,
for young ladies, in some noble families, to learn the art
of making preserves and pastry; accordingly, Madame
de Narbonue commenced her operations under the au-
spices of some of her acquaintances ; and all those who
went to Renelagh made it a poiut of stopping aud buy-
ing some of her cakes. Their fame spread like lightning
throughout the West-end, and orders were given to
have them sent for breakfast and tea in mauy great
houses in the neighborhood of St. James's. Madame de
Narbonne employed a Scotch maid-servant to execute
her orders. The name of this woman was ' Sally Lunn,'
and ever since a particular kind of teacake has gone by
that name." — Captain, Gronow's Memoirs.

Books by Mail. — We have ceased to send them. They
so often miscarry that we are tired of the complaints.

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

585

TRAVELLING IMPRESSIONS <>r THE JAPANESE AM-
BAflB umis.

Evert one remembers the Japanese Ambassadors who
lasl yeai > >' and England. We nave not for-

gotten their inquisitive cariosity. Truly these imp I

personage* should not have forgotten a single incident
of the entirely new spectacle which presented Itself to
their eyes. It was everywhere remarked with what
avidity they listened toand took notes of the explanations
of their interpreter. On their return home thej
to arrange these notes, which have just been printed at
Jeddo. A Frenchman who has lived therefor Bona

ig this book, immediately translated and Bent us
the introduction, which we give word tot word, persuaded
that it will be interesting to our readers.

HanosY op tite Travsls of the Japanese ComnBsioHBBS

i.v ErROPE. Published at Jeddo, .March 28, IS6S. By
Fou-yah.

DfTRODrCTIOS.

The race? of the West all closely resemble each other.

■ selves in the same manner, eat with

ceremonies, etc. They differ little in the dark-

i- -- of their complexion and color of their hair. Their

urrns are the same. The French appear to value them

ghbora, and wo were told' that they
are the most skilled In their use. In truth, the movements
of the French soldiers do appear more lively and active
than those of the Boldiers of the other nations. Their
sabres are much inferior to ours, but they do not appear
to attach much importance to them, and prefer fire-arms,
"We never saw sword or Bpeai exercise ; to make up for
this they attach a sort of sabre to the end of their guns,
and use it where we use the spear.

Their rites or ceremonies appear very light, although it
would b ■ are none : but the most

striking I boul them is, thai these cen do wies are

me for personages of rank as for ordinary
men. They lift their hat, and make a slight movement of
the head ; such is the salutation for every one. It would
appear that there is little respect for, or distinction of
class. Thus, in our audieuce with the Emperor of France
and other Sovereigns, their Majesties were not se
from us by any veil. The consort of the Sovereign was
even there, neither veiled nor seated on a seat

as high . ■■ husband Notwithstanding this,

the nobles were extremely polite in France: even too
much so, sometimes, especially at dinner, where, in order

to please them, it was necessary to eat and drink more
than was As to the other men they are less

polite. The greater number b tared, at and touched as, and
passed remarks on us in our hearing; nor did they con-
ceal that they thought us very Qgly.

Of the women, some are very handsome — for example,
the Empress. They are, however, in general Less so than
iu America. Their no* I meg hL-herthan those

of the men; they walk like meu, taking long steps; look
men in the face, and laugh a great deal, sometimes very
loud. In order to make themselves look taller, they
make their bonnets Stick "p above their heads. Even the

m idest w i-'-n danee a great deal. They hook on to the
anus of the men : and there are days when even,- man has
ti woman h;< aging on hi- arm. Are they their own wives ?
be women enjoy great liberty.
What we say of the women of France applies to those of
KcepUon of the Dutch,
are Inferior to the French. We will not speak of their
eostume; it to understand it. In the even-

is./- it is n it alwaya decent.

as re stiff and a little proud or rough. However,
the respectable as well as the lower classes carry no arms.

A respectable man seldom carries about him any marks of

his rank, it would seem that all classes — even tl

on — frequent cafes. Even the superior officers g< I i the

tor which they have a great passion. We have

regretted more%han once not having understood what was

every one was armed with opera-

which were often directed at us — doubtless

through absence of mind.

i-ers are haughty, and saluted us ouly in a
very middling degree. They did not like us to derange the
articles in tl sir shops much, and doubtless reckoned on
our buying a great deal from them. We were able to see
that the mechanicians and useful tradesmen were more
respected than the mere shopkeepers.

46*

The articles of diet are almost the same as with us;
however, they eat but tittle rioe and fish, but, on the other
hand, much meal and pastrj We were extremely dis-
gusted si Paris and elsewhere to see beef and mutton still
bloody exposed In the most | To eat beef is

often medicinally useful, but why present it to the i i I
all the world? Is it not sinful thus to despise so useful
an animal ! It waa truly shocking to several of our parry.

However, the cookery of the French is good, and their
wine excellent. The wine is the best thing they have,

aud does not yield in anything to OUT "saki" (a, drink
made from fermented rice).

The dress of the men appears at first ridiculous and cur-
tailed ; however, it must be convenient and economic I.

In Pari-- as iii I. indon, every one Walks very East, as
with us when there is a Ave. Their houses are so high
that they must fall on the first earthquake ; they appear,
1 iss, to be proof against fire. We will speak of
the marvellous things we saw iu the order in which we
saw them.

The name of the Deity 'is spelled with four letters
in a majority of languages. In Latin, Dens; French,
Dieu ; Greek, Theos; German, Gott ; Scandinavian, Odin ;
Swedish, Codd ; Ilebrcw, Aden; Syrian, Adad ; Persian,
Syra ; Tartarian, Idgy; Spanish, Dias; East Indian, Eg si
or Zeni ; Turkish, Addi ; Egyptian, Aumn or Zent ; Ja-
panese, Zain ; Peruviau, Lian ; Wallachian, Zene ; Etru-
rian, Chur; Irish, Dieh ; Arabian, Alia.

A WOMAS has been arrested at Woolwich, England, for
marrying five husbands. When informed of the many
proofs of her delinquencies, she replied, " that when she
had done her bit of imprisonment, she had no fear of not
getting another husband or two to comfort her."

Mr. Godet: —

My nearest neighbor, Mr. A., has a charmingdaughter,
who frequently electrifies us with her original remarks.
Speaking of a gentleman who became reduced in circum-
stances, and desiring to convey au idea of his former opu-
lence, she said", iu her brief, bright way, "Why, you may
know how rich he was when I tell you that he boarded
his dog at a hotel, the St. !"

Aiming at one of her sisters, who was present, whose
hair stubbornly refuses to curl, M. said: " Now, there is

Ii , she would give the world for a carl, you know.

Well, not long ago, she tortured her hair through half
the uight to get a curl made, and, at last, when she thought
she had a dear little thing of a curl, what does she do but
cut it off aud wrap it up in a piece of paper to look at,
when as a matter of course it was as straight as a stick
the next morning!"

After reading her a homily on "company," and beaux,
generally, one night, I ventured to hope that she would
remain at home until her parents permitted her toss
life partner. Breaking out into a ringing laugh, "Dear,
no ! I "d rather drown myself. There arc two rivers

handy (meaning the A and the M ),and rather

than live to be an old maid I '11 drown myself in both of
them." L.

The G exits of Tatlortxg. — A rich manufaturer of Sedan,
somewhat remarkable for stinginess, went to a celebrated
tailor at Paris to order a coat. He asked the price. "A
hundred and fifty fraucs." lie thought this rather dear.
"I shall furnish my own cloth," he said. Jusl
like, sir," replied the tailor. The coat having been sent,
the manufacturer asked what he had to pay for making it.
"A hundred aud fifty francs," was again the answer.
"But I furnished the cloth." "Sir," said the tailor,
solemnly, "I never reckon the cloth; I always give it
into the bargain."

586

godey's lady's book and magazine.

A Classic Toilet. — According to testimony which is
scarcely to be disputed, the sun could never have shone
upon a less lovely object than a Roman lady in the days
of the Caesars, when she opened her eyes in the morning,
or rather, let us say, as she appeared in the morning, for
before she opened her eyes a great deal had to be done.
When she retired to rest her face had been covered with a
plaster composed of bread and ass's milk, which had
dried during the night, and consequently presented in the
morning an appearance of cracked chalk. The purpose of
the ass's milk was not only to preserve the delicacy of the
skin, but to renovate the lungs, and so strong was the
belief in the efficacy of the specific, that some energetic
ladies bathed themselves in it seventy times in the course
of a single day. As for Poppsea, the favorite wife of Nero,
she never set out on a journey without taking in her train
whole herds of she-asses, that she might bathe whenever
she pleased so to do. The plaster of Paris bust having
wakened in. the morning in a cracked condition, it was
the office of a host of female slaves to mature it into
perfect beauty. To clear the field for further operations,
the first of these gently washed away with lukewarm ass's
milk the already crumbling mask, and left a smooth face
to be colored by more recondite artists. The slave whose
vocation it was to paint the cheeks, delicately laid on the
red and white, having moistened the pigment with her
own saliva. The apparent nastiness of this operation
was diminished by the consumption of a certain number
of scented lozenges, which, if the slave neglected to take,
she suffered corporeal punishment.

An exchange says that very soon people of moderate
means will be able to tell on which side their bread is
buttered.

Fans in France. — It was in the thirteenth century that
fans were introduced into France ; but instead of being
articles of domestic ornament or use, they were, by the
pilgrims who brought them, consecrated to divine service ;
and the Benedictines state that the priests made use of a
fan called fiabelbwm to keep the flies from falling into the
chalice. This custom was of long continuance. The
Greek church has retained it, and it figures even in the
Pope's mass as a remnant of the past. It was not till
the sixteenth century that the Italian perfumers, who
came into France with Catherine De Medicis, brought fans
into domestic use. The women wore them at that time
suspended to the neck by gold chains, and the Imperial
library possesses one of elaborate workmanship which
belonged to Diana of Poitiers. Henry Third and his
favorites brought the fan into great vogue. Louis Four-
teenth organized the fan makers into a guild. During the
reign of this king, and that of Louis Fifteenth, the fan
was an indispensable article of a lady's toilet; and the
painters of the eighteenth century, Lancret, Boucher,
Patel, Watteau, Fragonard, did not disdain to furnish for
fans an immense number of their most graceful composi-
tions.

There has been an agricultural exhibition at Alipore,
in India, and the native ladies wanted to see it. As they
must never be seen by any male outside of their own
families, the grounds were cleared of the conflicting sex
at sunset, and the ladies visited them by moonlight.

Wadsworth says that "the tall mountains sleep night
and day alike." Certainly the very tall ones always
have their white nightcaps on.

The "ITressoir." — We moderns have exiled to the
kitchen a noble piece of furniture, which formed one of
the most conspicuous objects in the salons of the French
chateaux. This is the ,l dressoir," a sideboard rising to
some height, with shelves one above another, on which
were displayed the gold and silver vessels, costly vases,
candlesticks, and other choice ornaments of their owners.
The height of these dressoirs was fixed by etiquette. A
noble of a certain rank was entitled to use a dressoir of
three stages, whilst those of a lower rauk were obliged to
content themselves with two. Marie de Bourgoyne, as
daughter of the Count de Charolias, had five degree to her
dressuir ; but the queens of France were alone entitled to
a similar height. Ladies of rank, on the occasion of the
births of their children, ceremoniously kept to their
chambers for fifteen days ; and these they decorated with
all the articles "de luxe" at their command. Theii*
dressoirs were covered with bordered linen, orembroideretB
velvet ; and upon the various shelves, which receded in
breadth till they terminated in a dorsal, they placed vases
of crystal, ornamented with gold and precious stones,
ewers of gold and silver, bowls, silver candelabra, and
sweet-meat boxes (drageoirs) of gold, enriched with pre-
cious stones. Persons coming to see Madame partook of
these sweets as well as of wine. When the dressoir was
so constructed as to admit of its being drawn up to the
dining-table, or placed in the centre of a chamber, it was
called a buffet.

A New Zealand physician was lecturing lately on the
ignorance of people upon their own complaints, and said
that a lady once asked him what his next lecture was to
be upon, and being told "the circulation of the blood,"
replied that she would certaiuly attend, for she had been
troubled with that complaint for a long time.

Worst Time for Taking Luncheon. — Of luncheons, the
worst are those taken a short time previous to the hour of
rest in the evening. It is the sure way to produce rest-
lessness and sleeplessness at night, and dulness and
headache in the morning. It is, indeed, the very worst
time in the twenty-four hours for taking food. It is the
original cause of those late suppers, which are indulged
in by many of the wealthy and luxurious, and which are
pre-eminent in the list of indulgences that shorten life.
"Garden observes that he had conversed with many
persons who had lived to be a hundred years of age, and
they all declared to him that they had made it a rule
to eat little at night." It is like loading your horse
with a heavy additional burden after he has been toiling
all day, and is weakened by fatigue; or like filling up
the mill hopper, when the water is nearly run out. Peo-
ple may tell us that they cannot sleep without this
luncheon, or supper, just before bedtime; but they may
rest assured that a persevering indulgence in it will, ere
lung, bring on that sleep which knows no waking.

An English writer on American scenery: —

" The other side is a series of frowning bluffs, as we see
in pictures of American prairies."

An American does not usually see "frowning bluffs on ^
American prairies."

Orn 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 drilhad-eyed needles, and
of the best Euglish manufacture.

godey's arm-chair.

587

JUVENILE DEPARTMENT.

FRUIT FIGURES.

A Wf.VE TANKARD.

Reqiiftrd — An Orange, and a small piece of Whalebone
(or cone).

.?is.—Cnt tho rind of tho orange carefully all
round, as though yon were g >ing to out the orange In
half. Pub the blade of tho fruit-knife very carefully be-

tween tho rind and tho fruit, so as to loosen it ; but bo

sure not to > far up, as it must not be separated

from tho orange. Turn the top half of the peel carefully

np, s.i that it may form a kind of cup; bend it into us

tasty :i shape ae yon can. Make the ends of the whale-

i cane) as thin as you can ; bend it into the shape

;y handle, and Insert the ends carefully between

the peal and the fruit, Remember the bundle is not for

You may hold it as the young lady in the pic-

ls it when you invite ; but when the invitation is

i help your companions by taking hold of tho

o that you seem to use the handle. Serve orange-

i water) ad gracefully as you can.

ORANGE WTNE CUP.'.

" - ■ ■- i skill.

IHrtcUona. — Cut the peel carefully round, as though

yon intended to cut the oranges in halves. Insert tho

the fruit-knife v.ry carefully under the top half,

the peel ; bat do not let the blade go too

far, ae yon most n<«t separate the peel entirely from the

fruit. Do the same with the lower half. Turn the two

One up. and the other down, as yon see in the

The lower half will fi.rm the foot of the cup, the
upper half will hold the wine (or water).

Now look at the picture. Blaster Alphonso Gibbons

says to Miss Belina Bklrtly, "May I have the honor of

taking wine with you, Miss?" Miss Bklrtly smiles sweetly,

pleasantly, tri< I says, "Thank

They then take their cups, bow to each other

very politely, and drink — not too much.

SILHOUETTES.

Evtx in these enlightened days, when the art of photo-
graphy has advanced so very near to perfection, U
still Borne old-fashioned people who cling with fondness
V) then

One great thing in their favor is, that the least clever
as may, with a little patif-ui ■ . ,ly baud,

find in them a pleasing recreation, and soon \y c ime
adroit in their execution.
But there may be some of onr young readers who
i.uow what asilhouetteis, ana such anenlightened
We will endeavor briefly to instruct in thi
i art.
A few sheets of drawing paper, a pencil, and a lamp,

are all the essentials d led to commence opei i

The operator first fixes ■ sheet of paper to the wall, by

inserting a pin at each corner. Tlmn the person whoso
or "silhouette," is to be taken, is seated In a
chair, close to the wall, in such a position^ as to throw a
distinct shadow of his p aeai life-size asp I

on the centre of the paper. To secure steadiness a wine-
glass, or some such support, is placed between his head
and the wall— for the slightest movemenl often causes
failure. Having arranged these matters satisfactorily,
i ,. . perator proceeds to i ■ etch, with a pencil, the load
as i prol !■ ol I e " Jitter ;" and this requires a steady
hand and Bome dispatc i to sit in

one position for a great Length of time perfectly mol
When the sketch is concluded, little fkiil will be i

to bring the task l" an end.

The operator has only, with
a sharp pen-knife, to cul out
the head in the line of the
pencil-mark. The cenl i <■ pi 1 1
is tken tin u a aside, and tho
other paper laid on a piece of
black cloth, which throws
out the features boldly, and,
if sufficient care has been
taken, a striking likeness will

be i i" r--\\ anl.

A large collection of these
silhouettes is always a source
of much run. and many a
hearty laugh has been caused
by displaying them. Wio-n
the features are unusually
striking and original, the sil-
houettes generally turn out
more of a carii at are than a
likeness. A snub-n is< >
instance, has always a ludi-
crous appearance; so has a
fierce Roman, especially if
accompanied by an imposing
moustache and a beard. La-
dies' profiles, as a rule, have
not bo great a variety as gentlemen's, chiefly en account
of the capillary adornments of the latter; but then, of
course, they have their counter-charms, and i oliteness
me to say they are by far the most interesting.
Much pleasing speculation may be made on the mental

capacity of the heads before you, or rather of tl n aers

of their originals.- If you believe in the science of phre-
nology, y.ni may compare your friend's intellectual, moral,
and animal propensities; if you do not, you may still
read their characters in their features : for we are all of
ns, to a greater or less degree, disciples of La vi and
b< Lieve that the* human (ace divine" is the index to the
heart. Thus, ynn gee, quite an intellectual recreation
may be made out of what some deem a trifling pastime.

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

No order attended to unless the cash accompanies it.

All persons requiring answers by mail must send a
Lee Stamp; and fir all articles 1 1 iii i ;ir.' [,. 1 1.' scut
by mail, stamps must be sent to pay return postage.

Be particular, when writing, t" mention the town,
county, and State you reside in. Nothing can be made
out of post-marks.

Mrs. W. W. D.— Sent pattern March 21st.

Miss B. W. — Sent pattern 21st.

Mrs. X. B. C— Sent pattern Ettai.

Mrs, K, G. B.— Sent pattern 21st

Mrs. S. McG.— Sent pattern 21st.

Mrs, B, II. W.— Sent pattern 1.3th.

Mrs. E. P. T.— Sent gent's hair pin 24th.

Miss S. BL— Sent pattern 24th.

A. I ' —Sent gent's hair pin 24th.

Miss V. L. — "We do not furnish receipts for depilatories.
"We have said so over and^over again. They are all dan-
gerous, and do no good. A celebrated writer saya : —

11 1 certainly did succeed in causing the hair to fall off
my lip, but II grew aSain stronger than ever. rl I

anl stop the growth of the hair without destroying
the hair-follicles, [have grown wiser since the day- in
which I instituted experiments on my corpus ottvm. Be
persuaded by mi ■■ rimenting on your I i I

and '■■ - ntenl to wear your hair ■■■ ■■ pleased

Nature to bestow it."

588

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Mrs. G. W.— Seat skirt elevator 24th.

L. A. — Sent skirt elevator 24th.

Mrs. B. S. M. — Sent articles by express 24th.

Miss A. B. J.— Sent pattern 23th.

3Iiss E. Z.— Sent pattern 25th.

Miss J. E. S. — Sent pattern 2.3th.

J. C. de H. — Sent articles 23th.

Miss M. S. — Sent cloak by express 25th.

Mrs. A. C. S.— Sent pattern 2Sth.

Mrs. J. H.— Sent pattern 2Sth.

Mrs. E. B. C— Sent articles 2Sth.

Mrs. E. M. A. — Sent pattern 2Sth.

Miss A. C. W.— Sent hair nets 29th.

R. C. B.— Sent pattern 29th.

M. Q.— Sent pattern 29th.

Mrs. K. G.— Sent dress shields 29th.

Mrs. W. J. E.— Sent pattern 29th.

Mrs. F. "W. L.— Sent pattern 29th.

Mrs. L. E. F.— Sent pattern 31st.

Mr M. A. H.— Sent pattern 31st.

Mrs. T. C. L.— Sent gold buckle 31st.

Mrs. H. H. — Sent pattern April 1st.

Mrs. M. A. H. — Sent pattern 1st.

Mrs. H. G. P.— Sent lace 2d.

S. W. L.— Sent pattern 2d.

Miss A. M. R. — Sent hair ring 2d.

Mrs. A. N. W.— Sent pattern 2d.

Mrs. L. T. P.— Sent pattern 2d.

Miss E. E.— Sent dress shields 2d.

BIUg J. A. H. — Sent dress shields and pattern 2d.

Mies J. F.— Sent pattern 2d.

Mrs. P.. T. W.— Sent patterns 4th.

Mrs. J. W. J.— Sent patterns 5th.

R. R.— Sent patterns 5th.

Mrs. F. n. — Sent patterns 5th. m

Mr^. A. F. J.— Sent patterns 5th.

Mrs. H. F. B.— Sent patterns 5th.

Miss A. W. — Sent patterns 5th.

F. E. B — Sent pattern 6th.
Miss C. M.— Sent hair rini' Sth.
Mrs. J. H— Sent cuffs, etc. Sth.
A. B. J. — Sent hair chain Sth.
Mrs. E. P.— Sent hair chain Sth.
Mrs. M. M. — Sent dress shields Sth.
Mrs. E. H. M.— Sent pattern Sth.

G. H. B.— Sent pattern 8th.

L. T. — Sent bos of articles by express 9th.

M. A, W. — Sent box of articles by express 13th.

A Subscriber of many years. — "We thought we were
doing every month the thing that you ask us now to do.

Miss E. R. W. — Even though it is leap-year, we should
consider your conduct very improper.

A. V. — Three ways: Johnston, Johnson, and Jonson.

Mrs. G. G. S.— "We consider gray hair v.ery ornamental
to a lady. Don't attempt to alter the color.

An Unfortunate. — We know of no remedy for your red
nose. Perhaps it is tight lacing. That will cause it.

M. — We have nothing to say about lead combs. We
don't use them. They profess to darken the hair perma-
nently, and we presume- they do.

M. E. H. — We have explained,the term at least a dozen
times.

Mrs. E. B. W.— Might possibly teU if we saw the en-
graving.

A Subscriber. — Pronounced Bal-mo^ral~ accent on the
first and last syllables.

S. Y. M. — No paper or journal published in this coun-
try devoted to chemistry. Many are published in England,

which you can import through Willmer & Rogers, 47
Nassau Street, New York.

C. W. T. — Very good ; but can only be appreciated by
those who know M. B.

M. A. A. — We have published every variety of what
you ask. You should have commenced taking the Book
earlier. We cannot oblige one only, when most of our
subscribers have been already supplied.

One who expects to be a Bride. — The custom in England
is for the bride to furnish her own trousseau ; everything
else required for houselaceping is considered as belonging
to the bridegroom's department. In this country, every-
thing depends upon the financial situation of the bride's
family, and their generosity. There is no fixed rule. In
Germany, Switzerland, and other parts of the continent,
the household linen is supplied by the bride.

Miss S. R. — We published the whole art of making was
flowers many years ago with engravings. We think the
whole was confined to twelve numbers of the Book.
Tuition on the subject can be had in this city, or at least
there formerly was a lady who taught on the subject.

Howard.— If you smell of musk as imich as your letter
does, we think that both ladies will be perfectly disgusted
with you, and that will settle the question without diffi-
culty.

E. J. S. — During the last year we published several re-
ceipts for making skeleton leaves. You must be a recent
subscriber.

Mrs. J. C. G., Maine. — We welcome you back with
pleasure, and thank you for your kind letter. The books
have been sent.

"Constance" will appear in the July number.

jfasjjious.

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 auy 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 e,rpen~
dUure, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Qodey, Esq.

No order toill he attended t<> unless the money is Jirst
received. Neither the Editor nor Publisher toill be account-
able/or losses that map 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 aDy kind from Messrs. A. T. Stewart
& Co., New York; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, from
Brodie's, 51 Canal Street, New York ; bonnets from the
mos,t 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

JUNE.
Fig. 1. — Costume for a wedding reception. Dress of a

FASHIONS.

589

very rich ruby *ilk, figured with black velvet I
tight, and brimmed with black velvet. Mantle, of white.
Yak hu->\ trimmed with eamels'-hair labels. Bonnet of
white crisp* . trimmed with very Light feathers and point
lace. A falluf the latter droops over the brim lathe Harle
Stuart style. The inside trimming is of tulle an
;i.'\\ en. White parasol, covered with rows of marabout
Cringe.

Fig. 2. — Dinner-dress. Black silk dress, trimmed with
chenille tassels down the sides, and scalloped round the.
lit Bodice fitting tight, and Bleerea trimmed
Willi black velvet and chenille tinge. Stomacher of black
velvet, bordered with white silk pipings. Tablier of black
Loped and trimmed with chenille fringe. Under-
skirt of a mauve silk, striped with black. Straw hat,
with brim lined aud turned up with mauve velvet. The
trimming consists of a long white plume, scarlet flowers,
and a short mauve plume.

Fig. 3. — Dress of white ground grenadine, figured with
black, and trimmed in the pyramidal style on each breadth
with ruffles of black and white silk, edged with a black
and white silk niching. The corsage is trimmed with
silk runnings to match the skirt. The girdle is a broad
baud of black silk, finished on each edge with ruchings,
■ued at the left side with a bow and ends. Leg-
horn hat, trimmed with a fan of bluo velvet aud a white
plume.

Fig. 4. — Cuir-colored percale suit, stamped to resemble
bauds of guipure lace. The body is in the jacket style,
and stamped with lace designs to match the skirt. Straw
hat, with scalloped brim bound with black velvet, and
trimmed with scarlet poppies aud fancy grass.

Fi'j. ">. — Dress of imperial bine silk, trimmed on the
ledge of the skirt with a box-plaited ruffle, headed by a
ro>e quilling of tho silk. On each breadth of the dress is
a fancy trimming of black lace insertion and velvet. The
dress is made low iu the neck, and with short sleeves.
The jacket is in the Figaro style, made of figured black
net, and trimmed with rows of thread lace. The coiffure
is of black lace.

CniLDRE^S FASHIONS.
{See engraving, page 509.)

Pig. 1.— Dress of bufipi'/ut, stamped in a fancy design
in black, and edged with a box-plaitiug of black skirt
braid. Faucy corsage, with brctelles made of black silk,
trimmed with a quilling of black velvet. Plaid chenille
net.

Fig. 2. — Fancy silk dress, trimmed with a very thick
tdack chenille cord, sewed on in the Grecian pattern. The
corsage is low, and worn over a white iuu»lin guimpe
with long sleeves. The hat is of gray straw, trimmed
with i/reeu and bluo velvet, and a tuft of peacock's
feathers.

Fig. 3. — Boy's costume, consisting of loose pants of
dark steel-colored alpaca. The jacket is of black cloth,
embroider. 1 iu steel color. Shirtof white pi'jui, fastened
up the front with coral buttons.

Fig. 4. — Boy's costume of gray cloth, trimmed with
black braid.

Fig. 5. — Misses costume, consisting of a sea-gnvn silk
shirt, edged with a narrow fluted ribbon. A white Gari-
baldi, braided with black braid, and a chenille net com-
posed of the most brilliant Tartan colors.

— Boy'? costume of cuir-colored piqui. The pants
. and trimmed with buttons at the side. Cuir-
colored straw hat, trimmed with black velvet.

CHITCHAT OPON NEW YORK" AXD PHILADELPHIA
FASHIONS FOBJ0NK.

In ouo of the volumes in the public library at Caeu
there are illustrations of more than two thousand different
styles of arranging the hair, as adopted by ladies of
antiquity. We think (hat the belles of the present day
are endeavoring to outrival their ancient Bisters ; for the
styles now in vogue are innumerable, and perfectly mar-
vellous for their intricacy.

What is eccentric is no longer in bad taste ; on tho
contrary, it is eagerly sought after. Novelty, whether
becoming or not, is ever one of the principal charms of
tho toilet. The hair is padded, frizzed, rolled, waved,
curled, plaited, and so much false hair is added, that the
shape of the head is frequently entirely lost or undefined.
Indeed, a classically shaped head is now rarely seen.
The ball coiffures are frequently so elaborate that the
beholder is lost in amazement.

For home, or demie toilette, the Grecian curls, or the
waterfall with Alexandra curls, are the most appropriate
and becoming styles. A new arrangement of the water-
fall consists of three roUs laid one above the other, aud
generally caught up with an invisible net. Over this ia
tied a bright-colored ribbon or velvet with good effect.
The front hair is worn in the Russian style. It is brushed
over a cushion, and forms a circle over tho forehead, or
else rolls are arranged ou each side, but so high that they
havo the appearance of a single rouleau.

As decorations for these elaborate ball coiffures, we
notice clusters of beautifully frosted leaves, others covered
with suow, glistening with prismatic colors at every
movement of the head, also mother of pearl aigrettes,
shells, and other devices. We fear, however, that mother
of pearl and spun glass are destined to become common
before the season is over, for on nearly every hat we see
one or both of those novelties appear. The smaU
Venetian shells arranged on velvet are much in favor, and
these we think decidedly pretty.

Tulle scarfs are now worn in the hair, and this soft
aerial material is generally found very becoming. Bands
of velvet, studded with Venetian shells and arranged as
fillets, aro also much worn. Half torsodes of velvet
trimmed with feathers, or insects made of lurguu, also
half wreaths, are among the newest headdn sses. It
would probably be well to add, that the half wreath is
arranged on the side of the head, and tails in one long
spray over the shoulders.

The Louis loth wreath accords so well with the present
coiffures, that it is exceedingly popular. The style U,
for instance, a wreath of roses high in front, .shallow at
tes, and directly at the back is one large rose with
fronted leaves and frequently lumps of transparent ice. A
lung branch of buds and leaves trails on the shoulders.

Nets are still in vogue for demit I and those.

formed of straw, or plaid chenille and ribbons, are among
the newest. They are generally trimmed in the coronet
style and are quite dressy,

We think by fall, these exaggerated coiffures will have
had their day, and in complete contradistinction to them
the severe Grecian style will be adopted. The hair in
this case is drawn very smoothly over the ears, and
arranged at the back in a large massive tonot very low on
the neck. With this, the fillet should be worn. This
style demands a pretty bee, hut that will be a minor
consideration. If it is fashionable, that will bo quite
sufficient. It will be worn by all.

Bound hats are now very generally adopted. Some Of
the prettiest we have seen were of cuir-colored straw,

590

godey's lady's book and magazine.

trimmed with velvet and feathers to match. Others were
of chip, straw, and imitation Leghorn, elaborately trimmed
with spun glass, shells, plaid velvet, and feathers. Veils,
or rather scarfs, of white or black lace, are frequently
looped at the side of the hat, and fall as a streamer at the
back. The hats we have seen were not as high and pointed
as those of last season. The brim fits rather closely to the
face, and the back of the brim droops, and is much longer
than the front.

We noticed some very pretty hats trimmed with bands
and loops of velvet in front, and a pointed cape of velvet
edged with lace covering the brim at the back.

Little girls are wearing half gypsies of straw. These
are rather pointed in front, flare much at the sides to
display a full cap of lace and ribbons, and at the back
turn up like a turban. Cased silk bonnets with inimita-
ble muslin and lace crowns, trimmed with the lightest of
feathers, are also among the Spring costumes for little
girls. Muslin and lace caps of every description are
worn, they are generally of the Marie Stuart shape, with
quite deep capes at the back. They are highly trimmed
with ribbons, and frequently a tiny bunch of bright
flowers is nestled among the soft lace on one side.

Very little boys generally wear the Scotch toque,
trimmed with bright plaids and a mother of pearl aigrette.

Mask veils are altogether worn. That is, tbe veil is
drawn closely over the face, and fastened on top of the
bonnet or hat with an insect pin. It is, however, difli-
cult to arrange an ordinary veil in the mask style, on the
small turban hats now so much worn by young ladies.
We would therefore recommend the veil manufactured for
the, purpose, and just introduced by G W. Vogel, of 1016
Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. These veils are a little
over a quarter of a yard wide, perfectly straight, and just
sufficiently long to fit round the hat. For the Spanish hat
there is another veil, which is decidedly novel. This has
a hole in the centre, which passes over the crown of the
hat ; round this is a beading in which the elastic is run.
The veil is pointed in front, and at the back, while the
eides are shallow.

We were particularly struck with the Yak or mohair
lace shawls, both in white and black. The designs were
exquisite, and at a short distance they could hardly be
distinguished from thread lace. They are very different
in every respect from the articles brought out last year,
being vastly superior. As the cost is moderate, they are
very popular.

Real black thread shawls we think have attained per-
fection, for never have we seen anything so delicately fine
as some we saw at the establishment of Mr. Vogel. They
are beyond description.

We were also shown a number of Shetland shawls,
both real and the ordinary kind. The latter are exceed-
ingly pretty, and knit by machinery. Owing to competi-
tion they are quite cheap ; what were sold last year for thir-
teen dollars can now be had for seven. The real Shetland
is much more fleecy looking than the other kind. The
shape also is different, having rounded ends, and being
unusually large, draping round the figure like a mantle.
The price of these shawls ranges from twenty-five to thirty
dollars. This may at first seem high ; but when en-
lightened as to their manufacture, the marvel is, how they
can be sold so cheap. The wool for these shawls is not
spun, it is washed and picked out into threads; these
threads, which are not over a quarter of a yard in length,
are tied together and knit by hand.

Points, or half shawls of the real Shetland are very
elegant. Many other beautiful articles were shown us at
this establishment, but we must pass on.

One of the latest styles both for silk and muslin neckties
for gentlemen and ladies has the initial embroidered on.
the ends. Another style, but suited to ladies only, has a
bug or butterfly of either black or white lace applied on
the corners.

Very large buttons are now worn on dresses. On black
dresses we see large white ivory buttons the size of an
ordinary marble. With these should be worn an ivory
breastpin and ear-rings, also an ivory comb. Mother of
pearl combs have just appeared, and are highly ornamen-
tal, having somewhat the effect of opal by gas light.

Every day brings forth the freshest, and most charming
tissues suited to the sultry weather which will soon be
with us. Nothing can exceed the beauty of the organdies,
the designs are both effective and graceful. On white
grounds of the most cobweb like texture, we have seen
the following designs : Branches of cherries of the na~
tural size, rose-buds and stems just broken off, wheat-
ears, sprays of sea-weed, coral branches, the graceful
ostrich plume, pigeon feathers, shading most beautifully
from mode to Magenta, and various other unexceptionable
designs, which give quite a pictorial effect to the delicate,
and tasteful fabrics. The robe organdies, which were
always favorites, have now, owing to their increased
expense, assumed a position of great importance. Their
beauty, however, it is impossible, by description, to bring
clearly before the eyes of our readers.

Among the eccentric designs on calicoes and cambrics,
are bugs, flies, and butterflies. The printed suits are very
elegant. The much abused Grecian design still appears;
but twisted so capriciously with flowers and figures, that
it is difficult to recognize.

It is, however, essential to have some dresses that may he
worn independently of the laundress ; we would therefore
mention among the beautiful thin goods — glacina, cham-
be"ry gauze, goat's hair taffetas, grenadine, and grenadine
barege. These fabrics have appeared in the new and most
delicate shades, and aro of the most approved patterns.

There is also an extensive display of thicker goods,
such as mohair, goatshair, alpaca, crCpe, poplin, foulard,
and Saxony cloth.

In silks the designs are very rich, and sometimes pecu-
liar. Imagine, for instance, on an Ophelia ground, which
is a reddish violet, a tuft of grass, out of which springs
brilliant colored flowers. Half hidden mid the grass, is a
bird's-nest with two tiny white eggs, and over it hovers
a bird. The whole design is about the size of a twenty-
five cent piece, so that it requires close inspection to be
appreciated.

The undisputed preference, however, is given to the
chameleon, or changeable silks, to be found at the estab-
lishment of A. T. Stewart & Co., New York. They are ot
the most elegant combinations, and are now very fash-
ionable in Paris.

The robe foulards, bordered with brilliant stripes ana
plaids, are among the novelties in dress goods.

As trimming for summer dresses, we would mention
ribbons or ruches, sewed on in crossings, diamonds,
hearts, lattice-work, zig-zags, pyramids, and a score of
other forms. Flutings are still much worn, also designs
cut out of silk and applied by the sewing machine, or
finished by a narrow velvet and lace.

A very pretty thin dress is made with a double skirt,
the upper skirt made very long, and looped up with
ribbon bows at regular intervals to the required length.

Silk gloves have just appeared with Tartan gauntlets,
and we suppose will be adopted.

Of Brodie's wraps we shall speak next month.

Faseiok.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

VOL. LXVIII.

A liir 1 Cage Screen (Illustrated), 85

A Dram Mi S2S

Adventures of a Bachelor, by Out author 0/ "Miss

' ate., 66, 171, '27-1

inn, 64

A Few Friends, by Kormah Lynn, 374, 4':-. 558

A Pew Thoughts on Changes, by J", B., 147

1 Story, translated from the French, by Mre,

innit T. wood, 3"S

Alice li I! v. n, 50

all habel 01 Fancy Letters (Illnslrat.d), 28, 132, 298, 383
A netted Opera or Osi fnl Cap U luttn 4-1

A New Sttti h in Berlin Work [IUwtrati 11, 194

A New Feai *e Btory, by Ont who was in it, 44

An Old Man's Memories and Bopes, lfi8

An Article 00 Corsets, 627

A Novelty in Br.iderie a la Minute (Illustrated), 2D7

A Pair of Mittens, by Mary W, Jonvrfn, 246

Aprons (Illusl. 186, 381, 176, 669

. by J. 0. Burnett, 66 I

-. by Miss M. A. D. Cap, 164

Auraoniei e 1 iirdle (IUustra 889

Aunl Sophie's Visits, by Die iate /-»'■'/ .v. t;,>.lt',

■ :l <J), 887

■ by Moonlight, by Zftontus ff. Gentry, 64S

1, ■ 199

1. Knitted Bib, 1S7

for a New-born Infantf/Rusfrofi , 570

Band to Loop up a Dress in Festoous {Illustrated), 296

1 ml Forbear, 435

1: Snow, by J". 0. Burnett, 158

ilence, 157

1;,!.- (/Bii ifraietl), 129, is:

d), 424. 42'., 474

1 Pattern for Netting or Crocbet (Illustrated), S9

442
Braiding Patterns (Illustrated), 20, 21, 129, 193, 42%

4s2, 4s3, 573

I ■• Cap [Illustrated), 3-.".

Bretelle and Girdle {Illustrate*!), SO

Broderie for a Child's Dress illlustrai I 25

id Shoe Bag [Ilkutra 2,4

By iln- Sea, A Ballad, 356

127,185,885,476,481

Cb Id's - , per, with sirup-! (Illustrated), 620

Cloaks, Dressbs, Mantillas, Talmas, Etc.

' 1 . aided Dress (Illustrated), 669

Children - Fashions (Illustrated), 232, 315, 609, 6S9

Dinner-dresses (Illustrated), 14, 15, 329

Dl -- for a Girl ol'Ten (II 20

i' s for a Young Lady (i 22o

Fiiiicv Braided Die-- for a little Boy ^Illustrated), 566

II, li.' - [Illustrated), 119

Infant's Christening Bone (Illustrated), 664

Infant's Kobe (Illustrated), 79

LaFn. 230

■11- (Iliustr 330, 420

New siirm; Cloak [Illustrated}, 226, 229

Paletot fir a liltle Girl {Illustrated), 2-s

Rich U (Utustrated), 16

Kobe Dress (Illustrated), 323

1: .1,.' Psyche [Illustrated), > lis

Russian Vest or Jacket {Illustrated), 19

Bcotch ':• -- (/Oust! is

Bprlng Walking Bull [Illustrated), 422

Suit I'm' .1 iittle Buy {Illnstral. 667

Rummer liiesses (Illustrated), 512, 513, 514, 515

The Albueran, from Br<> '''l), 331

The Darro, Horn Brodie (Iliustr 227

The Fancbon Jacket (II 224, 22'j

The Hlspania from Brodie {Illustrated), 423

The Iene Wrap (II 2S8

Tbe Hadridian, from Brodtt <; 17

The M.ilileua, from Brodb {Illustrated), ' 613

from Bnidie (Illustrated), 122

The Spabi (lUustn 421

Visiting r Dinner-dress (lUustra 120

Walking-dress for a little Girl (Illustrated), 427

Walking-sack (//'■ 121

White Pique Jacket (Illustrated), 3s4

Zouave Jacket, wttn Test {Illustrated), 610, 517

Coal-Sonttle Emery Bag (Illustrated), 1-9
Coiffure for a Young Lady [Illustrated),

Coiffures (Illust; atid), ls7, 231, 290, 332, 383, 3S4. 474
Collars illustrated), 290,:

Concerning Rings and Precious Stones, 431, 543

Corner In P ■ Handkerchief [Illustrated), 191, 477

Corsage en Monssellne (Illustrated), 334
Corselet a Bretelles (IHusrri

Corset Cover I tUustrati ' >. 427

Crape Butterfly for Headdresses [Illustrati J), 481

Crocbet Trimming and Fringe (Illustrated), 619, 571

Crochet Tulip Hag [Illustrated ,

Crochet Watohpocket (Illustrated), 22

Cottages [Illustrated), 405, 487

Cupid, Auctioneer (Illustrated), 417

Dead, by Charles Stewart, 269

Design fur a Card-B >x (Illustrated), 330
Design for a Netted Tidy, Cake D'Oyley, or Mat

(Illustrated), 198
Design for Darning the Borders of Netted Window

Curtains (Illustrated), 89

Diaries, 53

Difficulties, 4';;

Domestic Happiness, 2-"i3

Don't Fret, 232

Duties of Brothers to Sisters, 633

Easter-Day, by Leira, 436
Bditors' Table, containing —

A Child's Imagination, 579

A Learned Frenchwoman, 804

American Ladies in Hie Medical Profession, 304

Anecdotes about Smoking, 489

A New Poetess, 896

An Example of Feminine Handiwork, 198
Bible Photographs of Women,
B ioks for Home Reading,
Cheap Literature in England,

307

Decease of Literary Ladies, 579

Eighteen Hundred and Sixty-four ! What will it

Bring? 93

English Ladies in Literature, 804

Errata, ' 397
Fashions of Dress, and their Influence on Character, 05
Free National Normal Schools for Young Worn
Hints about Health, 301, 39

Hints about Health. Rules for Skating, 200

Hints fur the Nursery, 304

How to Make Happy Homes, 198

In the Valley, by Alice B. Haven, 201

Letter to the Editress, 439
Letter Writing,

Morton's Gold Pens, 679

Mrs. Somerville, 897

"My Beautiful Lady," 307

Needlework and the Sewing Machine, !<."»
Night Sc.ne, by /). L. P ,
Opportunities and Duties,
Orthography,
'• Our, .Sisters in China,"

Photography and its Album, :■ '1

fiuet-11 1 489

Queenly Examples — the Contrast,

Single Ladies,

Something for Health, 96

The Autograph Bedquilt,

"The Boatman," 678

The Brothers, by Sarah Jnsrphi' II dp, 80S

The Importance of U . i -try, 304
The Medical Profession: What Women have done

in it, 95
The 1 inler of Deaconesses to bo Restored in Christ-
ian Churches, 94
The Postmistress,

The Seaforth Papers. 200
The Wife: a Poem, by Mrs. T. J. Cram,
Vassar Colli

Vaaaar Collage — and its Organization, 488

Vassar College to !"■ opened this Year! 93

Vassar Collage : Woman'a Own, 677

Walter Scott and his Little Pet Marjorie, 303

iii

TABLE OF COXTEXTS.

"Wheeler & Wilson's Sewing-Machine, 6S0

Why Washington Irving did not Marry, 489

Woman's Mission to Woman, 96

Edna Fairleigh's Temptation, by Clara Augusta, 437
Embroidery, Inserting, etc., 21, 22, 25, 84, SS, 89, 12:1,
124, 12.1, 1215, 194, 22S, 229, 212, 297,
29S, 33.5, 336, 390, 391, 4S2, 4S3, 573
Evening Coiffure (Illustrated), 3S4

Faith, 344

Fame, 634

Faucy Apron (Illustratefl), 291

Fancy Fichu (Illustrated), 126

Fancy Girdle and Epaulet {Illustrated), 292

Faucy Pen-wiper (Illustrated), 189

Fancy Sack for an Invalid (Illustrated), 292

Fancy Work-bag (Illustrated), 12S, 187

Fanny's Bait, by Belle Rutledge, 464

Fashions, 103, 209, 315, 406, 411, 588

Fichu (Illustrated), 123, 126

Forsaken, by John P. Mitchell, 245

Friendship's Whispers, by Annie M. Beach, 382

Generalship, by Allie Alh/n, 180

Gentleman's Crochet Silk Braces (Illustrated), 390

Gentleman's Shirt Front in Embroidery (Illust'd), 293
Geometrical or Honeycomb Netting (Illust'd), 12S, 1S7
Girdle, with Bretelles (Illustrated), 125

Godey's Arm-Chair, 98; 205, 30S, 400, 492, 882

Going to the President's Levee (Illustrated), 39

Going West, by Mrs. James , ' 453

Good Temper, 382

Great Expectations (Illustrated), 221

Grievings, by Annie M. Bearh, 178

Hadyn Vaughn's Daughter, by Daisy Howard, 270

Hair Nets {Illustrated), sj

Harlequin Toilet-Table Mat (Illustrated). 3S7

Headdresses (IHustrati >'), 290, 333, 3S3, 3S4, 420

Help to Memory (Illustrated), S6

Housewife (Illustrated), 572

I Know a Beautiful Woman, by Mrs. Frances de

Gaffe, 345

Illume my Path, O Lord ! by Ada Algernon, 78

Infant's Hat (Illustrated] 79

Initials for Marking Pillow-cases, etc. (Illustrated), 573

Initial Letters for Marking (Ittlistratet), M. 83, 188, 191,

192, 298, 390, 4S2, 4S3, 573

Initial Letters for Netting (Illustrated), 297, 3S6

Initial Monograms (Illustrated), 293, 391

Inserting (Illustrated), S4, 125

Italian Corsage (Illustrated), 124

Italian Villa (Illustrated), 13, St

Juvenile Department (Illustrated), containing —

Be Dove-like, 102

Flowers from Fruit, 313

Fruit Figures, 404, 587

Miscellaneous Amusements, 401

Mother Goose Tableaux, 102, 208, 313

Silhouettes, 5S7

Sunday-School Hymn, 496

Keeping Company, by Mary Fhrman (Illust'd), 346

Ladies' Girdle (Illustrated), 191

Lady's Book Pincushion (Illustrated), 21, 87

Lady's DYess in Embroidery (Illustrated), 42S

Lament, by Corolla H. Criswell, 441

Last Year's Freight, by Benjamin F. Taylor, 473

Leaf Impressions (Illustrated), 296

Lines, by F. S. T., 529

Literary Notices, 96, 201, 305, 39S, 490, 5S0

f'Long Ago,"by M. W. <?., 2S2

Look on the Sea ! by George W. Birdseye, 38

Love and be Happy, 2S7

Love, by .4. J. C, 179

Love of Life, « 858

Love Within, by Clara. Augusta, 58

Marriage Customs in Germany, 376

Marie Antoinette Fichu (Illustrated), 123

Marrying a Fortune, by Belle Rutltdge, 195

Maud, by M. M., 447

Morning-caps (Illustrated), 127

Morning Collar (Illustrated), 290

Morning Sleeve {Illustrated), 291

Mr. Surly Hardbake on Tight-lacing, 76

Much Wisdom in Little, 461

Music —

Golden Hair Polka, by Henry L. Raymond, 222

Impromptu, by D. XV. Miller, 418

Life's Answer, by 11*. Delesdernter, 130

Summer's Eve Polka, by George E. Fawcctt. 610

There 's a Joy for the Heart in this Meeting, by

James M. Stewart, 326

There are still some Joys before us, by J. Starr
Holtoway, 26

My First, Second, and Third Love, by Amy Graham, 661

My First Venture, by Mrs. Harriet H. Francis, 471

My Ideal, by Gay II. Naramore, 51V3

Names for Marking (Illustrated), S9, 194, 232, 390, -J 79
Nature, translated from the German by IF. 8. Eve-
rett, 367
Neck-tie for a Lady (Illustrate^, 3g0
Needlework Envelope (Illustrated), 335
Netted Cover for Horses' Ears (Illustrated), 190
Netted Pincushion (Illustrated), 1S8
New Embroidery Patterns (Illustrated), 391, 4S3
New Style of Raised Embroidery on Netting (Ill'd), 87
Night and Morning, by Phila Earle Bardy, 253
Night-dresses (Illustrated), 186, 666
"Nobody to Blame," by Marion Borland, 29, 133, 233,

.■537, 429, 52]
Novelties for the Month (Illustrated), 79, 185, 2sS, 3S3,

474, 564
" Our Mother," bv Mary N. Kirhe Dilwnrth, 65

Our Musical Column, 99, 207, 309, 401, 494, 6S4

Paris Letters, 402, 495

Patterns from Madame Demorest's Establishment

(Illustrated), SO, 477, 570
Penwiper (Illustrated), 295

Persevere : or, Life with an Aim, by Lv.lie, 254

Petticoat for a Child (Illustrated), SO

Portfolio Dottings, by Ree F. N. Cassadij, 243

Practical Lessons in Drawing (Illustrated), 74

Punctuality, 42

Quilting Pattern (Illustrated), 89

Receipts, etc., 90, 195, 299, 392, 4S4, 574

Red-Riding Hood (Illustrated), 292

Rural or Suburban Residence (Illustrated), 405, 497

Sampler Pattern (Illustrated), 88

Scraps, 660

Servants, by Augusta- H. Worthen, 2S4

"She hath Done what she Could," by S. Annie Frost,

259, 357, 44S
Skating on the Schuylkill (Illustrated), 117

Slate-pencil Drawings (Illustrated), 134

Sleeves (Illustrated), 290, 291, SS5, 476

Smiles, by Lv Liyld, 170

Sonnet, by Kruna, 49

Speaking Well of Others, 170

Spring Bonnets (Illustrated), 424, 425

Spring Style Collar and Sleeve (Illustrated), 385

Stanzas to ■ . by A. G. P., 873

Starlight, by A. Z., 377

St. Valentine's Day, by S. Annie Frost (Illustrcded), 143
Table Napkin Holder (Illustrated), 32

Tears, 170

The Art of Making Feather Flowers, ' 293

The Banana Tree, 78

The Casket of Temperance, by Willie E. Palor, 43. 142,

25S, 350, 456, 534
The Clarissa Coiffure (Illustrated), 290

The Contented Mind, by Mary W. Janvrin, 368

The Cultivation of Flowers, 403

The Dreamer, by Harriet M. Bean, 655

The Family Drawing Master (Illustrated), 2S3, 3G6, 462,

65C
The Forsaken, by John Calvin Gitchell, 78

The King is Dead. Long live the King, by Rev. E.

Hastings Weld, 38

The Ladies' Friend (Illustrated), 192

The Management of Flowers in Dwellings, 648

The Miranda Coiffure (Illustrated), 1S7

" The Other One," by S. Annie Frost, 645

The Pines, by A. M. F. A., 245

The Pompadour Porte-jupe (Illustrcded), 478

The Power of Animals and Plants, 473

The Prime Rules of Life, 461

The Shoe Pincushion (Illustrated), 478

The Story of Wealthy Leighton, by Virginia F.

Townsend, 149

The True Gentleman, •

The Venom of " Thev Sav." 273

The Vesper, by C. Mitchell, 541

The Wind as a Musician, 657

The Tonng Artist : a Tableau picture, by S. Annie

Frost (Illustrated), 69

Thou art Going, by Nettle,

Tidy in Crochet (Illustrated), 3S9

Tom Snuggery in Search of a Wife, by J. Bunting, 630
To mv Wife, by J. R. R., 644

Trimmings for Dinner-dresses (Illustrated), 24

Two.Insertions in Crochet (Illustrated), 4S0

Two Poems to a Sleeping Infant, by a. Doting Parent, 403
Uncle Hugh, by Rose Wood, 351

Unsociable Tempers, 65

Unto the End, by Margaret Hunter Grant, 635

Village Wedding in Sweden, • 446

Widows, 26S

Zkr XvtvmsZ {■ C? MY.

(G OBEYS FAMOUS f 'IM JUIXIS(S4

NETTED MITTEN.

FOURTH OF JULY.

VOL. LXIX. — 2

G% JUne* <%»//, Ji+ e% C&u*. OJZo.

MARION SCHOTTISCHE.

COMPOSED FOR THE PIANO FOB GODEY's LADY'S BOOK,

By CHAELES W. OHM,

COMPOSER OF MOMENT MOSICALE.

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CAMBRIC ROBE.

{From the celebrated establishment of Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., of New York.)

The dre^s is of the color styled cheoewc de In reine ( which is somewhat of a leather color) printed in a very rich black
design. Most of these dresses have sacks to match. The same style of robe is to be had in various colors.

ROBE DRESS.

(From the celebrated establishment of Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., of Xew York.)

This dress, verv suitable for the sea-side, is of pearl-colored mohair, with a bordering of black and Magenta. The
jacket Is of black bordered with white, and the vest a deep Magenta bordered with black. The turban is of black straw,
trimmed with a Magenta-colored wing and curled plume.

2* 17

ORGANDY ROBE.

{From the celebrated establishment of Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., of New York.)

The dress is of a rich salmon color, striped with chocolate brown. The bordering on the edge of the skirt is in dif-
ferent shades of brown.

MOHAIR ROBE.

{From the celebrated establishment of Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., of New York.)

The (round of the dress is a light Russian srray, with a plaid bordering on the edge of the skirt of Violin* purple
■. Above the plaid is a rich vine, in different shades of pnrple. The designs on the corsage match the

skirt, but are reduced in size.

THE ANDALTJSIAN.

[From the establishment of G. Beodie, 61 Canal Street, New York. Drawn by L. T. Voiot, from actual articles

of costume.]

Simple in construction, being a circular with holes and flaps for the arms. This very P>fasi°» ^"?"ll° wtich
eleeance to the mode of ornameutatiou. Narrow taffeta ribbons are sewed, as delineated, upon the mateual, ™
Lbemge or othrsummer tight tissues. Very small buttons of metal are placed at the ends and overlapping of the

ribbon scrolls.
20

BRAIDING PATTERN.

NETTED WINDOW-CURTAINS.

(See Description^ Work Department,)

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EMBEOIDEHY.

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EMBROIDERED NOTE-CASE.

This style of work has an exceedingly pretty effect. It is useful for a vnriety of purposes, and curious from the material
on which it is worked. Although having the appearance of Indian embroidery' it is only done on ordinary linen bed-tick-
ing, which makes it very strong, and well suited for slippers, belts, etc. It is worked with various colored netting or Berlin
silks; and in our present design a narrow guld braid is run on the centre of the broad black line. We give an enlarged
section as a guide fur the embroidery, which is always worked on the broad white stripes.

The first stripe is of crimson and light green. Work with one color a row of herring-bone along half a stripe, and the
other half with the other color. Then a row of chain-stitches in mauve down the centre.

In the second stripe the little leaves are of green, and formed hy a simple chain-stitch ; and the flowers alternately of
mauve and red, worked in button-hole, making three stitches close together.

The third stripe is of orange and dark green, a long stitch of each color being alternately taken in a. slanting direction
from the edge to the centre of the stripe, the stitches on the other side being the reverse way. When worked, make a row of
chain-stitches down the centre with crimson.

The fourth stripe ; for the stars : first make a cross with crimson, and then recross this with blue ; reverse the colors for
the remainder.

It is made of ticking, and folded in thp shape of an envelope, one end rounded U) fasten with a button. The lining should
be of silk, and a small gold cord sewed all round tlje outer edge.

GODEY'S

PHILADELPHIA, JULY, 1864.

"NOBODY TO BLAME."

BY M A B I 0 X n A R L A X D .

[Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by Lor/is A. Godet, in the clerk's office of the District Cojrt
of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.]

(Concluded from page 527.)

CHAPTER XIII.

If Lorraine did not forget the helpless pair
he had left ill the "she-dragon's" den, he
took no pains to assure them of his continued
remembrance. A month rolled by, and the
promised letter did not arrive. The meagre
morsel he had given his wife wherewith to
appease the rapacity of the monster, as he
chose to consider the industrious woman
whose leniency to him and his far exceeded
his deserts, was paid over within two days
after he left, and Maggie, now thrown en-
tirely upon her own resources, was so far
confidential with the landlady as to inform
her of her penniless state until her husband
should send her money, and solicit, through
her, work of the other boarders. To the
honor of human nature be it said, that they
not only responded cordially to the appeal,
but the men, most of them clerks with slender
salaries, privately raised a purse among them-
Belves, and presented it to Mrs. Richards in
liquidation of the claim upon the Lorraines.
Maggie's gift of acquiring friends had not
deserted her, and, although exerted uncon-
sciously, still had its effect upon those who
were brought into communication with her.

Mrs. Richards had a homely face and a
harsh voice, but she was by no means unpop-
ular with the majority of her mixed house-
hold. She could drive a bargain with the
keenest man of business there. She could ill

VOL. LX1X. 3

afford to lose a dollar, and she never did,
without a vigorous effort to secure it. She
despised Lorraine, as a "good-for-nothing
loafer," a "would-be swell," and a "real
cheat," and would have bundled him out of
the house upon the first pay-day, but for the
unoffending sufferers in her third-story back.
Louise was the only baby in the house, and
reminded her of one she had lost twenty
years before, and she made no secret, except
in Maggie's hearing, of her opinion that poor
Mrs. Lorraine was a martyr, and was "paying
dearly for her foolishness in having married
that dissipated, lazy husband of hers." It
is certain that she would not have given
Maggie notice to quit, had the board remained
unpaid, but as it was, she was very glad that
she was not the loser by this fresh villainy
on the part of one whom she now regarded as
an absconded debtor.

So the month had passed — a week — a fort-
night followed it — and there were no tidings
of the absentee, and Maggie began to look
forward with serious forebodings to the Spring
and the probable event it would bring, the
trial for which she could make so little pre-
paration. Each day diminished the chance
that she would be able to go to her husband,
should he send for her, and if he failed to
supply her with the means of paying her
daily expenses, what was to become of her ?

"The burningest shame lever knew I" said

•Zb

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Mrs. Richards to her daughter, one morning,
as the two were clearing away the breakfast
tilings. "And I have seen my full share of
the wrong side of this life. I don't believe
that rogue has the least idea of coming back.
He has turned that poor young thing loose
upon the world to pick up a living as she can.
He can't abide me, but he isn't too nice to
leave his family upon my charity. It just
amounts to that, for he doesn't know that
she ever took in sewing, or that the boarders
have raised a subscription."

"I wonder how her rich relations would
take it if they knew all!" remarked the
daughter. "To my notion they are as much
to blame as he is."

"No, they aren't! She offended and dis-
graced them by a secret marriage with this
disrespectable fellow. I 've heard it said that
they never guessed that he was even courting
her, until he was taken up for some rascality —
robbing his employers, or some such thing —
and she went into highsterics about it, and lo,
and behold ! they had been married two months,
and nobody the wiser, except Mrs. Clement
Lorraine — Miss Dupont she was then. He
was living with the Lawrences, and they would
not prosecute him, although he had robbed
them of several hundred dollars. 'Twould
have been better for her if he had been sent
to Sing-Sing for ten years. Her father is a
proud, high-tempered man, they say, and he
vowed she should never cross his threshold
again, and none of the family would have
anything to do with this Lorraine. I 've
heard that her married sister would receive
her any day she would leave him ; but he
would never let her go near them. I dare say
they take it for granted that she is well
enough off, seeing that he had a situation
with his brother. She behaved very impru-
dent— there 's no denying that — but she has
found out that the way of the transgressor is
hard. I think her mother would pity her, if
she could see her now."

" A gintleman, ma'am !" said the maid-of-
all work, at the door.

There was no mistaking him for anything
but a gentleman, thought Mrs. Richards, as
she stepped into the hall where he stood.

He bowed respectfully. "Mrs. Richards,
I believe I"

" Yes, sir."

"Have you a lady amongst your boarders
by the name of Lorraine ? ' '

"I have, sir. Her parlor is No. 12, third-
story back — or stay ! Norah ! show this gen-
tleman up to Mrs. Lorraine's room."

Maggie felt unusually depressed this morn-
ing. Her strength was giving way under the
unintermitting strain upon body and mind.
She had no appetite, and Mrs. Richards' best
food was not tempting to an invalid. She
took up her sewing as soon as she returned to
her room ; but her hands trembled with ner-
vous exhaustion, and her temples throbbed
with such pain that she was fain to close her
eyes and rest her brow upon the work-stand
before her. She did not raise it until Norah
followed up her knock at the door by throw-
ing it open, and calling out in her broadest
brogue : — ■

"Mrs. Lorraine ! here 's a gintleman to see
ye!"

And lifting her frightened, haggard face,
Maggie saw Will Ainslie standing on the
threshold.

Forgotten now was the part he had taken
in exiling her from his house as her parents
had done from theirs ; forgotten his long,
cruel silence ; his seeming forgetfulness of
her existence ; his slights to her husband and
child ! She only thought of his goodness in
the past, and her base requital of it all.

Springing forward with a scream of min-
gled joy and anguish, she fell upon her knees
at his feet.

' ' Will ! Brother ! Oh, forgive me ! "

She remembered nothing more distinctly,
until she found herself stretched upon the
hard sofa, and Mrs. Richard's face, wet with
• tears, bending over her.

"Mrs. Richards!" she said, faintly. "Oh,
I have had such a sw.eet, blessed dream!"

"It was not a dream, dear Maggie !" Will
came forward from behind the couch. " I
have come to take you home — to your own old
home, where you can stay as long as you
like."

Maggie smiled and sat upright, like one
who has quaffed a potent cordial.

"But — " added Will, seriously and cau-
tiously. "It will be a sad visit to you — to
us all. Can you bear sorrow, better than you
did joy, just now ?"

"I ought to be able to do so, rejoined she,"
involuntarily, speaking out the thought that
arose in her mind. "I am used to suffering."

"But this trial is an unexpected one.
Your father died suddenly last night !"

1 NOBODY TO BLAME.

"Died!" repeated Maggie, olasping her
hands. " Died ! and I never made my peace

wiih him !" she burst into tears.

Will had no comfort to give her. Mr. Boy-
lan'a att.uk had been severe from the com-
mencement. He had sustained severe losses
in trade that had depressed him much for a
fortnight past, and probably tended to bring
on a lit of apoplexy. He did not speak cohe-
rently from tlio moment of his seizure until
his death, which occurred sis hours afterwards.
It was a terrible stroke to the family. Mrs.
Boylan had borne it best of all, to the sur-
prise of those around her. It was her propo-
sition and earnest request, that the disowned
daughter should be sent for.

" Dear mamma I" said Maggie, as she heard
this. "I have never doubted that she loved
me." Then, assheobservedWill'spainedlook,
she continued, putting her hand within his :
"I have blamed none of you, dear brother.
I had forfeited your esteem, abused your con-
fidence, deceived you in every respect. I was
no more worthy to be counted as one of your
number."

This loneliness of spirit had in it no savor of
affectation, and before it the feeble remains of
Will's just displeasure against the truant
faded into air.

When he drew in his smoking horses before
the iate residence of his father-in-law, and
lifted out the pale, trembling daughter and
her infant, he was as truly her knight and
stanch defender as of yore, resolved to main-
tain her cause to the last, though Marian
herself should be his opponent.

Tiny and Marian were with their mother in
her room, and while both heard the subdued
bustle of arrival in the lower hall, and knew
what it portended, neither stirred to receive
the new comers. There was, instead, a per-
ceptible toss of Tiny's head, ever ready to
execute this movement, and a hardening of
Marian's features into inflexibility of resolu-
tion. Both women were proud in their way,
.".ill Maggie's career had been to them the
most deadly mortification, the heaviest sorrow
of their lives. They imagined her changed
into such a character as befitted Lorraine's
wife and Marie Dupont's scholar, and for tl>is
creature, Marian's dislike was fully as invet-
erate as Tiny's. Each, rapidly and silently,
reviewed the circumstances of her union with
ilie thief and gambler, the consternation,
distress, the disgrace that ensued to them-

selves, and the twain tacitly determined that,
so far as they were concerned, the exile should
he to all intents and purposes, an exile still.
Forgetting the awful commentary upon human
pride that lay in the adjoining apartment,
they arose together as they heard Will's voice
upon the stairs, and stood, one stern, the;
other scornful, to meet the shameless intruder.

The door unclosed softly, and there entered,
upon Will's arm, a drooping figure, her
countenance so marked and seamed with
sorrow, so eloquent of humble entreaty, as
she beheld the mother and sisters she had
deserted, that even the vain Tiny was sur-
prised into tears. Mrs. Boylan opened her
arms, and her wanderer fell within them.
For some moments, the sound of low weeping
filled the chamber. Then, Will, whose affec-
tionate heart was ever yearning for the bless-
ing denied to his otherwise happy home — the
music of childish steps and baby voices — set
Louise upon his wife's knee.

The little one gazed into her aunt's face,
with the innocent wonder, the clear, confiding
look that had characterized her mother's
expression in the early days Marian remem-
bered so faithfully. She caught the uncon-
scious peacemaker to her heart with a burst
of emotion that swept down the walls of re-
sentment and haughtiness at once and for-
ever.

Maggie remained at her mother's until after
the funeral. When everything was done to
show respect to the dead that the living could
perform, the Ainslies took their newly-re-
gained relative to their home. She was sadly
in need of such rest and nursing as Marian
was ready to give. In the perfect revulsion
of feeling common with persons of strong
affections, united to strength of will, she was
eager to efface from Maggie's mind all past
unkindness by present benefits ; willing to
confess that she had been unjust, implacable,
inhuman, as she surveyed the wreck her
husband had brought back to the fold. But
this Maggie would not allow. The fault had
been hers — all hers — she persisted in declar-
ing. They were only too good to receive her
again. She revived rapidly, now that she
was restored to an atmosphere of luxury and
love.

"But I fearthat her constitution is terribly
shattered," said Mis. Ainslie. to her husband,
when Maggie had spent some ten days with
them. "I more than suspect that wretch of

GODEY:S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

a Lorraine of maltreating her. She will not
say a word against him ; but she acknowledged,
when I questioned her, that she had not
heard from him since he left, two months ago 1
Think of that !"

"I have thought of it, and of many other
tilings, as bad, and worse, which it is as well
you knew too," responded Will. "I have
had a talk, to-day, with that Mrs. Richards,
who, Maggie says, was so kind to her. Ah,
Marian, we are bitterly punished for our
harshness to the poor, erring child!"

"Do not say 'our I' " said his wife, gener-
ously, seeing him pause to gather self-control.
" While her own father forbade the mention
of her name in his presence, you begged me
to see, or at least write to her, and tell her
that we would befriend her, whenever she
needed help or comfort. I would not do it.
I was outraged at the discovery of the syste-
matic deception practised upon us, and ready
to believe her as bad as the rest. And then,
John's broken heart ! But it was wrong, and
it was all my doing. Now, what have you
heard?"

" It was a long, sad story, one with which
the reader is better acquainted than was
honest Mrs. Richards ; but she knew enough,
and had revealed sufficient to Mr. Ainslie to
fill his soul with grief and indignation, and to
extort from Marian exclamations of horror and
anger as the recital proceeded.

"One thing is settled I" she said. "She
must stay with us this winter, until her hus-
band (how I detest to call him so !) returns."

"Then you are willing to resign her and
that sweet babe to him when he chooses to
claim them?" asked Will.

"Willing! not I! Still, if she wishes to go
with him, how can we hinder it ?"

"We cannot, if she really prefers a resi-
dence with him to the home we offer. I am
much mistaken if she has any affection, for
him. We will not borrow trouble. He may
be so enamored of Western life as never to
honor us with his presence again."

"I hope so, most devoutly!" said Marian.
"There is but one drawback to her living
with us. What is to be done about John's
visits ? The dear fellow has no other home,
you know."

"Let him come as he has always done!"
returned Will, boldly. " No one dare speak
ill of her while she is under my roof."

"That may be, yet it may not be pleasant

for them to meet. When did you hear from
him?"

"This morning. He will return to-morrow
or next day. I merely wrote to him of your
father's death, without saying anything of
Maggie—' '

He was interrupted by the entrance of the
person last named. She held Louise by the
hand ; but no sooner had that young lady
espied her uncle than she left her mother,
and ran to him with uplifted arms.

" Take me, take me, Uncle Will I"

He obeyed, saying, as he swung her to his
shoulder: "How are mamma and Louise,
to-night?"

" Mamma is pretty well. Louise is hoarse,
I think," said Maggie. "She is subject to
the croup, and I am alarmed whenever she
takes cold."

" Hoarse ! I do not notice it. Let me
listen, my small lady !"

He laid his ear to her chest with physician-
like gravity, an attention which she recog-
nized by clutching a double handful of hair,
and laughing out so clearly that Marian deci-
ded the hoarseness to be all a fancy of " ma-
ma's." Then ensued a game of romps, that
lasted until dinner-time.

" The evening is stormy," observed Marian,
as they repaired, after their meal, to the
family gathering-room, the library.

"Yes. There is every promise of an old-
fashioned snow-storm," said her husband.
"Maggie, will cigar-smoke irritate Louise's
lungs?"

Maggie looked up amazed. She had been
so long unused to these "small, sweet cour-
tesies of life," that they seemed strange to
her.

"What an idea!" She smiled. "It will
not hurt her, and if there were any danger, I
would send her out. You should not post-
pone your cigar."

"But I would, with the greatest pleasure
imaginable. What is the best weed that was
ever manufactured, compared with her com-
pany ? Come to me, monkey, and mount my
foot. Steady, now ! ' Ride a high horse to
Banbury cross !' "

He was in the midst of the rhyme, and
Louise shouting with delight at her rapid
flight, when, without a note of preparation,
John Cleveland walked in !

He stopped short upon seeing Maggie. She
was smiling at the frolic in progress, and the

"XOBODT TO BLAME."

warmth of the room had called Dp a faint
color into her cl ks. Seen but hnpei

'.v:is. ill John's sndden transition from
the darkness without to the brightness that
surrounded her, she seemed to him the same
merry, rosy girl that had made this snug
retreat an Blysium for him, ou his birthnight
three years before. Time sped backwards,
sweeping into oblivion the sorrow that had
made him old, while yet in his prime. He
advanced one step and stretched oat his hand
to greet her. The motion dissolved thi
A- Haggle perceived him, a shadow from her
monrnjllg-dress appeared to spread over iier
face. She endeavored to rise, but her limbs
failed her. She was literally dumb with tho
shame and woe of awakened memories.

The scene was inexpressibly trying to all,
and when Will, in his haste to set himself
with the rest at ease, presented his laughing
playfellow to his bachelor friend, Marian
nearly groaned aloud. " The very worst thing
he could have done !"

John took the child into his arms, kissed
her gently — it almost seemed, reverently —
and gave her back to her uncle ; then turned
to Mrs. Ainslie.

'•I was grieved to hear of your loss, my
dear madam. You have my sincere sym-
pathy. How is your mother? I feared the
blow might overcome her."

While Marian replied Maggie had an oppor-
tunity to recover her confused senses, and
Will leisure to prepare a series of questions
that should prevent any more awkward ]

" I did not look for you before to-morrow
night at the earliest," he said. "How did
you happen to drop in upon us, so like a
visitor from cloud-land f"

"I reached Albany a day sooner than I
expected, and hurrying through my business
there, came down in the afternoon train. I
had no baggage except a carpet bag, and
when I found myself at your station, the
temptation to alight and shake hands with
you was too strong for my better judgment."

"You obeyed your better judgment in
getting off!" said Marian, kindly. " And you
have had nothing to eat since noon — have
you ?"

" I am not hungry — "

"But yon ought to be ! I will see that
something is prepared directly. We have
just left the table. Not another syllable I I
am mistress here I"

She out short refusals and expostulation • 1 /
quitting the room.

'■ Who can that be 1" marvelled Mr. Ainslie,
as the door-bell rang furiously. "It is early
for calls, and 80 stormy, tool Another peal!
You made less noise when you arrived, John."

" Because Katy happened to open the door
to draw in the mat out of the snow as I camo
up the steps," was the reply.

" She lias grown deaf since," said Will, as a
third summons made his ears tingle. " I
will let in this importunate visitor myself."

He put Louise down, and went to admit the
guest or messenger. A tall man, muffled in
a travelling cap and cloak, stood without in
the driving snow.

"Walk in, sir!" said Mr. Ainslie, with
instinctive kindness. He could not have
suffered a strange dog to remain in such a
tempest while he had a shelter to offer him.

The man stamped and kicked his boots to
rid them of the snow, holding his head down
during the operation, and accepted the invi-
tation by entering the hall. It was not until
Will shut the door and turned to address his
visitor again, that the latter removed his cap,
and tossing back the mass of hair that over-
hung his brows, said, roughly: "I want to
see my wife, sir — Mrs. Lorraine!"

Dismayed as he was by the unwelcome ap-
parition. Mr. Ainslie bad self-possession enough
to say — "If you will step in here, sir — "
showing him into the front parlor — "I will
inform her that you have arrived."

Sorely perplexed, he forthwith sought his
prime counsellor, his wife, who was busie 1
in superintending John's impromptu repast.
A hasty sentence told her what had occurred,
and agreeing with him that not a moment
was to be lost, she left her unfinished task,
and prepared to accompany him back to the
library.

Lorraine, left to himself during this con-
jugal conference, was not disposed to wait
idly. In his perturbation, Will had not
thought to light the gas, and as he shut tho
door when he went out, the gambler sat in total
darkness. The library was divided from the
parlors by an arch, closed always, during the
evenings, by sliding doors of stained glass.
These, gayly illuminated by the chandelier
and fire-light beyond them, caught Lorraine's
attention immediately. She whom he sought
was probably in that family sanctum. By a
single bold manoeuvre he could upset what-

godey's lady's book and magazine.

ever nonsensical designs her relatives might
have of preparing her to receive him, according
to their ideas of his demerits. It was all very-
dignified and proper to leave him here in the
dark, while they instructed her in her lesson,
but he would show them that he was not to
be trifled with in that style. He crept softly
to the lighted doors and tried to hear what
was going on in the other room. All was
still. The truth was, that John and Maggie
would have esteemed almost any interruption,
save the one that now menaced them, a
welcome relief from the embarrassment of
their present position. Neither had spoken
since they were thoughtlessly left together,
and Maggie doubted her ability to accomplish
the retreat she longed to attempt. Louise
stood leaning on her mother's lap, her great,
brown eyes rivetted upon the strange gentle-
man— their solemn stare added to his uncom-
fortable sensations.

Lorraine pushed one of the sliding leaves
back, cautiously, and without noise, so that
it left a narrow crack in his screen, and
listened again.

" Is she a healthy child ? She looks deli-
cate," said a voice, that, constrained as it was,
sent a thrill through the whole body of the
jealous eavesdropper.

"Yes, that is, she is quite well, thank
you !" answered Maggie, hurriedly. " Louise,

daughter ! bid Mr. , the gentleman, ' good

night.' It is time for you to go up stairs."

As Mr. and Mrs. Ainslie made their appear-
ance from the hall, the inner doors were
shoved rudely back, and Lorraine confronted
his wife and Mr. Cleveland, who had arisen
simultaneously at the crash. One glimpse of
his fierce, dark face caused Marian to throw
herself before her sister and the child, while
Will advanced to his friend's side.

" And this is why I was told to wait until
you, my fine lady, were informed that I was
here!" commenced Lorraine, choking with
rage. "Your gallant was to have a chance
to clear out before I caught sight of him !"

"Marian! "said Will, authoritatively, "take
Maggie and the child out of this room !"

"Stir, if you dare!" vociferated Lorraine
to hTs wife. " I came for you and your brat,
and — " with a horrid oath — " I mean to have
you, alive or dead. I '11 show you who your
master is ! I '11 teach you to play these tricks
while I am away !"

"Be quiet, John !" Mr. Ainslie held back

his partner. " He is her husband, and as
such, entitled to an explanation, it matters
not in what terms he may choose to demand
it. You may not be aware, Mr. Lorraine, of
Mr. Boylan's death. Mrs. Lorraine was sent
for to attend his funeral."

" As if I didn't know all that I What else
brought me East in such a hurry, but seeing
the notice of the old man's death in the
papers ? And, no sooner do I reach New
York, than I hear that the stingy old cur-
mudgeon never mentioned his youngest daugh-
ter's name in his will, and that she, forsooth,
is staying up the river at her brother-in-law's,
licking the boots of the people who have
cheated her out of her just rights! And
then — " his countenance gathering malignity,
as he proceeded — " I find her holding a private
conversation with this — " Here followed a
string of opprobrious epithets.

"Marian, ring that bell!" ordered Will,
struggling to appear calm. "If you utter
another word such as those that have just
insulted these ladies, sir, I will order in my
gardener and have you put out of the house.
Every syllable was a falsehood, and you
know it 1"

In a second the bully had drawn a revolver
and levelled it at Mr. Ainslie's head ; the
next, Maggie rushed frantically forward and
caught the barrel of the weapon. It was a
frightful risk, but the finger that held the
trigger was unnerved by liquor and passion,
and the action of his wife's lost him his hold.
Before he could regain it, John tore the pistol
from him, and the gardener, a burly Irish-
man, who had run up-stairs at the imperative
ring, took an unauthorized share in the affray
by approaching the belligerent in the rear,
and passing his muscular arms around Lor-
raine's, pinioned him tightly. The women-
servants likewise came to their mistress's
assistance, and while one carried Louise from
the rooui, the other aided Mr. Ainslie to lift
Maggie from the floor. Marian had broken
her fall, but she lay in strong hysterical
convulsions. Lorraine ceased his efforts to
liberate himself, as they carried her past
him. He followed her with a half-terrified,
fascinated gaze, until she was lost to his
sight, and stood passive in the embrace of his
captor, silent, if not cowed. The evil spark
glowed again in his sullen eye, when Mr.
Ainslie reappeared.

"You have treated me very hospitably to-

"XOBODY TO blame:'

night, sir.'' he said, scornfully; "in quite a
brotherly manner, I may say. It is no more
than I Bhould have expected from you two
gentlemen, and I sha'n't forget it in a hurry.

Three against one is very lair odds in your
eode of honor."

"Michael, let him go I" commanded Will.

The gardener obeyed, but remained conve-
niently near his late prisoner.

"I have but one question more to ask
you," pursued Lorraine. " Am I to have my
wife and child peaceably, or shall I go to law
for them f"

"You cannot have them to-night, assuredly.
Neither of them is fit to go out iu this weather.
Whether you ever regain possession of them
will depend upon the success that Mrs. Lor-
raine's friends have in inducing her to apply
for a divorce. Such an application will not
be denied by any court in the land."

"You are very candid!" sneered Lorraine.
"When I have had my say before that same
court, I flatter myself that it will grant me a
divorce from her, whatever may be the ver-
dict in her case. There is justice for hus-
liands as well as wives I"

"If you make another such insinuation, I
will throw you out of the window !" Will's
temper had gained the ascendency at last.
"Go to law as soon as you like, and see what
you can do ! For I declare to you, that sooner
than resign to you the two unfortunate crea-
tures who are now, thank Heaven ! under
my protection, I would shoot you with as little
compunction as I would a mad dog. I had
rather trust a womau and child in a tiger's
den than with you. Michael, wait upon the
gentleman down to the depot. Don't lose
sight of him until you see him off for the
city ! ' '

"All right, sir!"

Lorraine was beginning to feel dull from the
reaction of the fiery draughts he had swal-
lowed, both in New York and in the village
below. He offered no objection, beyond a
growled curse, to his proposed escort, and
wheeled heavily to leave the rooms.

"My pistol!" he said, thickly, to John,
who still held it.

"I shall keep it, for the present !" was the
brief rejoinder.

"As you like ! I suppose another will send
you to perdition quite as well !"

These were his parting words. After they
set off, Will heard from the gate Michael's

friendly admonition: "He aisy, now ! Sliuro,
can't ye falc that there's no light left in ye?
and isn't a sober man a match fortwodhrunkcu
ones, any day V

Clement Lorraine was as cautious as his
brother was reckless ; avaricious of gain as
lie was extravagant ; moral in the eyes of the
community as he was profligate; diligent in
business, as Albert was indolent. It was not
surprising, then, that his sleigh should be the
first vehicle that broke the snow in the ave-
nue leading from Mrs. Dupont's mansion, on
the morning succeeding the opening storm of
the season. His wife was on a visit to her
mother, and although he grumbled in a smoth-
ered tone, which was all he ventured to do in
Marie's hearing, when lie thought of the cold,
slow ride to the depot, he never thought of
shirking it. That way business lay — and after
fortifying himself by a hot and hearty break-
fast, he stepped into the nest of fur robes
provided for him, and bade the driver "hurry
on, or he might lose the train."

The snow was deep, but they made tolerable
speed, and were descending the last and
steepest hill on the route when one of the
horses stumbled slightly over what looked
like a drift in the road, and as the sleigh
struck the same the rider experienced an
uncomfortable jolt. He looked back natural! y
to ascertain the cause, and there, just apparent
above the trampled snow, probably tossed up
by the horse's hoof, was a human hand ! In
less time than it takes me to relate it, the
two men had dug out, into plain view, a stark
and ghastly corpse ; the features, so latch-
inflamed by anger and intemperance, frozen
into marble whiteness, and the open eyes
staring blankly into his brother's face 1

The tale of his wanderings, after the faith-
ful Michael had seen him upon "a down
train," was easily surmised. He had left the
cars at the next station, with the design of
going up to Mrs. Dupont's, whether bee a
he knew that his brother was there and hopi 1
to gain something by an appeal to him. or
from some cloudy impression that he would
be welcomed in his old haunts, could not be
known. In his condition, the sequel was in-
evitable, unless he were rescued by some
passing traveller, and the fury of the night
kept sane people at home. As fools live, lie
had lived ; as fools die, he died. The shud-
dering hand of charity draws a veil over the

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

dread awaking that succeeded to the deep,
fatal slumber in that snowy bed.

News of the event was dispatched to the
wife of the deceased, but he had lain in his
grave three weeks before she received the
message. As might have been foreseen, the
shock of her husband's appearance and con-
duct on that terrible night, was too great for
one in her delicate state of health. During
days of suffering, fever, and delirium, Marian
watched, and Mrs. Boylan wept by her bed-
side, expecting that each hour would be her
last. Excellent nursing and medical skill,
rather than strength of constitution, won
back the fluttering life. When she again
moved through the house, the mere ghost of
her former self, a widow's cap shaded her
young forehead, and a little mound, beside
the resting-place of the unhappy father, cov-
ered the babe whose first painful breath of
mortal life was also its last.

CHAPTER XIV.

Maggie lived for two years with her mother ;
the companion, nurse, comforter of her de-
clining years, while Tiny, who had awaited
impatiently the close of the conventional
twelvemonth of seclusion, again flitted through
the gay world, a pitiful caricature of juvenility,
with false roses blooming where she used to
say the natural ones never flourished ; false
hair wreathing her restless head, and false
smiles contending hopelessly with real que-
rulousness for the mastery in her expression.
Her devotion to the society that had so poorly
requited her lavish expenditure of time and
pains, by persistently denying her life's chief
end — a husband ; how many absences from
home and selfish engrossment in her own con-
cerns when there, were the principal causes
of her amazement at the tidings communicated
to her by Marian, one day, in the third year
of Maggie's widowhood. Her indignation and
ill-dissembled chagrin had their source in
emotions thoroughly comprehended by her-
self alone. Even Marian, who knew her fail-
ings so well, was surprised at the energy of
her disapproval.

"It is perfectly shameful ! really outrage-
ous ! ' ' she protested vehemently. ' ' All second
marriages are abominable, and ought to be
prohibited by law ; but I should have thought
that Maggie's matrimonial scrapes had created

enough talk in their clay without her setting
the public all agog again, by this piece of im-
propriety. That is the way with all these
so-called amiable people. They are shallow-
hearted — every one of thern— and fickle as the
wind. She might wait until her weeds are
fairly worn out. And after risking and losing
everything for the sake of marrying her first
husband ! I never heard the equal of this in
my life — never!"

Marian had greatly improved since the be-
ginning of our acquaintance with her. If
Maggie had gained strength and wisdom from
her trials, the sorrows that had fallen more
lightly upon her married sister had rendered
her less caustic and more forbearing with the
foibles and errors of others. She would, still,
when Tiny became intolerable — particularly if
Maggie were her victim — leave the quiet walks
of argumentative persuasion, and encounter
her upon her own ground, although with
weapons of sharper edge and finer polish ; but
to-day, her mood was pacific. She had brought
to the interview a goodly stock of patience,
and there were softening emotions at work in
her bosom, aroused by the event she had
engaged to announce, that kept down any
disposition to retort angrily upon Tiny's
tirade.

"You forget, Tiny, that Mr. Lorraine was
never the man of Maggie's unbiassed choice.
Marie Dupont made the match, and hurried
the poor girl on to her destruction so insidi-
ously, that she had no time to reflect upon or
realize her real position, until it was too late.
I have often thought, with grief and remorse,
of our want of watchfulness over her inexpe-
rience ; how cruelly negligent we were in
leaving her so much to the influence of asso-
ciates we knew to be doubtful — if nothing
worse."

" I don't blame myself! Not one bit ! She
had twice the care that / ever had."

"And a hundred temptations where you
had one," thought Marion. " I believe," she
said, aloud, "that if she had been allowed to
follow the promptings of her own heart, she
would have preferred Mr. Cleveland to Lor-
raine, up to the moment of her marriage."

"Pretty morality, that, in your pattern
saint I" interrupted Tiny.

Marian favored her with a steady gaze fully
two minutes long, and went on.

" As to the impropriety of her accepting hirn
now, and the scandal of a spiteful world, the

■ NOBODY TO BLAME.

most, malicious can say no more of then) than
is said every day of other second marriages.
The character of both parties is above re-
proach. Nothing except the meanest envy
can find occasion for sneers in the contem-
plated union, and the pure and good always
rise superior to such attacks."

" I dou*t see how she can have the face to
accept him, when he knows all the circum-
stances of the life she led in New York, and
what a brute that Lorraine was I"

" lie loves her the better for every sorrow
she has borne. Your remark shows bow
little you know of John's real character,"
said Marian, her eye kindling with enthusiasm.
" I wonder, and so does Maggie, that bis
affection should have survived the knowledge
of her insincerity towards him, and her clan-
destine marriage, convinced though he was
that she was the tool of others. Maggie has
told me, in her sweet, beautiful humility,
how unworthy she felt herself to be of this
magnanimity, this undying love. John and
1 had a long, frank talk about this last night,
lie recognizes and appreciates the ennobling
and purifying effect of her afflictions upon her ;
a' lustre which, he says, throws a gleam over
the memory of the darkest, saddest passages
of her life. He denies, indignantly, that
there is anything meritorious in bis constancy.
lie never loved any other woman, be declares,
and from the first hour of their meeting, it
has seemed as natural to love her as to
breathe."

Tiny was standing at the window dramming
a quick tattoo on the sill. Marian, absorbed
in her subject, did not think of or care for the
sympathy of her auditor.

" Dear little Louise!" she continued. " How
happy she will be! She has never known
what a father's care is. Will is crazy to
adopt her, but John will not bear of it. Did
I ever tell you, Tiny, the pretty little incident
which Maggie repeated to me, about John's
chancing to see her walking one day with
Louise, during that lonely, struggling winter ?
Maggie did not observe him. but be was near
enough to notice how beautiful the child was,
and how worn and thin her cloak looked.
So.; the great-hearted fellow — "

But Tiny had bounced out of the room, and
hei heels were clattering up the stairs to her
chamber, where the false roses were soon
trashed out by real tears of disappointment
aud mortification. With the tenacity of spin-

s', irly desperation, she had hoped to the last,
and tlie last had now com.'.

Incredible as it may appear to those not
versed in the edifying exhibitions of forgive-
ness and forgetfulness that may be witnessed
every day in polite circles, when a change of
fortune has altered the position of the offend-
ing party, among the first cards left for Mrs.
Cleveland were those of Mr. and Mrs. Clement
Lorraine. And Maggie perilled her reputation
for the Christian graces, in which every fash-
ionable dame should be a proficient, by lever
returning the call, or inviting the Lorraine s
to her parties — a shocking breach of decorum,
accounted for by Mrs. Clement to her friends,
with a melancholy and resigned air — "Ah!
my dear! the ingratitude of some persons is
enough to embitter one against the whole
human race !"

Mrs. Boylan resided with the Clevelauds
until her death. She lived to see two other
golden heads cluster, with Louise, around her
knees, wbile a chorus of iufaut tongues called
off her eyes from the last novel, by importu-
nities for nursery-ballads and sugar-plums.
Of these, her memory and her capacious
pocket were unfailing reservoirs, and very
cheerfully did both surrender their riches.
An inefficient mother often makes a popular
granddame, and Maggie's children loved th.-irs
as the gentlest, most indulgent of baby-
spoilers.

Tiny grew younger every year. Her share
of her father's estate, although not a fortune,
was near enough to one to invite the closer
inspection of a money-loving swain, whose
principal matrimonial disadvantages were,
first, bis youth, he being ten years the junior of
his inamorata ; secondly, his poverty, inas-
much as he was only a clerk in a retail dry
goods store ; thirdly, fourthly, aud fifthly, his
paucity of good looks, intelligence, and breed-
ing. But Tiny could not afford, at this late
date, to be fastidious. She caught him, like a
gudgeon, as he was, at the sea-side ; brought
him home at her chariot-wheels, and married
him in six weeks thereafter. He has proved
himself the master of one art, that of saving
money, and of another — a rarer accomplish--
ment — that of carrying his point against a
scolding wife, by sheer doggedness of purpr.se
and obstinate silence. Tiny stays at home
and minds the house, while he is abroad
adding dollar by dollar to his hoards. He
will be a rich man in twenty years, say his

GOPEY'S LADY S BOOK A\D MAGAZINE.

friends, and then his sexagenarian spouse may
begin "to enjoy life."

CONSTANCE.

Amtd the bills of Switzerland, hard by the rapid Rhine,

■\Ybose waters sweep through castled heights, and through
broad meadows shine,

Aud whose legions twine through history like gleaming
strands of gold,

Mands the ancient town of Constance with its watch-tow-
ers gray and old.

A quiet, dreamy city — streets antique and picturesque,

Quaintly carved projecting gables, oriels heavy and gro-
tesque ;

Open squares with sculptured fountains, where the houses
stand apart,

Forming rich, fantastic vistas, making melody of art.

But richer far the vistas of those dim aud distant days,

Whose gay and crowded pageants gleam through memo-
ry's golden haze ;

For Constance was imperial once, and monarchs were her
guests,

And pontiffs in her council halls proclaimed their high
behests.

Here, too, proud Commerce h»4d her court, and gathered

to her mart
Her dazzling retinue of wealth, and luxury, and art.
0 prosperous age ! But fortune turned, her glittering tide

ran by,
And fickle Commerce plumed her wings and sought the

western sky.

Still stands the mighty council-hall where lluss, the
martyr, stood,

Arra'gned before the haughty priests who clamored for
his blood.

Still stands the vast cathedral, tossing up in joyous ranks

Tier on tier of springing turrets from its tall and but-
tressed fianks.

On a fair September evening toiled I slowly up that spire,
Whose clustering lines grew lighter as I clambered higher

and higher,
Past the vaulted nave and transepts, past the belfry's

winding stair,
Till I reached the topmost turret suspended in mid air.

0 wondrous view! O vision infinito
Of outspread states and kingdoms ! over which the eye
Like lightning travels, overreaching thought itself,
Across the clustered roofs and spires, across the lake,
And on, past fertile plain and fir-clad hill.
To where the distant Alps repose in awful majesty,
In solemn senate gathered, cold, and white, and still,
Their glittering edge sharp cut against the perfect sky,
With here and there some loftier peak on which still

glows
The sunset's dying ember.

Fed from those everlasting snows,
The Rhine springs forth and hastens on his way
Impetuous, to where the towers of Constance rise;
Pleased at the sight he stops, and lingers long,
Expanding to an amide lake — the Lake of Constance —
Reflecting in his faithful breast her features fair.
Her walls aud gateways, aud her tall square towers ;

Then hastens by. But scarce has passed the walls
Ere — pausing yet again, reluctant river, loth to jo—
Once more he spreads his waters to a lingering lake,
Oue last and lingering look ; then hurries madly on
To where Schaffhausen waits, with writhing cataract,
And plunges headlong down the foamy gulf.

But while I mused the twilight war:ed. The moon rose

full and bright,
And poured on tower and battlement her mild, unearthly

Light ;
And the fountain plashed so softly in the still, deserted

square,
That I seemed to hear the silence float and tremble in the

air.

Fair Constance, long shall memory love that calm deli-
cious night,

That banquet on thy beauty in the moon's uncertain
light ;

Not clearer shines thine image in the bosom of the Ehlne,

Than in every still reflection, every quiet thought of mine.

SCRAPS.

The Talent of Success. — Every man most
patiently abide his time. He must wait ; not
in listless idleness, not in useless pastime,
not in querulous dejection, but in constant,
steady, cheerful endeavor, always willing,
fulfilling his task, "that when the occasion
comes he may be equal to the occasion." The
talent of success is nothing more than doing
what you can do well, without a thought of
fame. If it comes at all, it will come because
it is deserved, not because it is sought after.
It is an indiscreet and troublesome ambition
which cares so much about fame, aboutfwhat
the world says of us ; to be always looking in
the face of others for approval ; to be always
anxious about the effect of what we do or say ;
to be always shouting, to hear the echoes of
our own voice.

The Beautiful. — Men are so inclined to
content themselves with what is commonest,
the spirit and the senses so easily grow dead
to the impressions of the beautiful and per-
fect, that every one should study to nourish
in his mind the faculty of feeling these things
by every method in his power. For no man
can bear to be entirely deprived of such en-
joyments : it is only because they are not
used to taste of what is excellent, that the
generality of people take delight in silly and
insipid things, provided they be new. For
this reason, one ought every day at least to
hear a little song, read a good poem, see a
fine picture, and, if it be possible, to speak a
few reasonable words.

DR. JOnX IIALE, AND MARGARET TIIORNE.

3V S C S A N nA.iKKI. L.

It was a day one cares to remember. There

Q oleai shining, and yet notoken of storm.
The air was still, no breath disturbed the
tree tops. Summer bills Bang plaintively in
the orchards and low shrubbery. There was
a smell of sweet brier iu the air ; clover
bloomed in the stony pastures : primroses
Bashed the hedges ; buttercups spangled the
cultivated fields that with their grassy slopes
went quite down to the water's edge. We
were out riding that still Saturday afternoon,
Dr. John Hale and I.

l>r. John Hale was a physician in the busy
town of Rockland, a village that lay behind
us just over the hill. I, Margaret Thome, was
spending a year with my uncle in the same
town, and Dr. John Hale was a member of our
family. Therefore, it was not so very strange
that I occupied the otherwise vacant seat in
his carriage.

We were very sensible, good-looking people.
I recollect thinking so as we drove through
the main street of Rockland. I wore my chip
hat that afternoon with fresh ribbons, and
soft pink roses under the brim. The pink
roses and fresh ribbons bordered a good, not
Strictly a beautiful face. It suited me well
enough, however. It also pleased one or two
others, for whose opinion I cared most. Dr.
Hale drove slowly over the road, which was
new and strange to me. It was little used
i xcept by pleasure parties who went down to
the Sounding Beach on midsummer days. He
called my attention to the islands which lay
long and low against the rocky coast. I recall
only Haslett's and Thatcher's with their tall
white light-houses and dangerous shores.
Farther on we passed by Deadman*s Headland,
standing boldly out to sea.

The rock of Avery's Woe stood miles away
from the coast, far to the south, and when I
asked for it, Dr. Hale repeated the old ballad,
well known among the simple people here-
about, concerning the sad fate of Avery's bark,
and afterwards, as I was in the mood, I lis-
tened to quaint ballads of Norsemen and Vik-
ings, and wondrous sea legends, of which he
knows full store. From the rocky headland
where we rested, we could look far away to the

old fort, whose brave soldiers (so runs the le-
gend) once on a time vanquished, by their long
puritan, prayers, a legion of evil spirits who
had come to tempt them from their strong and
beautiful faith.

"The evil spirits fled confounded," said Dr.
John, "as they always will when, with strong
crying and tears, we pray : ' Keep us from
temptation, deliver us from evil.' "

Down iu the heart of dense woods, between
Rockland and Hamilton, lies an enchanted
valley ; there the magnolia blooms and all
tropical plants twine.

"The enchanted valley I never saw," con-
tinued Dr. John. "The ghostly legions long
since ceased to disturb. There are only stately
mansions, and lowly fishers' cots, high-born
folk, and people of low degree along these
shores."

We rode, on that summer afternoon, quite
down to the end of that rocky cape, where the
land met the sea, where the tide kissed tin'
silver sands. Dr. Hale took me from the
carriage close down to the restless waves, and
for a long time we walked up and dowu the
shining shore ; now talking together in low,
subdued tones, and now pausing in our walk,
to look out over the ocean with eyes a thou-
sand miles away. A lone fisher boat rested
on the calm, unruffled surface of the waters.
A solitary sea-bird came and perched ou a
black, storm-beaten rock just beyond the
beach. We rested, at length, on a broad,
shelving rock, that a few hours before must
have beeu covered by the creeping tide ; now
it stood high and dry above the waves that
dashed at its base.

'•You like all this ?" said Dr. Hale, inquir-
ingly. " I thought so," he continued. "This
has all the charm of novelty for yon, my
Green Mountain girl, and I like to watch your
face that I may gather your thoughts. Ton
have been in a brown study for the' space of
ten minutes, now give to an anxious public
the result of your meditations."

"I am only thinking of mermaids and
pearl divers," I answered. "Of the mysteries
of the ocean, with its pearls, an 1 shells, and
buried gems; of burning ships and n I

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

mariners, of islands far away under tropical
skies fanned by fragrant breezes from sunny
seas."

"Very well," he said. " You have almost
exhausted your subject ; but now, while you
are in the mood, repeat that little thing from
Tennyson —

'Break, break, break,
Ou thy cold gray stones, O sea V ,

in return for some of my rude Norsemen bal-
lads."

I did as desired ; all went well till I came
to the lines — ■

"But tbe tender grace
Of a day tbat is dead,
Will never come back to me."

Here I failed utterly. Gone was all the beau-
tiful present. I only looked back over the
past to the "day that was dead."

For a little time there was only silence be-
tween us. He gathered my hands into both
his own and held them there, as I looked out
over the sea and thought bitterly of the light
that had been suddenly quenched, leaving my
soul in deepest night ; of the bitterness and
despair which had been my portion. Farther
back strayed my thoughts to an enchanted
land, where the air was filled with fragrance,
with the melody of singing birds, the tinkle
of faraway fountains, the sound of murmuring
stream. There bloomed the fair flowers of
hope and promise, and there love reigned
supreme.

"Margaret," said Dr. Hale, at length, dis-
turbing my reverie, and drawing me at the
same time very near to himself, "is it true
that you still yearn

'For tbe toucb of a vanished band,
For tbe sound of a voice tbat is still ?"

, "How do you know," I said, turning to
meet his eyes, " that I have any bitter memo-
ries ; that I have ever cared for any other
overmuch ?"

"Because," said Dr. John, seriously, and
looking into my face as he spoke with his
, singularly grave, beautiful eyes; "because
I have studied you from the beginning. Yours
is no common character. Once you needed a
discipline, a severe one. God sent it to you
in love and kindness ; let us think now that
the sting is past, and it has made you what
you are, my true, good Margaret. Your cha-
racter has lost nothing, gained everything
from this conflict. You are better, truer to

yourself, and to God to-day than a year ago.
Tell me, is it not so ?"

I could only say, through blinding tears.
"Go on; your words strengthen me, n'elp
me ; they are true."

" When you came to Rockland, a year ago,
you thought thus : ' I will seek no friends, I
will love no one, I will rely upon myself and
God for human friendship ; human love is of
no avail.' You treated me with careless indif-
ference at first. But you are friendlier now,"
he continued ; "you almost consider me truth-
ful, sincere. You would fain believe that the
interest I take in you is real."

"You speak in all truth and sincerity," I
said, finding voice and courage to proceed,
"and I am grateful, thankful, that you will
let me be your friend. It is true as you di-
vine. I did think, and not long ago, that
friendship was a myth, that the foundations
upon which love is based, were of wood, hay,
and stubble. But I think better of the world
now," I added, "better of my kind. I believe
in your regard, in your friendship ; I believe in
your strong, earnest, manly life" —

"And will you go on, Margaret ? Will you
say that you believe in a love that is strongei
than death, that many waters cannot quench
nor floods drown? Margaret, if you could
learn in time to love me ; if, by and by, you
would minister to me with these kindly hands ;
if the old love might be supplanted by the
new, I should have no greater earthly good
to ask of heaven. My life would be crowned
with blessings, Margaret," he continued. "I
would not force your heart ; I would not have
you mistake friendship for a deeper regard.
But I need your love, Margaret ; I want you
by my side, always. Look up. Give me one
word of hope."

"I love you now," I said, quickly, thus
appealed to, and my heart prompted the reply
that thus suddenly sprang to my lips ; I con-
tinued: "I am yours for all time and eter-
nity. I have been wicked, unreasonable ; I
judged all false, because one fajled. But I
understand now ; I appreciate, I prize the
.true manly love you offer me, and if my love
will make your happiness, will fill your heart,
be assured you have it all."

"Margaret, my own Margaret, God has been
good to me," said Dr. John, as he encircled
me in his arms, and took me home to his
heart, to his pure inner life.

Oh, blissful fleeting hours that followed:

DR. JOHN1 n.VLE AND MAUGABET THORN'li.

What was the past short, passionate dream,
when compared with this present reality I
What was Charles Bleeeker's boyish, fickle
love when placed in the balance with that
which was new all my own, and which would,
I knew and felt, be with me through all time [

In those hours of unreserved confidence I
told my good Dr. John all he had a right to
know. He diil not ask lor it. But I knew
when I concluded, that he was glad that from
henceforth there should he no secrets between
us.

I told him of the days when Charles B
er's love had been all the world to me ; when
my skies seemed cloudless, and the world
was so fair. I told him how the day came
when the sun went down while it was yet
noon ; when I would not submit, and could
only say, "This is nothing."

"I grew cold and calm at length," I con-
tinued. " No healthful, tender sympathies
stirred my heart. It was a dreary life I led.
I speculated on love and friendship. I said,
love is like Jonah's gourd, it springs up in a
night and perishes in a night ; therefore I
will guard my life well, I will steel it against
all gentler influences, I frill labor earnestly
wherever God calls, I will give good heed to
my outward life, none shall know that it has
passed under a cloud. By and by the love
which God giveth shall satisfy ; it shall be my
greatest solace. In this mood I came to Rock-
land a year ago. I met you, my good Doctor.
What followed you know so well. You taught
me (much against my will, at first) that there
is everything good and true in life worth
striving fur. worth attaining ; that if one good
thing fails there is always a second best behind
it. John," I concluded, "this has been a
golden year, and to have it crowned with your
love is more than I could have asked."

"We are one now and henceforth," said
Dr. Hale, as we rose to leave. "I see before
us the path down which you and I will walk
together, love, to the goal the good and true
should strive for. Lean on me, Margaret.
Let me help you over the rough places. Let
me shelter you here in my heart from all
evil."

We rode slowly back to Rockland in the
twilight of that summer day. How strange
seemed the landscape and the objects by the
wayside ! I had lived a new life since last I
passed them. But little passed between us.
There was no need. Silence, just then, was

VOL. LXIX. 1

more eloquent than words. I was John's an 1
he « as mine. That was enough.

.V few weeks after we \vn\< married. I am
very happy. I only think of the past with
regret that I wasted so fair a portion of my
life in useless repiniugs. Few wives are so
thoroughly loved and blessed as am I, so
thoroughly believed in and trusted. I tremble
as I think of my great happiness, of the daily
peace which comes into our lives.

I met Charles Bleecker once a few weeks
ago. John and I were in the fever wards of a
city hospital. Brave soldiers from southern
camps with their beautiful lives burning out,
tossed restlessly on their narrow cots. I
followed John from one low bed to another,
I listened to the beautiful, strong words of
healing he spoke to them as he ministered to
the poor, suffering frame. I followed all
John's directions. I held up the poor, faint-
ing body. I parted away from noble brows
that mothers had kissed the damp masses of
hair. I bathed the flushed brow, I moistened
the parched lips. I did all that woman could
do to alleviate pain and weary unrest.

We paused, at last, in the officers' quarters,
before a bed where lay a patient flushed with
fever heats. His eyes were closed. His
hands were thrown wildly over his head.
His face was a familiar one I saw at once.
I bent my head nearer. Yes! it was as I
thought. I had loved that face in other days.
It was Charles Bleeeker's. He opened his
eyes just then. They met mine. He raised
himself slightly and said : "Is this a dream ?
Am I dead ? Is this Heaven, and is this
Margaret 1 Oh, I have prayed God so earnestly
that I might see you once more !"

My husband heard and understood all. I
took his hands in mine. I looked up to his face
with perfect love and confidence. This was
all he wanted. He looked down to the flushed
face of Charles Beecker's and said: "Marga-
ret, speak to him. Comfort him all you will."

I knelt down by his bed-side accordingly.
I pushed back from his broad forehead the
dense moist masses of hair. I passed my
hand softly over his fevered cheeks.

"You are married, Margaret," he said,
softly. "This man who stands by your side,
who has ministered to both body and soul in
these last wretched days, is your husband — is
worthy of Margaret's love, which I scorned
and slighted. But, Margaret, as my stay here
is so short, for I shall not see another day, it

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AXD MAGAZINE.

will not be wrong for me to say to yon here,
in the presence of your husband, that I loved
you all the time, infatuated as I was. I woke
from my foolish dream at last, a wretched,
aimless man ; but you were gone, you never
came again, and not long after I heard that
yon were married. Margaret, I suffered, I
have atoned for all. Last year the war com-
menced, I was commissioned colonel of a re-
giment. I have • passed through scenes of
blood and horror. I have seen my soldiers
fall round me like autumn leaves ; but I was
spared. I, who sought death, who heeded
not fiery shot nor bursting shell, came away
from gory battle-fields unscathed. But my
time has come, thank God ! ' The last enemy
that shall be destroyed is death ;' and, Mar-
garet, your husband has taught me in these
dark days, that ' death may be swallowed up
in victory, ' that I may, through God's sweet
grace, dwell forever with 'victors wearing
crowns and bearing palms.' It is good to see
you, Margaret, as I do now ; to feel your dear
hand on my face ; to know that you are
blessed, that you forgive. all the pain I caused
you. I hare no more to ask ; God has been
good to me ; I thank him now from a full
heart. Stay with me till all is over, it will
not be long. Let your voice cheer me down
to the dark valley."

"Stay with him, Margaret, my wife," said
John, as I looked up to his face, with eager,
questioning eyes.

That night Charles Bleecker died. John
held him in those last moments in his strong
arms. I bent over him and wiped the death
damps from his brow. We closed his eyes
and did all that love and care could dictate ;
then John took me, weak and excited, from
the crowded hospital, through the city streets
to our hotel.

In our room alone, I, who had been so calm
and collected through the day, wept as though
all the flood-gates of the soul had been un-
closed. I was sheltered in John's arms all the
time. That was comfort. He soothed and
calmed me; then he said: "Margaret, be-
loved, there is no help like God's help, no
peace like God's peace. Let us pray."

We knelt down together, John's hand rested
upon my bowed head. Such a prayer as that
evening went up from human altaj^ I shall
never hear again. It commenced with strong
supplication, it ended like a song of praise.
I was very calm as we rose and stood together.

I put my arm around his neck, I found my
old secure resting place within his arms as I
said, "John, I love you; my heart is full.
God has been so good."

There was no answer. I only knew by the
closer caress, by the bowed head touching
mine, that our love is eternal, that it reaches
beyond the grave.

CHOCOLATE.

It was among the Mexicans that the Span-
iards found the use of coffee established from
time immemorial. They introduced it into
their native land, whence it soon passed into
Italy. But it was not till the seventeenth
century that it penetrated into France. Ac-
cording to a tradition, it is to Queen Marie
Therese that the French owe the populariza-
tion of chocolate. An officer of this princess
obtained a monopoly for the sale of chocolate,
and established himself in one of the princi-
pal thoroughfares at Paris. The use of choc-
olate spread with tolerable rapidity, as a
passage shows us in a letter of Madame de
Sevigne to her daughter : " You are not well ;
a little chocolate is sure to restore you ; but
you have not, as I have, a thousand times
thought of the means of preparing it. How
will you manage?" Medical science in this
matter favored fashion, and in 16S4 a physi-
cian of Paris, called Bachat, propounded at
the schools of the faculty, during his presi-
dency, a thesis to prove that chocolate well
made is an "invention of the gods rather
than Nectar and Ambrosia." This opinion
was also that of Linnaeus, who gave to cocoa
the name of Theobroma, or food of the gods.
Nevertheless, chocolate never acquired in
France the same popularity as coffee. The
reason of the difference may, perhaps, be
sought in the French organism. Suitable for
the inhabitants of hot, dry countries, choco-
late is too heavy for the man of the north.
On the other hand, coffee excites him, stim-
ulates him at the same time that it favors the
development of his ideas. Chocolate is still
less popular in England than in France, and
it is not coffee but tea which is in England the
prevailing beverage. Tea in France and coffee
in England are almost equally undrinkable.

— Either a thing is right to be done or it is
not ; there should be no neutral ground be-
tween dutv and inclination.

BE cnEEKFl'L,

BE CHEERFUL.

BT B. M. 8.

"A merry heart doth good like a medicine,
liut a broken spirit drieth the hones." So
saith good King Solomon, and though some
squeamish one may contend that this Is un-
commonly plain language, yet the proverb
usefully illustrates a universally accepted
truth. There is much allegorical aptness in
the superstitious saying, that "every sigh is
a drop wrung from the heart's blood;" but
laughter adds in manifold ways to longevity.
It awakes the mind to merriment, shakes the
dust of despondency from the soul, and loosens
the shackles of inertion from weak mortality.
So all ye who prize beauty, wisdom, and
happiness, follow the sage's advice, and wear
" a merry heart."

We seldom secure sympathy for bewailing
a sad destiny ; friends ordinarily prefer fun,
feasting, and frolic, to the sober realities of
every day life, becoming estranged by the
trials of penury and misfortune. They seek
only to share prosperity, and "a friend in
need" so seldom presents himself at the
desired season, that it is better never to be
needy. Appear to nourish, and you are
likely to do so ; but let your fortunes percep-
tibly depreciate, and you find yourself for-
saken. Even your familiar friend fears being
involved in the struggle ; just as the last
clutches of a drowning man would drag his
preserver down to a watery grave. While
thousands stand on the shore, perhaps not one
will rush to the rescue, and although such
circumstances are said to be excellent tests of
friendship, yet sometimes they are so very
thorough as to leave you alone and uneared
fori Is it not more desirable to rest in the
fancied favor of your friends, than to have
them all tried and found wanting ? But in
the midst of popularity, have a care lest you
become too proud of "disinterested" atten-
tions, and you should seem subservient, though
you reign despotically. If you are selfish or
overbearing, you inflict the same injury upon
others that you are striving to avoid. To
enjoy life, endeavor to promote universal
happiness.

Is there a luxury in grief ? Should we not
pity those miserably misanthropic mortals
who mope, moan, and mourn over irremedi-
able evils, at the expense of health, wealth,

and happiness, instead of thanking their lucky
Btara lor the superiority of their lot to that of
others around them ? Contrast, in such cases,
is a remedy as effective as it is effectual.
When " Flora MeFlimsey" requires a new
stylo of hat, show her that poor girl who
possesses not even an apology for a bonnet.
Or if "Mr. Frederick Fitzquisite, " growing
dissatisfied with his salary of "a thousand
per annum," indolently sighs for a handsome
expectancy; tell him of yon patient laborer
who supports himself and family on six
dollars a week. Even in lesser degrees of
comparison, we can always discover greater
objects of pity than ourselves.
. "Keep a stiff upper lip," and riso above
the clouds of adversity though they threaten
momentarily to overwhelm 3-011. Tims may
you be led to forget your precarious position,
until soon a ray of hope penetrates the ob-
scurity, and at last all darkness disappears,
the day dawning forth with renewed brilliancy.
Don't allow your mind to dwell on dismal
themes, lest a gloomy imagination run away
with you. It always augments grief and
magnifies misfortune. Interest yourself in
the present, and diffuse the extra pleasures
of a day throughout succeeding ones in order
to enliven the whole week. Preserve the
memory of past happiness until sure of a
fresh supply ; but never place yourself so as
to lose sight of both. It is as oppressive as
the darkness of a total eclipse.

Remember, when assailed by affliction, that
" every cloud has a silver lining ;" and could
we but see aright, many apparent calamities
are but blessings in disguise. "Hope is i
better companion than fear," and "morning
is ever the daughter of night." " Whatever
is, is right," and presumption alone would
avert the hand of Providence.

THE BUTTERFLY.

PAE LAMAKTIXB.

"Naitre dans le prlntemps, mourir eomme le-t roses."
Bo&ii in the springtime to die with the r

iiu the wing of a zephyr to swim the pin-
To float on the bosom the llow'ret InolOBee,

Ami sunshine and fragrance to drink till it die.
Still youthful, ami Shaking the dnst of it* wings,
Like a breath through tho blue vault eternal it i

The butterfly's charming existence is this.
It resembles desire, which is never at rest .
Which everything tasting deems nothing the best,

And returns towards hcavon to seek for its bliss.

IN SEARCH OF AN OWNER.

AN OUTLINE OF LIFE.

BT CHARLES D. GARDETTE.

The bell sounded, and the car stopped.

"Here's your change, sir," said the con-
ductor to my friend John Henry, as he emerged.

John Henry took the "currency," stepped
gracefully off the platform, tripped on the
step and fell in a rather unexpected manner,
I fancy, upon the bosom of a lady who was
advancing to enter the car. Considering the
suddenness of the embrace, she bore the
shock womanfully, and saved John Henry's
perpendicular as well as her own from being
instantly degraded into the horizontal. The
opportunity not being entirely favorable for a
prolonged tete-i-tete, they separated somewhat
hurriedly, the lady got into the car, and John
Henry and I went our pedestrian way without
special exultation.

"She wasn't at all abad-looking girl," said
John Henry, presently, in a meditative man-
ner, and as if rather to himself than to me.

"No, she wasn't," said I; "on the con-
trary, quite the reverse."

"And young ?" added he, interrogatively.

"Quite so!" I replied, with decision.

"Didn't know her, did you I"

"No I Hello I what 's that hanging to your
cravat ?"

John Henry put up his hand and took the
object off. Having taken it off, he looked at
it in a bewildered manner, and exclaimed :
"It 's a breasfpin, by George !"

Being reluctant to deny so evident a fact, I
agreed with him, and added that, "It was a
lady's brooch, to speak more correctly, I
thought."

"So it is," said John Henry; "a mosaic
brooch with a dandelion, or a daisy, or a dog-
wood flower on it !"

It was an anemone, but this was of no con-
sequence.

" I must have caught it from that damsel,"
continued John Henry, reflectively.

"Like the smallpox, eh?" suggested I.

" I mean it must have stuck to me when I
fell against her."

"I see no reason to dispute your conclu-
sion, John, ' ' said I ; " but now you ' ve got it,
40

in the words of the great romancist, ' what
will you do with it,' my boy?"

" Find the owner and return it, of course,"
exclaimed John Henry, as indignantly as if
he suspected a covert insinuation on my part
that he would immediately leave it with " his
uncle."

"Of course, " echoed I ; "but how?"

"Oh, the natural way ; by advertising it in
the papers."

" In how many, for instance ?"

" I mean only in one, of course. See here,
stop your eternal quizzing, Bolker, and let 's
be serious."

" Amen ! I'mas serious as — as England's
late professions of neutrality were, for in-
stance. Go on. What were you going to
remark ?"

"Just this. We'll advertise this thing,
you know, and thereby not only have the
pleasure of restoring it to its owner, but the
still greater ono of making her acquaintance-.
Don't you see ? She was a deuced pretty girl,
Bolker!"

"Agreed. Her father, or her brother, or
her cousin, or somebody, will call for it, thank
you, offer to pay expenses, and — voila ! as the
French say."

This supposition appearing probable to John
Henry, he looked mildly discomfited for a
moment. But, brightening up again : "Well,
never mind," said the noble-minded youth,
"we shall have done our duty, you know,
anyhow I"

"John Henry, your sentiments command
my admiration and excite my emulation!"
cried I, with more or less enthusiasm. "Let
us go and do the thing instanter .'"
We went and did it.

The next morning the following notice ap-
peared among the "Personals" of a widely
circulating daily : —

"If the young lady, against whom a gen-
tleman accidentally fell in getting out of a
city passenger-car at the corner of Tenth
Street and Hickory Square, yesterday morn-
ing, will call on, or send her address to John
Henry Jones, No. 50 Butternut Place, sh ]

IN SEARCH OF AN" OWNER.

will receive the mosaic brooch which she lost
on that occasion.

"N. B. The brooch has an anemone in-
crusted in the stone."

[John Henry insisted it was a dandelion,

and I had some difficulty in persuading hiin

-titute "anemone'' for that somewhat

less poetical wildllowcr. J. II. is not well up

in his botany.]

His conscience being appeased by this hon-
orable action, he waited tranquilly for the
result. I also waited with at least equal
tranquillity, and quite as comfortable an in-
ward monitor, if not more so.

II.

Forty-eight hours having passed without
any call for the brooch, John Henry's tran-
quillity became disturbed.

Going into his office to hear the " last bul-
letin," I caught him with the brooch before
him, gazing upon it with a melancholy fixity
of expression quite touching.

"She was a remarkably pretty girl, Bolker ! "
murmured he, with' a sigh.

His melancholy was catching. I echoed
his sigh, as I replied: "She was, indeed,
John Henry 1"

Suddenly an idea, passing through space
apparently unappropriated, was caught on the
wing by John Henry*

"Bolker," said he, "we ought to have
looked over the papers to see if the young
lady hasn't advertised her loss herself."

Not wishing to acknowledge my defect of
imagination, I replied that "I had thought so
all along."

" Then why the dickens didn't you suggest
it?" asked John Henry, logically enough.

But I did not conceive it consistent with
my dignity to answer this somewhat abrupt
query, so merely said : "Let 's do it now, my
boy."

We took up the pile. (J. H. files all his
papers — a legal habit he has : he hasn't many
of 'em.) John Henry read, while I looked
over his shoulder : —

"'Lost: a wallet containing' — that's not
it ! — ' a small black and tan' — nor that ! — ' a
carpet-bag, with' — go ahead! — 'a sable muff
and' — ' a gold locket, with a lock of — 'a gold
breastpin' — ha! no! it says 'enamel and jet.'
I A small mosaic breastpin' — that 's like it, by

George ! — ' a small mosaic breastpin or brooch,
f flower, not remembered what Sower;
somewhere between Berberry Street and Hick-
ory Square' — Hickory Square, you see! — 'on

V. !m -day morning' — ha! the very time! —
The finder will be suitably rewarded, and
confer a favor, by returning the article to No.
: .',. 'in Kow.' — Hurrah! that 's the tii
cried John Henry, wildly tossing up the paper.
"Let s go, right off!"

"Stop a minute," said I, again picking up
the journal, "there's a lot more losses here
yet. Let 's go over 'em all. There's no harm
in increasing the chances, my boy."

John Henry reluctantly consented, and I
continued to run down the column.

It was lucky I did, we both agreed, since
we found three more "mosaic brooches"
among the missing ; one without other descrip-
tion, but both the others mentioned as baring
"flowers" upon them, and, singularly enough,
all three lost, or at least missed and presumed
to be lost, within a reasonable distance of the
spot of John Henry's adventure.

The finder of the first (the one described as
simply "mosaic") was to call at "No. 190,
Tenth Street, West." Of the second, at "No.
202 i> Sycamore Place," and the picker-up of
the third was directed to " Cranberry Court,
no number, but the first house from the cor-
ner, lower side."

"Four strings to your bow, John Henry,"
said I.

"Why, it'll be a regular 'lark' going
round!" cried my friend, enthusiastically.
" Who knows bow many pretty girls we may
come across in these places, eh, Bolker ?
Wake up, man! You don't seem to see the
fun!"

" Oh, yes I do ! It will be equal to ' Japhet
in search of a father,' in point of dramatic
interest, I 've no doubt. I feel quite touched
by the situation. Suppose we make a story
of it, and call it, ' The Mystic Brooch ; or, The
Tangled Trace of the Mysterious Maiden?'
My sympathies are vividly enlisted, I assure
you — get the brooch 1 Hand the poor waif
here, John Henry, and let me kiss it for its
moth — its owner ! Aj>ro/jos, when do we Btart
upon this chivalrie quest .'"

"Right off, if you like. Let me see : Acorn
Row 's the nearest, only five minutes' walk,
we'll begin with that, if you say so."

" Come on ! Accoutred as I am I plunge,
without hesitation, into the adventure, and

godey's -lady's book: and magazine.

bid you follow — or, rather, lead — John Henry.
En avant .'"

III.

It was a tall, dingy brick house, with green
blinds, and a bedraggled female of tropical
complexion washing the front pavement.

"Who shall we ask for, Bolker?" whis-
pered John Henry. '

"Oh, I'm not particular. Any one you
like I" said I, modestly declining the respon-
sibility ; but, at the same time, pulling the
bell. .

"Confound you! Why can't you help a
fellow to a serious answer?" objurgated J. H.

"My dear fellow, recall the proverb, I beg
of you, which says, so forcibly, ' Help your-
self and others will help you.' It 's a good
proverb. Try a little of it."

"Look here, now, Bolker, if yon go on
much — ' '

" No, thank you, I 'd rather go in," said I,
as the door jxist then opened, and disclosed
another tropic female, not quite so bedraggled
as her double outside. And, suiting the
action to the word, I stepped into the hall.

"Is — does — is the young lady who lost a
mosaic brooch at home ?" asked John Henry,
of the tropic female.

"Lost abroach?" replied the F. F. showing
the whites of her eyes. " Wauk inter de
parler, sa, an' I'll tell Miss Bessy."

We walked into the parlor; and I was
instantly overcome with a presentiment, or
something even stronger, that we were in a
boarding-house. If it was anything stronger
than a presentiment, I fancy it must have
been the combined odor of dishcloth and
cabbage.

" I wonder if Miss Bessy is the exceedingly
pTetty girl I tumbled against!" murmured
John Henry, "eh, Bolker?"

"So do I!"

This apparently quenched further remark
on the part of J. H. for a time, and before he
recovered himself, "Miss Bessy" entered the
room.

I wish you could have seen John Henry's
face as his glance " took her in." As near as
I can describe it, the expression thereof was
a luminous representation of that extraordi-
nary physiognomical phenomenon, known as
' ' looking six Vays for Sunday. " With re-

gard to Miss Bessy's portraiture, I can only
state my conviction that, although at some
remote period she had undoubtedly been
young, no memory of man could have recalled
an epoch in which she had claimed, of right,
the homage that valor owes to beauty. •

" I — beg your pardon, ma'am," stammered
John Henry. ' ' Are you the y o — ■ the lady
who advertised the loss of a mosaic brooch?"

"Yes, sir, and I s'pose you've found it,
hav'n't you ?" replied Miss Bessy, speaking
with a snap to her words, as if she bit the
ends off just before she let go of them.

"Yes, ma'am — that is, no! I don't know,
I think not!" stammered poor John Henry,
perfectly off his feet, so to speak, and floun-
dering about in a sea of dilemma.

" What do you ask me for, then ?" snapped
Miss Bessy. "And what d'you come here
for, I 'd like to know, sir 1 If you think I 'm
going to give more 'n a dollar reward, you 're
mistaken, I can tell you, young man ; so you
needn't hold back."

"Madam," said John Henry, with a face
glowing in all the scarlet effulgence of insulted
dignity, "you are a — mistaken in my object;
but a further interview is unnecessary. Come,
Mr. Bolker."

"Look here, young man!" exclaimed Miss
Bessy, with a sharper snap than ever, "I'd
just thank you to explain — "

The last "young man" was too much for
John Henry. He rose sternly, and walked
to the door. ' ' I have not found your brooch,
ma'am," said he, " and, therefore, it is unne-
cessary to explain ! Good-morning!"

Just as we reached the front door, the
desire for revenge smote upon my friend's
soul, and he remarked to me, in a very audible
voice, "I say, what a confounded bad smell
there was in that old woman's parlor!"

And this observation seeming to appease
him, he became gay and happy again, and
laughed at "Miss Bessy's" impertinence, as
we walked away.

" Not very encouraging so far, is it, Bol-
ker ?" said he.

"Not specially, I cdnfess."

"Well, nevermind; let's put it through,
now that we 've undertaken it."

"John Henry, your perseverance is worthy
of a better cause ! Heaven speed you, my
boy ; but I must positively go to dinner !"

" What ! you 're not going to desert me in
this way, Bolker ? It isn't fair. Come, old

IN" SEARCH OF AX OWNER.

fellow, there 's Quae ohanoes y.-t for that un-
commonly pretty girl! We'll dino together
at the ' I'nivers.it, ' afterwards."

u Friend of my better days, I 'm with you
still! Say no more, hut go ahead!" I ex-
claimed, with heroie resignation, and a resolvo
to have a bottle of Werk's Catawba at dinner,
on John Henry's account, in case of final dis-
appointment in his search, and in caso of
success on my own.

We therefore wended our way to No. 190
Tenth Street, West. It was a neat, new house,
with white marble steps, and hanging baskets
m the front parlor windows. John Henry
remarked that "his heart beat high with hope
elate," and I saw no reason to disbelieve his
Statement. In point of fact, my own was, in
a mild degree, similarly affected.

"I tell you what, Bolker, " said J. H. as we
went up the white marble steps, "we're all
right this time, I 'm sure. The lovely girl
dwells herein, without a doubt. For your
sake, Bolker, I wish there may be two of
'em."

"Thank you!" said I, appreciating his
generous wish deeply, and feeling no objec-
tion whatever to its realization. "Thank
you, John Henry! I join in the sentiment !"
At this crisis, the door was opened by a
neatly dressed young female, whose chief
defects of person consisted in red hair, a turn-
up nose, and a double-barrelled squint.

" Is the young lady who lost a brooch last
Wednesday at home?" asked John Henry, in
a honeyed voice.

The greatly dressed female gazed up street
with her right eye, and down street with her
left eye, simultaneously, and replied : —
"An' hev' ye foun' the broach, sirr!"
"That is of no consequence to you," said
J', n., with the honey entirely gone, and a
wintry acid in its place. "Is your mistress
at home?"

" An' supposin' she is, sirr, that 's nothin'
to do wid the broach. An' if it 's no conse-
quence to me, sirr, I 'd like to know who it is
to, thin ; seein' it 's mesilf that has lost the
same, and paid a whool dollar for pittin' it in
the paper, sirr."

John Henry gasped ; his feelings were evi-
dently far too many for him, and, without
uttering a word, he turned and fled, leaving
me standing in the doorway.

The young female gazed wildly in two op-
posite directions at once, for an instaut, then

turning to me, and looking fixedly at the tip
of her nose, "Is it mad ho is?" she asked,
hastily.

The question was certainly a natural one,
and as simple as it was apt ; but, not finding
a convenient reply at the moment, and con-
sidering discussion the bitter part of valor,
under the circumstances, I availed myself Of
the adage that "imitation is the Binoerest
flattery," and complimented John Henry by
putting it into immediate practice.

It was with a chastened spirit that John
Henry — nay ! let me also confess it ! — it was
with chastened spirits that John Henry and I
wended our way toward No. 2025 Sycamore
Place. Hope had ceased to tell a flattering tale,
and if she still sprung eternal in the human
breasts of J. H. and myself, it was as much
as a match, and certainly nothing worth men-
tioning in the way of a spring. Therefore,
when we arrived at the elegant brown-stone
mansion in Sycamore Place, and upon making
the usual inquiry of the servant in livery who
opened the ebony door to us, were answered
that " Hiss Tynsell had lost a valuable brooch,
and had advertised it ; but it had been returned
that morning," we were not wholly unpre-
pared for the shock.

"Bolker!" exclaimed John Henry, with
manly resignation, as we slowly descended
the lofty steps, " Bolker, the die is cast ! We
sha'n't find her. Th'at wonderfully lovely
girl upon whose virgin bosom I momentarily
reposed is evidently a myth, an airy nothing
without a local habitation or a name, and the
brooch will turn out to be a pebble or a leaf,
like the conjuror's money in the fairy tale-
The whole circumstance was a vision, Bolker,
and life, generally, will prove to be a dream,
in accordance with Bishop Berkeley's theory.
Let us go to dinner!"

"Your fortitude, John Henry," said I. ad-
miringly, "is godlike, and your last remark
is replete with thoughts that glow and words
that burn. I feel them sensibly, at this mo-
ment, in my epigastric region. But do yon
not forget ' Cranberry Court, no number, the
first house from the corner?' "

"That which is delayed," auswered J. H.,
sententionsly, "is not necessarily lost. Let us
reserve Cranberry Court for our bonne bouche."

GODET'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

At this moment John Henry glanced me-
chanically up at the front windows of the
elegant brown-stone mansion, No. 2025, oppo-
site which we were still hesitating, and in-
stantly griped my arm in a very painful
manner. '

"Ah! Oh! what's the matter?" cried I,
, writhing out of his gripe, and looking at him
apprehensively. "Are you going to have a
fit?"

"I saw her! She came to that window!
She's in that house, Bolker, by Jupiter!"
exclaimed John Henry, evidently in a frenzied
state of mind, and immediately darted up the
steps again.

Fearful of an approaching crisis, I rushed
after him, and, getting between his out-
stretched hand and the bell-pull, besought
him to be calm, and restrain himself till we
could find a cab to take him home.

"Pshaw!" said he, with unnecessary petu-
lance, considering the kindness of my offer,
" don't be a fool, Bolker ! I tell you there is
some mistake. That lovely young lady is
certainly in this house. I saw her distinctly
at the window, a moment ago. Let me alone,
will you ? I know what I'm about."

"You 're about to do something rash, John
Henry," I answered; "but go on ! I wash
my hands of the entire responsibility!"

J. H. only poohed ; then taking out his
card-case he wrote a few words on a card, and
handed it to me while he pulled the bell.

It was simply — "John Henry Jones's com-
pliments, and requests the favor of a moment's
conversation with the young lady who has
lost the brooch mentioned in the accompany-
ing advertisement."

Perceiving that J. H. had recovered his
usual serenity, I returned the card without
remark, and the liveried servant just then
opening the door, my friend handed him the
pasteboard with the slip cut from the paper,
and requested him to give it to Miss Tynsell.
Upon which we were ushered into the parlor,
in a bewildered sort of way, by the flunkey,
and awaited the result with rekindled emo-
tions of hope and suspense.

In a few moments the door opened, and
two — yes, two charming maidens made their
appearance, both evidently recovering from a
recent attack of cachinnation.

"Mr. Jones, I presume," said the taller of
the two, smiling upon me.

John Henry's face became of a gorgeous

hue, as he hastened to explain that he was
Mr. Jones, and. very unnecessarily, to add
that I was his friend Mr. Bolker ; whereat
both the damsels just escaped a relapse into
their late state of hilarity. I, however, bore
J. H. no malice for thus introducing me. In-
deed, I rather liked it.

"You will excuse our smiling," said the
same maiden who had spoken before; "but
really it seemed so queer that my friend Miss
Deane and I should both have lost our breast-
pins the same day, and that we should have
been disputing as to whether the one left here
this morning was hers or mine, for they are
both exactly alike, when your card was
brought up to us."

We all agreed it was quite a coincidence,
and, recalling the manner of John Henry's
obtaining possession of Miss Tynsell' s brooch,
we became as merry over it as if we had all
been familiarly acquainted for a long time.

"Why did you not advertise your loss,
Miss Deane, if the question be not indiscreet ?' '
I asked, after our merriment had subsided.

"Oh, I did, sir!" replied that bright-eyed
little damsel. " I valued it very highly, for it
was a gift from Mr. Tynsell, who has been
very, very kind to me, and gave Julia and me
each one last New Year's, just alike. I have
the advertisement in my pocket. Here it
is."

I took the slip from her fair hand, and
glancing at it, beheld the words : ' ' Will please
return it to Cranberry Court, no number, the '
first house from the corner !"

" John Henry," said I, " allow me to have
the pleasure of offering you the ' bonne louche'
referred to." And I handed him the news-
paper slip.

J. H. looked dreamily at me as he took it,
but woke to a smiling consciousness the
moment he had looked at it. Then, in a tone
of mild reproach, which, under less cheerful
circumstances, would have cut me to the
soul, he said softly : " Hadn't you better call
a cab to take me home before the ' fit' comes,
on?"

The young ladies' countenances wore so
singular an expression, that it became neces-
sary to make a rapid explanation. I related
our morning's experience in "search of the
owner of the brooch," in a manner, which, I
fancy, wa3 creditable to my talents as a
humorist.

At any rate, my story capped the climax of

IX SEARCH OF AX OWXER.

our acquaintance with Miss Tynsell .anil Miss
Deane to such a degree that, .is we hade
them good-morning, John Henry found an
amount of courage somewhere about his per-
son sufficient to ask Miss Tynsell if he "might
call again, and bo formally presented by their
mutual friend, Mr. Dawkius ?" To which she
very graciously answered that " it would give
her pleasure."

"I'll take you along, of course, Bolter,"
said my friend, with generous condescension,
when we got into tho street. "Isn't sho a
singularly lovely girl ?"

'■Yes! Where is Cranberry Court, John
Henry?"

! just round the corner. Let us go to
dinner. I '11 see Phil Dawkius to-night." He
had the bottle of Catawba, and one of Chateau
Squem besides.

"And now," said I to myself, as I "bade
John Henry good-bye, and saw him go off in a
very exhilarated manner to hunt up Dawkius,
" aud now for my bonne'bouchc ."'

Nobody "presented mo formally" to the
family in "Cranberry Court, first houso from
the corner." And yet within a week I had
made three visits there. Miss Deaue was the
only daughter of a former clerk of Mr. Tyn-
sell's. Her father was dead, and her mother
and herself were the reverse of affluent.
Being rather in that way myself made things
very cheerful and unreserved between us.

It is now something over a year since John
Henry fell upon Miss Tynsell.

I called, with my wife, at No. 2025 Syca-
more Place on Wednesday last to congratu-
late Mrs. and Mr. John Henry Jones upon
their safe return from the bridal tour.

John Henry so far forgot his American
stoicism as to embrace me with unction before
twenty people, to most of whom I was an
utter stranger.

" Remember the 'fit,' John Henry, and be
calm," whispered I, returning his accolade
nevertheless.

"My dearest Julia!" exclaimed my wife,
kissing Mrs. J. II. Jones thirteen times, " I m
so delighted you 've come back. William has
found a house to suit us at last, and we 're
going to move out of that horrid Cranberry
Court next week!"

By William it is perhaps hardly necessary
to explain that Mrs. Bolker referred to the
present writer, who has enjoyed the happiness

of calling her " Helen, my dear." in a conju-
gal way, for nearly five months.

John Henry's formal presentation to Miss
Tynsell had something to do, perhaps, with the
slowness of his wooing. However, John Henry
has found "tho owner" he was in search of
at last, and converted her into a joint pro-
prietor ; while I am the enviable possessor of
a delicious bonne buiirhevrhose sweet excellence
will be constantly renewed .to me, I trust, all
tho days of my life !

THE CASKET OE TEMPERANCE.

DY WILL IK E . PABOR.

(Pearl the Seventh.)

"REMEMBER, REMEMBEU!"
0 Youth ! In your promise, your faith, and )'"ur prlds,
Remember, remembov, tho strength of tho tide.
It sweeps down the current the good and the brave,
And bears in its bosom a gulf aud a grave.
The wine-cup may sparkle with beams of tbo sun ;
Remember — remember — from whence it is won.
It comes with its pleasures that change into pains ;
It comes with its promise, bnt never remains ;
How many have travelled, with light heart aud free,
Remember — remember — the way to the se '
But free heart and light heart have vanished away.
And doubt aud the darkness have shadowed tho day.
The spell of tho tempter is subtle, yet strong!
Remember — remember — it binds to the wrong.
Then nothing can save yon ! and nothing recall
The hopes that will vanish away at yonr fall.
The loves you may cherish — the Bowers of the heart-
Remember — remember — will all, all depart.
The blossoms of spring-time, the roses of May,
Like vapors of morning will vanish away.
The promise of manhood, pride, honor, aud fame
Remember — remember — will change into shame.
And over life's record this epitaph stand:
He ditd by the poison that curses the laud.

0 brother! my brother! to you I appeal !
Remember — remember— you win wo or n
Though tide is against you, though current is swift,
The Pharos of safety shines over the drift.
And nut o'er the waters a beckoning hand
Remember — remember — points out the sure land.
'Tis the Temperance signal that floatc. on tho air!
0 brother ! my brother ! true safety is there.

Theke is a class of good women who have
no right to marry good men, for they have the
power of saving those who would go to ruin
but for the guiding providence of a good wife.

ONLY A MECHANIC.

iT ilAEY W. JASVRIK.

"I tell you, sister Jane, that, were I a
young woman, I would, to-day, rather risk
my chances of happiness with Gilbert Ainslie
than Bradbury Golding. But, then, young
folks will choose for themselves ; and old
uncles are in the way, if they offer advice."

"Why, John Lyman, how you talk ! This
Ainslie is only a mechanic, clever enough, in
his way, I dare say ; but I should consider
that my Alicia had thrown herself away, and
all her elegant accomplishments were wasted,
if she married one of his class I" responded^
eccentric old John Lyman's haughty widow
sister.

" Highty-tighty ! Jane Ingersoll, you forget
that your brother John was a 'mechanic'
himself once, and acquired his fortune by his
trade — a carpenter; so no reflections, if you
please, good sister 1" said the old gentleman,
with a shake of his forefinger.

"Brother John, why will you persist in
such vulgar notions ? I do believe you enjoy
mortifying me ! Every one knows that you
were an architect, which is a profession of
itself!" returned the lady.

"A carpenter, Jane — a carpenter, at first;
then, a master builder 1" persisted the old
gentleman, with a twinkle in his keen, gray
eyes ; for true it was that he most thoroughly
enjoyed combating the foolish pride which
caused Mrs. Ingersoll to keep up a "genteel"
style of living on a moderate annuity, and de-
prive herself of many necessary comforts, that
her only daughter — something of a belle and
beauty — might attract a wealthy parti in mar-
riage. " What 's the use of disguising names
in this plain, republican country, where a
man of the masses may — provided he has the
brain-power — work himself upward to wealth,
position, and into the presidential chair, even !
I contend that a mechanic is as good as the
highest born ; and that 's why I have taken a
fancy to this young Ainslie ; because he 's
manly, intelligent, not had looking, and
working away at his trade for two dollars a
day, just as I did at his age before I got to
be an ' architect, ' eh, Jane ? And I intend to
stick to it, Jane, that he '11 make a worthy
husband for any girl who is fortunate enough
46

to win him ; no disparagement to your daugh-
ter's lover, though of course for I don't know
the young man much. But I do know Ain-
slie."

"Well, we won't talk over improbabilities,
brother John," said Mrs. Ingersoll, coldly.
"Alicia's lot is cast; and, for my part, I
cannot but think it is very advantageous for
young married people to have something to
start upon. It relieves them from much
anxiety, and affords them means of enjoying
life while they can ; while your people that
acquire a fortune are always obliged to wait
till they 're old bef^^ they can take any
comfort."

" Sister Jane, I know that a man's happiest
years are those spent in working for his
money, and laying the foundations of his
competence or his fortune 1 I tell you, we
can't all be born with silver spoons in our
mouths ; we must be content to begin at the
bottom of the ladder, and work our way up ;
and, if you look around the world, you '11 see
that the self-made men are the pillars of
society."

Uncle John Lyman was prone to get a little
in earnest when talking on his favorite point ;
hut he brought up suddenly this time.

" However, no more on this subject to-day.
It 's natural, of course, for you to wish Alicia
to make the best possible match. You say
she is engaged to this young Golding she 's
out riding with to-day ?"

"Yes!" and Mrs. Ingersoll uttered the
monosyllable in a tone of triumph. "He
offered himself at Georgiana Lorimer's party,
right in the face of her superior expectations.
You know Mr. Lorimer is immensely wealthy,
brother John !"

" Hum — yes ; old Job Lorimer has a pretty
figure ; though they do say the daughter is
none too handsome. It was Alicia's face that
had something to do . with it — eh, Jane ?
.Well, she 's won the lion from them all, it
seems ! Will she be married before long,
Jane ?" he asked, in his straightforward,
business manner.

Again Mrs. Ingersoll's maternal triumph
was manifest in her flushed cheek and her

OXLY A MECHANIC.

answer. " Mr. Golding urges a short engage-
ment. Probably the wedding will bo by
June."

'•And it 'a now April. Two months, Jane.
And there '!1 be a great to do — white silk dress-
es, gloves, veils, orange-blossoms, and all that ;
and then a trip to the springs or the moun-
tains. I suppose!" queried the old gentleman.
''Dow differently they do these ceremonies
now than when you and I were young, Jane!
Not that I remember much about my own
wedding," he said, facetiously, for Undo
John was a merry old bachelor, "but I was
thinking of the time when you and Oliver
II were doubled, Jane. White roses
and a plain muslin were thought very fine then,
you know ?"

"Of course I shall make some show for
Alicia. Her future prospects will demand it,"
said Mrs. Ingersoll, with a toss of her head
that set all her ribbons astir. "Golding's
family are among the best connected in the
city, you know, brother John."

"Hum — that means they call themselves
'aristocratic,' the younger folks — for the
itleman 's always been too busy to care
about your frippery called 'social distinc-
tions!' " returned the old gentleman. "Well.
I suppose that, after the wedding is all over,
the young couple will settle down to house-
keeping, and the young man into steady
business

"Oh, people do not follow the pattern of
their grandmothers now-a-days, brother John!
It is quite fashionable now to hoard the first
year, at least ; and, as Alicia will go into
society a great deal, they will take rooms at
some first-class boarding-house. Should they
go to housekeeping afterwards, I shall make
my home with my daughter. Yes, Mr. Gold-
ing will go into his father's firm. I have
heard it hinted that, as the old gentleman is
failing, he will retire soon, and give up en-
tirely to Bradbury."

•'•Well. I don't know much about the young
man's business capacities ; but it looks tome
as though the old gentleman made half his
fortune by a shrewd head and judicious
economy. ' A penny saved is twopence earned, '
you know, Jane. I hope the son will fol-
low somewhat in his father's footsteps ! But
I'm sorry the young folks won't conclude to
go to housekeeping in a comfortable, mod-
erate way. This hoarding at fashionable
places taps the till, Jane ; besides leading to

high notions and fostering extravagant habits.
But then, as I said before, 'tisu't well for old
uncles to meddle with young folks' affairs
without being invited. I hope everything
will turn out for the best ! Did this young
Ainslie ever pay any particular attention to
Alicia — offer himself, I mean?" he asked,
abruptly.

Mrs. Ingersoll's haughty neck curved sud-
denly. " Certainly not ! My daughter nevc^r
encouraged him at all, after she learned his
position, which happened when she'd met
him three or four times. The young man
wasn't to blame, of course, if he admired
Alicia ; but I have always thought sister
Sarah was, in giving him the entrte of genteel
society at her house, for it was there they
met ; and every one was shocked at his heiug
there."

" Oh ho ! then everyone must vent their
indignation on old John Lyman; for he it
was who invited Ainslie to Mrs. Sarah Ger-
ry's !" said the old gentleman, with an amused
smile and keen twinkling eyes. "I saw no
good reason why the young man shouldn't
pass his evenings with young folks of his own
age ; so I took him there. You look surprised,
Jane."

••Well, brother John, yon do have the
queerest ideas ! No wonder people call you
' an eccentricity !' But I only hope neither of
Sarah's girls will fall in love with your put !
You '11 ho bringing that about nest ; and they
are nice, clever girls, and might do better."

"Oh, don't worry, Jane! If Alicia looked
down upon him, it isn't likely he '11 want to
come into the family in a hurry!" replied
Uncle John, with the queerest smile on his
lips. " But let 's change the subject. Alicia
will want some 'wedding-gear ; and you know
I always said I meant to do something for my
sisters' girls when they got married ! " And ho
drew forth a plethoric leather wallet as he 1
spoke.

Mrs. Ingersoll's eyes sparkled. Visions of a
munificent dowry for her daughter danced
before her eyes. "I'm sure you're very
kind, brother John!" she said, feeling that
some expression was necessary.

"Oh, an old man who never had any girls
of his own must expect to stand godfather in
these matters to his nieces ! Here 's a triflo
for Alicia!" and he handed his sister a roll
of bank notes.

"I 'm sure Alicia would thank you if she

godey's lady's book and magazine.

were here. She thinks so much of her dear
Uncle John!" was the gratified reply, Mrs.
Ingersoll's fingers closing over the gift.

"Pooh, pooh I the child is welcome to it.
Tell her Uncle John is glad she is going to
make out so well. But I must be going, for I
want to call round at Sarah's. Good-morn-
ing, Jane !"

"Good-morning, dear brother John!" was
the smiling answer.
a Hardly had old John Lyman's feet turned
up the sidewalk in the direction of Mrs. Ger-
ry's home, ere, from the opposite direction,
came a dashing span of grays and an elegant
carriage, which turnout drew up at the curb-
stone before Mrs. Ingersoll's door ; and, amid
the half admiring and half envious glances of
neighbors peeping from behind blinds and
curtains, the tall, stylish Alicia Ingersoll was
handed out by her affianced, the showy, fash-
ionable Bradbury Golding. With a wave of
his gloved hand, and a how, the gentleman
bade her good-morning at the door ; her
plumed hat and trailing carriage shawl dis-
appeared within ; and the gray span dashed
away down street, this time passing old Uncle
John on the pave. The old gentleman gazed
a moment after the equipage, recognizing the
occupant, who gave a wave of his hand, in
passing, to his betrothed's "queer," "odd,"
"eccentric" uncle. But, then, said "eccen-
tricity" was reputed very wealthy ; and these
sort are seldom slighted. So the old gentle-
man gazed after the spanking team and the
fast young man, then jhit his lips together
closely and walked on down street.

Alicia Ingersoll, meantime, had tripped up
to her dressing-room, laid aside her wrappings,
adjusted her magnificent braids of purple
black hair, then descended to the room where
her mother still sat, with "dear brother
John's" gift in her hand. But there was an
unpleasant expression in the lady's face, and
a flush of anger and disappointment on her
cheek.

" What do you think, Alicia, my love?"
she exclaimed. "Your Uncle John has been
here, and actually given you only five hundred
dollars for your wedding-present I And he
counts his money by hundreds of thousands !
Contemptible, isn't it ? I declare, I never
was so vexed in my life as when I looked at
the amount after he left. And — will you
believe it ? — he seemed to manifest real con-
oejn to think you snubbed that mechanic,

Ainslie, he 's making such a prolOji of; and
it was him who introduced him at Sarah's
house ! I always felt sure she never invited
him."

"Well, if my venerable uncle wishes to
adopt Mr. Ainslie, or call him 'nephew,' I
hav'n't the least objection, mamma, provided
I'm not implicated !" replied the beauty, in
a tone of cool contempt. "As for his fortune,
he can't live always, and some of us will have
it at last 1 See this splendid diamond ! Brad-
bury's gift this morning, mamma!" displaying
the gem on her snowy finger. "Five hun-
dred— it will hardly buy my wedding veil!"
she added, in a tone of undisguised vexation.
" I suppose, if Mary were about to be married,
he 'd open his purse a little wider, notwith-
standing he 's always said he should do the
same for all his nieces. He 's a mean, stingy
old thing!" and the elegant epithet slipped
vehemently from the tongue that customarily
uttered only most dulcet words, or trilled
Italian warblings.

Uncle John Lyman walked briskly along
the sidewalk, striking his gold-headed cane
lightly upon the pavement, and whistling an
old tune softly. He was a queer, boyish old
gentleman was Uncle John ; a compound of
good sense, whims, eccentricities, and good-
humor, which qualities manifested themselves
at the oddest seasons.

Threading two or three streets, he entered
a less fashionable, still a perfectly genteel
quarter of the city, and ascended the steps of
a plain, neat house, where his sister Sarah
resided. Mrs. Gerry was also a widow ; and
her family consisted of three children — a son,
well-established in business, who was the
chief support of his mother — Fanny, a pros-
perous music-teacher — and Mary, the young*
est, only seventeen, and her mother's assistant
in the household minage. Little Mary — blue-
eyed, vivacious, affectionate, and with a fund
of good sense in her curly head — was also her
Uncle John's pet, and consequently looked
upon with no good feelings by her Aunt Jane,
who feared in her a rival to Alicia in the old
gentleman's fortune, notwithstanding bis as-
sertion that all his nieces should share alike
in his good graces.

Now, Uncle John, upon entering the hall,
was met by Mary, who wore one of the neatest
of morning-dresses and her brightest smile ,of
welcome.

OXUY A MECIIAXIC.

"Hey, pass I where 's mother ? Up In the
Bitting-room ' Well, I 've come to stay to
dinner >ui paddings, and

presently I '11 do ample justice to your cook-
ery, for I am famous hungry already I"

Mary laughed ; kissed her merry uncle,
then (rent back to the kitchen, where she was
superintending the only domestic they kepi ;
while Dhole John asoended the stairs to tho
room where his sister sat sewing. By and
by — the dinner under process of completion —
Mary found leisure to trip up stairs and enjoy
a chat with her ancle.

"Well, Mollis, what news do yon think I
brought f" he asked, as she seated herself.
"Been telling it to your mother. Just como
from your Aunt Jane's, and heard of Alicia's
engagement !"

" It is true, then ? I knew Mr. Golding was
Very attentive,'' sail Mary, with interest.

"True? of course it is! They were out
riding together this morning. Are going to
be married in June — have a grand wedding,
and whirl off somewhere among fashionable
folks, and then come back and go to boarding.
Great doings, Mollie ! When think old Undo
John will be called to congratulate you on
your engagement ?"

Mary looked unaccountably confused, but
laughed at her old uncle's words.

"Yes, I suppose your handsome cousin's
going to get a fine husband ; though, to tell
the whole story, I scolded Jane a little for not
making the girl encourage young Ainslie,
who, you know, was quite taken with her
that night at your party. But she snubbed
him ; and he never dared look any further in
:arter. They do say, though, Mollie,
that he casts sheep's eyes on a little girl
round in these parts ! How is it, Mollie ? You
tter secure him; for I prophesy that
the girl who gets him will never repent it!"
and the old gentleman looked mischievously
into her face.

Again that unaccountably vivid blush deep-
ened on Mary Gerry's dimpled cheeks, and she
looked toward her mother with a beseeching
glance. Mrs. Gerry also looked conscious,
and was about to speak ; but with the opening
words, "Brother John,'' little Mary escaped
from the room.
■' Mrs. Gerry spoke now without restraint.

" Brother John, I was going to speak to you
to-day on an important subject. We all know
that Gilbert Ainslie was pleased with Alicia
vol. lxix. — 5

that first night he met her here, but her

ity manner repelled lTim ; and now, he

irg that lie ever saw anything to admire

in her. and realizes also that she would never

have been the wife for him. But I do not

blame Alicia so much for her notions ; she

■en educated to them. It is Jane's

doings. And I am glad to hear that my niece

is likely to marry so well. But you will be

surprised, John, to learn that Mr. Ainslie is

not only 'pleased' with my Mary, but has

made her a formal offer of his hand. It was

sudden — only last evening — and she referred

him to me, and to you, too, brother John."

"Good ! And Mollie must marry him — that
is, provided she cares for him ; and of course
she does, or thoso blushing cheeks of hers
tell a big fib. Tell her we all give our consent —
that is, / do ! Where is she ? Here, Mollie !"

Uncle John's call was from the hall at the
top of the staircase ; and soon bis little niece
came, blushing more deeply than ever, iu
answer to the summons.

"Well, well, if this isn't a pretty muss!
Two engagements in the family the same day !
You 're a sly rogue, Mollie, and I don't see
but your blue eyes have doue as much execu-
tion as your cousin's black ones. When is
the wedding-day, Mollie?"

" 0 uncle !" was all the girl could utter.

"Why, brother John, the child is hardly-
engaged, yet!" said her mother, smilingly.
"She don't think of being married this long
time — not for a year, at least. Seventeen is
too young."

"But eighteen isn't, Sarah! Mollie, when
does your next birthday come?" queried
Uncle John.

"The seventh of next November, uncle,"
answered Mary, demurely.

'■ Well, that 's a very reasonable time for a
lover to wait. And you can get all nicely;
settled before Thanksgiving — when I '11 come
and eat turkey with you, for of course you '11
keep house, Mollie .'"

"Why, John, how you do love to settle
affairs!" said Mary's mother. Of course,
though, if Mary marries, she will go to house-
keeping. I think her own tastes and wishes
would point that way ; and I should be very
loath to trust a daughter of mine to the arti-
ficial life of a fashionable boarding-house.
3, you know, if she marries Mr. Ainslie.
they'll have to commence in a small way, ss
he is dependent upon his earnings.''

godey's lady's book and magazine.

"Well, after all, Mollie, I don't know but
you had better give this young man the mit-
ten I" said Uncle John, teasingly. "He isn't
rich, you know, and can't afford to keep you
a great lady. ' Besides, what will Aunt Jane
say, when she finds that one of her nieces is
about to throw herself away on a mechanic ?"

Mary Gerry did not answer ; but she looked
bewitchingly defiant as she glanced from under
her drooping eyelashes into her uncle's face ;
and, plainly as words could have spoken, her
blue eyes negatived the old gentleman's pro-
position.

"Well, well, I see how it' is! The same
old human nature peeping out, Mollie ! Let
the old give advice as they will, the young
will always walk into the fire with their eyes
wide open. You 're bent on having Ainslie,
I know. But, if you 're going to set up
housekeeping, there '11 be lots of cutting and
■stitching to do between now and next Novem-
ber ; so, my child" — drawing forth the wallet
that had so recently figured at Mrs. Ingersoll's
— "here's a little to help you get your fix-
ings ; and I guess we can trust Gilbert Ainslie
for taking care of his little wife after he gets
her!" and he counted out five one hundred
dollar bills into Mary's pretty, pink palm.

"0, Uncle John!" was all his niece could
say, as she kissed him warmly, with the tears
filling her blue eyes ; while her mother
thought that the wide earth held not such
another as her good brother John.

"There! there! don't cry and spoil your
blue eyes, child ! ' ' said the old gentleman,
smiling, though his hand lingered a moment
caressingly on her soft, brown hair. "I
always said I meant to give my nieces a trifle
some day, when it came round right ; and
Fanny's turn '11 be next. Run down stairs,
Mollie ! I'm sure I smell your pudding burn-
ing!"

"Just think, mother, five hundred dollars!"
exclaimed little Mary, when they were to-
gether that afternoon. " It will get me such
a nice outfit ! How good Uncle John is .' the
dearest, best uncle in the world!"

Let ns now — premising that the weddings
of Alicia Ingersoll and her cousin, Mary Gerry,
' occurred at the periods duly set — let us now,
making a bridge of our good gold pen, lightly
pass over a lapse of ten years, and then look
in upon the dramatis personal of our story.

Uncle John's hair has gotten many a thread

of silver, and there is a more decided stoop in
his broad shoulders ; yet he is still hale and
hearty, his heart is young as ever, and his
laugh as merry and fresh. To such as old
John Lyman, years bring only ripeness and
mellowness — not the acidity and gloom which
so often render old age the most unlovely
period of life. The old gentleman now makes
his home with his sister Sarah ; Fanny and
her brother having been established in new
homes long since, and Mrs. Ingersoll making
one of Alicia's household, at the expiration of
two years after her marriage, in a fashionably
furnished house with a retinue of servants,
up town.

The passage of these ten years had not
failed to bring changes to Mrs. Golding and
Mrs. Ainslie ; which, perhaps, cannot be better
portrayed than by accompanying Uncle John
in a call on both, one fine, sunny spring
morning.

Setting out from Mrs. Gerry's, the old gen-
tleman, with his never-failing gold-headed
cane, walked onward with a step brisk and
firm as that of many a man years his junior.
Out of the quarter where stood the fashionable
residences of the city, he paused before a
small, dingy, brick house ; turned up its
steps, and rang.

A frowsy-headed, slip-shod girl answered
the summons, and admitted him into a small
parlor furnished with faded, gaudy uphol-
stery— evidently the relics of a once more
prosperous mansion.

" Tell your mistress it is Uncle Lyman, and
she may let me come right up stairs," was
his message.

" 0, sir ; but missus is poorly this mornin,'
and the ould lady is busy with the childer ;
for a power o' trouble they make when the
grandmother is after seein' to 'em !" said the
daughter of the Emerald isle, in the richest
brogue of the Celtic tongue.

"Never mind, they'll be glad to see me,
and I ' 11 not wait for any one to come down ! ' '
and Uncle John proceeded up stairs to the
family sitting-room ; where he was greeted
by a vision of his niece, in a soiled, and
somewhat dilapidated brocade wrapper — that,
too, a relic of former finery — lying on a lounge,
with a novel in her hand, which she tucked
under the cushions at his entrance.

In an instant more, a troop of children
rushed into the apartment from a room beyond
styled "the nursery," for Mrs. Golding still

ONLY A MECHANIC.

kept up the forms of her fashionable life;
and saluted their visitor with a succession
of forays on his coat pockets. Supplying
their present wants from a stock of candies
and apples with which he had fortified him-
self, Mr. Lyman turned to greet his sister
lane, who had entered after her grandchil-
dren's noisy advent.

"Good-morning, sister Jane ! Thought I 'd
call round and see how you all are this fine
day. Glorious weather!" was the old gentle-
man's salutation in a cheery voice.

" Well, I suppose we are as well as anybody
could expect who knows what we endure with
the contrasts to our former lot !" replied Mrs.
Ingersoll, fretfully, and in a kind of aggrieved
tone, as if her brother were the cause of re-
duced fortunes, which had proceeded, solely,
from united extravagance of expenditure and
the habits of dissipation which had fastened
on the once gay, elegant, wealthy Bradbury
Holding, leading to his squandering his inher-
ited fortune, the neglect and mismanagement
of his business, till he had failed — been forced
to give up his expensive establishment — and
now was reduced to a clerk's pittance. " Ali-
cia never is well now ; and it '11 quite kill her
it" she lives two years more in this stived,
gloomy house !"

" Why don't you open the blinds, and have
the sun in on you ?" asked Uncle John, suit-
ing the action to the word, and revealing the
sallow, faded face of the former belle and
beauty. "You ought to go out and take the
air ; stir round, and see to your domestic
affairs! You don't live right, niece !" he said,
bluntly.

"Ah, we never shall live right again!"
sighed Mrs. Ingersoll ; then she added, with a
meaning glance at her brother, " It does seem
hard that there is so mnch money in the
world, and yet those cannot have it who are
actually suffering !"

But, as old John Lyman saw no evidences
of "actual suffering iu his uiece's home — only
of wastefulness and determined Idleness — he
refrained from taking any hints ; and wisely
employed the remnant of his call in conver-
sation on general topics of the day, and a
frolic with the children. Rising at length, he
said : " I must call round at niece Mary's
before going home ?" and bade them a plea-
sant good-morning.

"It's always 'niece Mary!'" exclaimed
Mrs. Ingersoll, as soon as he was out of hear-

ing. " I shouldn't won.l.ir if she was his sole
heiress yetl You know he always liked her
husband, Alicia! Who'd have thought that
Ainslie would havo made out so well?"

"0, mother, don't be always harping on
the Ainslies ! You know / could hay
Mary's husband once ; but I wouldn't look at a
mechanic ! Bradbury was a gentleman ." ' retorted
the faded, fretful woman, in a tone which
sorely belied her real feelings of envy toward
her cousin.

But let us proceed with John Lyman toward
Uary Ainslie's home, where her appearance
will tell her story.

Proceeding along several squares, into a
new and fashionable portion of the city,
where many elegant residences had been
erected during the past few years, the old
gentleman ascended the marble steps of a
handsome mansion in a brown stone front
block ; and was shown, by the servant who
answered the bell-pull, into a plainly, but
richly furnished sitting-room on the second
flight, where a young and fresh faced lady,
whom we recognize as Mary Ainslie by her
mild, blue eyes, and still dimpled cheeks,
sprang forward to welcome him.

"0, dear Uncle Lyman, how glad I am t o
see you ! Sit right down here in the easy
chair and tell me how mother is. You have
come to stay to dinner, I know ! The children
will soon be home from school — and Gilbert
will be up at three — and we are going to have
one of your favorite bird's-nest puddings. It
does seem like sunshine to see your faci
uncle 1"

"As if you ever needed any sunshine beyond
what you have in your home every day,
Mollie !" said the old gentleman, pinching her
cheeks with olden freedom. "The children
grow like weeds, I suppose ! and Ned 's most
up to his mother's shoulder, already ! ( 'an it
be ten years since you were married, Mary i
You look scarcely a day older. What s Gil-
bert got on his hands now ?"

•■dli, I don't know how much business!
He's just taken another contract for a bio '■:
a few squares above ours. How this part of
the city is prospering, uncle!"

" Yes ; and, in ten years more, it '11 be the lo-
cality everybody '11 be desirous of getting into.
Your husband made a good investment when
he built this block. It '11 double in value in
five years. He's eleartd it now, I believe he
told me!"

lady's book and magazine.

11 Oh yes ; every dollar paid off, uncle ! How
Splendidly Gilbert has succeeded, Uncle John!
Who 'd have thought, when we were mar-
ried and went to housekeeping in four rooms,
that I should have such a home as this now ?"
aud it was a pardonable pride with which Mrs.
Ainslie looked around her.

"/ always knew that Gilbert Ainslie pos-
sessed, not only industry and economy, but
a clear head, and intelligence and shrewdness
that would make him a leading man one of
these days ; and when he began taking con-
tracts, I saw his fortune on the road to him.
He's done pretty well for la mechanic1 — eh,
Mollie?"

Mary Ainslie's blue eyes sparkled with,
pride for her manly, worthy, diligent, intel-
ligent husband ; but presently they grew
moist with tears.

"Yes, Uncle John, you know all those qual-
ities which rank him as a successful business
man ; but / only know what a good, and
kind, and devoted husband he is!" and her
voice trembled with wifely love and tender-
ness.

We cannot linger to chronicle all the details
of Uncle John's visit, particularize his romps
with Ned, Mary, and his little namesake,
Johnny, fresh from a nap, nor recount his
after-dinner chat with Gilbert Ainslie ; but
that evening, as he sat in his easy chair in his
sister Sarah's cosy sitting-room recounting the
events of the day — his two visits — he said,
half sadly, half triumphantly : —

** It 's just as I prophesied, sister Sarah!
Jane's daughter set out in her married life
with high notions about fashionable dress and
extravagance of living, and she 's brought up
where I thought she 'd be ; but Mary and
Ainslie commenced in the right way, and now
they stand on a footing that can't be easily
shaken. Let anybody begin right, and they
are sure to come out right ! ' Wilful waste
brings woeful want,' but ( a penny saved is
two pence earned !' " and Uncle John finished
his sentence with two of his favorite proverbs.

Perfect Conversation. — The first ingredient
in conversation is truth, the next good sense,
the third good humor, and the fourth wit.

Politeness may prevent the want of wit
and talents from being observed ; but wit and
talent cannot prevent the discovery of the
want of politeness.

"ONLY."

BY J. W.

Only a withered rose-bud !

But she wore it in her hair,
When she, in her glorious beauty,

Was like that rose-bud fair.
But as the flow'rets wither

In the dewy morning tide,
With all their sweetness round them,

So she, fair rose-bud, died.
_ And now, alas! she 's sleeping

Where the rose-tree's earliest bloom
Scatters its fragrant tear-drops

In sorrow o'er her tomb.

Only an old-time ballad !

But a song she used to sing;
Worthless, perhaps,- to others,

To me a sacred thing.
Ah, that grave! in it the music

Of my heart lies buried deep ;
Since that sunny summer morning

When (hey laid her there to sleep.
Oh the long, long years I 've waited!

Oh the years that yet may come !
Ere I join the sweet-voiced singer

In our Father's happy home.

Only a few old letters !

Yellow and dim with years;
But how oft this faded writing

Hath been baptized with tears.
For she, whose dear hand wrote them,

Lies 'neath the church-yard sod ;
Up in the starry heavens

Her glad spirit lives with God.
Oh that those gates would open,

Aud she, with outstretched hand,
Would lead mo to the glories

Of the far-off better land.

THE MOUNTED RIFLEMAN.

BY S. F. FLINT.

(Seventh Illinois Veteran Mounted Infantry.)
My girth is tight — my stirrup strong —

My steed is stanch and free ;
I wait to hear the bugle clear,

To mount my saddletree.

No soul to say a last ;tGod speed !'*

I give no fond adieu;
But only this, my good-by kiss,

My lady sweet, to you.

The saddle and the forest camp

Ave now my home once more ;
And hearts that long were soft, grow strong

The bivouac-fife before.

Aud if my breast, in some wild charge,

Should meet the deadly ball ;
My mates will spread my soldier's bed,

And lay me where I fall.

My blood will be my epitaph,

That marks my jacket blue ;
Kead it with pride ! he lived, he died,

For country, home, and you.

UXTO THE END.

BY HRQlgll HUNTER SR1ST.

(CoucluiK-d from page 543.)

About this time I grow dimly conscious that
a change hail come over the little party at the
parsonage. Jack Bell had gone hack to Lon-
don, and things had seemingly settled back
into the old ways, hut still the shadow lingered.
Ethel was apparently the same — cool, gay,
impenetrable : her manner had lost none of
its old, subtle sweetness that, like the tiger's
bright barred hide, covered with a garb of
beauty a cruel, selfish, remorseless nature.
In Earl, perhaps, the change seemed greatest ;
not that he was not always kind and cheer-
ful, hut the merry light had gone out of his
blue eyes, the old sparkle from his smile, and
his rich, ringing laugh came more seldom,
llis frank, joyous nature seemed changed;
there was an impalpable reserve even in his
kindness, and an absence of all the little
teasing ways and quaint pet names he had
ed on me in happier days.

"Yes," I thought, bitterly, "he is hoarding
his love for Ethel as a miser does his gold — ■
false, cruel Ethel, who could not understand
his warm, generous nature, his pure truth
and honor — whoso base soul could not breathe
in the fine air he dwelt in." The anger of
impulsive, passionate natures, though fierce
as a roused lion, is not as much to be dreaded
as the slowly aroused and long enduring
hatred of a quiet, unimpassioned nature; it
is deep and deadly, seldom changing with
life, while a more impetuous temperament
magnifies the reality, and is exhausted by its
own intensity.

With this deep, silent, life-long hatred, I
hated Ethel Brand. Her stealthy soul had
crept into my secret only to make it her own,
and now I must take Earl's every look and
word of tenderness as a free gift and not of
right, like a beggar taking shining coin from
the hand that has impoverished him. And
why was Earl so changed ? he who had won
the crowning of his dearest hopes. Where
was the exultant joy of a conqueror? Was
his silent sadness, his grave, unwonted man-
ner the palms of victory and the songs of
triumph ? It was all a mystery.

Jocelyn, too, was changed. The sweet

evenness of manner, the calm peace of his
expression, was broken by burst-, of aim
hilarious joy wholly foreign to his nature
*a gloomy sadness equally strange. He was
more restless and fitful in his moods than I had
ever known him, sometimes staying shut up
in his room for days at a time, only meeting
us at meals, sometimes wandering for hours
among the woods and hills.

I, too, was conscious that I was not like my
own old self, though outwardly the same. I
was pained and perplexed by the surrounding
mystery, and I carried in my heart a dull,
gnawing ache that I could not forget or stiile.

It was a warm, bright afternoon, and I was
sitting alone in the breakfast-room when
Jocelyn came in, some sharp, crushing agony
in his white- face and staggering step. He
passed by me, evidently not seeing me, and
paused in the middle of the room as though
his feet would not carry him further.

"Oh, Jocelyn, what has happened? In
Heaven's nam.', what is 'the matter?" I
sprang to him : he did not answer me, but
looked at mo in a strange, bewildered way.
"Jocelyn, tell me," I repeated, "are you ill ?
Sit down and let me get you a glass of wine :
3-ou are ill, very ill."

"No, no, it is not that," he said, slowly,
in a hoarse, altered voice. "Ethel" — and
then stopped.

"Oh, Jocelyn, nothing has happened to
her?"

"Agnes, Agnes," he said, "something has
happened to me."

There come moments to every deep, earnest
nature when the presence of some strong in-
ward agony forces its way, lava-like, through
the harriers of self-control, habitual reticence,
and natural reserve. Such a moment had
come to Jocelyn, and ho isionately,

wringing my hand as ho spoke.

10s, Ethel has betrayed me, stained
her own soul with falsehood ; she is false, un-
truthful: she is base, and utterly unworthy."
I knew it was some deep injury that had stung
him into such fierce ro-cntment, he who was
so gentle and patient towards the failings of

godey's lady's book and magazine.

others, but surprise grew iuto anger as he
weut on more calmly : " You know, you must
have seen, that I have given that girl the best
love I have to offer -any woman. She is the
only woman I have ever loved, and my love
shall go down with her to the grave." He
struggled with himself a moment, and went
on: "This love has been no secret to her,
and she has given me every assurance to hope
it was returned. I am not vain ; I know my
own worthlessness, how far, far short I come of
the Divine example ; but, Agnes, I was true,
I am true, and should have been treated with
truthfulness. It may have been presump-
tion, it was blindness, madness, and I have
paid the penalty of my folly ; but I gave her
openly and honorably the best love of my
heart. I have struggled with doubt and bat-
tled against conviction ; I have believed her
true in spite of evidence, and thought her per-
fect iu the face of glaring inconsistencies, and
now, now I am undeceived." He covered his
face with his hands, and spoke in a low, shud-
dering voice. "No one can know, no one
but God, what I have suffered all this summer,
trying to believe her pure and true when I
felt her to be false, in spite of her tender
words and fascinating smiles. For her I have
lorgotten my prid_e, my manhood, my sacred
calling ; I have sought her smiles before the
favor of my God ; I have neglected the service
of my Master, and I am justly punished.''

I knelt down beside him, Weeping passion-
ately, and took both his hands in mine. Just
at that moment a shadow fell across my face,
and, looking up, I saw Earl Hathaway at the
open window, looking at us with the same
look on his face it had worn that morning on
Storm Crags. In a moment he was gone, and
I thought no more of it at the time, but I re-
membered it afterwards.

"Dear Jocelyn, perhaps it maybe helped."
I should have known him better than to
offer him this barren mockery of consola-
tion.

" Xo, Agnes, I do not wish it; it is better
so. I do not blame her ; I forgive her freely
as I myself hope for forgiveness; but she is
not worthy of my love, nor am I worthy to
accept it were it in my grasp. I have loved
and worshipped her, paying her the homage
that was due only to my King, and I thank
God that my idol has been taken from me,
that I may see Him and only Him."

There was something so grand, so lofty in

this sublime self-abnegation, this tender child-
like humility, this large forgiveness and un-
wavering faith in God's great love, that awed
me like some actual presence from a better
world.

"0 Jocelyn! dear, dear brother !" It was
all the comfort I could give him. "Jocelyn,
are you sure ?"

"Yes, Agnes, there can be no mistake. I
have hoped against reason, and forced belief
in the midst of doubts, but now I know all.
I had been over to the hills in search of some
late wild flowers for her, and as I came through
the garden I saw her walking with Earl in the
fields beyond. Agnes, I am ashamed to tell
you, but I paused behind the hedge, and
listened for a moment, only a moment ; but I
heard him say : ' There, take it, Ethel ; wear
it and happiness together till I claim it from
you.' And, looking through the hedge, I
saw him slij} his ring from off his finger and
place it on her hand."

His words fell on me like a shower of fire,
scorching heart and brain ; his face swam
before me through a mist, and his voice
sounded indistinct and far-off as he went on : —

"Thus has ended forever my first, last, only
dream of woman's love ; there is no more of
that for me, but, thank God ! all is not lost
yet. Every high purpose, every noble aim,
all that is good and true and 'holy, all that is
worth living for is left to me yet ; only the
base and false has perished in this wreck.
And I will strive henceforth to live for this
alone, trusting in His strength to help me bear
this bitter trial He has sent."

Just then Ethel came in singing from the
garden. She nodded to us gayly, and com-
menced arranging some late autumn flowers
and leaves in a small vase on the table, sing-
ing all the while. She looked more danger-
ously beautiful than I had ever known her.
Tlie triumph of conquest thrilled in every
look and tone ; it flushed through the clear
crimson of her cheek, and shone in the purple
splendor of her luminous eyes ; it rang in the
electric thrill of the music that throbbed
through the still room, like an immaterial
presence apart from herself. It was an old
Spanish song her mother had taught her,
where the flashing rivers leap into the light
under the clear skies of her native land, and
the unfamiliar words mingled with the quaint
rhythm of the melody like the chiming of
far-off bells. I realized how the Sirens sing,

UNTO THE END.

sitting on their gray rocks by the sea-shore,
timing their strains to the cadence of the
tides. The unearthly sweetness of her sing-
ing oppressed me like the stilling sweetness
of some tropical blossom that intoxicates and
poisons while it entrances the senses with a
delirium of joy. On her hand was Earl's ring,
B heavy, curiously-wrought band of gold, cen-
tred with a single garnet, delicately cut into
the armorial devices of the Delaucys, for his
mother was of gentle blood.

Joeelvn took up a delicate spray of golden-
throated crimson blossoms, and laid it on the
lustrous darkness of her hair. False as she
■was, yet radiant with the Bush of a base tri-
umph, she could not wear Jocelyn's flowers ;
she took them off with a quick breath and
laid them in his hand, not daring to meet his
cool, clear, searching eyes. I stole away
quictiy, my heart quivering and bleeding
with the sharpness of its agony, leaving them
alone together. What Joeelvn said to her I
never knew ; but I am sure he did not scathe
her with one harsh or bitter word, and an
hour later, when he passed up to his own
room, his face was calm and holy as one who
had passed through the flames of a sublime
self-saeriliee, and attained the deep peace that
lies beyond.

The days glided quietly away until the
sharp winds of November had seared the
ground, and stripped the last fluttering leaf
from the poplars.

I had never lifted the treacherous mask of
seeming calmness and content through whose
iron bars my soul looked out with the grim,
silent strength of despair. Through faith and
hope and trial, noble, patient Jocelyn had
won peace, and that deep, blessed rest that is
born of victory, so different from my mockery
of content.

One morning, as I was busy in the garden,
I saw Earl riding swiftly down the road on
his black Arabian; but, instead of halting at.
the accustomed place, he passed the gate
without slackening his speed, or answering
my cheerful "good-morning," and dashed
down the road leading to the shore. He had
been growing stranger, more gloomy and
restless as the days went on ; but this new
rudeness was something still more strange,
and most unlike our gentle, courteous Earl.
I watched him till he disappeared behind the
trees, and went into the house with a vague
presentiment of some impending evil I could not

shake off. It clung about me like the dampness
of a grave, and I went about the familiar rou-
tine of daily duties with that terrible, indefi-
nable senso we sometimes feel on the eve of
great calamities, that, before we are next
..died to perform those duties, all things will
be changed to us.

Towards evening, a servant from the Oaks
rode over to inquire if Earl were at the par-
sonage ; he had left home that morning for a
gallop on the sands, and had not returned,
contrary to his usual custom. No alarm was
felt, as he was supposed to be with us ; but

when the servant learned he had not 1 n at

the parsonage all day, lie rode back with a
grave face to communicate the tidings to his
master.

Amid the burst of surprised conjecture that
followed, I stole away and hurried down the
road I had seen Earl take that morning. It
had rained heavily the night before, and the
ground was still moist, and I could easily
distinguish the smaller and more dainty foot-
prints of the Arabian among the crowded hoof-
marks on the public road. Just below the
parsonage, a narrow, winding road branched
off from the highway, and gradually lost
itself in the pathless sweep of the shore.
Here the track lay plainer ; no horse or
vehicle had passed that way since the rain
had fallen, and I followed the hoof-prints,
through the windings of the lane, out into the
open stretch of the wide, silent sands. Here
the marks grew farther apart and more ir-
regular, as of a horse urged to its utmost
speed, a little pool of water standing in each
deep, circular dent. A long, level reach of
smooth sand lay before me, and beyond that,
the ground grew rough and broken, piled
with scattered rocks, shingled with sharp
ledges of stone, and scarred by deep cracks
and gullies, growing wilder and more rocky
until it rose into the frowning cliffs and
barren peaks of the Storm Crags.

At low tide a narrow path wound among the
rocks and fissures at its base, not absolutely
unsafe for a practised rider at a cautious pace ;
but the wild, irregular beat of the hoof-marks
never Blackened, and I followed them breath-
less with a sick terror as I noticed they all
'pointed forward — there were no returning slrps.
I crept trembling over the narrow edge of
sand and rock between the sea and the dizzy-
ing cliffs above, ffhe air was damp with
spray, and a raw, penetrating wind sent thev

godey's lady's book and magazine.

heavy, ragged masses of cloud flying across
tlxe sky ;

" The old. old sea, as one in pain,
Came murmuring with its foamy lips,"

rolling and heaving in long, sullen swells.
Turning a sudden corner of the cliff, I saw
the beautiful Arabian stretched lifeless among
the stones, his slender limbs stiffened in
death, his glossy flanks flecked with blood
and foam, his head doubled under him, and
his heavy black mane slowly lifted by the
first wash of the incoming tide. He had
evidently leaped the rocky gully by which he
lay, and missing his footing among the loose
stones and crumbling sand, had stumbled
and fallen lifeless on the farther edge.

A little beyond, half sheltered by a rock,
lay Earl Hathaway. I sprang to him with a
cry of pain that made the rocks ring. "0,
Earl, my Earl !" I did not think of the past,
of Ethel, of anything ; I only felt that he was
dying, my love, my own Earl. I knelt down
beside him and drew his head into my lap.

" I knew you would come ; I have been
watching for you, Agues," he said. "Agnes,
I have been thinking of many things as I lay
here, hour after hour, alone with death ; I
have been thinking over all the past, and I
see clearly now a great deal that was darkness
and mystery before."

"0 Earl, Earl!" I broke out passionately,
the anguish of that one word shutting out his
meaning, "you must not talk so; you must
not speak of death. I will go and get help ;
I will go instantly and send some one to you ;
you are faint, badly hurt, perhaps, but not
dying. Oh no, Earl, not that !"

He smiled a faint, sweet smile, and, taking
both my hands in his, said, softly : —
• "Do not deceive yourself, my little Agnes ;
I shall never see this tide go out. Do not
leave me ; help is useless, and I have some-
thing to say to you before I leave you. If you
love me, you will stay with me and listen to
me calmly, and not break my heart by sob-
bing so ; be quiet, darling."

"But, Earl, I cannot see you dying here
and make no effort to save you ; let me go
and send help, or at least tell me how it hap-
pened."

"I Was trying to drown thought in a mad
gallop along the lonely beach. I was careless,
I suppose, reckless of danger or fear, and
among these stony gullies' my horse stumbled
and fell upon me ; and I tell you, truly, Agnes,

help is useless ; only do not leave me ; I must
tell you what I have to say before it is too
late."

So I kept back my sobs and listened.

"As I lay here alone, I have been living
over the past, and as I drew nearer to death,
the mists seemed to clear away, and every-
thing grew plain to me. I have been blinded
all this miserable summer, but, thank God, I
see at last. Agnes, I was mad to doubt your
truth and love ; for you do love me, little
Agues, my love, my darling I 0 tell me I am
right. Answer me, truly, now in this last
hour of my life, my Agnes, do you love me ?"

Sea and sky swam before me in a whirl of
wild, tumultuous joy, as I answered : — -

" I have lovea1 you always."

His face flushed and kindled as with the
brightness of a new life, the frank joyousness
of old came back to his blue eyes, his own
bright smile to his lips, and there was a new,
sweet touch of tenderness in his voice, as he
murmured, fondly : " My own darling!" He
tried to draw me to him, but his nerveless
arm sank powerless by his side. I understood
his wish, and bent down and kissed his lips,
and then laid my head upon his shoulder.

As I sat there, all thought of the past, the
future, of Ethel, life, death, separation, floated
from me like the broken fragments of a dream ;
every thought and feeling was absorbed in the
one strong, thrilling consciousness that stood
out firm and clear, like a rock in a river cur-
rent, amid the confused and rapid rush of
crowding emotions, he was mine, my own
through all eternity, nothing could part us
now.

"Agnes," he whispered, calling me back
with a throb of pain to a remembrance of the
present, and the life that was slowly ebbing
from the heart that beat beneath my cheek,
" can you forgive me for the suffering I have
caused you, though Heaven knows how un-
■ wittingly, by my blind distrust ? And I have
suffered, too, perhaps, not less than you.
Oh those dreadful days of doubt and sorrow !
How dark they were when I thought you
lost to me forever, and no hope or comfort
left!"

" And Ethel ?" Isaid, with a sudden thought
of her.

Earl looked at me with a long, searching
look that read my very soul.

"Agnes, did you ever think I loved her.'"

I could not answer ; in the blessed cer-

UNTO THE END.

dainty of the present, it seemed so strauge a
thing that I had ever thought so.

" I am dying, and I would not pass from
earth with one word of blame upon my lips
toward any one ; hut oh, Agnes, she has come
D us like an evil presence from the
first. Do you remember that evening, so long
ago, when we stood together on Black Rock,
and I took your hand in mine and called you
my little sea-queen ? I loved you then, and I
believed that I had read your answering love
in every look and tone. J thought we knew
each other's secret, and that spoken words
could scarcely make the bond more sore. I
meant to tell you of it then, and ask you for
some certain, sweet assurance of your love ;
but just then Ethel called us, and I left the
words unsaid. From that time she began to
throw out hints of an attachment between
you and Jocelyn Thorne ; she pointed out his
numerous attentions, and dwelt upon your
evident pleasure in his society, misconstruing
and falsifying the simplest actions till she
made me believe that I had built my hopes
cm air — that you were plighted to another.
Believing this, my pride, lny honor shrank
from forcing my attentions on you, or urging
any claim beyond a brother's. I believed he
loved you, and had won you fairly, and I
could not wrong my own sonl by a base at-
tempt to win your love away from him, even
though my heart broke in the struggle to
keep silence."

" And while you were suffering with the
thought that Jocelyn possessed my love, I
have been doubting you, believing you loved
Ethel. Oh, Earl, it has all been a miserable
mistake ! We have both been blind ; we have
both been cruelly, wickedly deceived !"

And then I told him the story of Jocelyn's
love, of his generous trust, his hope amidst
despair, and of the day when he had proved
her false and unworthy — of how I knelfto
comfort him with a sister's sympathy, and of
his brave, unselfish forgiveness of the misery
she had brought him.

I saw her motives clearly now. Heartless,
selfish, and treacherous, she had wrought
upon Earl's simple, honest nature to make
him think me pledged to another, knowing
his high honor would scorn to wrong a friend
idng to win my love. By artful ma-
noeuvres and half-uttered hints she had led
me to believe Earl's love was hers, lest I, by
any chance, should make some passing word

of his the key to explanation and unlock his
secret. Earl Hathaway was young, rich, hand-
some, and in my bitterness I thought that
these advantages alone had tempted her to
this course of crime. Poor Jocelyn I too gene-
rous and pure-hearted to suspect deceit in
others, had been the dupe and victim of her
wiles, thrown aside now that the success of
her schemes seemed apparent.

Now I understood Earl's moody restless-
ness— the strange, stony look his face had
worn that morning on the cliffs, when Jocelyn
snatched me back to life — the same look I
had seen as he gazed in on me kneeling before
Jocelyn, as I wept in sorrow over his great
grief: all these things had been to Earl tor-
turing confirmations of the doubts she had
sown in his soul ; aud looking hack over the
deep-laid and half successful plots of the sum-
mer, my heart throbbed with a fiery scorn as
I cried, fiercely, "I never can forgive her ; I
cannot do it ; I hate her!"

'•Hush, darling, hush! We have not suf-
fered alone, and we must forgive her. bitterly
as she has wronged us, even as Jocelyn did,
freely and fully. But oh, Agnes, if I had never
known this ! if I had died believing you were
Jocelyn's!" He tried to clasp me closer to
him. "0 my darling! my darling! it is hard,
hard to part with you now ; but how much
better is it than if death had put his seal of
eternal silence upon this mystery ! Promise
me you will forgive her, Agnes, and then
let us think of her no more. My love, my
thoughts are yours alone, and ever were. I
never loved her for an hour, or ever gave her
cause to think herself beloved, by word or
act."

"And your ring?"

"She took it from me in a playful mood,
one afternoon as we were walking in the par-
sonage garden. She had been admiring the
delicate carving of the garnet crest, aud laugh-
ingly declared the pretty bauble was too
dainty for a man's hand; so I slipped it ou
her finger with a merry wish, and she jest-
ingly declared it should stay where I had
it till my wish was fulfilled. So I let
her keep it, thinking it an innocent girlish
freak, never dreaming she would wear it as a
sign to seal her triumph in your eyes. It is
an old family keepsake, handed down through
the lielancys, father and son, for more than
a century, and it seemed almost sacri:
me to see her wear it ; so last night I made

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

some playful excuse to take it back, and it is
here."

He drew from liis pocket tlie little cirque of
gold, with, its solitary gem gleaming and
glowing in the changeful light like a spark of
crimson flame, and slipped it on my hand, say-
ing, solemnly, "With this ring I wed thee,
Agnes Fanshaw, my own in life and death, on
earth and in heaven through all eternity."

" Thine own forever."

" Yes, Agnes, we are truly wedded before
God, and in heaven I shall claim you as my
own true wife. Not even death can part us
now ; our vows are plighted on the very
threshold of immortality, and in Eternity is
their fulfilment. And though I leave you for
a time, you will come to me, Agnes, my own
wife, where I shall wait for you beyond the
stars." He was growing rapidly weaker, and
I could scarcely catch the murmured words.
"Agnes, dearest," he whispered, "my own
sweet Agnes, put my arm about your neck,
so I can touch your hair ;" and then his hand
wandered over my smooth braids with a ten-
der, fluttering touch, which was his favorite
caress.

Then there was a long, long silence. The
heavy waves broke sullenly upon the shelv-
ing beach, slipping back in great sheets of
white, hissing foam, and the wild, weird
music of the tides sobbed and sang among the
hollow rocks at the foot of the Storm Crags ;
but I hoard them as in a dream, as I sat there
in a thoughtless, painless trance, every feeling
awed into silence in that rapt listening for
the chariot-wheels of death.

Suddenly he said, in his own firm, clear
voice: "Agnes, my own in life and death."
The haud that held mine relaxed its clasp —
the light went out of his glad, blue eyes —
the look that comes but once crept slowly
over his face ; and with one long, sobbing
breath the pure soul of Earl Hathaway
passed through the shining portals of death's
mystery into the morning-land of God.

So the life went out of the bravest, truest
heart that ever beat, and I was left alone
upon the wide, wet sands, with storm and
darkness sweeping up the waste.

There they found me hours afterward,
when anxious servants and neighbors, in their
search for the young heir of the Oaks, found
and followed, as I had done, the track of his
Arabian's flying feet. I followed them in
tearless and pangless silence, as they slowly

bore him over the sodden fields and through the
deserted roads in the dull gleam of a Novem-
ber twilight, and laid him in the little par-
sonage parlor, while a weeping messenger rode
swiftly to the Oaks.

The sight of Ethel roused me and brought
back the past, the intolerable pressure of the
present, and the black, utter desolation of the
future. She was watching for us at the gate,
and as they laid him heavily on the sofa, she
flung herself passionately on the floor beside
him, and gave way to the mighty, overwhelm-
ing woe of her soul, that scorned the barriers
of restraint and mocked at the hope of conso-
lation. Her cool, evenly-balanced soul was
unarmored of its icy self-control, and she
writhed and cowered beside him in the terrible
anguish of a thoroughly selfish nature stung
in its one vital spot. Then I knew that she
had loved him with all the hidden strength of
her soul, and looking on the white face of the
dead, I forgave her freely, even as he had
done. She had wronged me basely and self-
ishly, but she had loved him, and therefore
had she done this sin ; and for the sake of
that love, though selfish in its nature and
cruel in its consequences, and for the sake of
her bitter suffering. I forgave her all.

The year that followed Earl Hathaway's
death is little better than a blank to me.
No one guessed my secret, and my broken
health and spirits were attributed to the shock
of the sudden and tragic loss of an old play-
mate and dear friend, and I was sent to a
relative in London, that change of scene and
association might restore me to my wonted
balance. While there I received a letter from
Ethel. "I am going to be married to my
cousin Jack Bell in September," she wrote,
"and want you to come down to the wedding.
I expect it will be quite a gay affair, as his
sister Margaret, and the Howards, and J-ack's
cousins, the Bells from Clancy Castle, are
coming down. Jack is devotion itself, and
has given me the loveliest set of pearls ; he
has bought a splendid phaeton and pair, and
is having his house in Madison Square su-
perbly fitted up, consulting my taste in every-
thing. But I must close, hoping to see you
soon at Lynne. Your cousin, Ethel Brand."

The brilliant bridal party whirled up to
London, where the beauty of Jack Bell's
foreign-looking bird was the sensation of the
season. A month later, our sweet Maud stood
by the side of Jocelyn Thorne before the altar

THE FAMILY DRAWING -MASTER.

of the little low-roofed church at Lynne, and
repeated the solemn words that hound two
happy lives in one. Behind the veiling lace
1 irept happy tears that the bitterness and
sorrow had gone out of Jocelyn's life, and
that in the deep, womanly lovo of our pure,
sunny Maud, his noble soul had found a rest
and a reward after the stormy trials of the

past.

I saw Ethel last year, and I do not envy
her the lot she has chosen ; the splendors of
her fashionable home, her handsome, dissi-
pated husband, her carriage, her servants,
and her diamonds ; for- 1 know the avenging
spectre that haunts her in the midst of re-
velry, sits at her feasts an unbidden guest,
and goes up and down with her as she
wanders through her splendid rooms, a pale,
remorseless woman, poor in the midst of
wealth, sad in the midst of laught.er, in suf-
fering and repentance atoning for the past.

As for me, I shall never marry now. I am
truly married in the sight of God to him
whose ring I wear, and his ever-present mem-
ory is more to me than any living love could
be. And some happy morning, as the white
mists roll up past the poplars from the empty,
desolate marshes, I shall fold up the garments
of my earthly pilgrimage, and hear him wel-
come me in heaven, " Faithful unto the end !"

THE FAMILY DRAWING MASTER.

IN A SERIES OF FAMILIAR CONVERSATIONS.

LINES AND ANGLES. (Continued.)

P. Well, Ion. It is some time since we had
a drawing lesson. Have you forgotten what
you have learned >

Ion. No, papa. Will you hear how much I
can recollect ? 1st. We learned five things to
he remembered in making lines. 2d. We
learned the different positions of lines. Per-
ular, horizontal, oblique, and parallel.
Then we learned how to make angles. Then,
the different sizes of angles : the small sharp
angles called acute; the square, middle-sized
angles called right angles ; and the large blunt
angles called oh: • and then Lucy

finished the lesson by biting a right angle out
of her piece of bread and butter.

P. Very good, Ion. Now, before learning
any new names, we will make some drawings
with these lines and angles. • I '11 give you a

drawing to copy, which shall contain a per-
pendicular, horizontal, and oblique line; and
at the same time it shall have a right angle,
an acute, and an obtuse angle in it. I
the perpendicular line. I have marked ii No.
1. When you draw it, it must bo quite up-
right and straight.

No. 1. No. 2.

TO BATH.

Ion. Yes ; not any shaky marks in it.

P. You may next copy No. 2. I have joined
an horizontal and an oblique line to it.

Ion. And you have formed two right angles,
an acute, and an obtuse angle. It looks some-
thing like a finger-post, papa ; only it does not
say where it is pointing to.

P. Yes. I will make another line of each
kind, so as to have some parallel lines ; and—
there it is, you see, it has become a finger-
post! This afternoon you may set to work
and copy this drawing ; but not until you
have drawn Nos. 1 and 2 correctly; because
it will take you a long time — perhaps an
hour — to do them carefully.

Ion. I have made another drawing, papa,
with two perpendicular and two oblique Hues.
Here it is.

GODEY S LADY'S BOOE AND MAGAZINE.

L. And it has three obtuse angles in it.
Ion. Now, if you will let me print on it, and

LES

LONDON

will give me a ground line — there,
that it has made a mile-stone.

L. And see what I have made. With only
three lines for each I have made a chair and a
stool ; and with four lines I have drawn a
table. And they are only perpendicular and
horizontal lines.

you see

yet ought to be well known and well weighed
before sentence, with any justice, can be
passed upon him. A man may have different
views, and a different sense of things, from
what his judges have ; and what he under-
stands and feels, and what passes within him,
may be a secret treasured up deeply there for
ever. A man, through bodily infirmity, or
some complexional defect, which perhaps is
not in his power to correct, may be subject to
inadvertencies, to starts, and unhappy turns
of temper ; he may lie open to snares he is
not always aware of ; or, through ignorance
and want of information and proper helps, he
may labor in the dark ; in all which cases he
may do many things which are wrong in
themselves, and yet be innocent ; at least an
object rather to be pitied than censured with
ill-will and severity. These are difficulties
which stand in every one's way in the forming
a judgment of others.

Let us judge others as we would be tried
ourselves.

P. I shall not make drawings of these things
for you, but, when you can copy the finger-
post and the mile-stone properly, you will be
able to make the lines necessary for these ob-
jects. You may then go into the kitchen, get
a wooden chair, a table, and a stool, and draw
from the things themselves.

NOT TO BE TOO HASTY IN OUR OPINIONS.

TnERE are numbers of circumstances attend-
ing every action of a man's life which can
never come to the knowledge of the world,

DOMESTIC DUTIES OF FEMALES.

Every mother ought to teach her daughter
practically how to keep her house in order ;
how to make bread, and do all kinds of cook-
ing ; how to economize, so as to make a little
go a great way ; how to spread an air of neat-
ness and comfort over her
household ; how to make
and mend her husband's
clothes ; in a .word, how to
to be a good housekeeper.
Then, if she has no domes-
tics, she can make her fa-
mily happy without them ;
if she has domestics, she
can effectually teach them to do things as they
ought to be done, and make them obey her.
She can then direct her domestic affairs, and
be mistress of her own house ; which, sad to
say. too many in these times are not. Do-
mestics soon ascertain whether their mistress
knows how to do things ; and if she does not,
they have her in their power, and almost
always take advantage of it. But the domes-
tic virtues of a woman need not, by any means,
preclude the highest and most accomplished
education. Some of the most intelligent, re-
fined, and finished ladies in the land, have
been the most excellent housekeepers.

THE VETEEAN'S LAST REVEILLE.

S S Plate.)

BY PATIENCE PERKISS (LATE TRICE ).

I like music. And yet among the many
things for which I am profoundly grateful, is
the blessing that I have not a musical oar.
As the epicure tnrns in disgust from a whole-
some dish which would satisfy a reasonable
appetite, so your finical amateurs are horrified
at popular music, and ready to die of a dis-
cord. Their fastidious ears are only a vexation
to them. I like music, and am thankful that
nothing in the shape of a tune conies amiss ;
the calathumpians on the one hand, and the
operatic miracles on the other, only excepted.
A good story is told of Dr. Sam. Johnson. He
had listened, without appreciation, to a very
scientific performance. Somebody, to call up
the Dr.'s enthusiasm, ventured to say, "Sir,
that was a very difficult performance." " Ma-
dam," he retorted, "I wish it were impos-
sible I" The Western critic, too, was a man
after my own heart. He had yawned through
an hour of Sivori, or Ole Bull — I forget which.
"When," he groaned out at last, "when is
that fellow going to stop chuning his fiddle,
and give us some music?"

So you understand, Mr. Godey, that I even
like to hear Yankee Doodle ! My oldest
daughter, my ow,vi daughter tells me I have
no teste ! I say my own daughter, because
there nre in the house, and scattered abroad,
a family of surreptitious children of mine —
Perkins's children. I love them all more than
enough; but they are not my children. They
are Perkins's. I hope you have not forgotten
mo, Mr. i rodey. I was Patience Price, and
I married, ever so many years ago, a widower
with ten children. My first introduction to
fame, trans-atlantic and cis-atlantic, in your
columns, was due to "My Brother Tom,"
whose marriage impelled me into matrimony.
"If I must nurse babies," I said, "let it be
as their mother, and not their aunt." And
so I recommend all girls to do, if they can.

A greal deal is said, in this talking world,
about stepmothers and stepchildren. I have
learned by experience that, in the matter of
teasing a body, one's own are as two to one.
If a child may not torment her natural parent,
whom may she teaze ? Your own flesh and

VOL. LXIX. 6

blood will take more liberties with you than
another woman's child would dare to do, or
think of doing. So my osvn child says,
"Mother, you have no taste !" And Perkins's
children cry out, " For shame !" But to my
story.

I begin to bo reminded that I am growing
old. It is not that my hair is gray, for in
these days of scientific progress, men and
women who wear gray hair must do so be-
cause they like it. Nor is it because my
teeth are gone; for "substitutes" for teeth,
which have not escaped the dentist's draft,
are as readily bought as substitutes for sol-
diers. And you are sure of your teeth when
you have paid for them, which is more than
the provost marshal can say of bounty-jump-
ers. But I have such a family of children !
They do make one feel old, though they would
gladly — the girls especially — persuade you to
look young.

When I was a girl. I saw the illumination
for the peace with Great Britain, at the end
of what is justly called our second war for
Independence. Illuminations were different
affairs in those days from what they now are.
The tinman's craft was in request, and little
triangular bits of the sharp metal were con-
trived to stick in the window sashes and hold
tallow candles. Or, in default of tin, forks
were pressed into the service and the sash.
There were no gas jets, and such mechanical
and formal appliances. The forks were reg-
ular two prongers, for "split spoons," as
Handy. Andy calls them, had not come in.
And if they had, such forks would not have
served the purpose. Neither were there
".lucifers" and loco-foco matches. The first
box of these I ever had I paid a quarter for.
An illumination in those primitive days was
an interesting impromptu, makeshift, de-
lightful, domestic set-to, when the lord of
misrule was paramount. It was teu times as
exciting as the present fashions, and a thou-
sand times more greasy 1 The window seats
and floors, the carpets even, were " sights to
behold !" I recollect my mother protesting —
she is living yet, and loyal — that no matter

godey's lady's book and magazine.

how often peace was declared, such a tallow
candle carnival should never he in her house
again ! It need not. She can light up with
gas now, and will, when the restored Union
makes us all happy again in honorable peace.

And when I was a girl, we used to celebrate
the Fourth of July. It was no "constructive
celebration," as they call it when municipal
bodies pass resolutions which they do not carry
out. The military gave themselves to the
work, horse, foot, and dragoons, and heavy
artillery. The children went into it heels
over head, and the elders were as enthusiastic
as the children. There was reason in this ;
for the men and women were fresh from the
actual work of two wars. We have now less ■
than a dozen revolutionary patriots. There
were then thousands. They were competitors
for civil offices, candidates for popular honors ;
free of all public favor, and the especial
objects of notice and approval. For to dis-
honor them, was to dishonor the cause in
which they had labored.

The Fourth of July brought them into
especial prominence. They were the distin-
guished part of every procession. When they
could walk they carried their honors as
proudly as their knapsacks had been carried,
at the last review before their discharge.
Those who have held commissions, rode ca-
parisoned, and those who were disabled were
drawn in open carriages. Their deeds were
in everybody's mouth, and he was worse than
an infidel who dared to disparage them. As
years went by, like the Sibylline leaves the
patriots grew in honor as they diminished in
number. It made me feel like a girl again
when the present Congress passed a law in-
creasing the pensions of the few who remain.
Only one fault is to be found with that increase.
It is not half enough ! One hundred dollars
a year, when a contractor can make more in
fifteen minutes !

At the delivery of the oration the veterans
were always placed where the eye of the
orator could accidentally fall upon them, and
give him the apostrophe to the venerable
men ; the impromptu apostrophe, which was
carefully written in when the oration was
composed. But that is uncharitable. Don't
you think we all have grown too careless and
too apt to speak lightly of what our fathers
felt deeply ? This war is bringing us to our
senses, and teaching us- to feel what our
fathers felt ; the value of the liberty which

their toil purchased ; the price of the blood
of the men who fell that we might be free.

There was one among those pensioners,
old Andrew Strong, whom I can see now as
vividly as when in my girlhood I used to
meet him. He seemed almost, to my childish
imagination, a being from another world.
If he had lived among the Mussulmans, he
would have been treated as such ; for he had
lost his reason; he glided silently along the
streets and lanes, his eyes downcast, and
not a limb in motion save his feet ; for his
arms were always still, and his head turned
neither to right nor left. Only his lips moved
in incessant, inaudible mutterings. Speak to
him, and he would look up for an instant,
and then hurry on without an answer, as if
his thoughts were too busy to descend to the
common themes of life ; too much occupied
in the past to recognize the present. Indeed,
the past was his present.

Poor fellow I His story was a sad one, and
may be that of many who are now in arms for
our defence, to protect us in all that we hold
dear. In serving his country he was forced
to neglect' his own home ; and almost literally
to leave "the bride at the altar." And
when, at the close of his service, he returned,
full of hope, and ready to reap the reward of
his privations and perils in the home he had
defended, it was to find his friends and
•neighbors assembled to pay the last rites of
affection to the cold remains of the wife of his
youth.

The sad truth was as gently broken to him
as the tell-tale preparations would permit.
He made no answer, and silently took the
place which was pointed out to him in the
melancholy group. Not a cry, not a tear
escaped him, though all around lifted up
their voices and wept. He gazed upon the
corpse with a face as marble-cold and blank
as the dead. He took his place in the line of
mourners ; and when the grave was filled in
looked round with a face of disturbed inquiry.
" Where is the squad," he asked, " to fire the
minute guns ?"

It was the first word he had spoken, and
his friends found a living grief in the disco-
very that the bereaved soldier was a maniac.
And so he remained. He could not be made
to understand that the little child who looked
up at him with fear and wonder was his
daughter. He took, henceforth, no interest in
passing events ; and knew not that he lived

THE VETERAN' S LAST REVEILLE.

npn the government pension, and the care
of the humane and public spirited. Once
only, in many years, did I see him awakened
to something like consciousness of what was
passing. Bat the light was momentary, like
a sun-gleam through gloomy clouds followed
by a thicker darkness.

It was during the visit of the Marqifis de
I.afaye'- nited State? in 1^'J-i. The

last surviving Major General of the Revolution,
his progress through the country brought out
all the old soldiers who remained, and to
many of them the gallant Frenchman was
personally known. Hearty was the greeting
which met him everywhere, and various were
the patriotic devices to tender him the wel-
come which the heart of the people prepared
for him. I was one of the young' girls who
were dressed in "blue spencers" to sing a song
of greeting and to strew his path with flowers.

Old Andrew could not be made to under-
stand what was desired of him, or to take his
v.-ith the other veterans. The cortege
of the Marquis stopped for a few moments in
the village to receive the formal expression of
the officials. The address was spoken and
led to. The driver of the general's
carriage had gathered his reins and brandished
his whip, when a word from the Marquis
delayed the movement. I looked round and
saw (ill Andrew ou the skirts of the crowd
standing up straight and manly to give the
military salute. "Nearer, old comrade!"
cried the Marquis. The way was opened, and
the old pensioner marched up to the carriage.
There was a hearty shaking of hands, and a
respectful exchange of adieux. The horses
pranced off, and the welkin rang with cheer
npon cheer. Before the echo was over, old
Andrew glided away, alone and silent. And
he never could be recalled to the recollection
of the iucident.

His daughter grew up, "a thing of beauty."
She was beloved and well cared for by her
father's connections, and all the world besides
loved Nettie Strong ; for who could help it ?
I have heard of " daughters of the regiment."
Nettie was the pet and charge of the whole
neighborhood. Oh, it was touching to see her
vain efforts to bring her father to some appre-
ciation of their near relationship. She only
succeeded in causing his face to light up for
her, as it never did for another. But she
could not make him comprehend that he was
her father. And if he spake of his wife, it

was as of one whom he

war was over;" for to him, the term of his
enlistment never cease, 1. T\Y eoul.l |
from snatches of his incoherent talk that he
still considered himself a soldier of the Co i-
nentalarmy. The awful surprise on hi- retnrn
from the war had never made a lodgment iu
his memory. His mind could not and :
receive it. And still he dreamed on ; 1
less, and sometimes it seemed almost happy.
In the camp we were told that he was the life
of his regimeut ; ready for duty, and n
less ready for such amusement as could be
improvised to relieve the monotony of the
soldier's life. There was a tradition that he
was a good musician. Sometimes he would
stop near the door of the village tavern.
Independence or Thanksgiving day called into
exercise the bow-arm of the dusky fiddler.
But the boys were troublesome, and the com-
pany in such places too rude and boisterous
in what was intended as kindness. Andn w
had no fancy for such noise. It ci mfnsed him,
and after listening to a bar or two, he would
glide away, fonder of his own thoughts than
of any society. Nevertheless it was observed
that "Yankee Doodle," once played by British
bands in derision, and afterward adopted is
the national air, could stay old Andrew longer
than any other air. Once or twice he even
tried to get hold of the instrument. Some of
his contemporaries pleaded for him, that if he
could be suffered to try, he could discourse
better music than even the dusky Apollo.
But the village fiddler nerer could be pre-
vailed to trust his darling instrument in the
hands of a crazy pensioner.

Nettie came to years of womanhood and was
married. Her father learned to make her
house one of his homes, for he was free of
many. Still, no light broke upon his dark-
ness. Children were- born, but while they
won upon his kindness, it was only as so many
kittens might have done. They viewed th< ir
fitful grandfather with a kind of affectionate
awe; always studied his whims and wishes,
and in their childish way avoided whal
perceived annoyed him.

So, many years passed on. Old An
gait grew slower, and his lips more
People said he was wearing out, and finding
rest, as he grew older. Others, who remem-
bered the shock that unseated his reason,
fancied that the force of the blow was
at last, and that he would gently pass away

6-i

godey's lady's book and magazine.

in unconsciousness of his great grief, to the
place where the weary are at rest.

It was pleasant to notice the growing in-
terest which the veteran seemed to take in
his grandchildren. His wandering walks were
more seldom taken, and he delighted to sit
and watch them at their lessons, or their play.
Fine children they had become, too, and the
boys, like all boys when I was young, were
full of love of country and of noise. They all
like noise still. Nettie was almost angry when
her husband presented one of the lads with a
violin. It was on the eve of the Fourth when
the dreaded present was brought home. When
Nettie objected, her husband told her that the
fiddle was a compromise for a drum. He would
get that, if she preferred; but the boys must
have something with which to disturb the
peace. Of the two evils she consented to the
less.

The glorious Fourth opened with grand
eclat. The boys, who had no inkling of what
was in reserve for them, began the day with
squibs and crackers. A fizz and a bounce
started old Andrew early from his slumbers ;
and the same sort of thing waked everybody
else too, under whose roof those pestilent
beings called boys were harbored. The first
intimation which the lads had of their mu-
sical present was in the serious presentation,
across the breakfast-table, of a sheet of music.
Freddy, delighted, read with a shout —

"Yankee Doodle!"

"Bully!" cried little Harry, at whose side
already swung his good broadsword. The
weapon, terrible to see, would have charmed
Ngai-jin, the President of the Chinese Board
of War. It made up in breadth of blade
what it lacked in edge, and in formidable size
what it wanted in weight.

"Why, Harry!" expostulated his eldest
sister, "how can you niake such exclama-
tions ?"

"Such what?" inquired Freddy. "Sister
of ours, it is the glorious Fourth, and we are
bound to have free speech."

"Bully !" cried Harry again. " But I say,
Fred, what good will Yankee Doodle do with-
out a drum ? And what do you know about
printed music ?"

This was a difficulty. . But when the fiddle,
a real fiddle, was produced, the boys would
have undertaken the opera of Norma. Break-
fast was soon despatched, you may be sure,
and a new delight was found for the young

patriots in a flag, a real flag. At once the
young party adjourned to the porch, and im-
provised a music-stool upon a hen-coop.

Nettie and her husband sat still at the
breakfast table. Presently there came through
the window the admonitory squeak, squeak,
scrape, scrape, with which violinists torture
you before they launch forth. "Is it possible."
said the father, listening; "that those chil-
dren know anything of tuning a fiddle ?"

"Is it possible," cried Nettie, "that they
can play a tune?" For now Yankee Doodle
rung out on the morning air, and no mistake ;
the very air which came into camp, in the old
French war, when continentalers and Britishers
fought side by side. Shaky and faint the
first notes sounded, like the uncertain strug-
gles, of mumory. Pretty soon, full, free,
jubilant, and frisky, the old tune sounded as
if played con-amore.

Out hurried father and mother, and found
old Andrew lost in a musical ecstasy, and the
children in admiration. The veteran' s thoughts
ran back to the time when the tune was
played by Royalists in derision, to be taken
up by Republicans in earnest. He played as
he felt, and, to play, one must feel. What is
not in a man, he cannot express. Many a
musician of greater pretensions might learn a
lesson of old Andrew. / like Yankee Doodle,
Mr. Godey, and I don't like the man or
woman who does not love it for its associations,
whatever they may say of its musical claims.
So I said to my daughter when I told her this
story. I even like John Bull for liking his
national anthem !

Confound their politics
who can't be moved by a national air !

Frustrate their knavish tricks
who put the whims of the dilettanti above the
honor of their country. Give me the music
that stirs the popular heart, and go to the

opera house with your crotchets, and

quavers, and demi quavers !

Nettie stood amazed and awestruck as her
father's face kindled more and more, and his
white hair fairly danced with excitement.
She 'pressed forward. Her husband checked
her. ' ' I must speak to him I" she cried.
" Father! don't you know your daughter ?"

Still he plied vigorously the bow, and then,
after a moment or two, fell into some plaintive
"air of other days." "Father!" cried Net-
tie again, " don't you know your child ?"

The old man placed his hand on the head

A FEW FRIENDS.

of the least of the group, the little girl,
whose age was that of his only child when
Andrew cum.- home from the battle fields of
the Revolution.

•• No, no, ihiir father! Say that you know
me at last I"

But the violin had fallen from his hand,
and he sunk back, his eyes closed, and his
pulses stilL

********

It was high noon when he awakened.
The bells were ringing out the nation's jubilee,
and a salvo of artillery shook the air witli its
harmless thunder.

Not yet could they tell him all. It was
many days before his mind came out of its
long sleep ; but it did revive. And lie
like a child on the freedom of his country.
As the sun went down clear, on a beautiful
day in the Spring, the light of life went i it,
and the unclouded mind of the pensioner
rejoiced in the evening of death, in the hope
of a happy morning.

And when the news of the fall of Snmptcr
broke in upon the mourning of Nettie for her
father, she thanked God that the old hero had
passed away from the evil to come.

A FEW FRIENDS.

BI K OR MA II 1155.

THIRD EVENING. (Continual.)
An Impromptu Chard
Tino-a-lixg-a-ling ! sounded the little bell
| just as Miss Pundaway gave the finishing bang
\ to her overture — and the doors slid quickly
' open, disclosing Teresa Adams, solus, in Doc-
l tor's study, pensively regarding a carte-de-visite
which she held in her hand.

Biddy's voice was heard outside. ''I tell
ye me young lady's out, sur ; them 's the Doc-
ther's orders. Arrah! bad luck to —

Enter Adolpitcs, closely followed by the virate
Biddy.

Adolphus. Angelina, my darling, I saw the
Doctor enter the medical college, and I knew
that at least one hour of bliss was before us.
You will surely forgive this intrusion ?

Angelina. Ah, dearest ! how can I do other-
wise ? But how fearfully imprudent, dear
Adolphus ! My guardian may return at any
moment.

(Adolphus motions significantly to Biddy, at
thesame time dropping ah, ml: note upon tin floor.)

Biddy (aside, picking up the bill). Ah, it's
himself that 's the gentleman, shure! (Aloud.)
Never fear, but I '11 give yez fullwarnin'. Miss;
only ye '11 plaize not kape me too long from
me ironing. [Exit.

These last words were apparently lost upon
the lovers, who were whispering together in
most approved courtship style. Finally Adol-
phus, in soft, persuasive accents, exclaims —

Adolphus. Ah, Angelina! why must we suf-
fer these torments ? Why not fly from this
cruel tyranny ?

Angelina. But my fortune, Adolphus 1 It is
all in my guardian's hands, you know. I
forfeit it if I disobey him.

Adolphus (with great emotion). Never, dear-
est, allude to your fortune again. What is
base lucre to love like ours ! But no, I can-
not ask you to break your poor old guardian's
heart.

[.4 bell rings.

Biddy (bursting into the room, with an iron in
one hand and a pillow-case in the other). Och !
Where's yer ears, Miss? Don't yez hear the
Docther ringing the door-bell? Lucky he 's
lost his kay. Shure I clane forgot that he
expiets a def and dumb gintlemau here from
the counthry this blissed mornin', that he's
never seen, Miss. (Bell rings violently. .1/ m-
while ANGELINA and Adolpuus evince great trepi-
dation.) Dear, dear, I'll lose me place, all
for lettin' you up, sur! Lor' ! won't the doc-
ther rave, Miss, if he finds yez two eonvarsing
here, and it agin his perticular orders, Miss,
for ye to see company afore you 're eighteen !
[Loud ringing and knocking.

Adolphus (nervously). Cau't I go out by the
back way ?

Biddy. Omurther! but the bulldog 'd tear
ye ter pieces, sur ; he 's loose since the day-
light ! (Runs out.)

Adolphus (very nervously). O — oh!

Angelina (clasping h<r hands, while Adolphus

frantically tries tO finda hiding-place in tht apart-
ment). 0 Adolphus I lie's coming! lie the
def man, do; there's an angel ! (Doctor's
voice is heard in the hedl.) 0 Adolphus ! if you
love me, let not a sound escape you 1

GODEYS LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Enter Doctor grumbling. Adolpiius is crouching
behind the ann-chaii .

Doctor. Confound that Biddy ! Ah, Ange-
lina (fiercely, as he discovers Adolphus, who
rises with an absurd bow) !

Angelina. A — a def gentleman, I think, sir.
He has been waiting for some time ; he — he
oan't speak (looking significantly at Adolphus).
He 's a perfect mute, I 'm sure.

Doctor (rubbing his hands in great glee). Ah.
ha ! I see ! My new patient. Slightly de-
ranged, too, I should surmise ; but that is of
no consequence. ■ (Motions him to a seat.) Now
for a trial of my glorious system ! That by
operating upou certain nerves, through the
medium of extreme terror I can awaken the
dormant energies of voice and ear, I have no
doubt. Indeed, Eusebius himself hints at
such a possibility, though it has remained for
me to develop the noble conception. Now,
Angelina, you shall behold the greatest medi-
co-moral triumph of the age. (Takes dress-
ing-gown from chair near the table and hurriedly
puts it on. 'Then seizes booh after book from the
table, looking up certain passages and mumbling
them in great excitement.) (Aloud.) Yes, there
can be no doubt of it ! the testimony of ages
sustains my convictions ! (Rushes to the door,
calling) Biddy !

(Biddy enters, apologizing and almost weeping.)
Indade, sur, it wasn't me fault at all, at all.
He rooshed past me, up the stairs like one
mad, sur. Let me up ! sez he.

(Adolpiius shakes his fst at her behind the
Doctors back. Angelina exclaims) — ■

Biddy ! I smell something burning down
stairs. Quick ! it 's the soup !

Doctor (sharply, turning towards Biddy).
What 's that ? Why, the man 's a mute, you
scallawaps !

Biddy (taking the idea, resumes). Let me up,
sez be, wid his glarin' eyes, just as plain as if
he spoke the words, sur, and —

Doctor (impatiently). Well, there's no harm
done. Go bring me my sword, and a club, a
bell, and a kettle of boiling water — hurry up !
(Exit Biddy.) Now for it.

(He opens his bundle of instruments, dis-
closing knives, corkscrews, curling-tongs, and
all sorts of queer implements, stolen from
kitchen and tool-drawer, runs his fingers
through his hair until it stands out wildly in
all directions, assumes an aspect of savage
ferocity, and brandishing a huge carving-
knife and patent nut-cracker iu either hand

makes a frantic rush at Adolphus. Meanwhile
enter Biddy with her arms full.)

The saints protect us ! Is it murthering
the crayture you are, sur?

Doctor (still making furious charges at his pa-
tient, who has risen and is vainly trying to escape
him). Silence, thou ignorant maid of all work !
What dost thou know of the sublimity of a
thought like this ?

(He snatches the sword and club from Bid-
dy's arms, and frantically pursues Adolphus
around the apartment.)

"Doctor! Doctor !" screams Angelina, "for
Heaven's sake do not harm him!"

Doctor (angrily, still doing all in his power to
further terrify Adolphus). Whynot, girl? What
is an accidental gash or two, or a fractured
limb, compared to the blessings of hearing and
speech. (Makes a thrust at Adolphus, who
stumbles and falls at Angelina's feet.) The
bell ! the bell ! shouts the Doctor, snatching
it from the astonished Biddy, and ringing it
violently close to his victim's ear. The coun-
tenance of Adolphus is seen to express some
natural distress at the continued din.

Doctor (wildly). Ha ! he hears ! he hears !
Give me the boiling water ! (Seizes tea-kettle
and rushes towards Adolphus.) Now for a
stream of this upon his head; only one more
shock is needed ! We will have speech soon,
Angelina, we will have speech !

Adolphus (springing away from him exclaims)
By Jove ! this is unbearable !

Doctor (drops the tea-kettle, and gazing aloft,
with upraised hands, gasps out) Spirit of Galen !
I have succeeded ! (Falls in a swoon.)

(Adolphus and Angelina embrace. Biddy
bends over the prostrate Doctor, and the doors are
closed. )

Scene II.

Large white drugget or sheet spread upon
the floor ; three or four common chairs dis-
tributed stiffly around it. Enter a travelling
party, composed of two ladies, one gentleman,
and an overgrown boy.

First Lady (Mary Glidden). Boy's mam-
ma. Attired in travelling hat and mantle,
small satchel and parasol in her hands.

Second Lady (Teresa Adams). An eccen-
tric female. Spectacles, outlandish bonnet,
faded shawl — minus hoops — dress pinned up
to a suitable shortness, a number of guide
books and a large portfolio under her arm.
Face made to look sentimentally gaunt by
means of burnt cork markings under the
eyes, arch of eyebrows much brightened, and
sliadows to indicate hollow cheeks — lips pursed
affectedly.

A FEW FRIENDS.

Gentleman (Lieit. Hinter). An American
imilias. 1 .. staffed by means

of cushions, etc., into a tight rotundity, huge
muffler around the throat, and lull beard im-
provised of curled horse-hair (to hide his
moustachi ). He bears a huge umbrella, a
valise, and a travelling shawl.

Infant Pbodigt (Bex Stykes). Attired in
lady's short sack (in lieu of a coat), confined
at waist by a broad bolt of black muslin ;
chibl's cap tied on with broad ribbons (to

tide whiskers), small, gay shawl, c
in front and tied in a knct behind his arms ;
a white paper ruffle pinned about his nook,
i with bright ribbon bow ; pantaloons
rolled under until rather short; child's toy-
in one hand, piece of cake or stick of candy in
the other.

Paterfamilias settles down to his newspaper.

Mamma loquetur {looking about her). What
a barn of a room ! That is the worst part of
travelling out of America. No fine public
parlors ; but the moment one enters a hotel
one must be banished to an upper room like
a child in disgrace.

In/ant Prodigy (sobbing). I ain't a child
in disgrace, boo! hoo !

Mamma (tenderly patting him). No, no,
dear one, mamma didn't mean you, poor
little darling. 0, Stephania (turning to her
iathj companion, pathetically), did you ever know
of such a delicate organization ?

Steph. (clasping her hands). Never! He is
scarcely human ; such exquisite susceptibility
should belong to some rare flower, some
shrinking mimosa ! some —

Papa (holing up, sternly). A shrinking
booby — -a calf, you might better say. You
two women will spoil that boy. Stop your
blubbering and come here, sir !

Boy (still sobbing and clinging to mamma's
skirts). I — I don't w-w-a-n-t to, I wa-ant to
sta-ay with my ma !

Papa (fiercely). Come here. I say!

( Child tries and anight together, holds his breath
and bends over in apparent agony.)

Mamma. Mercy on us I he 's choking !
(Both women slap him violently beticeen his shoul-
ders). Oh, husband, how could you scold him
when you knew his mouth was full of cake !

Husband (gruffly). His mouth always is full
of cake !

Steph. (aside). Oh, what a horrid brute !

Infant prodigy recovers after long and
alarming paroxysms of holding his breath,
and whines piteously : "I want a drink of
water I" Both women rush frantically to the
dpor.

Husband (ill a terrible coir,). Eliza! Miss
Borimpkins! Come back instantly! (they re-
turn). Is the boy an idiot or a cripple? Lot
him wait upon himself I

Mamma. Oh, husband, bow you talk ! How
<via the poor child got a drink all alone ?

Pater familias. Why. let him go down and
ask for it in the bar-room, of course
i hold up their hands in horror.)

Miss Scrimpkins. What, send the dear
child all alone to that don of infamy I

Mamma. Hotter, far better send him to the
fountain in the crowded square, than run the
risk of his falling under such influences !

Husband. Pooh ! pooh ! stuff and nonsense !
Well, let him go down to the street and get a
drink ; but go he must !

In/ant Prodigy (sobbing). I — I don't want
no water.

Mamma. Dear angel ! He doesn't want
any water you see, husband, after all !

Husband (in a passion, stamping his foot). I
know better. Go at once, sir ! Do you hoar ?

Mamma and Miss Scrimpkins, giving up m
despair, adjust boy's shawl, and pour a dozen
injunctions into his ear; not to stay too long,
not to tumble down stairs, not to go near any
rude boys, etc. etc.

Exit Infant Prodigy (tchose gait is childish and
unee/uei) rubbing his eyes on his sleeves.

Pater familias resumes bis paper. The two
ladies condole with each other iu whispers a
few moments.

Enter Infant Prodigy, with a very black eye —
crying violently.

"0-ooh ooh!"

Ladies (rushing up to him). Speak, darling.
What is it .' What has happened to you .'

Papa. What's the matter »!<>«• :'

Infant Prodigy. A great b-big boy h-i-t me
with his fist, boo! boo! an' I wasn't doin'
nothin' to him only p-pulling the c-cup away
from him. Oh o-oh ! It hurts meso-o i

Mamma (weeping). The great ruffian ! Oh,
my beautiful boy ! He will be disfigured for
a month ! 0, Miss Scrimpkins, what if his
precious eye had been put out forever ?

.Miss Scrimpkins utters an exclamation of
horror, and looks daggers at paterfamilias.

Papa disgusted generally. Grand tableau I
Doors close.*

* It will be seen thai ih-- plot *a' thi- scene is di8ef nt
Dram that proposed by B.-u ; but Bach changes. ar« by no
taieans unusual in impromptu charades. K. L.

tjODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Scene III. A Tableau Vivante.

An old lady with workstand beside her,
teaching her grandchild to knit.

The Girl (Mary Gliddon's little cousin) is
attired in a simple muslin, with long blue
sash. Long, glossy curls fall about her
shoulders, and as she sits gracefully upon a
footstool at grandmother's knee, her bright
eyes) are fixed intently upon the mysterious
stitch. "Oh, grandma," she seems to say,
"can I ever learn to doit?"

Grandmother is seated in comfortable arm-
chair, and bends placidly towards her little
pupil. She is attired in a neat black silk
dress, and long white apron ; a thin white
kerchief is disposed in voluminous folds across
her bosom. Her gray hair lying softly over
her brow, still retains some reminiscence of
early curls, while her spectacled eyes and
slightly wrinkled brow, as they bend over the
gleaming needles, are serene with happy old
age.

It is a quiet picture, and a relief to the
audience after the bursts of merriment caused
by the previous scenes. "How lovely the
child was I" some exclaimed, when the doors
were closed. Others, at once had discovered
her grandmother to be no less a personage
than Benjamin Stykes himself. "But how
capital ! no oue would ever suspect such a
thing but for the size of his hands I"

In the meantime, poor Ben was in the
dressing-room busily engaged over the wash
basin ; outwardly, washihg the flour out of
his forelocks, and the cork' d wrinkles from his
face, and inwardly, wondering how he could
have been able to act at all during the even-
ing, while his heart was so heavy with his
double discovery of Mary's engagement with
the Lieutenant, and his own deep love for her.
Pacing up and down the dressing-room with
long strides, coatless and collarless, holding
the towel in both hands and rubbing face and
head, more or less furiously according to the
flow of his emotions, he presented a sorry
picture. He had evidently forgotten his
sweet little grandchild already.

The remainder of the dramatic or Charadic
Corps (who had dressed during the tableau
scene) were now down stairs attending to —

Scene IV. Whole Word.

Floor covered in centre with green baize or
wrong side of an old quilt (to imitate poor
carpet). Small wooden table in centre, with
work basket on it, kitchen chair on either
side. Neat looking woman (Mary Gliddox),
in cap, and clean, short sack and apron, a

calico skirt pinned up in front. She is kneel-
ing near the table with her bare arms im-
mersed in a pail. Wrings out cloth and gives
the legs of the table a final wipe. A knock is
heard.

Woman (rising hurriedly, wiping her arms and
setting the pail aside). Mercy on us! who's
that? (She opens the door). Ah, good-morn-
ing, Miss Agnes ; I'm sure you 're very wel-
come, Miss. It does my eyes good to see you
again. Take a seat, Miss.

Agnes (Teresa Adams in simple walking
dress). And I 'm very glad to see you, Hannah,
and (looking about the apartment) to see you
so comfortably settled too. 'But you must
know, Hannah (ivith some embarrassment) , I 'm
not Miss Agnes any longer, I ' ve followed your
example —

Hannah. Lor, Miss, you ain't been an' gone
an 'got married I

Agnes. Yes I have, and what is more, I
have commenced housekeeping ; and now,
Hannah, I '11 tell you why I have called to
see you this morning. The fact is, I don't
know quite as much as I ought to about
making pies and cakes and such things, and
I 'm going to have my first company to-morrow.
I remember how nicely you used to make
such things when poor, dear mother was alive
and you lived with us ; and I was a trouble-
some little girl, and you were so patient and
good always.

H. (wiping her eyes on her apron) . Oh, don't,
Miss !

A. Well, Hannah, I '11 come to the point at
once. I want you to tell me exactly how you
made your Charlotte de Russe, and your
sponge cake, and your jelly cake, and — -and
that elegant fruit cake, you know, you used
to make.

H. Lor, Miss, you fairly take my breath
away. I don't know where to begin —

A. Well, commence with the sponge cake,
there 's a good soul ! You see I have brought
my receipt book (takes a pencil and book from
her pocket and opens latter upon the table ready
to ivrite). Now —

H. (speaking rapidly). Sponge cake — well,
let me see. First, I take my yolks and beat
them to a feather, then I put in my sugar
and my flavoring. Then beat up whites till
they stand up crisp ! then I stir 'em in and
sprinkle in my flour — all has to be done like a
flash, and musn't have your oven too hot.

A. (laying down' pencil in despair). Good-

A FEW FBI ENDS.

ness, Hannah! Please don't speak so fast!
How many egga did you Bay .'

//. 'Feuds altogether upon how much cake
you warn. Mis.-;. I gen'rally used to take
fifteen to a batch.

A. Fifteen, eh! (writes it down), and how
much sugar f

11. Sugar ? Let 's see ; well, a few handfuls
about ; you want sponge cake pretty sweet.

-I. Is it a pound, or twenty pounds, Han-
nah? Do try, that 's a dear, and be a little
I want definite quantities, you know —

//. Somewhere, I guess, 'tween one or two
pounds. Won't that do .' Well, as for es-
sence, of course you don't want, no special
directions there.

A. But the Hour?

II. Oh yes, that 's a fact ; you mustn't get
too much Hour in sponge cake or it 's all up
■with you. Let 's see (reflects — Agnes eagerly
pher pencil), well, you jest keep stirrin'
it in till it 's the right consistency. Can't tell
you no plainer than that, Miss, for the life o'
me ; no one could.

A. (in a tone of despair). Never mind the
Sponge cake, Hannah. Let 's have the Char-
lotte de Russe, please.

II. Certainly, .Miss ; but don't interrupt me,
for I can't remember nothing, it kind of puts
me all out. Well (speaking quickly again and
tapping palm of It r't hand with forefinger of right),
first, you take some milk and three eggs ; put
that down, Miss, only the yolks, and bile 'em
like a Bastard ; boil a little- isinglass and put
it with it ; then let it cool, and whip up your
cream ; then flavor the other stuff and stir all
together, and put your eakes (ladies' fingers
is best) along the inside of your mould and
pour in your Charlotte and set it on the ice,
that's all. It's nothing to make when onct
you know.

A. 0 dear, dear! I can't write down any-
thing from that ; can't you be a little more
precise, Hannah? that's a darling, do.

II. More precise than that, Miss. (I beg
pardon, ma'am, it si-ems as if I must call you
Miss yet.) Why, no human bein' could.
The fact is, Miss — ma'am — it 's more knack
than measurement after all. I don't never
want no quart measures nor scales, and, savin'
your presence, Miss, I 'd like to know who
turns out better cake than I can.

(The door opens, a dishevelled masculine
head is thrust in and withdrawn, and door
quickly closed.)

//. (laughing). That's my John ; he's tho
timidest man you ever see. Come in, John.

John's voice (outside). Come here, lie
I want ter speak ter yer.

//. (laughing). Oh eome iu yerself, John ;
it 's nobody here will hurt ye ! (Aside to Aij-
nes.) lie 's just the easiest scared man ye
ever did aee.

John's voice (rather agitated). Come out, will
yer; I hain't got a minute. (Hannah goet out
for a minute and returns weeping.)

A. (tenderly). What /s the matter, my poor
Hannah ?

II. (crying behind her apron'). Oh, oh, John's
listed ! He 's gone to the war for three months,
Miss, that 's what he is! 0 deary me ! deary
me ! what shall I do with myself without
him?

A. I '11 tell you, Hannah. Come, stay with
me while he 's away. It won't be long, you
know, and you shall have the head of the
kite hen, and be as happy as a queen.

//. (looking up brightly). Could I, Miss? I
mean ma'am. Indeed it would cheer me up
mightily. And then, Miss, you know you
could watch me make the cakes and things,
and measure the exact quantities after me,
you know. Odear! 0 dear ! but I shall miss
John so much. (Sobs. Agnes tries to comfort
lo r. In a fete moments door opens again, voice
calls) —

Hannah, woman, come out here !

II. (rails). Ah, come in, John, and see tho
lady I 'm a going to stop with while you 're
off to the war. (Sobs.)

John (outside). Don't go on so ! I can't go
after all, old woman. I've just been around
and they won't enter me, coz my legs is too
crooked. Good-by, I must run back to niy
work.

11. (springs up indignantly). Humph, jest
like their impudence! but I'm mighty glad
of it, John. And for you, Miss, I '11 come an'
stop a week with ye anyhow till yer get that
book full. I shall feel better now that I know
for certain my man ain't going to the war.
It 's been hanging over me like for some time.

A. Couldn't you come to-morrow, Hannah,
and help me with the supper?

//. Can't tell for certain, Miss. Hebbe I
can, mebbe I can't ; it depends a good deal
upon John. We '11 see to-morrow, ma'am.

.1. Ah, Hannah, that won't do. I must
have a definite answer.

II. Bless you, Miss, how much your ways

godky's lady's booe and magazine.

is like .your dear ma's.
yes then, for certain.
They shake hands.

Well, I guess I '11 say-

Doors close.

A loud clapping of hands, and cries of
" Definite !" "Definite!" from the audience
followed the close of the last scene. Not that
the right solution of the charade was arrived
at simultaneously by the entire party ; on the
contrary, some, even after hearing the an-
nouncement from others, would look blankly
about them with "Why, where was the ' fi ?'"
" Where was the ' def V " "The ' knit' was
plain enough, wasn't it?" And the shrewd
ones would eagerly insist, "Why, don't you
remember the deaf man?" "Don't you re-
member the spoiled boy getting a black eye ?"
" Wasn't that boy capital, though ?" " Mr.
Stykes is a real genius I" etc. etc.

Just as Ben was bidding Mary a constrained
"Good-evening," strangely in contrast with
his usual heartiness, Mr. Simmons, under Mrs.
S.'s directions, of course, approached him to
ask if he would be kind enough to escort his
wife's sister, Miss Scinwig, home ?

Now, Miss Scinwig was older far than her
portly married sister, and lean, in proportion
to the other's pinquitude ; but Benjamin was
too much of a gentleman to measure woman's
worth by the pound avoirdupois. Little thought
he, as he gently led her down the stone steps
and took her lank arm within his own, that
her first remark on their way home would
save him a sleepless night, and make all
nature seem joyous to him the nest morning.
"What a very handsome man that step-
brother of Mary Gliddon's is!"

WANT OF ENERGY.
Want of energy is a great and corninon
cause of the want of domestic comfort. As
the best laid fire can give no heat and cook
no food unless it is lighted, so the clearest
ideas and purest intentions will produce no
corresponding actions without that energy
which gives power to all that is of value, which
is, as it were, the very life of life, and which
is never more necessary or available than in
the mistress and mother of a family. Those
who have it not — and many are constitution-
ally destitute of it — would do well to inquire
of their experience and their conscience what
compensating virtues they cau bring into the
marriage state to justify them in entering on

its duties without that which is so essential
to their performance. They should consider
that the pretty face' and graceful languor,
which, as it is often especially attractive to
the most impetuous of the other sex, gained
them ardent lovers, will not enable them to
satisfy the innumerable requisitions and se-
cure the social happiness of the fidgety and
exacting husbands, into which characters ardent
and impetuous lovers are generally trans-
formed.

A VIOLET.

BT MRS. SARA WOLVERTON.

Dost ever sit at twilight's hour,

And meditate alone,
And think how many, many friends

From life's long way have gone ?

Dost ever see thy childhood's friends

Within that shadowed light,
And list them tell the olden tales —

See olden pictures bright ?

And then the friend of girlhood's years,

You used to love so well,
Whose ever ready ear was lent

To list what you would tell ?

And then that other, dearer friend,
Whose hand enclasps your owu,

Who whispered words so very low,
None heard but you alone ?

And then the friends of later years,
Who round your hearthstone coma,

And taught you friendship oft can boast
Of else beside a name?

And then the years that came between

And blotted all away ?
Some lights went out, but somo in heaven

Still burn with steadfast ray !

The backward path I love to tread,

Its joys are ever mine ;
The future may be rayless night,

The past through it shall shine.

DEW-DROPS.

BY SELMA.

Ton dew-drops sparkling on the bough,
Fit emblems of our lives are they,

Which next shall lose its trembling hold,
What mortal tongue may say ?

Which next the hand, now fondly clasped,

Shall lose its trembling hold ;
Which of the hearts now fondly loved,

Shall next in death grow cold ?

None — none may tell, so frail the grasp,

Of all on earth we love ;
Then let us clasp with stronger faith

Our Father's hand above.

NOVELTIES FOR JULY.

BOXXETS, BABY'S HOOD, ETC. ETC.

Fig. 2.

Fig. 3.

Fig. -4.

Fig. 5.

Fig. 6.

Fig. 1 is a bonnet of rose-colored crepe, with
curtain of the same. Near the front edge is a
narrow band of the crepe, edged by a white
lace ; at the top of front is a group of roses
and rose-buds, mixed with fullings of lace or
blonde ; from beneath the group, and passing
down the back of crown, Is a falling of tulle
edged with narrow lace ; at the back of cur-
tain is a small rose-bud with leaves, from
under which, falling over the curtain, is a
broad lappet of tulle edged with white lace.
The strings are of pink silk.

Fig. 2 is a dress bonnet of white tulip ;
down the front edge is a fulling of tulle, and
at the top of front Is a plume of white feathers.
The top and crown of bonnet are covered by a
square of white lace, edged with small white
silk ball fringe ; at the bottom edge of this
square is a deep flounce of white lace, edged
with ball fringe. The strings are of white
silk, and the cap has a few small pink flowers
at the top.

Fig. 3 is a bonnet of white crape, with cur-
tain and strings of green silk. At the top of

godet's lady's book and magazine.

front is an ornament, composed of a piece of
green silk edged with broad black lace, and
having on the left side a tuft of black feathers.

Fig. 4 is a bonnet composed entirely of full-
ings of white tulle. The curtain and strings
are of violet silk. At the top of front is a
group of violet feathers, and in the cap are
some bows of violet ribbon and a few violet
flowers.

Fig. 5 is an elegant bonnet of white silk

Fig. 7.

The top of bonnet is formed of a half diamond
shaped piece of Ophelia crepe, edged round
with black lace ; at the left side of this are
three white roses and a few fuchsias in black
velvet. The loose crown is of white spotted
muslin, and the curtain is of Ophelia crepe.
The strings, instead of starting only from the
ears, pass along the front edge of bonnet ;
they are of white satin edged with quillings of
Ophelia crepe.

Fig. 9-

Fig. S.

edged with blue silk, and having a curtain
and strings of the same. At the top, rather
towards the left side, is a cockade of blue
satin, with a mother of pearl centre and a few
short white feathers. Blonde cap, having at
the top a few bows of blue ribbon, with a rose
and some buds.

Fig. 0 is a bonnet of the Marie Stuart form.

Fig. 7 is a Mousquetaire hat of drab straw,
trimmed by two narrow bands of scarlet velvet,
and having in front a plume of black and red
feathers, and one large ostrich feather.

Fig. 8 is a bonnet of green crepe ; at the top
of crown is a group of lilac flowers. All round
the front edge is a narrow garland of lilac,
covered by fullings of tulle ; the space be-

NOVELTIES FOR JULY.

Fig 10.

tween the garland arid the crown is covered
by narrow fallings of tulle. The curtain is
partly covered by a deep white lace flounce,
and the strings are of green ribbon.

Fig. 9. — White muslin Garibaldi waist,
braided with black braid.

Fig. 10. — Fancy chemise, with yoke and

sleeves, formed of rows of insertion. The
edges are finished with a French worked rufile,
and between these ruffles and the insertion is
a beading, or an insertion with holes, through
which is run either a black velvet or a colored
ribbon.

Fig. 11. — Summer Balmoral, made of striped

Fig. 11.

muslin or twilled cotton ; plaited ruffle on the
bottom, and bands of trimmings put on in
Squares. The top is finished with a pointed
yoke.

VOL. LX1X. — 7

Fig. 12. — Baby's hood. This hood is ?aade
in bright pink cashmere, braided in white,
and edged with a quilling of white silk. It is
lined and qnilted in white silk. A bow of

godey's lady's book and magazine,

ft=M

Fig. 12.

Fi^-. 13.

Fig. 14.

NOVELTIES FOR JULY.

ribbon is placed on the top, and strings to
match.

Fig. 13. — Simple breakfast-cap, made of
white muslin, and scalloped with black silk.

Pig. 14. — One of the most fashionable styles
of linen cuffs.

Fig. 15. — Hair iret with ribbon coronet.

The materials are very fine sewing silk ;
Fig. 15.

1 yard 7 inches of ribbon, 3 inches wide ; one-
half a yard of silk elastic ; 3 gimp ornaments ;
a little black velvet ; a wooden mesh.

The foundation is netted in silk of the same
shade as the hair, or else of any bright color.
Cast on 33 stitches, and net 34 rows, back-
wards and forwards. Around this square
work 17 rows; in the first of these 17 rows
net 2 stitches in each stitch at the corners.
Gather the piece of netting all round, work a
small hem round the edge, and run through
it a piece of silk elastic, and sew tie- ends
together. To trim the net, first make with
stiff black net a circle, not closed, about 12
inches long and one-half an inch wide. Run
some fine wire into each edge of this circle ;
bind it with a strip of black velvet, cut on the
cross 2J inches wide, and sewn on so that it
may be turned back on the outside over the
trimming to hide the seam.

The trimming is arranged in the shape of a
diadem; it is finished in a point at each side,
and forms five double pleats in front, each
about 1J inch wide. On each side of these
five pleats three plain ones are made, folded
towards the back; the pleats should cease
about 3A inches from the end of the ribbon,
at which place the ribbon is folded on the
cross so as to terminate in a point. Place
this diadem on the edge of the circle, be-
tween the wire and the velvet, which turn
back and sew on the ribbon. Round the
inside of the circle sew the net, plain, and
even stretched a little, so that it may set
well to the head. On the three middle
pleats fasten three gimp ornaments ; these
may be omitted if the net is preferred more
simple.

NETTED MITTEN.
(Bee Plate priTUed In Colors, in front.)
Materials. — 3 skeins of fin<> blade pnrse Bilk : 16 skeins
of Mack sewine silk ; three-quarters of a yard of elastic ;
3 different sized meshes.

In compliance with the wishes of a few of
our correspondents, we have had engraved a
pretty mitten pattern, a pair of which makes
a very suitable present to an elderly person.
The mitten is arranged with two pull's and a
frill, and the back of the hand is worked in
round dots. The mitten is drawn full size, so
the width of the meshes can be determined by
referring to the illustration. With the second
sued mesh make a foundation of 45 stitches,
and join round. This row forms the runner
for the elastic round the wrist. Now take the
sum/!' si mesh, and net 5 rows. In the 7th row,
the increasing for the thumb must be com-
menced by netting 2 stitches into 1 twice,
netting 5 plain between the two in.
stitches. The stitches are increased in this
maimer every 3d row, netting 2 plain rows
between. When the netting has been in-
creased 7 times, and there are 2'i rows netted,
the thumb and the portion for the fingers
must be worked separati ly. Commen
the first line of increased stitches, net 2
stitches into 1 four times, and miss over all the
thumb portion, netting the next stitch into
the stitch close to the 2d line of in I
stitches. Two openings are now made ; one
for the hand and the other for the thumb.
is rows should be netted round the large
opening with the smallest mesh, then 1 row

godey's "lady's book and magazine.

with the second sized mesh, and the next row
with the largest mesh. This row is worked
in the following manner : Net 1, miss 1, netl,
then net the stitch that was missed. Continue
in this manner to the end of the row. With
the smallest mesh 3 rows should be netted,
and the hand will he complete. For the
thumb, the silk should be joined on to the 1st
of the 4 newly made stitches, and worked
round. In returning to the 4 stitches, the 2
middle ones must be netted together, to de-
crease them. These 4 stitches assist to form
the. spring for the thumb. The same number of
rows should be netted as for the hand, and
the same finish at the top should he worked.
For the puffs, commence on the other side of
the foundation row, and with the smallest
mesh net 3 plain rows. Now take a needle
threaded with double sewing silk, and with
the second sized mesh net 9 rows, then 3
rows with the purse silk and smallest mesh.
This completes the 1st puff. The 2d puff is
netted in precisely the same manner as the
1st, only that the last row forms the runner
for the elastic, and consequently makes it
look smaller. At the top of the last puff, 3
plain rows should be netted, and the lace
commenced, which is all worked in double
sewing silk. 1st row, with the largest mesh
miss 1, * net 3 stitches into 1, miss 1, repeat
from *. 2d and 3d rows, with the smallest
mesh, plain netting. 4th row, with the same
mesh net every alternate stitch. The embroi-
dery on the back of the mitten is sewn over and
over, the silk being then run round the dot and
carried on to the next dot. This portion of
the work is executed in double sewing silk.

NETTED WINDOW-CURTAINS.
(See engraving, pay' 2n.)
The design we are now giving for netted
window-curtains is a new arrangement of the
diamond pattern. To ladies not thoroughly
well versed in this pretty sort of work we
strongly recommeml practising on a small
p"iece until they have conquered any little
difficulty, and are able to enter on the larger
undertaking without fear of mistakes, which
in this sort of netting must entirely destroy
the beauty of the effect. This small piece will
also be useful as a means of calculating the
width of the curtain, which should be on a
somewhat larger mesh if coarser cotton should
be preferred. Whether the window be small

or large, the proper dimensions can be easily
ascertained from the few inches produced by
practising the stitch. Having decided upon
the number of loops, make a foundation of
two or three rows on some mesh of about an
inch wide, and then proceed to the first row
of the pattern. Before commencing he careful
to remember that a long loop does not mean
one with the cotton passed more than once
round the mesh, hut a loop in which the knot
is tied to the loop above, leaving the loop it-
self long enough to range with the long loops
already netted. This will be better under-
stood by observing that with the exceptions
of the first and last rows of the pattern there
are always an upper and a lower tier of net-
ting being worked in the same row, which is
done by putting the mesh alternately in the
upper or lower tier according to the changes
of the pattern. Commence netting one loop
with the cotton three times round the mesh ;
then net six plain and repeat to the end of
the row, leaving off with a loop, having the
cotton three times round the mesh. 2d row.
Commence with a long loop (that is, leave the
cotton long enough for the loop you are net-
ting to range with the one of the last row iu
which the cotton has been passed three times
round the mesh) ; net a second long loop,
withdraw the mesh and net five plain, with-
draw the mesh and replace it in the last long
loops, and repeat to the end of the row.
3c/. Net one plain loop, one long loop, with-
draw the mesh, and net four plain, withdraw
the mesh and replace it in the last long loops
and net one long loop. Repeat. 4th. Net
two plain loops, one long loop, withdraw the
mesh, and net three plain loops ; replace the
mesh in the long loops, net one long loop and
repeat. 5th. Net two plain, one long, with-
draw the mesh, net two plain, replace the
mesh in' the long loops and net one long, one
plain. Repeat. 6th. Net three plain, one
long, withdraw the mesh, net one plain, re-
place the mesh in the long loops, net one long,
one plain, and repeat. 7th. This row is net-
ted without withdrawing the mesh, the long
stitches forming themselves at the point of the
diamond of the last row. 8th. Net four, pass
the cotton three times round the mesh, and
net one, net two plain. 9th. Net three plain,
withdraw the mesh and net two long : with-
draw mesh, and net two plain. Repeat. Wth.
Net three plain, withdraw the mesh, net one
long, one plain, one long, withdraw the mesh,

WORK DEPARTMENT.

net one plain. Repeat. 11th. Net two plain,
withdraw the mesh ; net one long, two plain ;
withdraw the mesh, one long, one plain. Re-
peat. 12th. Two plain, withdraw the mesh;
one long, three plain, one long. Repeat. 13th.
One plain, withdraw the mesh ; one long, four
plain, one long. 14th. Commence with two
long loops, and net the whole of the row with-
out withdrawing the mesh.

The cotton proper for these curtains will be

Nos. 8 or 10 of crochet, and No. loot' knitting
cotton for darning the patterns in the dia-
monds.

FANCY TATTING FOK A CHEMISE BAND.

NEW EMBROIDERY AND BRAIDING PATTERNS.

PREPARED AT TnE ESTABLISHMENT OF W. CAMERON,

No. 22S North Eighth Street, Philadelphia.

<SPoo

godey's lady's book and magazine.

GENTLEMAN'S DRESSING OR LOUNGING
BOOT.

Befoke commencing to work this boot,
which is warm, comfortable, and more elegant
than a slipper, the proper measures should
be taken by a shoemaker, who should be told
the dimensions the boot should be, so as to
leave sufficient space, free of emb?'oidcry, for
making it up. Our pattern is made of brown

back and knit to the end, next row knit only
32 stitches, then knit to the end. Knit 2
stitches less in every alternate row till only 2

cloth, embroidered in two shades of brown
silk, lighter than the cloth. Both shades are
clearly marked in the separate illustration we
give of the pattern on the upper part of the
foot ; the same pattern is repeated on the leg.
This pattern may be worked either in herring-
bone, in chain stitch, or braiding. In the two
last cases, a double row should be worked ;
these rows may be either of two different
colors, or of two distinct shades of the same
' color.

KNITTED STAYS FOR CHILDREN.

materials. — One-quarter pound of No. 6 thrce-tkread
Knitting Cotton, and 2 pins No. 15.

1 Cast on 64 stitches, slip the first stitch of
every row ; the whole is done in plain knitting,
Knit 92 rows. 93d. Cast off 6 stitches, knit
the remainder. 94th. Plain. 95th. Cast off
2 stitches, knit the remainder. 96M. Plain.
97th. Cast off 2 stitches, knit the remainder.
98th. Plain. 99th. Slip 1, knit 2 together,
knit the remainder plain. 100th. Plain, re-
peat the last 2 rows 6 times more, knit 10
plain rows, then knit only 33 stitches, turn

remain ; this is to form a gore ; then knit
the whole number of stitches for 11 rows, then
make a stitch at the beginning of every alter-
nate row till 7 increasings are made, knit a
plain row after the one with the last increase,'
then cast on 6 stitches, * knit 12 rows, de-
crease 1 stitch at the top, repeat from * 5
times more, knit 28 rows, * then increase 1
stitch at the top, knit 12 rows, repeat from *
5 times more, then repeat from the 93d row
till the 6 stitches are cast on, knit 92 plain
rows, and cast off. These stays are much ap-
proved for children, as they combine the
necessary support with great elasticity ; but
the knitting must be tightly done to prevent
its being too elastic ; the shoulder-straps are
generally made of tape, but if knitting is pre-
ferred, cast on 5 stitches, slip 1, seam 1, knit
1, seam 1, knit 1. Every row is alike. Con-
tinue this till you have the length you require
for the shoulder-strap. The size given is for
a child about 3 years old, but the same rule
may be applied for larger stays by adding a
few more stitches in the casting on, and knit-
ting a few more rows in the width.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

THREE SUMMER QUILTS.

Tub great advantage of these quilts is, that

they aro more easily washed, and kept of a

whiteness than heavier counterpanes,

• they are pleasant and convenient for

summer use, yet not Inappropriate for winter

too, when plenty of blankets are warmer and

•han an exceedingly weighty

coverlet. The first summer quilt we will call,

to distinguish it from the rest — not without

reason —

TIIE DREAM.

knitting eo'.ton No. 8, and two knitting
pins (with heads) No. 12. Calculate the
width the quilt is to be, and oast on stitches
enough for a third of that, allowing seven
3 for every inch. 3 will

be required for every repetition of the pattern,

I strips may be knitted of any i
wi Ith, as the joins, if carefully done, scarcely
show.

1st row. — Slip 1 stitch, taking it under, knit
1 stitch, and pull the slipped stitch over;
le is to be done in this manner
throughout), knit 4, bring the thread forward,
and knit 1. Repeat these seven stitches to
the end of the row. 2</. — Purl all the stitches.

3</. — Decrease as before, knit 3, increase as
before, knit 2. Repeat to the end of the row.

4(A. — Purl all the stit.

5th. — Decrease, knit 2, increase, knit 3.
Repeat to the end of the row.

Gth. — Purl all the stitches.

1th. — Decrease, knit 1, increase, knit 4.
it to the end of the row.

%th. — Purl all the stitches.

Oth. — Decrease, increase, knit 5. Repeat to
(the end of the row. 10th. — Purl all the si

IDA. — Knit 2, increase, knit 3, den
it to the end of the row.

Vlth.— Purl all the stitch .

13(A. — Knit 3, increase, knit 2, decrease.
Repeat to the end of the row.

14M.— Purl all the stitches.

18 ■'■. — Knit 4, increase, knit 1, decrease.
Repeat to the end of the row.
. — Purl all the stitches.

17/A. — rfait 5, increase, decrease. T.
to the end of the row.

1S(A.— Purl all the stitch

Repeat this pattern until the strip3 are of a
;icnt length, and cast off.

The Border.

Cast on 40 stitches. Half-knit the first
stitch, and without taking the stitch off the
left-hand pin, knit the half-stitch and the
next stitch together, taking them at the bar';.
Repeat the same to the end of the row. Every
row is the same. This border, with the cotton
and knitting-pins named above, will be about '
live inches wide, but can, of course, be ruado
wider at pleasure. Knit it in lour stripes, aud
sew it on.

This quilt ot medium size will take about
four pounds of cotton. If it be wished to knit
one, which cau be finished in a shorter time,
it can be made with Btrutt's knitting cotton
6, and knitting pins No. !) ; this will take
about five pounds of cotton, the stouter cotton
being heavier.

FAN QCILT.

Use two knitting' pins No. 12, and knitting
cotton No. 8. In I ig the number •>('

stitches tn In' east on for each strip, allow
itches (or one pattern) to each inch
and a half desired, and let the number of
stitches be any that will divide into nines.

1st roj_\ — Knit 2 together ; bring the cotton
forward ami knit 1 five times, bring the
cotton forward and knit 2 together. Repeat
to the end of the row. 2d. — Purl.

3./. — Knit 2 together, knit 9, knit 2 together.
Repeat for the remainder of the row.

&«.— Purl.

5/A.— Knit 2 together, knit 7, knit 2 to-
gether. Repeat to the end of the row.

6th.— Purl.

Repeat the same pattern until the strips
are long enough, and in sewing them together
join the pattern exactly, stitch by stitch.
The quilt may be finished with tie'
border as the other, or with one of moss-
stitch.

A sufficiently expert knitter would do well
to knit the herd, r and a portion of tb
pattern all in one piece, in which case it is
only necessary to take care that an even
number of stitch.

TWISTED COLDMH CXILT.

To knit the quilt in three part-,
slit -lies for one with knitting pins, No. 14,
and knitting cotton No. 8. Knit .'^2 rows plain
knitting. Purl 216 stitches and knit 1 i.
Knit one row. '.

godey's lady's book and magazine.

times, which is to form the border so far, and
must be carried up one side of the knitting,
making an edge of 1C stitches in plain knitting,
and a border of 24 stitches in stocking knit-
ting. With the remaining 192 stitches, knit
the following pattern for the main portion of
the quilt : Purl and knit 6 stitches alter-
nately to the border. Knit plain all the row.
Repeat these two rows 6 times. Next row
purl and knit 8 stitches alternately. The
next row forms the twist. After the border
knit the 8 plain stitches, then take off 4 on a
third pin, knit the 4 following stitches, and
then those you have taken off ; knit the 8
plain stitches, repeat the twist, and so on to
the end of the row. These 16 rows repeated
form the pattern of the quilt.

For the centre portion of the quilt, cast on
240 stitches. It is, of course, only to begin
and end with the border, the remainder being

all knitted in the twisted column pattern.
The number of stitches given will make the
quilt 7 feet wide. For the last division of the
quilt cast on 240 stitches, instead of 232 as in
the other side piece, because 8 extra stitches
must be allowed to make the sides agree.
The position of the border must, of course, be
reversed.

INITIAL LETTER FOR MARKING.

PLAN FOR AN AUTOGRAPH QUILT.

Explanation of the Diagram.— B B for black piece ; L for light ; D for dark. The remaining
blocks are finished in the same manner.

BECEII'TS.

Receipts, eVt.

ICE CREAM AND CREAM FREEZERS.
As the season for ice cream anil water Ices is upon us,
many Inquiries are naturally made in regard to the b< I

.. luxuries of life,
Implements best adapted to that purpose. We
bare, therefore, thrown together ■ (■ w hints on this sub-
Ject, ftuniahed OS by one well posted in those matters.

Iu the fir^t place, it is propel to say, that bo produce a

superior quality of Ice cream, the materials, especially the

i ■ -'1 ■-■■".I quality, all !;"U ,h ;t >!■■ -i-

rable article may be made from inferior cream, or even

milk, with the addition of eggs and arrowroot

Somo confectioners add more sugar to their cream and

milk, tO give it richness and consistency. The usual

quantity is about sight ounces to the quart, though some

six, while others go as high as teu, and even
onuses to the quart, when milk or thin cream is

need.

The following receipt, as a substitute for pure cream,
has boon successfully used :—

Two quai I ■ Ich milk, four fresh eggs, three-quar-

ters of a r, six teaspoons ol I

in a little cold
milk, beat the i ither, bring the milk to

Int, then stir iu tne arrowroot, r

then from the fire and iuu |

BUgar, stirring briskly to keep the eggs from cooking] then

streets, lei it be don i

ting it In the freezer, If the vanilla beau is

boiled in a little milk or water.

As this article has greatly advanced in price, wo
method i f preparing it, I j
r cent, more of the extract can be obtained,
and which also commends itself, for its convenience ia
use.
Boil the beans, say twenty-four hours or longer, in a
i eans, with a sufficient qn

water, may bo put into a bottle or jug, closely corked, and
.., i .1 kepi Immersed in Hot water for a day or two;
sugar may then be added to form a syrup strong enough
> it, which can be used at pleasure. After this is
used, a - Hon may be made of the same beans,

in the same way.

For orange or pine-apple cream, cnt the fruit in thin
slices, and cover the same with plenty of fine or pulver-
ised white BQgar. Alter Btanding a tow hours, the syrup
can be drawn off and used for Savoring the cream asabove
described. The flavor of other fruits can be extracted and
nsi d in a similar way.

For orange <t lemon water Ices, grate on a fin*
ox wl al ter, >n the head of loaf sugar, the rind of

i ■■■ I inges or 1 noon -. b ad I

water add the above, with thejuico, and a pound of white
The white of one or two eggs
beaten up light, to every quart, should be add<- 1 I
it consistency.

nine more than the lemon mixture

> addition ofa little rum or Jamaica spirits.

Froten Custard. — Take one quart of milk, live eggs,

and a half pound of sugar. Beat the eggs and sugar

B iJ the milk, and pour it over the eg
bh ■ ■, i eating it at the same time. Pul t
again, and keep Btirring to prev< ol Lte burning. As soon
. take it off and strain it through a hair
Sieve. When cool add the flavor, and it is ret
I

Iu regard to the implements best adapted for the pnr-
: might say that an axperienct 1 person can make

good ice >•■ -tany freezer by dint of lal

good manageme .a revolution

in the manufacture of ice en am was brought about by the
Patent Freezer," which so
simplified the operati re novice could make

an exeellenl article. The great success of the Invention
has had the affect to bring a number of patent freezers]
before the public, all mure or less copies of tl.
original. Some of theso freezers possess certain guod
points ; but Masseris freezers stand unrivalled as the only

i ■■' Br yet before the public, which has two WpSJ
Independent motions, which, by simply turning the
crank backward or forward, revolves the can alone, or
revolves the beater only, as may be ikvin. d nij<..vs>ary.

Tbo importance of th«>.- separate motions will be under-
stood, when we say that the frozen mixture is liable to
become buttery or granulated, if beaten when too stiff,
which is often the case with freezers differently constructed,
and which have not the roverse or separate motions, os-
peoially iu the hands of inexperienced persons. Mr.

■' In a small treatise on this subject, elucidates this

matter bo clearly, that we can do no better than to copy
the following extract.

Many persons entertain an erroneous idea, that freezing
cream too rapidly, or beating it too Boon, causes it to
become buttery. This is a mistake; The production of
granulated cream, filled with small particles of butter, is
almost always owing to oppi site causes; namely, the
beating of the cream when too hard or stiff. The philos-
ophy of this is apparent. Cream, it is well known, is
composod of minute globules which contain the butter.
To make butter, these globules must be crushed or broken,
which is usually done by tbo action of the dash in the
churn, o* by grinding it between two surfaces, or any
other <^f the various modes of concussion or friction
adopted for this purpose, and called churning. To con-
am, iu a liquid State, into butter, it requires the
ion to break the globules, at
a temperature ofabi at ftfty^flve degrees, which cannot be
i, Cream Freezer. But when the cream has become
stiffened by freezing, these globules are broken by tha
friction of the paddle or beater, caused by the resistant e
of the frozen mixture, and which increases as it grows
stiller. In this way, the butter, separated in small par-
diffused throughout the mixture, which is ;u
fact, no Longer & i i, but frozen buttermilk, Inter-
mixed with minute particles of butter, and has neither the
richness or consistence of well-made cream.

MISCELLANEOUS COOKI.m
Potted Salmon. — Scale and wipe a large piece, but do
not wash it; salt well; drain tho salt from it when all
melted, season with mace, cloves, and whole pepper ; put
tho fish into a pan with a few bay-leaves, cover it .with
butter, aud bake. When thoroughly done, place it to
drain for a while, pot it, and when cold, cover with
clarified butter.

Veal BaubAOES, — Chop fat bacon and lean veal in equal
quantities, with a handful of sage, a little salt, pepper,
aud, if at hand, an anchovy. It should be chopped aud
Well together, rolled, and fried.

Spinach. — When carefully washed and picked, place in
a saucepan just large euou-h to hold it, sprinkle it with
a little salt, and cover close. Shake well while on the
fire. When done, beat up the spinach with a piece of*
butter. A spoonful of cream improves the flavor.

Bnowbaxis. — Place b me rice In milk to aw< 11 .
it off; put the rice round apples pared and cored, with a
lit of lemon-peel, a clove, and a piece of cinnamon ia
each ; tie in a cloth, and boil well.

Scolloped Tomatobs. — Tako fine, large tomatoes, per-
fectly ripe. Scald them to loosen the skin-., and then pes 1
them. Cover the bottom of a deep dish thickly with grated
bread-crnma, adding a few bitaof fresh butter. Tl
in a layer of tomatoes, seasoned slightly with alitl
ai I eayen&e, and some powdered mace or nutmeg. Cover
them with another layer of bread-crnmfl and
Then another layer of seasoned tomatoes; and pr

godey's lady's book axd magazine.

thus till the dish is full, finishing at the top with bread-
crums. Set the dish into a moderate oven, and bake it
near three honrs. Tomatoes require long cooking, other-
wise they will have a raw taste, that to most persons is
unpleasant.

Youxo Corn Omelet. — To a dozen ears of fine young
Indian corn allow five eggs. Boil the corn a quarter of
an hour; and then, with a large grater, grate it down
from the cob. Beat the eggs very light, and then stir
gradually the grated corn into the pan of eggs. Add a
small salt-spoon of salt, and a very little cayenne. Put
into a hot frying-pan equal quantities of lard and fresh
butter, and stir them well together, over the fire. "When
they boil, put in the mixture thick, and fry it ; afterwards
browning the top with a red-hot shovel, or a salamander.
Transfer it, when done, to a heated dish, but do not fold
it over. It will be found excellent. This is a good way
of using boiled corn that has been left from dinner the
preceding day.

To Stew Carrots. — Half boil the carrots ; then scrape
them nicely, and cut them into thick slices. Put them
into a stew-pan with as much milk as will barely cover
them, a very little salt and pepper, and a sprig or two of
chopped parsley. Simmer them till they are perfectly
tender, but not broken. When nearly done, add a piece
of fresh butter rolled in flour. Send them to table hot.
Carrots require loug cooking.

Parsnips and salsify may be stewed in the above man-
ner, substituting a little chopped celery for the parsley.

Lamb Cutlets (a French dish). — Cut a loin of lamb into
chops. Remove all the fat, trim them nicely, scrape the
bone, and see that it is the same length in all the cutlets.
Lay them in a deep dish, and cover them with salad oil.
Let them steep in the oil for an hour. Mix together a
sufficiency of finely grated bread cruras, and a little
minced parsley, seasoned with a very little pepper and
salt, and some grated nutmeg. Having drained the
cutlets from the oil, cover them with the mixture, and
broil them over a bed of hot, live coals, on a previously
heated gridiron, the bars of which have been rubbed with
chalk. The cutlets must be thoroughly cooked. "When
half done, turn them carefully. You may bake them in a
dutch-oven, instead of broiling them. Have ready some
boiled potatoes, mashed smooth and stiff with cream or
butter. Heap the mashed potatoes high on a heated dish,
and make it into the form of a dome or a boe-hive. Smooth
it over with the back of a spoon, and place the lamb
cutlets all round it, so that they stand up aud lean against
it, with the broad end of each cutlet downward. In the
top of the dome of potatoes, stick a haudsome bunch of
curled parsley.

Tongue Toast. — Take a cold smoked tongue that has
been well boiled ; mince it fine. Mix it with cream and
beaten yolk of egg, and give it a simmer over the fire.
Having fir.^t cut off all the crust, toast vWy nicely some
slices of bread, and then butter them very slightly. Lay
them in a flat dish that has been heated before the fire;
and cover each slice of toast thickly with the tongue-
mixture, spread on hot; send them to table covered.
This is a nice breakfast or supper dish.

Pork Olives. — Cut slices from a fillet or leg of cold fresh
pork. Make a force-meat in the usual manner, only sub-
stituting for sweet herbs some sage-leaves chopped fine.
When the slices are covered with the force-meat, and
rolled up and tied round, stew them slowly either in cold
gravy left of the pork, or in fresh lard. Drain them well
before they go to table. Serve them up on a bed of mashed

turnips or potatoes, or of mashed sweet potatoes, if in
season.

Maccaroni Pudding to ee made op Cooked Meat —
Take an equal quantity of ham and chicken mixed, and
mince them small. Then weigh out half the quantity of
maccaroni, which must be previously boiled tender in
broth, two eggs, beaten well, one ounce of butter, cayenne
pepper, and salt to taste ; all these ingredients to be
mixed thoroughly together. Put into a mould or basin,
and to be boiled for two hours. The maccaroni must be
kept in as long pieces as possible.

A Cheese Omelet. — It is necessary to have a very small
frying-pan to have good omelets, for if a large one is used,
the ingredients will spread over it and become thin ; and
another rule to observe is, that omelets should be fried
only on one side. Use from five to ten eggs, according to
the sized dish required; break them up singly and care-
fully, each one to be well and separately beaten or
whisked ; add to them grated Parmesan cheese, the quan-
tity must be regulated according to the number of eggs
used — three ounces go to four eggs ; salt and pepper to the
taste. Dissolve in a small, clean frying-pan two or three
ounces of butter, pour in the ingredients, and as soon as
the omelet is well risen and appears quite firm, slide it
carefully on to a hot dish, and do not let it stand before
serving. From five to seven minutes will be sufficient to
cook it, provided there be a clear, brisk fire. •»

Baked Indian Pudding. — If you want to make a two
quart basinful of pudding, make with milk and sifted
meal a pint of tolerably thick mush. Let it boil till
thoroughly scalded, and set it away to cool ; when cool,
add two well-beaten eggs, a small cup of sugar, a table-
spoonful of ginger, halfteaspoonful cinnamon, a little salt.
Fill up your basin with cold milk, and with your hand
mix well ; set it into the oven, and when well crusted
over, stir the crust in, adding a few raisins, a piece of
butter half the size of an egg. Send it to the table with a
dressing of butter and sugar, flavored with nutmeg.

SAUCES.

Fish Sauce. — To about four ounces of melted butter, add
three tablespoonfuls of mushroom catchup, a tablespoonful
of essence of anchovies, a tablespoonful of white wine
vinegar, some cayenne, and a teaspoonful of soy.

Otster Sauce.— The oysters are to be bearded and
scalded, then strain the liquor, and thicken it with a
little flour and butter, adding lemon juice in small quan-
tity, aud a few tablespoonfuls of cream ; heat the oysters
well in this mixture, but do not let them boil ; some
persons add spices in making oyster sauce, in which case
it must be left longer on the fire, simmering gently, but
never being allowed to boll.

Shrimp Sauce.— Take some shrimps, and when you have
picked them from the shell as much as you can without
breaking them, put them into some good melted butter
which you have previously prepared ; add a tablespoonful
of lemon pickle ; heat well and serve.

Mint Sauce. — This sauce is seldom used but with roast
lamb ; to prepare it, pick, wash, and chop fine some green
spearmint ; to two tablespoonfuls uf the minced leaves,
put eight of vinegar, adding a little brown sugar; serve
cold in a sauce tureen.

Bread Sauce. — Boil the crum of bread with a minced
onion and some whole white pepper; when the onion is
conked, take it out, as also the peppercorns, and put the
bread, carefully crushed through a sieve, into a saucepan

RECEIPTS.

with cream, a little butter and salt, stirring it carefully
till it 1

MISCELLANEOUS.

T>> Imitate OnoL-Mt GLASS. — Dab the glass over with a

gluten' putty, cart-fully and uniformly, until tho

surface la equally covered. This fa an excellent Imitation

of ground glass, aud is not disturbed by raiu ur damp air,

■ ry useful for kitchen windows, for offices, glass-

doors, etc.

To Wash in Sea- water. — Take a strong solution "l" Boda
01 potash, with an equal weight of China-clay ; mix them
iur.i a thick paste, one pound of which is enough to sullen
four gallons of sear water.

A 9tsnra Paste for Paper. — To two large spoonfuls of

flow put as much powdered rn-in us will lie on ashilliug ;

mix with as much strong beer as will make it of a duo

ace, and boil half an hour. Let it be cold before

it is used.

IIow to Make Blacking.— Throe and a-half pounds of
Iv ry black; four and a-half pounds of treacle; half-
ounce of Prussian blue ; two ounces of white gum arable ;
one -ill of linseed oil, and one pound of vitriol. Mix and
stir the vitriol with great care,

Another. — Four ounces of ivory black ; four ounces of

Lndy, or coarse sugar; half an ounce of oil of

vitriol ; a tablespoonful of oil. Mis the vitriol with the

lack till all the lumps disappear, then add tho

BQgar aud oil, and rub them well for some time, then add,

by degrees, a quart of vinegar.

Raspberry Wine. — Bruise the finest ripe raspberries
with the back of a spoon ; strain them through a flannel
bag into a stone jar; allow one pound of flue powdered loaf
sugar to one quart of juice; stir these well together, and
cover the jar closely. Let it stand three day-, stin
the mixture everyday; then pour off tho clear liquid, and
put two quarts of sherry to each quart of juice or liquid.
B ttle it off, and it will be fit for use in a fortnight. By
I ognac brandy, instead of sherry, the mixture
will be raspberry brandy.

To Keep Rooms Cool ix SnofER. — Aflat vessel Ailed with
Water, on which are floated branches of trees covered with
is a v ry pleasant and efficacious means, and
is much employed in Germany. The suspension of In-
dian matting, previously damped, at the open window,
tends much to diminish the heat. This matting may be
imitated by any kind of plaited grass.

\Vi; do not vouch for the following: —

To Cure ttje Bite of a Mad Doo. — Take immediately
warm vinegar, or tepid water, and wash the wound very
clean : then dry it. and pour upon the wound a few drops
of muriatic acid. Mineral acids destroy the poison of the
saliva, and its evil effect is neutralized.

LS Transparent ToRTOISSBHBLI*. — ! The D<
for cleaning it when transparent is simply to wash it
Id water and polish it afterwards with soft wash-
leather.

Another. — Put on tortpiseshell ornaments one drop or
i] and rub it well in with the ball of tho
thumb until all greasiness disappears ; a brilliant polish
will thus be produced, and afterwards, if such friction
with the hand be frequently used, the bright appearance
of the tortoiseshell may be easily preserved.

Patent Leather Restorer. — It may be difficult to
restore the proper gloss to patent leather when it has
once lost it, but to retain it from the first is a very easy

matter. Tho blacking brush should never touch it. Tho
mud must bo well Bponged "IT with plain water, and tho
boot rubbed dry with a soft cloth. A little cream, or iu
iti of that luxury, a small quantity of salad oil, put
0D the boot and rubbed in also with a cloth will complete
the process, and keep np the brightness of tho leather.
The edits Of the Bole may be blacked very carefully, not
allowing the brush to come in contact with the polished
Leather.

To Clean Gloves —As I know of a very simple and
BUecessful method of cleaning gloves, I thiuk some <>f tho
lady readers of the Lady's Book will And it useful, and I
have mnch pleasure in giving it for their benefit. Have a
little milk in a saucer, and a piece of common yellow
soap. "Wrap round the forefinger a piece of flannel, and
dip it into the milk, taking care not to make the flannel
very wet ; nib it on the yellow soap, and afterwards pass
it up and down the glove until all the dirt he removed.
This will be very quickly done, and the most delicate
colors may be safely cleaned by this easy process.

CONTRIBUTED RECEIPTS.

Molasses Crp Cake.— Take one cup of molasses (very
nice sorgheim is the best), one cup of sour milk, one cup
of butter, three eggs, one teaspoonful of saleratus, flour to
make it sufficiently thick, bake in a tolerably hot oven.

BVQAB Cake. — One cup and a half of sugar, one i.-gg,
half a cup of butter, half a cup of sweet milk, one tea-
spoonful of soda, two of cream of tartar. Roll them and
bake on buttered pans.

SpRiN'j Roll. — Four eggs, one cup of sugar, one enp of
flour, half teaspoon of soda, one teaspoon of cream of
tartar, add any flavor to suit the taste. Stir well, and
spread thin on bread pans; bake quickly, and when
thoroughly baked turn it out on a cloth, and spread with
jelly and roll it up.

Sweet Apple Pie.— Take sweet apples, grate them fine,
mix with sweet milk. Add a teacup of sweet cream and
one e^i; to each pie ; season it with nutmeg1 or cinnamon,
and bake with one crust, and you will have a simple but
delicious pie.

L;<;iit Cake. — Take one cup of butter, work it till soft,
add two cups of sugar worked in the butler, six eggs
beaten separate; put the yolks in the sugar, add one cup
of sweet milk with one teaspoonful of soda in the milk,
four cups of flour, with two teaspoonfula of cream of tartar,
mix well, and bake in a slow oven.

Another. — Take a pint cup full and a half of su^ar, one
and a half of butter, rub in two pints of flour, two cups of
sour cream, a teaspoonful of soda, tablespoonful of rose
water, four eggs beaten very light.

Soda Jelly Cake. — One cup sweet cream, one cup
of sugar, one teaspoonful cream tartar, one of s, .i-x, two
eggs; spread them on tins; wheu done, spread jelly
between pach layer. A few drops of winter green B6seuco
added to the jelly, improves it very much.

Hum Cake. — Two cups sugar, one and a half cupfl
butter, three eggs, cream tartar and soda, one cup luke-
warm water, three cups of flour, half teaspoonful essence,
or extract of lemon ; beat quite to a White.

Citron Pcddings. — Flour, one spoonful; sugar, two
onnces ; citron peel, two ounces ; a little nutmeg ; cream,
half pint. Mix them together with the yolks of three
eggs, pot them in teacups and bake them in a qui ok,
oven.

fcUau' Kafth,

THE DAUGHTERS OF AMEBIC A.

That our sons may be as plants grown up in their
y<mth; that our daughters may be as corner-stones, pol-
ished after the similitude of a palace.

Psalms csliv. 12.

How carefully the royal Psalmist has, in this burst of
sacred song, marked the specific differences in the sexes !
Guided by Divine Inspiration, he has not only delineated
the characteristics of man and woman, he has, also, by a
flash from the Fountain of Light, embodied, as in. a
photograph, their destiny and duties.

*' Our smut" are " to subdue the earth." Thus intended
fur the world's work and use, they grow stronger in the
storms of life; springing up, seemingly, by their own
volition wherever planted, rough, gnarled, and knotted
though they may be, yet straggling heavenward, and
ruling over earth, they show bravely in the history of
humanity. And yet they are never able to reach the
perfectness of sacred truth, which their reason seeks to
know, because their worldly wisdom, darkened by the
fall, has its roots, spreading like the Banyan, too widely
and persistently in the earth, dragging the soul tint
fthould lift its aspirations like the reaching palm on
high, downward, to seek its pleasures iu earthly things,
find thus buries its strength in the dust from which man
was formed.

" Our daughters " never soiled with the dust of earth,
(womau was fashioned from the living substance of the
man "made in the image of God,)" are represented by
'• corner-stones, polished after the similitude uf a palace."
Is not this description emblematical of moral strength,
and that innate sense of the beauty of goodness, conferred
on woman by the grace of God, when, after the Fall, He
declared tu the old Serpent or Satan — "I will put • amity
Oetwet n thee and the woman ?" — also to her was given the
promise of salvation through her " Seed."

Woman's spiritual strength seems perfected in her
physical weakness, by the gift of intuitive sympathy*
with the Divine Goodness, which, after the Fall, merci-
fully exalted her sex to conserve the moral virtues of
humanity, and thus become "the glory of the man;"
Which living truth he has never yet understood or accepted.

The daughters of America have enjoyed privileges above
the women of other Christian lands. Still feminine educa-
tion has been very defective in our Republic, and the oppor-
tunities afforded educated women of using their abilities
have been limited for lack ofknowledge, and hindered from
activity iu offices that Bible authority confers on them.
The offices which give women care of their own sex and of
children, in particular, that of Deaconess in the church,
midwifery or doctress in social life, and Christian teach-
ers for "the young women," are duties which God has
assigned them.

We rejoice to add that there are indications of better
things in store for the "coming" young ladies of America.
Vassar College and its uplifting influences promise a new
era in feminine culture and excellence. The Founder has
given his wealth and pledged his word that woman shall

* The "woman of Canaan" and " the woman of Sama-
ria" are instances of this intuitive sympathy with the
Divine Saviour.

8-4

have her opportunity of education. The Trustees seem
ready to allow the highest aspirations of Genius to find
fit means of culture and enjoyment in this wonderful
college. Our greatest anxiety now arises from the fear
that where so mu^h is done for the benefit of the young
ladies too much may be expected from the results.

It must take years of artistic training and earnest study
to raise the public mind to an appreciation of one feature
only, as this is described in "thoughts that breathe and
words that burn," by the writer who we are sure will
assist in realizing what he so magnificently portrays.

THE ART GALLERY OF VASSAE COLLEGE.*
The great philanthropic enterprise of the age, an en-
dowed Institution for the future mothers of our Republic,
bids fair to become the glory of genius. The Art Gallery,
projected by the liberal directors, will be a stimulus to
the originating mind so peculiarly American, which
shows itself iu painting and sculpture as well as iu me-
chanical inventions. And for those to whom nature has
denied creative powers in the beautiful arts, such a
gallery is even more necessary ; by it, dormant tastes are
awakened, and life assumes a new and refined aspect.
The richness and beauty of nature are seen and sought for ;
the mind must go from "nature up to nature's God."

Dr. Johnson has truly said that whatever takes us from
the present into the past, the distant and the future, raises
us in the rank of thinking beings. Therefore, this Art
Gallery assumes vast importance in the plan of woman's
liberal and thorough culture. We wish our readers cuuld
study the "Report" 4n full; here, instead of a synopsis,
we will give the conclusion in the words of the i
writer, who eloquently aud beautifully set forth thei

" Oil paintings. — First of all, we must have at least one
hundred oil paintings, by as many different masters as
possible, and so diversified in subject and treatment as to
exemplify every feature of earth, water, and sky, in all
seasons and every light. Twenty of these may be choice
specimens of Spanish, Italian, German, French, and Eng-
lish art, aud twenty more way be figure .subjects. But,
at least sixty, must be first rate transcripts of* American
landscape, mainly along the Hudson, Lake George, New
Hampshire, and Vermont.

" Water-color pictures. — Then, at least another huudred
water-color pictures would be required. First, because,
out of America, that is the best art intrinsically, and, for
feminine culture, it is the best everywhere. The great
m muments of Rome, Venice, Florence, Genoa, Paris, and
London ; historical ruins on the Rhine and Danube, aud
all thrilling localities, from llount Lebanon toStonehenge ;
castles with turreted majesty, aud abbeys in ivied soli-
tude; heroes in every guise; and battle-fields uf every
antagonism; a glowing commentary on each lesson ; and
,: blessed hook of association for aU fundamental thoughts,
should be there.

" Armor and relics. — In this connection, forget not how
much martial imagery and feudal elements figure iu past
civilization. Armor, therefore, the real stuff that has
clashed through dark ages aud cutout light for us, should
be in our collection. Etruscan remains, Roman relics,
and ancient coins, well authenticated, should likewise
form component part-r

" Illustrated works. — We must not only have the best
written works, on engraving and printing, but original
illustrations of the same. A few choice impressions, the
first ever etched or printed, should be in hand un the

* Report of the Committee on the Art Gallery of Vas-
sar College, by Rev. E. L. Hagoon, D.D.

editors' table.

graphic ride, and a oorrespondlng series of missals, to
enow the origin of typography,

" Arrhi' •-!>•!'< Implies all other arts, la moral, and the

grandest monument of man. Prom the ttrst Inscription in

theChrwi.in catacombs, down to the sixteenth oeatory,

bi to bare an nnbroken aeries, including every

edifice of historical Interest in Italy, Spain, Germany,

and the British Islands. All the graver lias cut, or

t!n- I'm n.i.v.l. t.t <li>M'ril><' .'v.'ii!-, or ji,,rtr:iy -rnio con-
nected with progressive culture, should be arranged in
irmly bound, and throwing light with uu-

Viiri.-ty. .hi nil sriouco, literature, and art.

ravings monographs, tto, — Lowest in range,
indispensable to a grand combination of educating
forces, of which vital creativoness in artistic forms is the
primal power, the great galleries of Rome, Vienna, Dres-
den, Florence, Paris, and London, must be had engraved.
Other works of kindred character are not Less to be coveted.
- elephant folio, on the painted glass in Bonrges
Cathedral, and a hundred other such masterly mono-
as only Obuheb or Russia can prodnoe. Let us
imethlug that will startle tho Old World into
wonder, and regenerate the New."

" The Gallery, we have ventured to suggest, would not
only i..- tin- innermost shrine of purest incentive and most
Blent, bat it would be also the most affluent
and healthful outward attraction.

" Let the collection, sketched above, he catalogued, and
opened under proper supervision, and an influence for

g 1 would thence emanate to tho boundaries of lofty

culture everywhere. Friends of the pupils would therein
Ad absorbing delight and topics of unwustiiiL; interest
when away. The great cities of our land would send
pilgrims thither perpetually; and visitors from abroad,
among other notable things abont Vassab College, would
feel that by no means least fascinating are its treasures of
original art.

"In conclusion, your committeo would remind the
Board, that no worthy monument was ever built, or
ondnnng thought conceived, that was not inspired by and
dedicated to woman — MCTBRVA or Mary. But lor vis
remember that the former sprang from the brain of Jove,
not from his belly; moreover, that she came clad in
armor, and not in crinoline. Marble polished,* and not
mere polishings, we need in the structure of the social
edifice; and your college will attain the end desired, only
by such educating force as strength, clothed in beauty,
Diploy.
"At the creation, God gave His image toman; in Re-
demptlon woman gave her image to God. Let us, with
is zeal, repeat the process of Godhead, and,
through virginal purity, exalt mankind.
E. L. aLioooN. ~)
S. F. B. Morse.

B. J. Losanro. > Committee. n
Johh Thompson.

J. G. Vassab.

THE MEDICAL EDUCATION OF WOMAN.

Ax American gentleman writing from England says: —

' A lady was admitted to full practice in tho medical
■a this wefk, she having passed her examination
at Apothecaries' Hall with great success. This is the first
Of tho kiud in this country.

So the good work progresses. The two Anglo-Saxon
nations seem now agreed in the attempt to restore woman
the office which nature and nature's God givo to her —
Midtotfery. How strange that only in these two Pro-
teatant nations, which have the Bible in their households,
this office, that God's Word gives to the gentle sex,
Should have been claimed by men • Perhaps, when they
restore it, she will find her recompense in the more tho-
rough medical education she will be obliged to attain; thus
good will come out of what has been the source of great
sufferings and evils.

England has not led the way in this good work, she

* We have put iu italics three words that seem to refer
to the description of the Psalmist. Did Mr. Magoon intend
tula refer ace ' We will here Bay, for the benefit of our
re eager to know the arrangements of Vas-
sal College, that it is now intended to open in the month
mber. Those who desire further Information can
address Son. Matthew Vassar, Poughkeepsie, N. v.

VOL. LXIS. 8

has only followed Amorica. About fourteen years aj*o a
Afedlcal College for Women was established In Phlladel-
phia, and SOOO after another was chartered in Boston.
Both colleges have now a firm hold on public sympathy.
Other colleges have roceived young ladies, and, probably,
there is now as many as three hundred graduates with
the full honors of M. D. among tho noble womanhood of
our Republic.

We hope, for the honor of our sex, that these gentle
M. D.'.v will insist on retaining their womanhood In their
profession, and never assume the style and title of man as
Doctor, when their own Doctress is better and moro ele-
gant, being delicate, definite, and dignified. All assump-
tions are mean because they are false or frivolous. We
do not want /(/«'//- j-!njsici(tns, that compound term sig-
nifying an animal man ; we want cultivated, refined
feminine pliy-niaus, known as Dovtnssc.s for their own
sex and children, and couservers of domestic health and
happiness.

The New England College has wisely adopted tho femi-
nine termination in their diplomas ; their graduates style
themselves Doctress, writing the title Drss. — so that they
will not need an explanation or circumlocution to express
their womanhood. One truth is sure; a lady can never
elevate herself by becoming manlike or making pretences
to be so. She must keep her own place? cultivate her own
garden of home. Eve was created in Eden, Adam in the
outside world. The daughters of America must guard
their Eden name and its equivalents, and make these sig-
nificant of grace, goodness, nnd glory, or they will never
reach the perfection of their nature as " polished stones"
in the grand edifice of Christian Nationalities.

VALEDICTORY ADDRESS

to tho Graduating Class of the Pennsylvania Medical Col-
lege for Women ; March 16, 1S04 ; by Ann Preston, M. J).
This graduating class numbered in its record young
ladies whose families are among the eminent of the laud,
thus showing that tho profession is becoming honorable
and being sought by those who might live at ease if duty
had not impelled them to serve in the cause of feminine
sufferings and wrongs. The Address is proof of tbe nigh
standard of talont and wise judgment of woman. Doc-
tress Preston is an houor to the womanhood of the pro-
fession, as the extracts from this beautiful Valedictory
will prove. We have room for only a few detached para-
graphs, but hope these will induce our readers to send for
this admirable Address.*

"From year to year the number of ladies engaged iu
the study of medicine has been steadily incroasing, and
from various towns and cities wo are frequently receiv-
ing' the! inquiry, 'Can you not send us a reliable lady
physician?' So, ladies, in the fulness of time you are
here. From homes in crowded cities and in quiet country
places, from different States, and from under tbe inllueace
of various religions denominations, you have been brought
by one common impulse."

" As an advanco towards a higher and purer condition
of society, this movement has been bailed by noble minds,
not only upon this side of the Atlantic, but also in Eu-
rope. Sir John Bowring — in a letter to a relative and
correspondent In this country, who has kindly furnished
the extract — echoes tbe sentiment of others, when he say-,
'Your American women are pioneering Into many regions
where they will fix their standard with honor to them-
selves and benefit t.- their race. This medical movement
of theirs is worthy of all encouragement, and will. 1 b i ,
be crowned with abundant BueaesB, It is a step not/rom,
but towards decency and decorum.' "

* Information respecting this College may be had from
Mrs. E. H. Ch-vohdid, M I>" womeii*s Hospital, North
College Avenue, Philadelphia, Pa.

godey's lady's book and magazine.

"The virtues, affections, and graces of the true woman
Will find beautiful scope and culture in the enlarged
sphere of your daily activities. From the nature of your •
professional relations your pathway cannot be isolated.
The intelligent and refined will be your associates, and
among those who confide in you and sustain you; and
the trust and affection of those whom you may benefit,
Will feed and warm your own hearts."

********
"The purity, gentleness, dignity, and courtesy of the
Christian woman, united with that knowledge of the hu-
jnan organization, aud of the influence of daily habits and
surroundings upon the health of the body aud mind, pos-
sessed by the accomplished physician, will insure atten-
tion to your suggestions in regard to practical and personal
details ; and these suggestions, doubtless, will often prove
to those who consult you, the most important part of
your professional services."

********
"As women, you will occupy peculiar and close rela-
tions to the rest of your sex. The difficulty of communi-
cating freely in regard to symptoms, has often prevented
suffering women from availing themselves successfully of
the skill of medical men. In your case, this impediment
will he greatly lessened, and the public has a right to
expect from you increased success in the treatment of some
classes of diseases."
********
"Entering the sanctuaries of families, ministering at
the sacred altars of life, knowing the secrets of sad hearts,
and the needs of yearning humanity, we can ask for you
no deeper blessing than that you may prove equal to the
glorious opportunities, 'to do good and to communicate,'
which are opening before you."

True Love ts its Heroism and Humility. — The age of
chivalry rarely furnished a better illustration of the deli-
cate devotion which a true knight of the olden time dis-
played towards his lady love than was lately told us of
an American lover. In one of our western cities lives a
physician of wonderful skill as an oculist. He was con-
sulted by a youug lady whose complaint was the mortify-
ing deformity of being cross-eyed. The physician thought
lie could remedy the defect by an operation; the lady
agreed to submit to it, but she did not keep her appoint-
ment. The mystery was afterwards explained. The
young lady had a lover : when he learned she was to
have an operation performed on her eyes he refused to
permit it, remarking that " he had fallen in love with her
whilst she was cross-eyed, and he did "not wish her ex-
pression changed, as she pleased him just as she was."

"There was poetry in that love, was there not?" asks
a lady.

Certainly, a whole lyric, and something better. There
was the self-sacrificing affection of true and noble hearts
in both man aud woman: the lover would not permit his
betrothed to suffer pain and danger to please his taste ;
the lady was willing to bear her defect rather than offend
her lover's judgment. There must he both heroism and
humility, fortitude and faith in the souls that can thus
take thought for each other's happiness.

The Best Beautifier. — A cheerful heart is the best cos-
metic for improving the complexion ; it keeps the blood
warm, the forehead smooth, and the eye bright. Health
is commonly called a beautifier ; and so it is ; but health
itself is, in a good degree, dependent on the cheerful spirit
that can, in the wintry storm, look an east wind in the
face without scowling. The cheerful face is never without
a charm ; like music, its influence makes us better and
happier. Cheerfulness seems spiritual beauty made pal-
pable to sight.

The Autograph Bedquilt. — Those who read the April
number will remember our description of the curious
bedquilt preparing by a young lady of Rhode Island. We

have had numerous inquiries about this new way of il-
lustrating the needlework of ladies, and making our bed-
covers serve as autograph collections. To make the plan
so plain that it can be followed without failure by any
lady who wishes to emulate the example of Miss Harris,
we now give an engraving showing the manner of joining
the pieces. (See page SO.)

Deaconesses. — We have sent the " Report of the Episco-
pal Convention of Pennsylvania on organizing the services
of Christian women," etc., to every person who has re-
quested the work. These applications have come from
nearly every State in the Union. Clergymen and ladies
who have thus obtained these interesting pamphlets will
confer a personal favor on us by making known the con-
tents to their friends, and, if possible, giving some notices
of this valuable Report in the religious and secular news-
papers. We have a few copies on hand to send if wanted.

Dress: a Recipe to give it Health. — A movement is
in progress to simplify a nd cheapen the toilets of American
ladies. Dr. Hall, in one of his admirable " Health
Tracts," furnishes a recipe for retrenchment which seems
to ns more exalting to feminine character aud more likely
to be permanently beneficial to the health of domestic
life and to the "constitution" of our country than any
solemn covenant of three years' abstinence from extrava-
gancies in dress will ever prove.

The Recipe . — "My dear wife, I am hopelessly bank-
rupt," said a merchant when he entered his fine mansion,
at the close of a day, all fruitless in his endeavor to save
himself when men were crashing around him in every
direction. "Tell me the particulars, dearest," said his
wife, calmly. On hearing them and his wants to save
him. "Is that all?" and absenting herself a moment,
returned with a book, from between the leaves of which
she took out bank-note after bauk-uote, until enough was
counted to fully meet all her husband's requirements.
"This," said she, in reply to his mingled look of admira-
tion and astonishment, "is what I have saved, for such a
possible day as this, from your princely allowance for
dressing myself, since we were married."

Self- adjusting Hoop Skirts.— The hoop skirt, when
moderate in size, is necessary to a lady's health, comfort,
and comeliness. We are glad to say that a new improve-
ment seems likely to increase the comfort of the wearer ;
the self-adjuster keeps the skirt in its place and shape.
The agent is Mrs. Allen, Eighth Street, two doors below
Chestnut.

To our Correspondents. — The following articles are
accepted : "Little Sarah" — "To my Mother" — "Maggie's
Stratagem" — "Memory's Graves" — "Dear Little Nellie"
— and " Out of Doubt."

These manuscripts we must decline: "At Eventide" —
"Lines (by S. V. M.)"— "Our Fred"— "Song" — "Un-
sought Genius" — "Extracts from the Philosophy of the
'Beautiful,' by Cousin" (we thank M., but prefer to make
our own selections) — "In the Army"— "At the Eleventh
Hour" — " Mabel Foster's Visit" — " Choosing Partners" —
"Acrostic" — "A Venerable Relic" — "Poems, by an un-
known author"—" Readings" — " The Flower beneath the
Snow" (the poem has some beautiful lines, but is defective
in rhythm and measure; the writer can improve)— " Life"
— "Indifference" (we have no room) — "Spring" (too
late) — "Flora" — "Rest" (we are sorry that we have not
room for the favorsof our friends) — "A Warning" — "Too
Familiar" — and "Gone Forever." We have not room for
the " Sonnets," nor for the favor of F. F. These would
do well for a newspaper.

Manuscripts now on hand will he reported next month.

LITERARY NOTICES.

Jitemg llotins.

From LtPPTWCOTT & Co., Philadelphia:—
VOTES OP HOSPITAL life, /row November, 1861, to
1864. We have turned, with the deepest interest,
the leaves of this little volume. It is from the pen of a
lady, who details her individual experience in the wards
of odo of our city hospitals, and it will excite the sympa-
thies of all who read it, iu behalf of our sick and wounded
■

FIRST AND LAST. A Poem; intended to ZllustraU

Vu W'i>/t <>/ Gfodto Man. Tins poem treats of the Creation

beeqnent events to the death .<t" Adam and Eve. Its

IS sentiment is excellent, and it-* literary merits

fair, though it has no remarkable traits, and indulges in

no aspiring flights of imagination.

From Peters-ox & Brothers, Philadelphia ; —

FAMILY l'KIDE. By the author of "Pique." This ia
a well-written and quietly told story of English life, which
will engage the reader's attention from beginning to end,
and leave him with all his nobler sentiments exalted.

THE LIFE AND PUBLIC SERVICES OP ABRAHAM
LINCOLN. This volume gives a brief history of the life
of our President, together with his speeches, proclama-
tions, act-s, aud services during his term of office up to the
present time.

THE LIFE AND PUBLIC SERVICES OF MAJOR-
GENERAL MEADE. A popular history of afajOT-Oenera]
Meade, with Lis official reports in the war department,
speeches, orders, etc.

From G. W. Child.*, Philadelphia :—

THE NATIONAL ALMANAC and ANNUAL RECORD
for lSt>4. This took, of more than six hundred closely
printed pages, is a complete encyclopedia of informatiun
concerning the past year. Every important fact concern-
ing the States and Territories, their local institutions,
governments, etc., is here set down. There is copious in-
formation concerning the armies and navy of the United
States, and almost every question that can be asked
about officers, finances, elections, education, commerce,
navigation, or any other public affair, at home or abroad,
is answered in its pages. It presents also a valuable
record of the present rebellion, giving first the operations
of each of the two great armies, and afterwards noting the
events in their chronological order. It is an invaluable
book of reference.

From the Presbtterias Board of Publication, Phila-
delphia : —

THE GOLDEN CENSER: Thoughts on the Lord's
Prayer. By John S. Hart, LL. TV This littli
dwells pleasingly and profitably on the beauty and sub-
limity of the Lord's Prayer. That simplest and grandest
of all forms of petition will be better comprehended and
more fully appreciated after the perusal of a work like
this.

From Fisher & Brother, Philadelphia : —
SLATE DRAWING BOOKS. We think these gentlemen
deserve t great deal of credit for their excellent books Tor
beginners. Wa know of no books of drawing that we
Would as readily put in the hands of a beginner as these
useful little works.

Prom ELlSPn A Bbxrhsbs, tttm York, through Peter-
son & Brothers, and Lippi.vcott & Co., Philadelphia. —
JOURNAL OF THE DISCOVERT OB THE SOURCE

OF THE NILE. By John Banning Spoke, Captain II. M.
Indian Army. etc. Willi Maps and Portraits and nume-
rous Illustrations, chiefly from drawings by Captain
Grant. Books of African travel and adventure are always
warmly welcomed and eagerly read by the intelligent
public. The present work has been for some time pro-
mised aud anxiously waited for; and none of the same
character which have preceded it were so gladly received
as this will be. The question it definitely settles — so long
a source of doubt and ignorance — concerning the source
of the Nile, has been ono of great interest to the civilized
world ; and all the details, incidents, and adventures of
the tedious and sometimes perilous journey lngs will
bring ample compensation to the reader for its perusal.

THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. A Novel. By
Anthony Trollope, author of "Orley Farm," " Framley
Parsonage," etc. With illustrations. The more we read
of Trollope, the better we like him, and each work in our
opinion is better than the last. The inmates of the small
house at Allingtou will especially interest the reader ;
contempt U>r Crusbie will be modified by pity: while wo
doubt that John Eames, after ho shall have somewhat
passed his hobadahoyhood, will be the favorite. The old
earl is a character iu his way ; so is Amelia Roper in her
way. Those who have read "The Warden," "Barches-
ter Towers," and "Framley Parsonage," will bo pleased
to find some of the characters of those books figuring inci-
dentaUy in the present volume.

From D. Appletox & Co., New York, through Ashmead
& Evans, Philadelphia: —

HISTORY OF THE ROMANS UNDER THE EMPIRE.
By Charles Merivale, B. D., late Fellow £7 St. John's Col-
lege, Cambridge. Vol. III. This volume takes up tho
thread of history of the Roman Empire at the period im-
mediately subsequent to the assassination of Cwsar. It
recounts the struggle for ascendency between Antonius
and Octavius ; the success of the latter, and the suicide of
the former ; the establishment of the empire with Octa-
vius under the title of Augustus, with all the glory aud
eclat which followed his reign. This is one of the most
interesting periods of Roman history, when tho new em-
pire is laying the foundations of its Fntare splendor.

THE MANAGEMENT OF STEEL. By George Ede ; em-
ployed at the Royal Gun Factories Establishment, Wool-
wich Arsenal. This little work includes the forging,
hardening, tempering, annealing, shrinking, aud expan-
sion ; also the case-hardening of iron.

From Sheldon & Co., New York : —

THE PHILANTHROPIC RESULTS OF THE WAR IN
AMERICA. By an American Citizen. This booh gathers
together facts and statistics relating principally to the
Sanitary Commission, the proceeds of its sale to bo pre-
sented to the New York Sanitary Fair.

From A. J. Davis, New York :—

WhMAX AND HER ERA. By Eliza W. Farnham. In
two volumes. This book has been the result of matured
thought and observation. It is from the pen of an enmesh
conscientious woman, who, by its means, has tried to
elevate the standard nf womanhood, and to teach '
herself her own great needs and capabilities, Ir
a work of love, we doubt not; and blessings will
it. As far as we cau go with her, we appreciate her idea

godey's lady's book and magazine.

of noble womanhood ; beyond that, though not perfectly
agreeing, we yet respect her for her good intentions.

From Carleton, New York, through Peterson k Bro-
thers, Philadelphia: —

NEPENTHE. A Novel. By the author of " Olie." We
have no fault to find with the literary merits of this book.
It is well written, perhaps a little too high-flown in style.
The writer shows talent, cultivated taste, and a well-in-
formed mind. But she — undoubtedly it is a woman — has
evidently studied her characters from books alone, and
displays little knowledge of life except as depicted in
romances. It is seldom, except in second rate novels,
that simple and ignorant women talk, whenever occasion
offers, with all the eloquence and flue words of a poet or
an orator; while a heroine who writes a novel is, to say
the least, no original idea in literature, if it be not a some-
what hackneyed one.

From Dick & Fitzgerald, New York : —

THE OUTCASTS: or, Tlie Brand of Satiety. By Miss
M. E. Braddon, author of " Aurora Floyd," "Three Times
Dead," etc. If this be Miss Braddon's latest work, we
regret to notice that she is deteriorating. TJie present
work, similar in character to "Three Times Dead," is in-
ferior to that ; utterly improbable, and not to be compared
with "Eleanor's Victory," or "John Marchmont's Le-
gacy." The portion of its pages where the detective officer
figures, is the best and most entertaining, and perhaps
atones for the rest.

PARLOR THEATRICALS ; or, Winter Evenings' En-
tertainment. Containing Acting Proverbs, Dramatic Cha-
rades, Tableaux Vivants, etc. etc. Illustrated with de-
scriptive engravings and diagrams.

From Robert Carter & Brothers, New York, through
Wm. S. and Alfred Martien, Philadelphia:—

THE CEDAR CHRISTIAN, and other Practical Papers
and Personal Sketches. By Theodore L. Cuyler, Pastor
of the Lafayette Aveuue Church, Brooklyn. An excel-
lent book, that will interest its many readers; all the
friends of this popular clergyman will want the work.
Its piety is fervent and genial. The Bketches of European
travel and notices of literary celebrities are given in a
graphic and pleasant style that wins the confidence of the
reader. The fault of the book is its brevity.

NED'S MOTTO; or, Little by Little. By the author of
"Faithful and True," etc. The motto which is trium-
phantly sustained in the last chapter, with the merry
party and sweet song, are worth the price of the book
thus impressed on childhood's memory.

THE SILVER CASKET ; or, the World and Us Wiles.

THE BAGS OF GOLD ; or, Cliristian Conquests.

FALSELY ACCUSED ; or. Christian Conquests.

ESTHER PARSONS ; or, Try Again, and other stories.

PAYING DEAR, and other stories.

STORIES FROM JEWISH HISTORY. From the Baby-
lonish Captivity, to the Destruction of Jerusalem try.
Titus.

These six books are by the same authoress, the wonaer-
ful writer whose initials, A. L. 0. E., stamp every pro-
duction with a moral value above rubies. This lady has
not only the talent of a ready writer, she has also the
gift of remarkable genius, uniting imagination and judg-
ment in her narratives for the young, with an earnest
faith that sympathizes in the happiness of childhood, and
thus seems to keep her own heart, soul, and mind in
perpetual youth and activity in doing good. She has
also an unbounded variety of illustrations and incidents

in her resources. She rarely repeats an event or imitates
a character. This variety keeps each book, as it comes
out, new and interesting. Read over the first five of the
above series, all stories, all teaching the need of faith, the
beauty of goodness, and the nobleness of truth; yet each
original in its plan and distinct in its characters. Such a
writer must be popular. She does not weary her reader?.
The stories of the Jews are excellent, a complete epitome
of their history for the last five hundred years of their
national life.

From Gould & Lincoln, Boston, through Smith, Eng-
lish, & Co., Philadelphia:—

CHRISTIAN MEMORIALS OF THE "WAR ; or, Scenes
and Incidents illustrative of Religious Faith and Prin-
ciple, Patriotism, and Bravery in our Army. "With
Historical Notes. By Horatio B. Haskell, Professor of
Biblical literature and interpretation in Newton Theolo-
gical Institute, author of "Illustrations of Scripture," etc.
A book of thrilling interest, and comforting examples of
faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. The sketches will give
consolation to many mourners whose dear ones havo
fallen in this "cruel war." Every reader will feel that
Christ is the Helper of the suffering, the Hope of the
dying, and that He is ever present with those who call on
Him. If He was with your husband, brother, son, all is
well with them. Read the work ; it is good.

» From Loring, Boston, through Ashmead & Evans, Phi-
ladelphia:—

MAINSTONE'S HOUSEKEEPER. By Eliza Meteyard.
("Silver-pen.") A well-written story of English country
life, whoso heroine is, perhaps, almost too perfect ; and
whose closing chapter is so much like a Watteau picturo
or a scene in Arcadia, as to almost cloy the reader. Tho
strife between the housekeeper and Mrs. Jack is very
amusing.

From Ticenor & Fields, Boston, through Peterson &
Brothers, Philadelphia: —

SERMONS, preached at Trinity Chapel, BriglUon. By
the late Rev. Frederick W. Robertson, M. A., the Incum-
bent. Fifth Series. This volume completes this series of
Mr. Robertson's Sermons. "It consists," says the pre-
face, "in part, of sermons more fragmentary and incom-
plete than those comprised in the preceding volumes."
A book is promised presently entitled "Pulpit Notes,"
which will consist of tho skeleton or outline which My.
Robertson prepared before delivering his sermons.

From William V. Spencer, Boston: —

HONOR; or, The Slavedealer's DaugJtter. By Stephen
G. Bulfinch. This is a book intended to suit the times.
The author declares that " while the tale, as a whole, is
fictitious, the sketches of southern scenery, life, and man-
ners, are derived from a residence of many years in that
section of our country." It will find many readers.

From Lee & Shepard, Boston, through Peterson &
Brothers, Philadelphia: —

THE SOLDIER BOY ; or, Tom Somers in tlte Army.
A Story of the Great Rebellion. By Oliver Optic,' author
of "Tho Riverdale Story Books," etc. A spirited story
for lads, which will arouse all their patriotism.

From O. D. Case & Co., Hartford: —

SPECIMEN PAGES OF AMERICAN CONFLICT. These
are beautiful pages of a well gotten up book. The editor
is Horace Greeley. The title-page contains twelve por-
traits, is admirably executed, aud the likenesses are good.

godey's arm-chair.

(!5oLm>'s Jnu-CIjitir.

J0LY, 1S64.

THE CnHSIEXCEMEXT OF THE SIXTT-NTXTn VOLUME.

A " Hurra" number. We first publish a plate entitled
" Yankee Doodle," designed and engraved expressly for
Godey, and wo follow it up with one entitled " Fourth .>f
July"— that glorious day. We refer to the admirable
story illustrative of "Yankee Doodle." Wo do not know
■which La the bast, the engrai tag or the story.

This will be the 409th number of the Lady's Book we
have published, and during that time, 4o:» months, aot a
number has cone to press that the publisher has not beea
present Probably than is ao similar instance iuthe his-
tory of pabU&b ■ ■■ ■ initry.

re said that this is a " Ilorra" nnraber. Let us
enumerate: An original patriotic design for our steel en-
graving (we have, never heard of any other magazine
giving an original design) ; a Fashion-plate, containing
red figures, Bach as we are sure that no other
magazine gives ; a Netted Mitten, printed in tint; another
patriotic design, "Fourth of July;" four fashions from
the cel.l -hraent of Messrs. A. T. Stewart &

Co., of (few York, obtainable only in Godey ; foor patterns
for bathing dresses ; one of the celebrated Brodia'fl pat-
terns, and other articles too numerous for us to enume-
iriea by Marlon Barland, Miss Janvrin, and
others, make a most agreeable literary melange. *

By the arrangement with Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co.,
and Mr. Brodle, we bring down our fashions to the latest
dates. This is a most decided advantage the Lady's Book
]■ >gg sees.

Our new Music. This is a specialty of Godey. Every
other magazine gets their mn-ic from the stores, and they
are very Bare not to give them anything until the popu-
larity .if the sale is over. Our subscribers receive their
the hands of the publishers, and
they nave the precedence over all others. The music for
Godey is expressly composed for it.

Our Drawing Lessons is another feature of the Lady's
Book. No other magazine gives them.

Our Mode] Cottages, also, are designed expressly for
Godey's Lady's Book.

CiriLi)KF.>-"s F.vsmaxg.— Our June number was mostly
devoted in its illustrative department to this subject. Our
plan has been very highly commended.

Messrs, a. T. Stewart i Co.— We again acknowledge
our indebtedness to the heads of this great establishment
fur their latest fashion*; and also to G. Bhoiue, for his
contribution to the general excellence of the July number.

A Postmaster in Missouri sent us a letter making a
demand on the Continental Hotel, in this city, for clothes
lost. The letter was presented at the hotel, and payment
; promised ; hut now, neither money or letter can be pro-
cured. If this reaches the eye of the postmaster, will he
send us a duplicate of his letter, with power to commence
an action against the propri- I

Ice Cream axt> the Philosophy of rrs HA5CFACTUBB. —

A small treatise with valuable receipts on this subject,
will be sent free, by mail, to persons who will send their
address to E. Ketcham & Co., 2SS Pearl Street, New York.

OTJB MUSICAL COLUMK.

Opera for the Sanitary Commission.— \a one of tho
features of the Qreal Canteal Fair, in this city, for tho
benefit of the Sanitary Commission, the short season of
Opera, etc., at the Academy, deserves a notice in our
"Column." Several representations of Wm. Henry Fry's

aeu n. i Opera, Wotn Damt of Paris, were given, and

In a Style of unequalled grandeur and beauty. Even in
Paris or London no open was ever produced in more
magnificent style. With an orchestra and military band
of more than one hundred performers, a ohorus of the.
same number, and other auxiliaries to double the number,
as many as four hundred persons were engaged in the
representation of some of the scenes; and tor tin- very
first time in listening to an opera we felt that in these
.it least, nothing was wanting. As a work of
art, Voire Dame will rank with Norma, or the best pro-
ductions of Verdi and Rossini. The instrumentation is
rich and beautiful, and in choral effects, and concentrated
harmony, as well asin those simpler melodies that soonest
touch the popular heart, it will compare with any opera
OU the stage. We are proud of Mr. Fry as a townsman,
and of his work for the new monument it will rear to the
national name.

Tin ,V".v"'// Monthly, for July. — One of Oesteu's
most delightful new pieces is given in the July number of
our popular Monthly, together with other music, including.
a beautiful new arrangement of Tennyson's always mu-
sical Bugle Song,

The splendor falls ou castle walls,
from the Princess, composed for the Monthly by Karl
Hohlweg. These exquisite verses have never befo
so felicitously adapted. The song is everyway a gem
and worth the price of the Monthly. Every day adds to
our list of subscribers. Few that see the work ail to
appreciate it. The style of publication, the numerous;
handsome engraved title-pages, with other features to
make its identity with sheet music perfect, are well
understood by the musical public We can still supplya
few Bets of the back numbers from January, a small
edition of which we have again reprinted for new subscri-
bers ; but all will have to send in early who wish the
volume complete. Terms $3 per annum. Four copies
one year $10. Let every piano player in the country
send $1 50 for the first six numbers, including the Janu-
ary double number, with eighteen cents to prepay pos-
tage. Address J. Starr liulluway. Publisher Musical
Monthly, Box Post Oflice, Philadelphia.

.v. ,r Sheet Music. — Kindly Words and Smiling Faces is
a sweet new ballad, by the author of Annie of the Vale,
The Bow of Promise, by the same author, has
a charming lithographic title, 50. All Day Long is one of
the most delightful of Foster's very popular ballads, 30.
The Flowers are asleep in the Dew is a beautiful -
sung by Buckley'-; Troupe, 25. Mother waiting (or the
News is a touching song and chorus in the Style of Who
Will Care for Mother Now, and equally pretty. 25. In
the starlight, the very best of Glover's popular duets, 40,
How are You, Telegraph f eon No Irish need

Apply, 2o. New songs for the Tinn ■-. each 25.

also, The Puritan's Daughter, new transcription by
Brinley Richards, 36. The First Violet, by .lungroanu, SO.
The Rose in the Bud, song without words, 25, Cavalry
Quickstep. Glover, 35, Moss Basket Waltz. 25. Sent free
on receipt of price. Also our new catalogue sent on
receipt of stamp. Address as above,

J. Starr Hollowat.

godet's lady's book and magazine.

YANKEE DOODLE. A BALLAD.

NOT FOUND ENTIRE IN PERCY'S RELIQUES.

With Notes, Critical and Explanatory,

BY EZEKIEL JONES, ESQ.

PART I.

Brno Jonathan learned Yankee Doddle.

For centuries two neighbors fought,

John Bull and Johnny Crapaud,
Just because the Freuchnian would
Call a hat a chapeau.*

Chorus ; Yankee doodle, doodle, do,
Yankee doodle, etc.

Jonathan got in the fight,

Didn't want to dew it,
But felt bound in honor, tew

See his daddy through it.

Jonathan had for his pains,
Not so much as thank'ee ;
Bull was always poking fun

At the tarnal Yankee.

Jonathan they say is sharp
(Perhaps you 'd better try it)—

So ho is, and from his dad
Honestly conies by it.

John Bull is amazin' cute,

And when he wants to do one,

"Will pass the old off for the new,
Or call the old a new one.

"Here, my boy," says Father Bull,
"This new tune can yon cany f"

(When he knew the thing was old,
Old as — ancient Harry.Jf

Jonathan jumped at the bait,

And tho rattling music
Drummed on Continental drums,

Till the ear was too sick.

PART II.
The Origin of Yankee Doodle.

In the medieval past
Flourished Lucy Locket;

In a rainy shower the maid
Chanced to lose her pocket.

Forthwith moved a nimble swain,

Gayly to run arter it ;
He found the pocket in an hour,

Lucky Peter Carteret ! %

Peter rode into the town

On a little pony,
Stuck a feather in his cap,

And called it maccaroni.

Maccaroni was a word
Which came pat and handy,

To the ancient Britishers

When they meant " the dandy. "§

This event to music was
Wedded by some noodle;

Thus from Lucy's pocket grew
Glorious Yankee Doodle.

A Mother Goose's melody

Is the ancient ditty ;
Thus often we find music spoiled

By nonsense, more's the pity !

* This verse is supposed to be the origin of the French
song, "Jeannette and Jeannot." The spirit is certainly
similar.

| A fact. The air was given to the Yankee fifers by the
British musicians, when the British in the colonies were
supported against the French by continental regiments.

X This passage, very ancient, is found in Percy's Re-
liques, or if not, should be.

§ The original dandies were Italians, who still consider
all the rest of the world barbarians. Hence they were
called Maccaroni.

Better though is Mother Goose,

Since no brains it addles,
Than the stuff our daughters sing,
• Love-sick fiddle faddles.

PART III.
What Jonathan did with Yankee Doodle.

John Bull's luck was very great
At catching sleeping weasels,

The new tune, on the Yankee fifes,
Broke out, like the measles.

When you find that you are " done,"

Cry out, nothing daunted,
That the thing you 're hocussed with,

Is just the thing you wanted!

That iff the way that Jonathan

Did with daddy's take in :
He plays the tune at such a rate

As keeps the world a shakin !

" Jonathan," ho says, says he,

" This tune I do delight in,
It's good to whistle, sing, and dance,

And just the tune for fightin!"*

Yankee boys have their own fun,

On the Fourth of July,
Fizz and smoke, and crack, and bounce !

Yankee Doodle, truly.

Good luck to the bouncing boys,
And to the girls, moreover —

May never lad a lassie want,
And never maid a lover !

Music Received. — We have received the following from
Horace Waters, 4S1 Broadway, New York, and 0. Ditson
& Co., 277 Washington Street, Boston, Mass. ; —

The Little Ballad Girl. By Stephen C. Foster.

The Dying Drummer. By Mrs. Parkhurst.

This Hand never struck me, Mother. By Mrs. Park-
burst.

Les Lanciers. Dance music.

The Tender Glance. Schottische. By Mrs. Parkhurst.

Leave me with my Mother. By Stephen C. Foster.

Waltz. Music from Faust.

From W. W. Whitney, Toledo, Ohio:—

Hard Times in Dixie.

Modina. Words by Mrs. Pierson.

The Patriot's Grave. Words by Mrs. Pierson.

From John Church, Jr., 66 West Fourth Street, Cincin-
nati:—

Yes, our Flag is still Advancing.

Abraham the Great, and General Grant.

Postage on the Lady's Book, according to the late law
passed last winter.

Section 36. — Postage on Godey's Lady's Book, 2-1 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.

"Lover going to the war, and the loved one going for
a hospital nurse." The subject is a very good one, and
we approve of it. It is very proper in reality, and not
bad in a story — that is, in one story ; but when you take
up a dozen MSS. and read the same thing, it is rather too
much. The boys would say it was " played out." Why
will our writers show such a paucity of invention? At
one time, all the young heroines go to school-keeping, or,
very fortunately, obtain the situation of governess, more
fortunate in stories than in reality. Now they all go as
hospital nurses. Toujours pedrix !

An advertiser in one of the papers says, he has a cottage
to let containing eight rooms and an acre of land.

* This stanza is found in many versions of the ballad.

godey's arm-ciiair.

ILLINOIS CENTRAL RAILWAY.
irdfl us much gratification to. notice by the report
of tliis company that its affairs are in a condition which
fully realizes the roost brilliant success era predicted by
tho friends of this great and magnifloenl enterprise, it
bow stands charged with ;i capital, In stuck and b< ads, of
$31,. 100,01 to. [t bus cash assets, after paying the Feb-
ruary dividend, of nearly $2,000,000, Of this nun, over
$1,000,000 are invested in bonds of tho United States;
$600,000 in supplies for working the way ; the balance,

.■;•,. \ i - :■ rash.

During the past year, the Company have added 750
car* and io locomotive engines to its rolling stock. The
Company's shu}» are still actively at work npon new
car*. It has also contracted for a large number of engines.

The gross earnings from frame the past year exceeds

, of which $2,100,000 was net ; equal to 7 per

cent, upon the present cost of the road to the shareholders.

LA>'D DEPARTMENT.

But this great concern has the singular advantage over
aay other railway in this country, iu the rapid extinguish-
[ from a source of income independent of
Us traffic— that derived from the sales of its lands. The
original grant was 2,595,000 acres. Of this vast domain,
1,300,000 acres have been sold, at a price exceeding

$16,000, I Prom snob -ales, the Company have already

collected over $6,0OO,imo, In cash; the collection from
lands the past year wi re $1,400,000. The Bales for Jan-
uary, 1864, were equal to 221,800. Cash collections for
the month, $118,274.

The amount due from lands sold is $10,000,000 ; value
of unsold lands. 1,200,000 acres; at $10 per acre, $12,900,

000; total value of landed estate, $22,1 ,000, or $700, I

more than the entire debt of the company. In other
Words, the value of the real estate of the company, added
to its accumulated cash Bnrplns, is within $7,000,000 of
the total amount of its stock, capital, and debt. In 1853,
the shares commanded 48 per cent, premium before a rail
had been laid. We do not hesitate to hazard the assertion
that it will not be long before the stock will command a
higher premium, even with a gold basis for our currency,
for it is Baft to assume that the remaining half of theCom-
pany's lands will, with tho increase of value given to
them by the rapid settlement and development of tho
State, bring from GO to 100 pet cent, more than the 300,000
acree already sold. Merer before was there such an active
inquiry for its lands, and never before were payments
made with such promptness, nor iu such large amounts.

Two elegant little volumes for ladies are just published
Ijj m. -is, .1. B. TrLTOH i Co., Boston. Price $1 50 each.
Illustrated in the style of their "Art Recreations. "

Wax FL0WBR8: Mow to make them. Witb new meth-
ods of Sheeting Wax, Modelling Fruit, etc.

Beblbtoh Leaves ud Pbavtoh Plowbbs. a complete
and Practical Treatise on the Production of these beautiful
Transformations. Also, Directions for Preserving Natural
Flowers in their fresh beauty."

BtrrTRE's Portrait of Lifcr-r. Obk, U. S. Grant.— Wo
have received a copy of this splendid picture, engraved in
the best style of this eminent artist. Size of engraved
surface, 10 by 14 ; size of paper 19 by 24 ; just the dimen-
sions for framing. The likeness is undoubted, as it is
copied from a late photograph. Price only $1 per copy.
Sent by mail, free of expense. The emblematic margin
round the portrait is alone worth the price. Address
J. C. Buttre, 48 Franklin Street, New York.

JUVENILE DEPARTMENT.

LOVE THE BIBLE.

On, love the blessed Book,

To wandering sinners given,
To teach them all about the* road

That leads from earth, to heaven.

It tells of Him who died,

Our peace witb God to make ;
It shows how God is satisfied

With sinners for His sake.

It shows us what to do,

If we with Christ would dwell,

So plainly, that a child may know,
Who only reads it well.

Mit. Qosby: I havo no "good jokes" about servants;
but our little, blue-eyed Carrie often amuses us by her
witty sayings and grave comparisons. For instance, a
few days ago. she came to me to tell me the story of
"Joseph," which some one had been relating to her.
She Succeeded TOry well until she reached the part where
the wicked brothers put Joseph in the pit. She had
forgotten the word pit, but expressed the idea in these
words: "Then the bad old brothers put sweet little
Joseph down in a deep cistern what had the pump looked,
out."

Last summer her papa had several workmen employed
about the house. l me of the men wore what Carrie con-
sidered bis S'ih'I'iij clothes, to wit, black cloth coat and
pantaloons, black satin vest, brightly polished boots, and
a felt bat. Carriewas playing about in the garden, when
she espied the man pulling a few cherries. She ran into
6, exclaiming, "0, Papa! one of them man's
been Bleating some of your cherries. I saw him pull a
big handful, and put 'em in his mouth, and swallow 'em
right quick so nooody would see him.*1 Her papa pretend-
ing to be very much interested iu what she was Baying,
asked her what man it was. "Why, papa, it was tho
Sundoyesi man," .-aid she, pointing out the one in his
Sunday clothes. MOLLIS.

Ton following order verbatim et literatim, Is said *°
have been received by an undertaker from an afflicted
widower: "Snr — my Waif is ded, and Wonts to bo
berried to-moroo. At wonnur klok. U nose wair too dig
the Hole — bi the said Of my too Uther waifs— Lot it be
deep."

godey's lady's book and magazine.

COUNTRY RESIDENCE.
Designed expressly for Goda/to Lady's Book, by Isaac H. Hobbs, Architect, Philadelphia.

Perspective view.

Tite above is a fair sample of some of the more recently
constructed farmhouses in Genesee County, N. Y. Their
beauty and comfort are due, in no small degree, to the effect
which magazines have had upon the tastes of those having

buildings erected ; and we hope it will not be uninterest-
ing to some to give a description of the farm of our ener-
getic and enterprising fellow townsman, Mr. Adolph.
Hugel, with its varied uses and different appointments.

ool

M J—

J- -jjj M -

N \

1
M J M
1 1

/ N \

FIEST 6T0RY.

BEOOND STORT.

godey's arm-chair.

The firm consists of 108 urw, two-thirds glaring, one-
thir.i grain and woodland; hits barns and farm stables,
sheep-peas, Lee and smoke-house, a private carriage-house,
and stable) levea horses, with box-stall; sustains

some two hundred head of Bheep and twenty horses, which
Utter are of the brated Btocfc, comprising the

well-known horse " Bdwin Booth," the mares " Harcoe,"
".Peerless,'* and " Princess," mostly the property of Wm.
lAtch Angler, Esq., and John Totter, Ban,. , of Philadel-
phia. In close proximity, and in full view from the
pianas, extends Coue-sus Lake, ten miles in length, one of

those Lovely si ts of water so frequent in new Fork

Stat.-. The surrounding country presents to the eye thai
beauty oflandscapu which characterizes, tho whole valley
of the G

/ Plan. r>'r.<f Story. — A parlor, 13 by 1(3 ;

, 18 by 16; C bedroom, 12 by 16); D sitting-
room, 10 oy 12; E kitchen, 28 by 16 ; F hall, 8 feet wide;

(.J pantry. !'• by S ; 1 wood-shed, 16 by 16 ; K porches.

i -ltd glory contains five chambers of comfortable

dimensions, JT porch roofs ; O roof of back building.

J. R. Dilmnoiiam, of 12 Winter Sirtft, Boston, sends
us the following- "Rules for tho preservation of the
teeth":—

1st Let care be given to tho teeth of children. Decid-

may be extracted too soon, or left too

long. If the fangs of the first teeth are absorbed, drop out,

place to the second, all will be well. But if

pear on either side of tho arch, loso no time iu

applying I dentist.

Bd. When a concretion of tartar collects upon the teeth
of a person of any ago or sex, lose no time in applying to
i fur it- removal. Many lament the loss of a
Whole set Of teeth from this concretion alone.

3d. Wliou jitonth ti.T.im.'s sensitive from taking; COld or
warm drinks, or a cavity appears c-vn *o small, lose no
time in applying to a judicious dentist, as many teeth are
totally lost by not being timely filled with metal. But
When tilled with proper materials, and by a skilful
dentist, it will preserve them, not for a few months only,
hut for a whole life. The bad effects produced by bad
"breath, occasioned by one or more diseased teeth, are not
of small consideration. If the effects produced by such
breath be so extremely unpleasant to the olfactory nerves
of other individuals, what must be the effect upon the
delicate tissues of our own lungs?

4th. All teeth too much decayed to be saved by plug-
ging, and all roots, should be extracted, lest they injure
the health of the general system.

6th. Lost teeth should be artificially restored, since they
are rendered at once permanent, beautiful, and answer all
reasonable expectations of the patient as regards articula-
tion, mastication, and natural appearance.

Octi Needles. — New subscribers are informed that wo
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-
They are the diamond drilled-eyed needles, and
of the best English manufacture.

Cooling Mixtures. — The Ledger of this city has been
furnished by a correspondent with tho following: —

Hbssbs. Editors: — Gentlemen — As much has of late
heen said about the scarcity of ire. by various newspapers,
I herewith give to the public, through your valuable
paper, the names, quantities, etc., of inch materials as
will cool water, or any article of food, to thirty-two (32)
degrees Fahrenheit, the freezing point : — ■
Take Hydrochlorate of Ammonia, V. (">) parts.
Nitrate of Potasses [nitre,] V, (5) parts.
C ild Water, XVI. [16] parts. Mix.
By adding Glauber salts VI 1 1 (8) parts, to the above
mixture, the cooling operation will be much expedited.
When it is desirable to cool water or an article of food,
iu ii- it is to be placed in the mixture, and
.1 be of pewter or tin the contents cool most
rapidly.

By the proper use of the above materials, water-ices or
cream may be made in a few minutes. Yours, etc..

R. McC.

A man who bad been married twice to ladies both named
Catharine, advised his friends against taking dupli-Kates.

A Worm to Wrxtsbs.— The greal length of many of the
articles on hand prevents our giving them an early Inser-
tion. If writers would give us short articles, they would
be published much sooner. Kacy and to the point, oot
abounding in description about the beauty of the parlies,
which most persons skip, but go into the story at once,
and, if possible, avoid making the heroine a school-teacher
or a govoruess.

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

No ord*»r attended to unless the cash accompanies It.

All persons requiring answers by mail must send a
post-offico stamp ; and for all articles that are to be sent
by mail, stamps must bo sent to pay return postage.

Be particular, when writing, to mention the town,
county, and State you reside iu. Nothing cau be made
out of post-marks.

Mrs. W. IT. W. — Sent pattern and needles April 16th*.

Mrs. J. A. W.— Sent embroidery, 16th.

E. D. C. — Sent pattern 16th.

M. E. W.—Seut pattern 16th.

Miss M. L. S.— Sent leaden comb, 16th.

Mrs. H. It.— Sent pattern ISth.

Miss M. T. 0.— Sent pattern ISth.

Mrs. J. B. D.— Sent pattern ISth*.

Miss E. T. W.— Sent articles 20th.

Mrs. J. J.— Sent articles 20th.

Mrs. E. M. E.— Sent golden cord, 20th.

J. n. Jr.— Sent ring 20th.

BDbg M. S.— Sent hair ring 22<L

H. W. L.— Sent hair ring 22d.

Miss L. McM. — Sent hair ring and needles 22d.

Miss V. U D.— Sent dress shields 22d.

Mrs. E. M. A. — Sent box of articles by express 22d.

Mrs. P. M. It. — Sent bonnet in box by express 22d.

Miss E. C. G.— Sent pattern 22d.

Miss A. W. C— Sent pattern 22d.

J. H.— Sent pattern 22d.

Miss M. W. J.— Sent pattern 22d.

Mrs. W. S.— Sent pattern 22d.

Mrs. E.-K. P.— Sent pattern 22d.

Miss L. B.— Sent pattern 22d.

M. J. V.— Sent pattern 25th.

BQss J. E. S.— Sent net 25th.

Mrs. W. F. M.— Sent hair fob chain 2uth.

Mrs. A. BE. R.— Sent hair ring 20th.

Mrs. J. L, C— Sent hair fob chain 25th.

jlrs. s.— Sent articles 25th.

Mrs. W. A.— Sent pattern 26th.

Mrs. a. B. B.— Sent India-rubber gloves 26fh..

Mrs. B. F. B.— Sent hair charms 25th.

Miss C. R. B.— Sent dress shields 28th.

Mrs. R. R.— Sent embroidery cotton 28th.

Mrs. J. E. B.— Sent box of articles by express 23th.

Mrs. C. B.— Sent pattern 29th.

Mrs. A. W. S.— Sent pattern 29th.

L, A. F.— Sent lead comb 29th.

Dr. Wm. C— Sent box of articles by express 30th,

Mrs. M A B.— s.-nt box of articles by expn afl SOUL

L. B.— Sent box of articles by express 30th.

Mrs. J. A. H.— Sent pattern May 3d.

G. R. S. ft Co.— Senl pattern 3d.

Mrs. N. E. D.— Sent pattern 3d.

E. McL. — Seni pattern 3d.

E. E. P. — Sent pattern 3d. •

Mrs. G. II.— H. ot 1- \ad comb 3d.

B. 8. — Sent hair crimpers by expro

M. A. C— Sent pattern Oth.

godey's lady's book: and magazine.

H. U.— Sent India-rubber gloves 6th.

J. B. L, — Sent box of articles by express 6th.

M. C. N. — Sent silk circular by express 6th.

Mrs. E. M — Sent hair pins by express 7th.

B. F. W.~- Sent pattern 7th.

Miss L. W. — Sent pattern 7th.

Mrs. McC. — Sent lead comb 7th.

Mrs. J. M. D.— Sent pattern 9th.

J. W.— Sent pattern 9th.

Miss M. M. — Sent pattern 9th.

A. P.— Sent pattern 9th..

Miss H. E. W.— Sent pattern 9th.

M. J. D. — Sent box by express 11th.

S. W. E.— Sent dress shields 11th.

E. A. P. — Sent India-rubber gloves 11th.

Mrs. H. F. W.— Sent pattern 12th.

Mrs. G. & M.— Sent pattern 12th.

Mrs. H. J. N.— Sent pattern 12th.

M. E. P.— Sent pattern 16th.

A. M. R.— Sent silk lace 16th.

A. M. M.— Sent pattern 16th.

J. F. X.— Sent articles 16th.

P. M.— Sent pattern 16th.

J. L. M.— Sent comb 16th.

A. E. T. — We decline offering any opinion, tipon the
subject.

Miss J. H. — We do not know of any "cutting remark"
that would be applicable.

Mrs. V. L. T. — If the gentleman's head is " greasy with
pomatum," I would respectfully remind him that it will
spoil the covering of your sofa.

Miss A. E. — We havo known such things in former
days, but we doubt if at this time any gentleman wears
stays.

B. S. T. — We do not republish stories or poetry.

S. — "Two offers." And you ask us to decide. How
can we ? We can only say,

" How happy could you be with either,
Were t'other dear charmer away."

M. E. — We have no regular scale of prices. In fact, wo
have several thousand dollars invested in MSS., which
we have little chance of using, such is (he demand made
upon our columns by those who are anxious to make their
bow to the public through the columns of the Lady's
Book.

Juliet, — Wetting and plaiting the hair in three before
going to bed, produces a very pretty wave, and is cer-
tainly one of the easiest modes of crimping.

Mrs. S. M. R. — Pull it twice, and then if it is not an-
swered, ring until it is.

Miss R. B. — An engagement must be mutual, and then
an appeal must be made to the lady's parents.

Mrs. G. H. R. — In our next number. But we think you
could find what you want in the June number.

Miss L. Y. S. — We have heard of the ceremony being
performed in that way. Certainly old chrouicles mention
"jumping over a broomstick," but never by the twirling
of a plate.

Miss T. A. — Do notsend your photograph ; an improper
use may be made of it.

Miss G. H.— We believe that most of the advertisements
inserted in our papers are what is familiarly termed bogus.
If a man wants a wife, or a woman a husband, it is not
necessary to advertise for them.

Mits J. A. B.— Do not call any gentleman by bis Chris-
tian name, unless years of sanctioned intimacy warrant it

A. B. and C. D.— Whatnots are simply shelves to pile
books or fancy articles on. Instead of being hung up as

the old-fashioned book racks, tbey are on feet, and can.
stand in a corner, etc. The spools are used to divide tfre
shelves, fastened by a wire passed through them, as you
can see by reference to the book. The shelves are gradu-
ated, the largest of course being at the bottom.

Autograph. — We can only suggest that you write to the
officer explaining your motives, and not one will refuse*

E. R. P. — " A Party, and what came of it," was pub-
lished in September, 1S63. We are of your opinion.

A Subscriber, Mansfield, Ohio. — It would require too
much space to give the directions for an Afghan here.
The Fashion editress will furnish directions for knitting
or crocheting one for the sum of twenty-five cents.

A Crochet Tidy. — Please address Fashion editress.

"A Subscriber for over twenty years" cannot have ob-
served our book very closely, or she would have seen
that we published several receipts for making "Phantom
Flowers' ' in some of the numbers for last year. Certainly
three or four. See advertisement of Tilton & Co., page 91.

E. M.-We have frequently stated that we will not fur-
nish any receipt for removing superfluous hajr.

Authors do not place the title of their stories at the top
of every page.

One of your Readers. — Address J. E. Tilton & Co., Bos-
ton, Mass. They have published a book on that and other
kindred subjects.

M. J. — By inch of candle was the old stylo. We cannot
tell when " going," "going," " gone," come in.

Jfusljions.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Having had frequent applications for the purchase of
jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the
Editress of tlie 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 the care of L. A. Godey, Esq.

No order will he attended to unless the money is first
received. Neither the Editor nor Publisher will be account'
able for losses that may occur in remitting.

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 ; bonnets 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
JULY.

Fig, 1. — White grenadine dress, trimmed wflh gradu-
ated ruffles edged with a fancy gimp. Puffs of violet silk
cross the ruffles at intervals. The corsage is in the Pom-
padour style, and trimmed with a puff of violet silk and

FASHIONS.

narrow graduated ruffles. Avery narrow scarf mantle,
of the same material as fcbednsa, is brimmed to match.
The hat it of rice straw, trimmed with violet ami white
plumes.

Fig. 2. — Dress of buff silk, trimmed on the edge of the
skirt with a box-plaited ruffle, which is ornamented with
quite large black chenille drop halloas. The carnage is
low, with a shaft puffed sleeve. The guimpe is of black
Ppotted net, flushed with narrow thread lace. The corselet
Is of a new style, made of black silk, and ornamented
~sels and drop buttons. The hair Is very
heavily crimped aud rolled. The coiffure is composed of
loops of scarlet and black ribbon.

Fig. 3. — Dress of white alpaca, trimmed with a brilliant
bias plaid silk. The corsage is rut lu turrets atthewai&t,
and mads precisely the Bams in front u at the hack. Rice
Btraw hat, trimmed with plaid to match the dress. Tho
hair is waved by being plaited over night, and then
combed out.

Fig. 4. — Dress of French muslin. The skirt is formed
of graduated puffs, separated by bands of insertion. On
f the skirt Is kd elegantly worked ruffle. The
Zouave is trimmed with puffs, insertion, and ruffles. The
vest is hi* rich blue silk. The hair is rolled off the face,
aud an Alexandra curl falls over the left shoulder.

Fig 5. — Dress of pink percale, printed in a design to
resemble lace. The pattern on the skirt is linked dia-
monds, the same as ou the sleeves, ouly on a larger scale.
The white umlerwaist in furmed of 6mall puffs. Straw
hat. trimmed with green velvet and white plumes.

Fig. t:. — Ball dress. The underskirt is of rich white
glace silk, trimmed with a point lace ruffle and black lace
leaves. The overdress is of green silk, made iu the Euge-
nie style, and trimmed with point lace and black thread
lace leaves. The hair is dressed in front in the Russian
style, and arranged at the back iu a double waterfall.

BATHING DRESSES.
{See engraving, page 21.)

Fig. 1. — Turkish pants of a gray and white striped ma-
terial, fastened at the ankle with an elastic cord. Paletut
i dark blue and black flannel, made with a small
cape, and trimmed with black mohair braid. Oil silk hat,
hound aud trimmed with scarlet binding.

Fij. -. — Suit of pearl-colored flannel, trimmed with
dark blue flannel, and braided in a plain Grecian pattern
with narrow blue braid. Cap of oil silk, trimmed with
dark bine flannel.

Fig. 8. — Suit of black cloth, bound with scarlet flannel.
The collar is of scarlet flannel, also the cap, which is
trimmed with black braid and a long black tassel.

Fig. 4. — Suit of scarlet flaunel, trimmed with wide and
narrow black braid. The dress is decorated with appli-
cations of black cloth, cut in the shape of anchors. The
oat is of white straw, trimmed with scarlet braid.

ferrCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA
FASHIONS FOR JULY.

Toe various wraps to be found at the establishment of
Brodie in New York are perfect marvels of taste and art.
(The silks are of the stand alone quality, and the shapes
and trimmings the most elegant we have seen.
! Many are of the circular shape, trimmed with gimp
| ornament- and chenille tassels. Directly at the back of
(the neck is a Louis 13th bow of the silk, with long ends
j richly trimmed.

Another style, both for cloth and silk, is a basque with

tli ree tails at the hack and a skirt attached. This style is
rather novel ; but prettier in silk than cloth.

Paletots cut slightly into the figure are among the
favorites. Many of the-e are sl;t>he,i :tt the bad
each side, tho slashes being caught together with gimp
straps and ornaments, and richly trimmed with lace.
This style of wrap has pockets in front covered with
Dither lace or gimp. Some have gimp epaulettes which
extend down the back below the waist. Others are made
double-breasted with revors lined with white silk.

We have seen another style with a stuffed crescent-
shaped epauletto, of the silk trimmed with very large jet
drop buttons, which was exceedingly stylish.

The jaunty little jackets which are so much worn by
misses, are made of all materials ; some are trimmed with
a box-plaited ruffle, edged with a narrow fringe, and the
effect is exceedingly pretty. Indeed, they are all trimmed
with irreproachable taste.

Checked, striped, and plain cloth circles of all the new
and indescribable shades, are generally finished with a
woollen chenille fringe. As we are not indebted to our
foreign neighbors for this trimming, it being made both in
New York and Philadelphia, the match is generally
perfect.

Though these silk and woollen garments are requisite
during the entire summer, lighter tissues are also needed.
"We would, therefore, call attention to the fresh attractive
bartge wraps, so pretty and convenient for warm weather.
These are trimmed with flutings, narrow velvets, quil-
lings, and bows. Of the latter style, we give an admirable
illustration iu the present number. Besides those inex-
pensive barige wraps, are the ever fashionable real lace
points, aud a great variety of both black and white
mohair mautlesaud shawls.

The Oriental looking scarlet cloak is still worn at
watering-places, also white cashmere and silk mantles
trimmed with black insertion and rhicurie ruches.

Thin muslin mantles lined with colored silk, and the
hood formed of muslin and Valenciennes insertion, are
very elegant aud dressy. Indeed, such is the bewildering
variety to be found at Mr. Brodic's establishment, that
choice is really embarrassing.

On lately visiting the distinguished fleuriste, Mme.
Tilman, of 14S East Ninth Street, New York, we were
shown many beautiful things, though there seems to be
rather a lull in the production of novelties ; owing, we
suppose, to the little demand for them, tho warm weather
having driven the fashionable world to the various
watering-places. However, at this hothouse of elegance
than is always something pretty to be seen.

Conspicuous for simple elegance among the bonnets
was one of rice straw. It was trimmed with narrow
bauds of sea-green velvet aud a marabout feather, tipped
all over with tiny particles of mother-of-pearl, which,
cameleon-like, changed color with the slightest movement
The inside trimming was a niching of green cripe lisse,
and almost fragrant roses.

For young ladies, nothing can be prettier than the va-
porous-looking tulle bonnets with falling crowns. These
are trimmed with violets, rose-buds, or lilies of the
valley.

Another pretty style is a pressed cr'pe, spotted over
with beads resembling water drops.

A novelty in the way of a hat had a bird of Paradise
feather fastened in front and passing over the crown. A
very small circular veil, formed of figured net edged with
a narrow thread lace, was fastened in with the crown
lining, which caused it to lit closely to the face in the

godey's lady's book and magazine.

mask style. Spun glass is but little used by lime. T. ;
indeed, we saw it but on one hat. It was, however, of
such exquisite fineness, and arranged so charmingly with
scarlet velvet and fine grass, that the effect was exquisite.

Another pretty hat had in front a peacock with its
beautifully crested head. It was small, and fitted very
closely to the hat, the tail clinging to the sides of
the crown. This is decidedly the prettiest peacock trim-
ming we have seen, for, generally, the feathers a,re too
large and sprawling.

Buff and salmon are very much used for the trimming
of both bonnets and hats. On many of the bonnets a
single flower is ari'anged on the outside. For instance, a
water-lily, the leaves glistening with dew-drops. Or the
bright tinted tulip. Of the latter flower we have seen
many elegant specimens. Feathery, silvery, pearl, and
silk grasses enter largely into the composition of moutures
for bonnets and headdresses. Upon examining the ele-
gant, wavering grasses, we found the hundreds of little
spikelets to be formed of mother-of-pearl and steel ; but
so tiny and delicate, that the least breath would set them
in motion ; and the various lights thrown on them caused
them to glitter almost like jewels.

Large, fancy wheat ears in salmon or buff crepe, with
long silky beards, form a very stylish trimming for a
black horse-hair bonnet.

Much artistic skill is displayed in the arrangement of
headdresses, though there is but little change in the
style ; nor will there be, until there is a decided change
in the arrangement of the hair.

Sprays of pink coral, scarcely to be detected from the
real article, arranged with grasses and shells, form a
charming coiffure. Marie Antoinette tufts of the rarest
flowers, and of the most graceful coloring, are to be found
at Mme. Tilman's. Of the tufts and half wreaths of
which we have spoken in a previous article, we shall
shortly give illustrations. Many other beautiful fanta-
sies we could mention ; but we must also speak of chil-
dren's hats.

For information we visited Mr. Genin's establishment,
513 Broadway, New York. Among the newest and most
becoming styles, are the Arion, Casquet, and Armenia.
The former has the crown taperiug in front, and rounding
at the back. The brim is narrow in front, runs to a point
behind, and the edges are curled. The Casquet resembles
the Ariou, ouly that the brim is narrower and not curled.
The Armenia has a high straight crown, narrow brim,
which forms a curve both front and back, the sides being
perfectly straight. In some of the models, the brim at
the side consists merely of a tiny roll of velvet.

Besides the above mentioned styles there are many
others ; but the three we have named seem to be the
favorites, and are to be had in all sizes from ladies to
infants.

Some of the dress hats have the brim entirely covered
with velvet. The principal trimmings for ladies and
misses are feathers and velvet. All kinds of feathers are
brought into requisition — peacock's, heron, king fisher's,
cock's, and even eagle plumes.

For children, flowers, shells, wheat ears, and ribbons,
are the accepted trimmings. Straw ribbons and tassels
arranged with high colored velvets, are very dressy.

For school hats, the different shades of gray orcuir, and
the mixed straws, are the most suitable both for misses
and boys. The turban and Scotch styles, though old, are
very much adopted, and with the mask veil and the hair
arranged en Grecqxte, present quite a jaunty and pretty
appearance". They are suitable, however, only for misses.

Where ribbon is used, it generally terminates in long
streamers at the back. Frequently, however, narrow
ribbon velvet is laid in deep points round the crown
fastening underneath, a tuft of feathers or flowers in front.

A drawn rosette of salmon-colored cr'pe lisse, with a
scarf of the same, edged with a delicate straw fringe,
forms a very light and pretty trimming for a hat.

For little boys, there are numerous styles ; some have a
round crown, with rolled brim. These are generally
of a plain colored straw, trimmed with a baud of blue or
brown ribbon, fastened at the side with a pearl clasp.
More fanciful shapes are trimmed with an aigrette, con-
sisting of a small rosette of peacock's feathers, from
which spring three straight feathers or a wing. The
sailor-shaped hat is also fashionable.

Infants' hats are generally of white straw, bound with
velvet, either a bright blue, lilac, or cherry. Narrow
bands of the same encircle the crown, and, in front, a short
wrhite plume is caught with a bow of white ribbon. For
a boy the plume passes over the crown, for a girl it falls
at the side. t

We can but give our readers a general idea of what is
worn in our principal cities. So varied are the styles and
trimmings of Mr. Genin's hats, that full opportunity is
given for the exercise of taste in the selection of them.

As the warm weather is hurrying persons to the sea-
side, a few hints on bathing dresses may be acceptable.

There is no dress so easy of accomplishment as a neat,
tasteful, and comfortable bathing dress; and yet, some-
times, when watching bathers at the sea-side, one is
tempted to believe such an achievement impossible.

Instead of the usual flannel, Mme. Demorest is making
bathing dresses of moreen, and considers this material
better adapted for the purpose. It is of a strong, firm
texture; not too heavy, does not cling to the person after
being in the water, as it immediately drains off.

A very handsome suit just finished at her establishment,
No. 473 Broadway, was of drab moreen, the waist plaited
to a yoke, and into a belt at the back, the front left loose
and belted in like a morning wrapper. The skirt not too
short, about halfway below the knee, and plaited at the
back in large box plaits ; the sleeves full, and fastened by
a close band at the wrist ; a small round collar of the
same material give a neat finish to the throat. The
trimmings consist of a band of scarlet cloth, one inch
wide, stitched all round the skirt, a short distance from
the edge ; the same on cuffs, collar, and belt. Bloomer
pants, fastened into a band of scarlet cloth at the ankle,
completes the dress. This suit should of course he lined,
except the skirt, and was, in this instance, neatly done
with a very thin muslin, with just sufficient texture to
make it smooth ; and the seams were covered in the same
manner as a double gown.

Another of the same goods cut like a circular, only
joined on the shoulders, was nearly finished and was ex-
ceedingly pretty. The skirt being very full, with full
sleeves and pants, and dark blue trimmings instead-, of
scarlet, made a very tasteful suit.

But we doubt the propriety of any but a genius at the
work attempting to cut it. However, we remember that a
duplicate pattern may be bad from this establishment of
any and everything desirable in the dress department.

By the way, why does not some leader of fashion at
Newport or Cape May introduce the havelock as an ap-
pendage to a lady's bathing hat? It is so disagreeable to
have the sun beating down on one's neck, which it will
do, in spite of the wide-brimmed hats. We merely throw i
out the suggestion. Fisnios.

i.onn is rASMMDKs rm Mimsr rse \.

fl T

THE SAME OLD STOBT.

VOL. LX1X. — 9

103

SONG, TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN

By W. W. CALDWELL.

MUSIC COMPOSED FOR THE PIANO FOR GODET'S LADY'S BOOK,

By JULES LENHART.

8va

Andante.

£E

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Heart of mine,

no long - er monrn,

3 — I — I-

From ' thee

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HEART OF MINE.

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borne, Ev - en

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On, in bhining armor, co,
0 my spirit, and be free ;

Naught avails it sighing so.
Like a lover piningly.

Heart of mine, eta

Tbna^h thy breast with anguish bleeds,
Onwani press without delay ;

Sings the swan among the p
Sweetest, when life ebbi nway.
lie irt of mine, etc.

MORNING ROBE.

Made of white cambric, with a tablier front, which is entirely covered with fluted ruffle* One ruffle edges the tal
on each side and three fluted ruffles edge the skirt. The jacket is made quite loose. With the fronts rounded, ami i
trimmed with ruffles to match the skirt. The hair is arranged in puffs in frout, and in the Orecian style at the back.

106

DRESS FOR THE SEA-SIDE.

The petticoat is of buff alpaca, trimmed on the ?<\ct> of the skirt with a rnffle, honnd with black velvet. Above

this are two bands of black silk, with narrow ban "f black velvet between. The dress skirt is of the ordinary

of the same material a- the petticoat, and (rimmed in the same style. Ii is looped np at intervals by straps

k silk, which are sewed on the petticoat The jacket i* in the style ; -From fftee. It i> faced with

hlack silk, and trimmed with straps of black velvet. V -r lion bal of black straw, trimmed with a velvet feather.

107

EMBBOIDBEY.

.. „ooo„ Ooo, Ooroc 0oOc„ „oooo0 o000„o000o0„o<'oc'o0o00'>
r°o<ooO°3:L-<o.o^ooo^oo^°o0o0^ooo0°0oo0c00ooo0o°o0oo

THE MADELEINE JACKET.

(Front view.)

This stylish jacket may be made of the same material as the dress, or of silk, or pique.

108

EMBROIDERY.

S- r&- C

5- «s

w&^&&^

THE MADELEINE JACKET.

(£ IC& B&t0„)

1U9

[From the establishment

THE CALPE.

of G. Brod.e, 51 Canal Street, New York. Drawn l>y L. T. Voigt, from actual articles
of costume.]

This commences oor series for the fall months, and it is made in silk or fight cloth, as the season -"W»™- ™«
piquancy and convenience of the style renders its fashion one that is widely popular. The F-^'lra™'"'es ™?
grcatlv, so that the tastes and pecuniary considerations of all may be accommodated. The above ^ as drawn from a
rich Manganese brown summer cloth, adorned with an exceedingly neat gimp and P™d6n'J™^/^?™t mass

For the present "heated term" of course the various shapes and styles of laces are the mode, lhe great mass,
however, of our friends having already made up their summer toilets, are looking for the approaching autumn fash-
ions. We, therefore, prefer giving the above.
110

NAME FOE MARKING

PATTERN FOR A TIDY OR COUNTERPANE.
(.?..« Description, Work Department.')

IPIwff

iifil

, illili

ilpi

llliill

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J lift li

■■■Bill

ipIpII

Kifpilll

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112

FANCY CHEMISE.

The entire front and sleeves are finely tucked. It is also trimmed with a rich worked

edging.

CHILD'S BRAIDED SHOE.

opposite page.)

113

ALPHABET OF FANCY LETTERS.

GODEY'S

1 i\h'$ ^iooIi anli ||laga}lnt

PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST, 1864.

"TAKING BOAEDEKS FOR COMPANY."

A STORY OF THE 'HEATED TEEM," AND CONTAINING MORE TRUTH THAN ROMANCE.

BT MARION IIARLAND.

[Entered, according to Act of Congress, in thfi year 1884, by Loins A fioDBY, in the rink's office of the District Coart
of the Una. ind fox the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.]

CHAPTER I.

" WnAT furiously hot weather !'' puffed Mr.

' Bell, throwing open, ret more widely, his

I summer sack — said garment being after the

fashion aptly named "skeleton" — material

white grassclotb, pure and sheer as muslin.

" I never felt anything to exceed it !"'

'•It is terrible!" punted Mrs. Bell, vigor-
Ously plying a palm-leaf fan. "And 30 debili-
tating! I have not strength to move!"

•• Insufferable ! One really lacks the cour-
age, it' not the energy, to look at the ther-
mometer to ascertain the real extent of our
misery!'' sighed Hiss Georgianna Rose, Mrs.
Bell's sister.

An impartial looker-on might have decided
that the trio, thus unanimously condemnatory
of (be sunny June afternoon, were ungrateful
for, and therefore undeserving of the sur-
I roundings. that, for them, in some measure,
alleviated the fervid heat, what the ruddy
farmers were then praising as being "sj
growing weather." Mr. Bell had just dis-
'; patched a well-cooked dinner, served up neatly
and promptly to meet the call of the appetite
he brought up town with him from the hotter,
because more compactly built precincts where-
in his store was situated. The fowls w.-re
tender and juicy ; the vegetables the best of
their various kinds : sauces, rare and piquant,
were at hand; fruits and ice-cream had com-
posed the dessert, instead of steaming pud-
dings, and oily, bile-engendering pastry. A

VOL. LXIX. — 10

glass of fine old wine. iced, of course, put the
finishing touch to his feast, and his satisfac-
tion in the same. The Bells had the reputa-
tion of being good livers, and were conscious
that they deserved it. The husband was
bountiful, the wife, tasteful and judicious. A
capital table was the inevitable result of this
combination.

Attired as we have described him, Mr. Bell
leaned baek in his own garden-chair — he bad
tried a dozen before he found one that Baited
him "to a T" — his feet upon a camp-stool
worked by his pet sister-in-law; a prime
Havana between his lips, and gazing across
intervening housetops and patches of green,
marking the treasured plots of turf and occa-
sional trees, denominated by deluded citizens
'•gardens," he sniffed the faint, briny air
stealing up from the bay, flashing in the
distance, and anathematized the we
llis station was upon a piazza shaded with
vines ; pots of mignonette, wall-flowers, helio-
tropes, and geraniums were ranged arennd the
balustrade and filled the atmosphere with per-
fume. Vet he found the city "intolerable" in
summer ! Within the door of the sitt tag-room
—cool, lofty, and cheerful, without being gla-
ringly bright— were two light, cane
sewing chairs, occupied by the ladies— his
fellow-sufferers. Mrs. Bell's was a pleasant
fare, indicative alike of intelligence and ami-
ability. She was not more than thirty years
of age, the mother of three line children

115

116

RODEY'S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

tempered, and healthy like herself ; and made
an excellent and fond help-meet to a husband
■who deserved and valued her, being a man of
affectionate disposition, sound sense, and com-
fortably worldly means. Georgianna Rose —
" Georgie," to her friends ; "Georgie, dear,"
to her sister and brother-in-law; "Auntie,"
to the little Bells — was a pretty, blooming
girl of twenty, whose clear, blue organdie set
off to the best advantage her clear complexion
and pale-brown hair.

"And that reminds me" — resumed Mr.
Bell, after a few pulls more at his choice
weed ; speaking with much apparent indiffer-
ence— "I had a letter from Roaring River,
to-day. ' '

"Ah!" exclaimed the ladies, breathlessly.
"What do they say?"

Whether the subject really interested him
or no, it was evidently one of the highest
importance to them.

" I will read the letter to you, that is, if I
have it with me. I think that I put it into
my pocket after glancing it over. But when
one has an extensive business correspondence,
minor matters are liable to be overlooked. I
thought that you would want to learn its
contents," answered the master of the house,
with the characteristic equanimity of his sex,
when they witness any lively display of fe-
minine curiosity.

The hypocrite knew perfectly well the pre-
cise pocket and the precise corner of that
pocket in which he had bestowed the docu-
ment in question. Instead of merely "glanc-
ing it over," and then tossing it by to return
in thought to the major topic of " business,"
he had given it a careful perusal at the store,
and a second reading in the omnibus on his
way up town. The subject of the communi-
cation had not really left his mind for five
minutes at a time since his arrival at home ;
yet with the knowledge of all this within his
brain, he felt a touch of compassionate amuse-
ment at the spectacle of the sudden animation
his carelessly-uttered speech had begotten in
the ladies. Without pretending to analyze
the motives that prompted him to adopt this
line of conduct, I venture to affirm, in passing,
upon the authority of one who has made
mankind something of a Study, that any other
gentleman with whom I have the honor of
bring acquainted, would have pursued the
same apparently meaningless policy in a
similar case. As Miss Mitford's lisping baby-

heroine, Dolly, summed tip her experience of
the class — " Manth ith all alike I"

I am not affecting to deny or excuse the
fact that women do, occasionally, in circum-
stances of great provocation to the emotion,
feel a thrill of curiosity, and that some of the
weaker vessels do, say once in a lifetime,
betray this in an unbecoming manner ; but I
dare to state that many of us could be as
coolly incurious, and as dignifiedly chary of
inquiry as are our lords, if we had their op-
portunities of gaining information with regard
to passing events. One who has pressed up
to the bulletin-board and possessed himself of
every article inscribed thereupon, can afford
to withdraw — satisfied leech that he is — from
the eager crowd and smile, in genuine enjoy-
ment of the fun, at the figure cut by the
unhappy ignoramus upon the outside ring of
the throng, who by diligent pushing, frantic
leapings, and abject croucbings and peepings,
can only make out the capital letters, and the
string of exclamation points like a shower of
sky-rockets, which may mean either crowning
triumph or irreparable disaster.

This digression has given Mr. Bell time to
empty and explore three pockets, and examine
at least two score envelopes ; Mrs. Bell has
arisen, malgri her extreme debility, to help
overlook the pile accumulating upon his knee,
saying, in genuine anxiety, "0, Ronald! I
do hope you have not left it at the store !"

"Wouldn't that be perfectly unbearable!"
exclaimed Georgie.

'Here it is!" the tantalizing husband
thought proper to remark at length, drawing
forth a small envelope.

Even then he knocked the ashes from his
cigar, dexterously upset the camp-stool, and
stopped to readjust his feet upon it, before
he unfolded the sheet, which was gilt-edged,
and scented with Labia's Extract of "New-
mown hay," or "Verbena," or "Pond-lily,''
or some other unidentifiable odor.

"From which of the sisters is it?" asked
Mrs. Bell. '

"It is signed 'Jemima Ketchum!'" was
the answer.

"Horrors, what a name!" ejaculated thel
wife.

"She writes a good hand," Mr. Bell re|
marked. " I should judge her to be a perso:l
of considerable culture. Dr. Moleye told uf jj
you recollect, that the ladies were educate .'
and refined, and fine conversationists."

"taking boakdkrs for company."

117

•• Dear Ronald: won't you read the letter?
We .ire dying with impatience !" pi

Georgie.

Her brother smiled indulgently, and vouch-
safed to end her suspense.

'•Roaring River, June 10, 1860.

"'Mr. R. M. Bell, Dear Sin: Your polite
favor of the 1st inst. was received four days
ago ; but we (my two sisters and myself)
deemed it best to weigh your proposition seri-
ously (as its importance merited), and not to
respond to your inquiries untilwecould give a
definite (and, if possible, a satisfactory) reply.
Otherwise, we might excite expectations which,
after mature deliberation, we might find it
impracticable or inadvisable to gratify. While
we are (of course) pleased with the favorable
report of our mountain retreat given by oar
esteemed friend, Dr. Moleye, we are not sur-
that he remembers, with feelings of
lively delight, his sojourn in this charming
region. We did all in our power to render
his stay pleasant (as we do with all our
I. We h.artily reciprocate his expres-
sions of good-will and agreeable souvenirs.
Please remember ns taost cordially to him wB a
you meet him. His is one of those rare
spirits that once met are never forgotten.' "

"Jteoy!" interrupted Georgie. "Who
would have thought that prosy old Dr. Moleye
would have produced such an impression ?
That is a queer business letter, Ron!"

"Don't be too quick to judge! We are
coming to the business, now." And he pro-
ceeded :

"As he has informed you, my dear sir, we
do not keep a boarding-house. Our revered
and ever-to-be-lamented father (one of the
most respected and substantial farmers in this
community, and who represented our native
county for several years in the legislature)
left us, at his decease (which occurred ten
years since), in the enjoyment of a modest
competence that precluded all necessity of
any exertion on our part to procure a genteel
livelihood. We had not been brought up like
most farmers' daughters, therefore had intel-
lectual resources that effectually ward
ennui from our seclusion. But two years after
the sad event that left us orphans, our eldest
brother having been elected to Congress from
this district (which office he filled with credit
to himself and his family), and at the expira-
tion of his Congressional term being appointed

to a foreign consulate (the principality of

null, and our younger brother leaving

the paternal homestead for tie- great metro-
polis (namely, New York),«we three sisters

found the solitude of our lately merry home
isire, and the more willingly acceded to

tile importunities of an old and valued friend,
Rev. Dr. W. Ohoken, of Edenvale, that we
would receive him and his lovely and accom-
plished wife, with their six interesting chil-
dren, as members of our family during the
summer months.' "

The reader paused.

"Georgie, dear! Please hand me that
glass of ice-water."

"No wonder you are out of breath! Are
you sure there is not a stop in all that long
sentence ?"

"Not one, except commas."

" ' We enjoyed their society so much that
we allowed ourselves to be the more readily
persuaded, the ensuing season, by other
friends who proposed to become our guests.
My sisters were growing up, and I felt the
need of cultivated associations for them. Thus
we fell into the habit of extending our family
circle in the warm weather.' "

"On the principle that heat expands, I
suppose!" said a new voice, and the reader
became aware that his family circle had been
enlarged by the quiet entrance of his next
door neighbors — his married sister and her
husband. .Mr. and .Mrs. Earle.

•• What bosh have you there. Ron ?" queried
the former of these two, continuing the tone
of raillery that had arrested the reading.

"The long looked-for letter from Roaring
River," explained Mrs. Bell.

"Humph I"

" Tom!" said his wife, reprovingly. " Don't
mind him, Annie !"

"I do not!" was the smiling reply. "I

know him too well to be seriously afflicted by

his barking. He never bites. Now, sit down,

both of you, and hear this somewhat diffuse

. It concerns you as well as ourselves."

" Ami having waded through sueh a slongh
of sentimental reminiscences, we must be
rlearing solid ground now, I think," said
Georgie, who was not more remarkable for
patience than are most other spoiled children
She was never emss. however, with all her
saueiness, in which, it must be owned, she
was encouraged by her lawful guardians.

Mr. Bell resumed : —

118

godey's lady's book and magazine.

" ' Our airy and commodious suite of rooms
is always in demand. Indeed, if pertinacious
solicitations could win our consent to such a
measure, our house would be crowded from
basement to attic throughout the summer.
But on this point (although generally over-
indulgent) we are adamant. Our inviolable
rule is, not to take more visitors than we can
accommodate with perfect and entire comfort
to themselves, and likewise to us. Our object
(to sum up the whole matter in a few words)
is not to make money ; but to avail ourselves
of the charming society of our guests, while
affording them an opportunity of seeking
health and recreation (and, through these,
happiness), among our noble mountains, and
upon our fine river. Three of our apartments
are already engaged to friends from the city —
very refined and cultivated people. We have,
fortunately, four others vacant, which we
have no doubt will meet your requirements.
Two of these are spacious chambers — well-
lighted and admirably ventilated — and each
capable of containing two beds. These (ac-
cording to our estimate) will suit yourself
and brother-in-law, since your sister, Mrs.
Earle, would like to have her children in the
room with herself, or in a" chamber immedi-
ately contiguous to hers. The thirdis smaller,
and adjoins the apartment we have allotted
to Mrs. Bell and yourself. This we design for
Mrs. Bell's sister, the young lady of whom
you wrote. We anticipate much pleasure in
forming her acquaintance. We ace all three
naturally vivacious, and dearly enjoy the
companionship of young persons.' "

" Highly honored, I am sure!" murmured
Georgie, in affected humility.

" ' Your oldest daughter might lodge with
her. Then, upon the floor above, is a snug
bed-room for your servant-girls. Our fare is,
we flatter ourselves, irreproachable. Poultry
and eggs we have in abundance ; we make
the best and sweetest of bread and butter ;
raise our own lambs ; cultivate our own vege-
tables, and have a well-stocked ice-house,
while our river supplies us with all the fish
we need. There are flue troutiug streams
two or three miles back of us ; and in their
proper season, woodcock and snipe abound in
the swamps and along the watercourses near
us. I mention these particulars as likely to
interest gentlemen. We strive to cater to the
tastes of all. But we pride ourselves princi-
pally upon our magnificent (I had almost

said, unsurpassable) mountain scenery, and
the excellent roads conducting through it in
all directions. Travellers of refined and en-
nobling tastes (such as we are assured are
possessed by yourself, my dear sir, and your
family connection) must ever experience gen-
uine delight in traversing our elevated pla-
teau, and ascending the grand range of cloud-
capped summits encircling it.' "

' ' Whew ! ' ' whistled the impertinent brother-
in-law.

His wife tapped him with her fan as an
injunction to silence.

Mr. Bell laughed a little himself, and
glanced down the street, as looking for some-
thing more practical.

"Don't skip a word, I entreat I" petitioned
Mr. Earle. " It is a rich composition, refreshes
one on a hot day, like a glass of soda water,
all bubble, and fiz, and syrup ! People of
refined and ennobling tastes, suchas we possess,
can appreciate its beauties. That girl ought
to offer herself as advertisement-writer for
Hooflaud's German Bitters, or Macallister's
Ointment. She would make more money than
by taking boarders."

" That is not her object in taking boarders!"
remarked Georgie, demurely, the sparkle of
fun in her eye abetting Mr. Earle in his criti-
cism.

"Of course not ! I wouldn't insult her by
such an insinuation. But, if it is not an
impertinent question, Ron, what arc we ex-
pected to pay ; or, as I '11 wager my head she
phrases it, what remuneration are we to be
allowed to offer her for the unspeakable priv-
ilege of becoming members of her family,
dwellers in her Happy Valley ? My pocket-
nerve quivers at the bare suggestion."

" It need not !" Mr. Bell named the terms
in a tone of suppressed exultation.

They were, indeed, extremely moderate, as
the other gentleman was compelled to admit.

"Too moderate!" he said, shaking his
head. "There is a screw loose somewhere.
The sum is a lame and impotent conclusion '.o
that grand, eloquent epistle. I always dis-
trust a bargain. Adjectives sell dear, gener-
ally."

"The price is low, I grant, for this lati-
tude,'' replied Mr. Bell; but recollect that
the cost of living in that section of country
does not equal the expenses one incurs here,
by one-half. The most pleasant summer we
have ever had, since our marriage, was passed

'TAKING BOARDERS FOR COMPANY.

119

m a quiet farm-house, where the board was a
OOnple of dollars less per week than lli.' sum
charged by the Misses Ketohum."

"And the tare was delicious!" said Mr-.
Belt. "Georgiel have you forgotten good
Mrs. Worthley's light bread and golden but-
ter I her gingerbread and apple-pies f"

"No, nor yet her broiled chicken, fresh

eggs. and plentiful supply of milk. What a

Netful summer that was!" exclaimed

the world-weary girl of twenty. "I tin hope

that we are g"ing to have just such ano

"If this Miss What 's-her-naiue is as volu-
ble with her tongue as with her pen, you will
have anything but a restful time, I forewarn
you." growled Mr. Earle.

" It will be our fault if she gets many op-
portunities of annoying us in this way," re-
1 Mrs. Bell, cheerfully, "since we
expect to pass much of our time out of doors.
Dr. Moleye says the rambles in thi
hood are delightful. Aud the trouting, Tom,
think of that!"

"And the woodcock!" artfully suggested
Georgie.

"And the boating — which she says is the
favorite pastime of visitors," said His. Earle,
who had taken the letter from her brother,
and finished its perusal in Bllenoe.

"Avaunt, all of you! Tempters of the
flesh and mind!" called out Tom. "How
dare you basely attempt to pervert a man's
judgment in this style ?"

me, now. my dear fellow, let us be se-
rious, examine the matter calmly an 1 without
prejudii m Mr. Bell, in a tono of mild

" We want a quiet summer re-
v.here the ladies and the babii

have wholesome fare and OUtd • exercise in

the mountain air ; where you and I can row,
swim, fish, and shoot to our heart's con:
place where, free from the shackles of fashion
and fashionable gayeties, wc can really and
truly have a holiday, a good, free and easy
time, that will send us back to work in the
autumn, invigorated in body, thought, and
heart. This house is recommended to me by
a physician, one who has made personal tost
of its capabilities to suit our needs. I made
further inquiries, and the result is entirely
satisfactory, witli the unimportant exceptions
that Miss Jemima, the spokeswoman of the
three sisters, writes a needlessly long letter,
in rather a highfalu ting strain, and t!
charges a low price for board. Candidly,

lu*

u absurd to attach any weight
to objections, like th(

"Argued like a lawyer, Ronald I I have
but one bit of blunt, practical wisdom :■>
Oppose to all this fair show of reason, and you
may have it gratis. It is just this : Human
nature is pretty much the same, the world
over, and it is human nature to get, if possi-
hle, a fair compensation for whatever one has
that is marketable. Viewed in this light,
Miss Jemima's offer of all the comforts of a
home : the edifying society of herself and
sisters; her magnificent mountains, super-
excellent roads ; trout, woodcock, and boats,
for the moderate SUm She names, and tie.

sidi ratio i "!' our companionship, is either

a piece of e regions simplicity, or there will
be found, upon experiment, a grievous defi-
oiency somewhere. Now, the woman who
wrote that letterdoes not underestimate herself
nor her abode. The probability — to uiy mind,
the certainty — is that she has gone to the other
extreme, and drawn more largely upon her
imagination than upon her sight in sketching
her picture. I distrust these mongrel estab-
lishments that are neither private houses nor
hotels. Th.y are generally miserable hum-
bugs—traps for the unwary, who find, when
it is too late, that they have sacrificed the
ease and quiet of their homes without gaining
#the independence of a public, house. As to
tal.i is for company — just for the

pleasure of the thing — that is all bosh!"
And having reached the climax of his p
t.st in this, his pet substantive, Mr. Earle
helped himself to a cigar from a case on the
table ; asked his brother-in-law for a light,
and settled down comfortably in a straw eh
the fellow to that occupied by Mr. Bell. There
i uneasy pause, ended by Mrs. Earl.-.

" What a croaker you are, Tom. You leave
out of sight the fact that we need not stay
longer than we like, should we become dis-
satisfied. We have always the privilege of
leaving."

"That is more easily said than done, after
we have engaged the rooms for the season,
lost the chance of getting in elsewhere, and
tran . :. 1 miles or

so from home, part of the way l.y private con-

He held the letter by this time, and read
aloud tie. postsci ipt : —

" 'The last twelve miles you will perform by
. road is steep and rocky,

120

godey's lady's book and magazine,

you will require a more substantial conveyance
for your baggage. It is our custom to send
our own team of oxen and heavy wagon to
the depot for this purpose, if notified of the
precise day of our visitors' arrival. We shall
be most happy to do this in your case.' "

"Why iu thunder does the woman persist
in calling us 'guests' and 'visitors' and the
like twaddle ?" broke out the malcontent.
"A man who hires a room of her, and pays
her for his breakfast, dinner, and supper, is
a boarder, and nothing else 1"

No one took offence at this plainness of
speech, nor were the Bells shaken in their
purpose of rusticating at Roaring River. As
Mrs. Bell had said, they were well acquainted
with their friend's eccentricities, and knew
how little depth there was to his apparent
bitterness of criticism. They laughed the
matter off pleasantly, now, therefore, and,
during his stay, talked of other things.

"We may safely leave him to Kate," ob-
served Georgie, wisely, when their visitors
had gone. "She lets him talk as long and
as loudly as he likes ; but it always ends
in his giving her her own way. She wants to
go with us, and, however he may bluster, he
will not cross her inclination."

" You understand these matters pretty well,
I see, for one who has had no personal expe-
rience in that line," returned her brother. ,

She raised herself on tip-toe to pinch his
ear.

"So well, Mr. Saucebox, that I tell you
now, inasmuch as your wife and sisters have
made up their minds on this subject, you may
as well write at once, and engage Miss Je-
mima's rooms. I have a presentiment that
we are to have great times, this summer.
Perhaps I may meet my fate ; who knows ?"

CHAPTER II.

TnAT Georgie had prophesied shrewdly as
to what would be the family orders in council,
was proved by a scene that transpired three
weeks after the reception of Miss Jemima's
letter.

It was late in the afternoon of a showery
July day. A muddy stage, built after the
model of the Jersey wagon, containing four
narrow, straight-backed benches, toiled creak-
ingly up a rough mountain road. Seated
within were Mrs. Bell, two children and

nurse ; Mrs. Earle, with a dependent retinue
of like numbers and character, and Georgie
Rose. Messrs. Earle and Bell were on the
outer seat with the driver, and between his
father's knees stood Master Harry Bell, the
eldest hope of his parents, a manly little
fellow of nine years ; but whose present aspect
was rather disconsolate. Save Mr. Earle,
none of the party wore a very cheerful air.
The ladies were tired, heated, and damp,
besides being uneasy as to the effect of the
humid atmosphere upon the children, who
fretted and dozed alternately. Mrs. Earle's
babe — a delicate boy, just in the midst of the
cruel maladies incident upon its second sum-
mer— was especially troublesome.

" Poor little lamb !" said the kind-hearted
nurse, trying to hush the piteous wail with
which he started from a fitful slumber in her
arms. "And is it much further we have to
go, ma'am ?"

"I hope not, indeed, Norah!" replied her
mistress, " for he is very weary and hungry.
Are we nearly there, Ronald?" she called to
her.brother.

" We have but one mile more to travel,"
was the welcome response ; "and the driver
here tells me that there is a pretty view of the
house to lie had from the top of the hill ; so
look out !"

There was a general brightening up of sober
faces and straightening of bent forms ; all
eyes were on the alert to catch the first
glimpse of the desired haven. But disap-
pointment awaited them instead, upon the
summit of what they had trusted was to be
to them one of the Delectable Mountains.
What had appeared to be but a dense mist
from a distance, changed, as they entered
its gray folds, into a soaking shower. So
sudden and violent was its patter upon the
roof of the vehicle, that the inmates had not
time to lower the curtains, although these
were but imperfectly fastened up, having been
already unrolled three times during the ride
of twelve miles, to avoid similar deluge*.
The air had remained so sultry, in spite of the
rain, that so soon as the showers had abated,
the unanimous cry had been — " Raise the
curtains! We are suffocating!"

Now, the children were hastily huddled
together in the centre of the startled group,
and sheltered by the nurse's skirts and shawls,
while the ladies shrank from the spray that
beat in upon them through the open sides of

"taking boarders for company."

121

the si rry Bell disappeared under I

leathern aprcn which the driver drevnp
high as it would stretch, to proteet himself
and his companions on the front scat.

'• All the more merit in being jolly. Kate I
Mr. Barle quoted, turning his E
an 1 streaming With rai'.i. towards his wi

■ 1 a cry of dismay. " I begin to
that I am destined to be the Hark
Tapley in this company of emigrants. As
Georgie would say. -I hare a presentiment'
that I shall have occasion to ' come out strong'
before our Roaring River experiences are con-
cluded."

"I can bear any amount of inconvenience
fur myself,'' rejoined Mrs. Earle, anxiously.
"But the water is dripping through the roof,
and if the children should get wet, you know
that we cannot procure dry clothes for them,
to-night. It is very strange that the team was
not sent down for the baggage, as was prom-
ised.''

"Never mind!'' Mr. Bell said, in consola-
tion. "Thanks to your thoughtfulness, in
pating some such confre-tenps, their night-
are all in the hand-trunk, and that
is dry. I am sure ; I put it under the back
seat myself. We will ask permission to take
the forlorn little beings to the kitchen fire.
Then, dry wrappers, a cup of hot tea, and a
good night's rest will set them all right. Hold
hard, all of you! there's a bad piece of road
ahead!"

He did not slander the portion of the route
they were now called upon to traverse. For
hairiJJpBle rocks a foot high, and ruts two
feet deep, with frequent slants to the right,
then to the left, until those inside the wagon
shrieked in mortal terror of upsetting and
bone-breaking, kept every muscle on the
strain and jarred every joint almost to dislo-
cation. Thus they reached the bottom of the
hill, where the patient mountain horses struck
a trot upon a strip of level road, bounded on
one side by thick woods, on the other, by a
rude stone fence, inclosing a meadow and
orchard ; turned sharply in at au open gate,
and came to a stand in front of a long, low
house, embowered in a grove of cherry trees.
Both babies were crying : both mothers exam-
ining tender eraniuras and soft limbs, in dread
of fiuding bruises or fractures j both nurses
soothing their hurt and frightened charges
with the voluble endearments of their race.
8o confused, shaken to pieces, and generally

miserable were all the juveniles, ami the
larger ; of the feminine gender, that

none of them appreciated the truth that they
were, at last, at their journey's end, until
Mr. Bell opened the door of their mudl
with a jubilant outburst.

"Well, thank fortune, here we are, and our
troubles are over !"

Mrs. Bell alighted in a puddle of water that
surrounded the yard-gate ; but she did not
hear the sullen splash, or know that her
ankles were wet, so eager was her survey of
the premises — the Promised Land of Miss
Jemima's epistle. It was but natnral that her
eyes should scan, with lively interest, the
house that was to be the abode of herself and
best treasures for the next two months, and
it was quite as inevitable that a sensation of
heart-sinking, bordering upon consternation,
should succeed the keen, if hasty examination.
The building stood upon a dead flat, that
looked like a hollow, now that the eye bad
become accustomed to the more elevated
regions over which she had travelled.

It was but a story and a half high ; the
parlor floor might have been laid ou the very
ground, so near the earth did the lower win-
dows seem ; while the upper, overshadowed
by the sloping roof, were just one pane deep !
The establishment would have impressed a
critical stranger as being an incommodious
and insalubrious dwelling for a private family
of plain farm-people — but a boarding-house !

Mrs. Bell exchanged secret and rueful looks
with Mrs. Earle, as they superintended the
unpacking of their precious load, and Georgie
whispered — covertly shaking out the folds of
her sodden and creased dress — "Why, the
piazza is crowded ! I thought there was to be
only two or three people here besides our-
selves ! I wonder if there is no other entrance !
Must we run that gauntlet

This question was speedily solved, to her
dissatisfaction, by the appearance, on the one
step of the piazza, of a personage in whom
the new arrivals intuitively and simultane-
ously recognized Miss Jemima. She was a
would-be youngish-looking woman, plain in
attire, small in stature, with gray eyes, a
large mouth, thin lips, and a turned-tip nose,
altogether the picture of an affected, yet
shrewish spinster. The rain still fell slowly,
and there was another pool of water, formi-
dable in dimensions, at the base of the step ;

125

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AXD MAGAZINE.

therefore she did not venture from beneath
the cover of the portico.

"Our guests from the city, I presume!"
she began, as the doleful cavalcade approached.
"Mrs. Earle ?" offering a bony hand to the
foremost lady. "No ? Mrs. Bell, then ? Yes ?
I welcome you to our peaceful mountain
seclusion ! Mrs. Earle — I take it for granted
that I am right, this time ! I am rejoiced to
make your acquaintance ! Mr. Bell — No ? I
would say Mr. Earle, then — we are delighted
to receive you as a member of our happy
family — and you also, Mr. Bell! And these
are your sweet little children ! What fairies !
positively they are divine ! I must have a
kiss from each pair of rosy lips ! Oh ! oh, oh .'
I do so dote upon children ! I can't tell you !
Oh-h-h ! the angelic little seraphs ! And I
am sadly afraid that you have had a dreary
ride. Wc did not dare to expect you in such
unpropitious weather. I trust the dear babes
have not suffered. That was the reason that
our waggon did not meet you at the depot to get
your trunks. I hope this omission on our part
— pardonable, as you must allow it to be — will
not occasion you any inconvenience. Take
seats — do ! This is our parlor, and you must
always feel as much at home in it as if it were
your own. We think it a tolerably well-ap-
pointed room. You perceive that we have a
taste for literature and the fine arts. We
could not exist without our piano, books, and
pictures. Moreover, we try to please our
guests in every possible and imaginable way.
This is my sister, Saccharissa" — as a younger
lady entered — "Mr. Bell! Mrs. Bell! Mr.
Earle ! Mis. Earle ! I was just saying, Saccha-
rissa, how sorry and mortified we are that the
waggon did not meet our friends at the depot.
The stage cannot bring a full complement of
passengers and trunks. This is our sister
Hortensia, the youngest and pet of us all.
There are no others of our household proper
at home, at the present time. Our eldest
brother — our comfort and mainstay in our
orphanage — formerly a member of Congress,
ij Minister Plenipotentiary to the Sovereign
Principality of Smokenuff, and, of course,
resides abroad. Our second brother belongs
to the firm of Sellum & Co., in the great
metropolis. We enjoy the society of our
summer visitors all the more from our com-
parative solitude at other times."

Here Miss Saccharissa — a rather pretty girl,
with an elaborate coiffure of curls and roses,

contrasting strangely with her dress — a cotton
print, that yet fitted well to a good figure —
succeeded in making herself heard, and Miss
Hortensia — the second sister's counterpart in
manner and attire — joining in, on a different
key, the three talked all together in a dis-
tracting, breathless medley of commonplaces,
spiced with high-sounding words and frequent
exclamations, that stunned the visitors into
dumbness.

But for the babies — independent little rebels
that they were ! — there is no telling how long
the trio of entertainers would have remained
there, drawn up in line of battle in front of
the defenceless ranks of storm-beaten travel-
lers ; but Master Charley Earle entered a vo-
ciferous complaint against the fate that threa-
tened to prolong his present state of internal
emptiness and nutward discomfort, and being
promptly and ably seconded by Miss Florence
Bell, who was six months his junior, the two
accomplished the incredible feat of routing the
besiegers ignoniiniously.

" I suppose you would like to go up to your
rooms pretty soon?" said Miss Jemima, as if
struck by a new idea.

"We would, certainly!" said Mrs. Bell,
emph.atica.lly.

Mr. Bell slipped in his word at this auspi-
cious instant.

"And since these poor children are uncom-
fortable in their damp clothing, will you
oblige us, and benefit them, by allowing them
to dry their feet and cheer their spirits at
your kitchen fire?" he said, with an insinu-
ating smile, "gotten up," as Georgie afterwards
told him, " for that occasion only."

" We are very sorry," said Miss Jemima.

"It is very unfortunate," bewailed Miss
Saccharissa.

" If you had arrived half an hour sooner,"
chimed in Miss Hortensia.

" But the fact is that we have tea at an
unfashionably early hour in this primitive
region," Miss Jemima snatched at the thread
of discourse.

"Our guests prefer an early tea," Miss
Saccharissa got hold of it in her turn.

" It gives them an opportunity of driving or)
walking in the cool of the day, of sentimen-
talizing in the moonlight." Miss Hortensia
proved herself a match for her seniors.

"And tea being over and the evening being]
so sultry," said Miss Jemima.

"TAKING boarders for company."

123

" And not anticipating the pleasure we now
enjoy," Miss Saccharissa pursued, winningly.

"I do hope jroa won't think us negligent,"
: Bliss Hortensia.

•• But we Buffered the kitchen-tire to goout,
an hour ago," concluded they, all in concert.

Even Mr. Halle's face lost its smile of nia-
lioious amusement at this unforeseen blow.
Mr. Bell spoke out boldly the thought of the
rest.

" We can have supper, I suppose. We
have eaten nothing since twelve o'clock to-
day, and are really very hungry."

"Oh, dear ! yes ! why, of course !" returned
Miss Jemima, iiuiekly — not to say, tartly.
"Yon must not suppose us barbarians, Mr.
Bell ! We make it our rule to prepare a nice,
warm, substantial repast for those friends who
have travelled far and arrived late. We
regard nothing as a trouble that can conduce
to the happiness of our guests. Saccharissa,
do you see that the rooms are made ready,
right away, and Hortensia and I will attend to
it ion of supper. We are simple
folk here, Mrs. Earle. and not disposed to
trust much to domestics. We can make a
charcoal fire in a little while, enough to cook
what we will need."

With the magic words "nice, warm, sub-
stantial supper," ringing in their ears and
comforting their thoughts, the travellers bore,
with commendable patience, the half hour's
delay in the parlor. Apparently, Miss Sac-
charissa had a great deal to do in the cham-
bers the weary wanderers longed inexpressibly
to behold. The children were divested of
their damp hats and sacks and bidden to rest
their cramped limbs upon the sofa ; the nurses
walked up and down the room hushing their
babies, and the elders fell into a quiet under-
tone of comment and conjecture.

"There were at least twenty persons on the
piazza — ladies, gentlemen, and children!''
remarked Georgie, upon whom this circum-
stance had made a strong impression. "Can
they all be boarders here .' I should not think
that the house could accommodate so many,
- the upper story is built of India rubber,
and the lodgers remarkably amiable in dis-
position."

"You are verdant as yet ; do not understand
how these things are managed," replied Mr.
Earle. "I should not be surprised to see
twenty more hero in the course of the next
week. The season has just begun."

The ladies were not sorry that further pre-
dictions of this nature were suspended by the
entrance of a tall man, who advanced to the
centre uf the roots, struck a match upon his
boot-heel, and proceeded very deliberately to
light a large kerosene lamp that stood upon
the table. The glare brought out into strong
relief a bronzed visage, black-bearded, and
With large, not altogether ill-looking features.
His task accomplished, he turned towards the
newly arrived party, with an awkward, yet
by no means a bashful bow.

" I am sorry that you are obliged to wait a
few minutes for your supper, ladies and gen-
tlemen ; but it is unavoidable. We are
making all the haste we can with it. You
found the roads in a pretty bad state, sir, did
you not ?" addressing Mr. Bell.

That gentleman replying in the affirmative,
he and Mr. Earle fell into conversation with
the stranger, the rest listening attentively.
They heard an enthusiastic description of the
beauty, salubrity, facilities for hunting, fish-
ing, and other out-door sports of Roaring
River, mingled with allusions to the refined
hospitality they were to enjoy, and the high
standing of their fellow beneficiaries of the
present season ; an account tallyiug so ex-
actly in all particulars with Miss Jemima's
written encomiums, that an unpleasant sus-
picion stole upon the minds of his auditors
that he was a partner in the concern, and had
had his instructions to pull' it upon all conve-
nient occasions. This fear was, by and by,
led by his saying : —

" I am only a boarder here myself; I am a

resident of , where I have been engaged

in active business for many years, retiring,
during the summer, to a snug country seat
not far from the sea-shore. My health has
become materially injured, by close applica-
tion and the raw sea-air. and, by the advice
of my physician, I resolved upon spending
some months in the mountains. Friends of
mine, whom I knew to be good judges of such
matters, recommended this locality in such
exalted terms, that I resolved to give Roaring
River and the Misses Ketchum a trial. I
consider it the wisest action of my life, gen-
tlemen! I have been here since May."

Here poor little Florence, whose sobbings
had been imperfectly suppressed in her nut -
bosom for some moments past, exploded in a
burst of lamentation, and Charley joining in,
all connected talk was at an end.

124

GODEY'S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

"Are your children sick, sir ?" inquired the
stranger, coolly.

"No, only tired and hungry," replied Mr.
Bell, shortly. "It is past their usual bed-
time."

"Their usual bedtime!" The thought of
each mother flew to the cool, darkened nur-
sery, with its small white beds, and contented,
healthful sleepers, as she had looked upon
them no longer ago than last night, and as
the fretful cries that were not now hushable by
any device of nurse-craft, tortured her heart
and nerves, the tears sprang into her eyes at
the contrast of the mind-picture with the
present scene.

The stranger, meanwhile, unmindful of Mr.
Bell's hint, lounged to the window, and lean-
ing out, began a conversation with some one
outside. He wheeled about quickly, as Miss
Saccharissa presented herself in the doorway,
a lighted lamp in her hand.

"Are the rooms ready, Saccharissa?" he
asked, familiarly.

"They are! no thanks to you!" she re-
joined, poutingly.

"I couldn't help it! Jemima kept me hard
at work in the kitchen until three minutes
ago. I will make amends by carrying the
light up for you now," trying to take it from
her.

She gave him a push.

"You will do no such thing. Keep your
help until I ask for it, since you are so late
olfering it ! Will you please walk up-stairs ?"
she continued to the amazed and disgusted
spectators of her behavior.

(To be continued.)

DEAR LITTLE NELLY.

BY ANNIE HERBERT.

Dear little Nelly is sleeping to-day —

Soft be her pillow and holy her rest ;
Bright angels guard her, and softly they say,

" She will awake in the morn of the blest ;"
Spring, with your garlands and wealth of perfume,

Soft sunny glance of the long summer day,
Bear her pure life from the dust of the tomb,

Up to the stars of the beautiful way.

Lily and hyacinth bloom o'er her rest —

White rose and mignonette, flowers most rare-
She would have gathered you all to her breast,

Watched and caressed you, sweet brides of the air ;
Violet blossom, and carol the while,

Robin, unheard — but sho loved you, dear bird!
Almost I faucy her dead lips will smile.

Answering your song with some old tender word.

She was in love with each beautiful thing,

Winning all pets by her kind girlish art,
Like a stray angel with fluttering wing,

Gathering the incense of all in her heart;
She was my flower — but a bright bud was missed

Early one morn from the paradise sod,
Hushed is the song — gone the lips we have kissed—

And our lily blooms uow with the lilies of God.

I remember she wished for new ribbons one day,

And dresses, and sighed, for she knew we were poor;
And her blue eyes grew bright — in a glad sunny way

She smiled, "By and by we will have but the more!"
I could not know — but the bright dream is told,

Now she is wearing Heaveu's white signet ring,
Walking in beauty the city of gold,

Wearing robes meet for the child of a king.

How well we loved her we never may tell !

Flow much we miss her none other can know !
Only the dear God who lovetb us well,

Only lie knoweth the hot tears that flow ;
It is so hard when our best loved depart —

Hard to say "Peace," when such memories stir,
Yet I can bear the deep pain at my heart,

Knowing so well it is better for her.

So we have given her early to rest,

Where the warm sunlight is lingering and sweet,
Where the pale willow droops low o'er her breast,

And the green mosses creep over her feet.
She rests forever — but we must be strong,

Strong for our toiling, and brave iu the strife,
Keeping her love till it wins us fj'om wrong,

Leading us on to the River of Life.

The Siiephekd's Dog. — Without the shep-
herd's dog the whole of the mountainous land
in Scotland would not be worth sixpence. It
would require more hands to manage a flock
of sheep than the profits of the whole stock
would be capable of maintaining. Well may
the shepherd, then, feel an interest in his dog.
It is, indeed, he that earns the family bread,
of which he is content himself with the smallest
morsel. Neither hunger nor fatigue will drive
him from his master's side ; he will follow him
through fire and water. Another thing very
remarkable is the understanding these crea-
tures have of the necessity of being particu-
larly tender over lame or sickly sheep. Th.y
will drive these a great deal more gently than
others, and sometimes a single one is committed
to their care to take home. On these occasions
they perform their duty like the most tender
nurses. Can it be wondered at, then, that the
eolley should be so much prized by the shep-
herd ; that his death should be regarded as a
great calamity to a family, of which he forms,
to all intents and purposes, an integral part ;
or that his exploits of sagacity should be
handed down from generation to generation I

MRS. YANRIPER'S EXPERIENCE AT THE NEW YORK FAIR.

Hotel.

New York, April 20, 1864.

My un.vr. Lemy. — " For the land's sake!" —
yes, I hear you saying it — " for the land's
sake, girls, your Aunt Bess is in the city of
New York attending the great Fair." Well,
so I am, dear ones, and there is no reason
why you should not ho here too. Money 's
plenty. I don't want to scold you, Lerny ;
hut I do say it 's wicked not to make an effort
to let your children see something of people
in general. I really thought I should have
put the other day while standing in the midst
of th.' arms and trophies of our wars. One of
the Bqnaws entered, and, with a few appro-
priate remarks, presented a beautiful piece of
her own work to -Mrs. McClellsn, as a testi-
mony of respect. I just sail to myself, "Don't
this heat all ? There 's a squaw in New York
society as cool and calm as a summer's morning
before sunrise ; and if some members of our
family were here (those, I mean, who have
never before had the privilege of mixing with
society), they would tremble tike a leaf, and
if they tried to speak, their chattering teeth
would drown their words, and we, too, the
D lanfs of true Holland nobility — it 's a
wieked shame." I know I'm talking pretty
plain, but, Lemy, if you will persist in living
in such an outlandish place, without express,
and only one mail a week, you must abide
the conseqnences. If you went about and
saw more of the world, you would feel just as
I do. I would not say one word against your
living in Briarville, if you were poor, or if the
children were small, for, as pa used to say,
''there is no better growing air anywhere
arounl." Pa did not mean you should stay
on the farm all your life. My stars, no !
When he gave it to yon, I was so thankful it
had not fallen to my lot, that I couldn't help
telling him so. "It would have been your
home, Betsy," said he, "if, like Lemy Ann,
you had been left with young children. I
believe in giving babies wholesome food and
plenty of good air. Briarville for the ni
years is the best place for Lemy. She '11 be a
rich woman by that time, and can, if she
thooses, take her daughters to book-stuffers
aud finishers, the best in the country." That

is the way pa talked twenty years ago, Lem,
and you are still buried alive in Briarville.

I started for New York in a great hurry. It
it everything how mean some people
are. When it was first proposed in our so-
ciety that one or two moneyed individuals of
onr village should go to the city and remain
at least a week after the opening of the Fair,
for the purpose of buying valuables aud curi-
osities, to be first displayed ou the counter of
our worthy merchant, and afterwards sold at
the prices given at the Fair, it may seem re-
markable, yet it is true — no one rose and
made a bona fide offer to go. To be sure, our
merchant's wife, Mrs. Blake, did say that her
husband had intended going to New York this
spring for goods, but as he was suffering ter-
ribly with something in his system, she didn't
believe he 'd get off. Then two other ladies
rose, aadsaid if the society would defray their
expenses, they would go. At length, after
much palaver between the first and second
directresses, it was agreed that, as I was not
it, the secretary should write a polite
note asking me either to go myself or send a
snbstil ate.

What to do I did not know ; but a friend's
advice is at all times of great value, and, as it
happened, who should be in at the time the
note came but Deacon Kemp's daughter. You
know Sarah Kemp? .- ■ i one of the

godly old maids so long that I think a great
deal of her opinion. I gave the note to her
silently.

"Well, well," she said, "that's illustrious;
yon must go, Mrs. Yanriper, by all means.
A special calLlike that don't come everyday.
Go, by all means ; be sure to put up at a first-
class hotel, make the housekeeper your friend,
and you will have every attention."

Sarah was going to the sewing-society. In
the evening She and a number of the married
died ; they all urged me to go.

Mrs. Belden begged me to stop at the St.
Nicholas. She said it was near Lord & Tay-
lor's, a large store, where I could get an entire-
wardrobe in a few hours. Mrs. Ryerson said,
'• No, go by all means to the noted Fifth Ave-
nue." Mrs. Quick thought the Brevoort
would be nearer the Fair. Mrs. Prescott ad-

125

126

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

vised me to try the New York. Her cousins
have boarded there several years. You re-
member, Lem, those lofty-looking people that
were in church with Mrs. Trescott three sum-
mers ago, while you were at my house on a
visit ? Well, they say " the New York Hotel
holds its own remarkably." Mrs. Minor said
her folks never went to a hotel, her husband
has so many cousins, and they like to exchange
visits ; that they often stay at Mrs. Dunlap's,
and from her windows you can see the Everett
House. " It 's a good hotel, a first-rate good
one," Mrs. Minor said, "and so is the St.
Denis." Mrs. Andrews politely insisted that
the Metropolitan was as good as any in the
city.

After they left, I felt somewhat confused.
Not that I had any difficulty in remembering
the names — my memory always was good for
proper names and numbers — but in making
up my mind whether I ought to go. Some-
how I felt I should appear awkward in the
great city, and yet I wanted to contribute
more than I had done to the relief of the sick
and wounded of our forces. Well, all that
night I lay awake with my whole life passing
before me — my childhood, courtship, mar-
riage, husband's last sickness, and the first
year of widowhood ; my hard-working years,
the thousands cleared, and the monotonous
life I had led for more than twenty years.
Thinking over the profits of the last rear or
two (and I assure you everything has paid
well), I determined to give one thousand dol-
lars to a poor church whose history had been
told me that day, another thousand to the
soldiers, and three or four thousand more, I
thought, would cover my expenses. I made
very little preparation before starting. With
the exception of a travelling suit, and my
black silk made over, I depended entirely
upon what I had heard of Messrs. Lord &
Taylor.

I left home early Tuesday morning, reach-
ing the city Wednesday evening. Near New
York we made a pleasant change of conduc-
tors, the last one being kind and gentlemanly.
I named over to him the different hotels re-
commended by the ladies of our village, and
he assured me they were all "tip-top."

My stars ! the nearer we came to the city,
the more I dreaded leaving the train. I did
not know which way to go no more than
nothing. I felt, Lem, precisely as I did the
night Isaac asked me if our friendship might

become domestic friendship ; I was dreadful
puzzled for the moment. Soon as I found my
wits I touched the conductor's elbow as he
was passing through, and, putting a green-
back in his hand, I asked him to procure for
me a comfortable carriage, with reliable driver,
"and," continued I, "since every hotel named
is worthy of praise, I will make first trial of
whichever one you would select for your own
family." Bowing, and looking comical enough,
he asked for my checks, and took the only
one I had. Very soon the cars stopped ; in a
moment I found myself seated in a handsome
carriage. I thanked the conductor for all his
kindness, and told him I would return with
him shortly, if he would tell me his days on
the road. He did ; moreover, he said, every
conductor on that route would willingly attend
to the wants of a passenger. I knew better,
although I did not contradict him.

Oh, Lem, how New York is changed ! You
remember how often we heard ma describe it
as it was in 1S16. Now it extends over every-
thing. Bleecker Street is not out of town, as
it was then. I wish you and the girls were
here, and yet I should be ashamed to hear
you scream, at every turn, "For the land's
sake!" I know you would; you are the
same happy go-lucky creature, all your curi-
osity alive in a moment, and your tongue
loose at both ends. No doubt the first tall,
unprepossessing man you saw with pitched
on clothes, you would clap your hands and
scream out, " For the land's sake, Bess, there
goes old Delacroix, just as he looked when
ma visited the city!" Let me tell you, New
York can now boast of greater sights than
Vauxhall Garden. What you remember as
the court end of town is devoted exclusively
to trade. From what I had heard you tell, I
fancied I should know all the old houses;
instead of that, I begin to think I was in the
wrong city.

Presently the carriage stoppeil before the
largest house I :d ever seen. I never felt s<j
beat as when I asked what the fare was, and
the driver said, "All paid, ma'am; the con-
ductor settled with me." I had -presence of
mind, however, to say, " I 'm much obliged
to him, also to you for bringing me safe. Call
to-morrow at twelve o'clock ; 1 will look about
the city a little ; if I don't like it here, I mean
to try another hotel, and I '11 pay you, too,
for the trouble." "She's a greenback," I
heard him say to himself, as he wrote down

MRS. YAXRTPER'S EXPERIENCE AT THE NEW YORK FAIR. 127

my name and the hour. It is astonishing,
tony, how much attentive politeness I receive
from everybody the whole time ; really, I
seem of sume conscience.

Entering the hotel, I held in my hau.l the
I>ill which I had taken out for the driver.
Sipping it in the hand of the waiter, who met
me at the door, I said, "Will you be kind
enough to keep an eye to my trunk, show mo
the parlor, and send the housekeeper to mo
immediately?" Up stairs ho took me; the
sight was beautiful ; the great hall and par-
lors, both large and small, all a blaze of light.
There was no one in the small parlor. The
waiter handed me blank cards and pencil, and
asked would I send my name to Miss Moore ?
"Law, no! she won't know me byname. Go
tell her a Dew boarder wishes to see her in
great haste." lie went out, as the children
say, "double quick." Miss Moore came in
right away. She's not very young, but gen-
teel-looking ; she acted like a real lady,
speaking kindly, and all that. I asked her to
let me explain why I sent for her. I had
taken out a couple of tens, which I handed to
her, saying, " Will Miss Moore accept a trifle
from a stranger, and be at the trouble of
making me comfortable for about two weeks ?"
Before she had time to reply, I went right on
telling why I was in New York, she seemed
so anxious about me.

"You must be dreadfully fatigued," she
said, "after so long a ride: never mind if
your name is not on the register ; I insist on
your first ordering supper ; no one will intrude
here. Let me take your bonnet and mantle ;
give me your name and residence. I regret
that 1 cannot give you a choice of i
neither can I ask which floor you prefer; the
house is crowded. But I will do the best I
can to make you comfortable."

I certainly did not feel inclined to move.
To tell the truth, I was tired out. Writing
name, place, county, and State on a card, I
begged Miss Moore to give me if possible a
room on the parlor floor. As to supper, I was
awfully stomach sick, and past giving an
order, so I ici't it entirely to her, saying I
would be thankful for a cup of strong green
tea. She brought in a pillow, and made me
lie down on the sofa ; then she gave me a
small dose of bicarbonate of potash. Strange
to say, I felt better right off.

In a little while in came, as I thought, a
gentleman, who proved to be a waiter. Thomas
vol. lxix. — 11

was spry at Betting the table, and bringing in

tea — also six oysters on the half shell, with a
piece of lemon stuck on top, tender loin steak,
and several other dishes.

I could not coax Miss Moore to take any-
thing. She smiled, involuntarily, as she saw
the free use I made of my eyes after entering
the elegantly furnished apartments produced
by the landlord. "It's the only unoccupied
'sweet' in the house," she said, " and is en-
gaged from the 28th. The former occupants
left us on Monday for California. I am sure
you will like this parlor, Mrs. Vanriper ; it is
exceedingly cheerful, being a corner room,
with windows looking on the great thorough-
fare. The bedroom, too, is large, and has the
modern improvements." Sure enough, I saw
dressing-room, bath, and every convenience.
Then she offered to send me an honest, oblig-
ing maid. I tell you, Lem, I was feeling a
little unpleasant with everything strange
about me. I owned up, saying I would prefer
having a maid at hand. I had no cause to
regret taking Rosa in. She offered to make
herself a bed in my dressing-room, and proved
herself to be all that Miss Moore represented
her.

Before Miss Moore left me, I told her I was
perfectly satisfied with my supper and accom-
modations, and if agreeable to her I would
conform to her hours, if she would give the
orders during my stay having our meals
served in my parlor. I expect she had to ask
the proprietor ; for, though she looked dread-
ful pleased, she said she would think about
it, and give an answer nest morning, if I felt
sufficiently rested to breakfast at eight o'olt
Thanks to Rosa, I was ready at the minute; sc>
was breakfast ; a choice meal it was, too.
Miss Moore presided ; Thomas waited ; I did
nothing but talk and eat. Miss Moore feared
the dinner would come sooner than I might
like, if I conformed to her hours, as she was
obliged to dine early. "No. no," I told her;
" I prefer having my meals served in my par-
lor on that very account. I 'm not accus-
tomed to late dinners, and wish to avoid the
excitement of an unattended female at a hotel
table, if it would nut inconvenience you, Miss
Moore." She said no, most emphatically ; that
it would make a pleasant change, quite like
a visit ; that we would dine at two, and drink
tea at seven ; and she regretted that she could
only devote her evenings to me ; but as the
house was full to overflowing her time was

128

godey's lady's book and magazine.

wholly occupied. Of course I did not expect
her to give me the proprietor's time, but I
felt glad to hear she was free evenings.

Finishing my devotional reading, I sat in a
kind of maze — gazing at the multitude, and
musing on the strange commixture, reminded
of pa's "shoal story." I became so much
engaged in watching the "different kinds,"
that I forgot the lapse of time until a knock
announced the carriage. "My stars! it can't
be noon!" exclaimed I, starting from my
chair. " Three hours at the window. Well,
well, ask the coachman up. I wish to speak
with him a moment."

He gave his name "Robert Boggs," proving
himself concerned with the hotel stables.
Refusing to sit down, he walked across the
room, and stood without awkwardness at the
end of the mantelpiece exactly opposite me.
I told him I wanted to secure for a fortnight
a handsome, plain, commodious carriage, good
horses, and himself for driver.

"I understand," he said, "you wish me to
make a calculation of the cost — best carriage,
best horses, two weeks ? I will tell you the
lowest price in a minute."

"I'm willing to pay a fair price," said I,
interrupting him. "One has a good right to
honest profits ; make an estimation consider-
ing all things ; then if we disagree, it 's my
privilege to say no, and look elsewhere."

"That's sensible talk," he replied, giving
me, after a second or two, the figured expense
of a two horse vehicle for a fortnight in the
city.

"Whew! that 's a round number," thought
I, as he read the amount ; but there 's no
trickishness in his face, steady hand, appear-
ance neat, and no doubt it costs considerable
to board a horse — feed is up. " Well, Robert,"
I said, " you may book me, if you '11 promise
to show me the most important objects of
curiosity about New York and Brooklyn."

"That I will, ma'am."

" Everything about me is new, strange, and
beautifully wonderful," I exclaimed, at din-
ner ; "but it does look dreadful selfish in me to
ride about alone. If my sister and nieces
were only here, or, if you could go with me,
Miss Moore, or, if I had a circle of acquaintance
in town — oh, dear, is there not a magnanimous
young lady in the house to whom you might
introduce me, one who would not think it
tiresome to go shopping and sight-seeing?"

"I can gratify you," Miss Moore said,

quickly, "without going farther than the
next room. Judge Bond's niece would fully
appreciate the kindness. She 's an orphan,
only sixteen, but very mature. Not long
since, she graduated with highest honors at a
celebrated school in Philadelphia, where she
had been, I think, six years — at all events,
ever since the death of her parents. Her
uncle is proud of her talents ; she and her
French maid are now on their way to his
home in one of our largest Western cities.
The Judge is detained by some important
business matters. Just before dinner, Miss
Carroll sent for — "

" Miss Carroll !" Actually, Lem, with a jerk
which nearly or quite upset both my chair
and Thomas, who was standing behind me,
I rushed to the door. Miss Moore started,
seized my hand, and looking anxiously at me,
said, "I seem to have made an extraordinary
blunder, Mrs. Vanriper ; do forgive me I"

Feeling somewhat stroked down, I returned
to the table, saying, " It is I must beg pardon ;
I have frightened you, Miss Moore, and I fear
I kicked Thomas."

"Not at all, madam, not at all," replied
Thomas, turning to adjust the window cur-
tains.

' ' Well, I 'm myself again, ' ' continued I, with
laughter. "But really, Miss Moore, at the
mention of the name of Carroll, an idea
forced me out to ascertain if this Miss Carroll
was the daughter of the late Henry Carroll.
On second thought, she cannot be, for my
friend Henry married a Miss West. Both
died about six years ago, leaving one child,
a daughter, answering to the age of this young
girl. It cannot be the same family if Judge
Bond was her mother's brother."

"Now, Mrs. Vanriper," said Miss Moore,
earnestly, "do finish your dinner ; I am really j
impatient to bring Miss Carroll in. I have no |
doubt her father was the friend of your child- A
hood. Well do I remember one morning that I
she sent for me to look at a most gorgeous 1
Afghan she had just completed for her uncle, I
and she was extolling him, when her maid I
cried out — «

" ' 'Tis ver' surprise ! you see, madmwazel's |.
mamma vas half sist' to mosseer ; me see 1
better oncle in citee ! Now, 'tis ver' surprise!' w

"As Miss Carroll was silent at this burst of |a
broken English, I asked no questions ; but if I
true, if Judge Bond was Mrs. Carroll's half!
brother, why not expect a pleasant surprise ?" If

MRS. YANRIPER's EXPERIENCE AT THE NEW YORK FAIR. 129

Moore went immediately to Mi-
roll, and though after all she said I ought to
■bre known better, I seemed like one in a
dream, picturing to myself a timid, half-grown
child waiting to be coaxed in.

"Come in!" I said, in answer to a quick
knock. A queenlike-looking young person
in costly street dress entered. I rose to tell
her she had mistaken the room— when, only
think, Leui, she caught both my hands, and
kissed me again and again. I could not find
the words to speak; her arms were about me,
her face close to mine.

"I have found a friend," said she, break-
ing the momentary silence. " A friend whose
memory retains sentiments of esteem for my
dear, dear father. There 's a large place in
my heart for you, Mrs. Vanriper. Won't you
call me Lily, and take me to yonr heart too ?"

"Yes," I answered, in a low tone, for her
gentle voice and winning manner brought
book old times so forcibly that I could scarcely
control myself. " Yes, yes, dear Lily." And
then, after a long conversation, I began to
advise with her about my dress. Many, many
times that day my heart thanked Mrs. Bel-
den. I had often ridiculed her partiality for
Mr. Godey's fashions. I made, according to
the present custom, a fine appearance (at
least in travelling-dress), and I could see
what a laughing-stock I would have been in
my old rig. You recollect, Lem, the shawl
Captain Smith brought me from India. I had
never worn it. While I was paeking, Mrs.
Bel leu happened to spy it in the great chest.
She urged me to take it ; said I would see
plenty of the same sort worn in New York.

'mite Lily saw my shawl, she excli
"Beautiful!" (I was displaying my wardrobe
to her that she might know what I r ally
needed.) "A lift. -en hundred dollar camel's
hair. What excellent taste you have, Mrs.
Vanriper ! Never was dress nor bonnet more
simple or appropriate for travelling than
yours. I think for the Fair, a little thread
laee with French clusters would make the
bonnet more stylish. My maid, Eveline, will
soon add a last polish. So don your blaofc
silk, with camel's-hair shawl, and our shop-
ping is soon disposed of."

Lily is up to snuff, I tell you. I let her

take the lead ; she conducted me to the car-

:nd gave the order to Robert with as

much ease as you would throw out feed to the

. in _r her into the store, I ex-

perienced the same emotion once awakened
in the mind of the Queen of Sheba ; truly the
half had not been told me. Lily requested all
the little articles we purchased to be placed
in the carriage. She gave the clerk my name,
and told him to send the dresses, mantle, etc.,
to the hotel. Then she took me to a fashion-
able milliner's for headdresses and breakfast
caps. She did not see any she liked. I saw
a white lace bonnet there, which struck my
fancy exactly. It was simple, with drooping
feathers outside, and the roses inside were so
natural that I could not resist smelling them —
no odor perceived. I bought the bonnet,
however, and Lily said we would go next to
"Richmond's." There we found headdresses
to suit the most fastidious. Afterwards, Lily
selected a set of gilt combs, also an ivory set
with buttons, pin, and ear-rings to match.
She fitted me out completely that afternoon,
to the tune of eighteen hundred. I know you
are laughing in your sleeve, Lem, and saying
to yourself, " An absurd old dunce and her
money soon parted;" but wait till you are
tried.

After tea, while we were looking over my
new rig, the waiter brought in Judge Bond's
card. " To be sure I shall be happy to make
your uncle's aoquaintanoesbip," I said, in reply
to Lily's question. " I shall be glad to let him
come right in." I stole a look at the glass to
see if my headdress and curls were becom-
ingly arranged.

"Don't touch your hair, Mrs. Vanriper;
you are looking sweet as a pink."

I knew I must look pretty smart, or Lily
wouldn't say that. It made me feel as easy
as an old shoe, and I received the Judge with
much cordiality. He is a very agreeable,
unpretending man, of some fifty years of age.
A thrill ran through my frame when he invited
me to accompany himself and niece to the
Fair. How our village people would have
stared to see my first entrance, leaning on
the arm of an Honorable. I was in a dream
of happy bewilderment. It was an evening
of glorious recollections. The Judge conversed
very affably about the various articles on
exhibition. Y'ou would have roared to see
me looking like the very quintessence of gen-
tility.

I wish I could fully describe each depart-
ment. I send you by this mail the newspapers
containing a minute description. The illus-
trations in "Harper's Weekly" are most ex-

130

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

cellent good ones. A career of unprecedented
success has attended this much talked of
Fair. Beauty and fashion grace its walls.
The star and stripe draperies are gorgeous ;
no expense has been spared. I sincerely hope
our soldiers will soon have a good home.
Now, in my opinion, too great praise cannot
he awarded the managers to whom we are
indebted for this magnificent entertainment.
Nor must I neglect expressing my approbation
of the musicians. I listened entranced to the
exquisite strains which they called from the
instruments of music. They deserve to be
spoken of in terms of the highest praise.
Their leaders, I know, are reaping "golden
opinions" even from folks that haven't read
Shakspeare.

Owing to the immense crowd that night, we
did not attempt to stem the tide ; I therefore
only glanced at everything. The greatest
novelty to me was the wonderful arrangement
of the ladies' hair. One lady in the "Curi-
osity Shop," though insensible to the fact,
has indelibly impressed her hair upon my
heart. In the same shop, I saw a lock from
Napoleon's head ; also a ring containing a
little of Gen. Washington's hair. I felt real
disappointed not to see a sample from the head
of Samson, and one of Noah's teeth ; but it's
impossible to please everybody, and after all,
the collection is very handsome indeed. I
had a bird's eye view of the hat worn in '62
by President Lincoln. Your wedding fan,
and one I saw there, are just as much alike
as two peas ; also, a bonnet like the one you
bought during your last visit to New York.

In the department devoted to "arms and
trophies," I received a correct idea of the
"pontoon bridge." I never before, with all
my reading, understood the admirable inge-
nuity in its true force. How you will squirm
when I tell you I voted every day or two — ■
nor did I lose my votes either. Betsy Van-
riper, I tell you, is generally right on the
goose question.

Mrs. Major General threw in a few for my
man too. If my eyes do not deceive me, that
woman has acute sight, none of her faculties
are misplaced, or I throw away my guess.

The "Picture Gallery" was my special
admiration. Lily and I spent many hours
there. I send catalogues of the different de-
partments so that I can go into the minutiae
on my return.

Lily has made a beautiful pencil sketch of

the "Hair Eagle." You see the newspapers
describe it exactly, and all she had to notice
with particular care was the different grada-
tions of color. I do say, Lem, when I think
how little your girls know, it makes me down-
right mad. It 's the stupidest — don't care if
the word isn't in a dictionary — it 's the stu-
pidest piece of business I ever did see ! The
idea of burying one's self and two daughters,
and they, too, as elegant a specimen of the
human race as one would wish to see. It
makes my blood boil, it does ! I 'in sorry I
got mad just as I was going to tell about the
"Floral Temple." We, Lily and I, were
looking at the flourishing flowers, and I was
selecting a few plants and cuttings, when the
Judge excused himself for a momenj;. Soon
after, he conducted us to the restaurant,
where we found a most splendid supper
ready. It seems he gave the order before
taking us to the Fair, and left us (for the
moment) to have two costly bouquets laid,
one at Lily's plate, the other at mine. After
supper we had a merry time eating "Nor-
mandy cakes." The beautiful bakers entirely
bewitched the Judge, nor were Lily and I less
charmed. We bought their pictures, and had
a good time generally. At the Fire depart-
ment I found many articles to please our
village people. Wasn't I tired that night ?

Judge Bond did not object to our passing
the next day at the Fair ; but in an especial
manner he requested me not to visit the
"Knickerbocker Kitchen" without him. I)
was on tiptoe to go — provoking man ! I
understand him now ; he wanted to see me i
sink a few pegs. He asked a number of.
questions relating to old Dutch times, and I
with simplicity gave him a true idea of our!
good ancestry — particularly specifying the1
days of our dear grandparents as they were!
still fresh in my recollection. I represented!
the family gathering round the highly ppl-j
ished, solid mahogany round table, adornedi
with richest china, and so purely clean thata
to your touch it seemed liable to slip awayJ
Plenty of genuine silver teaspoons, very small^'i
having no unpleasant taste. Bread sliced il
that is, first spread, then cut into thin pieces*
and folded together. Smoked beef shaved!-
pot cheese grated ; most excellent preserve.-w
wafers, hard waffles, jumbles, and doughnut^;

Grandma in brocade gown and petticoat)
high crown cap, and heel shoes. Grandpa ill
small clothes, silk stockings, and knee buckled

MRS. YANRITEP.'s EXPERIENCE AT THE NEW YORK FAIR. 131

His silvered locks braided slightly, and tied
with black ribbon.

Tom and Sam, young slaves and table-
waiters, one at grandma's right hand, the
other at grandpa's. Kitchen well filled with
happy colored people ; the high back chairs on
either side of the huge fireplace belonged
exclusively to the oldest slaves. Mollie oc-
cupied the corner nearest the cupboard ; Cato
near the clock. Did our grandparents eat in
the kitchen? Never, I unless it might be
housecleaning times. At our family parties,
grandpa would ask in Dutch if we wanted to
ue; of course we were always ready for a
frolic. Then grandma would whisper to Tom,
and by the time tea was over, the middle of
the kitchen was cleared, the slaves standing
round like wall-Mowers, and obliging Cato
ready with fiddle and bow. There was no
place in the world to us children like the old
stone house.

Judge Bond was wonderfully pleased with
my statement. He gave me an invitation to
attend the opera that very evening, turning
my mind for the moment completely from the
kitchen ; an opera to me had ever been
something we only read about. Lily begged
me not say "nay;" so, at her suggestion, I
donned my white bonnet. I did not expect to
see many people ; I thought everybody was at
the Fair. Bless me, the house was full, and
I was astonishingly impressed. Such a supper
as we bad, too, at " Delmonico's," after the
"Faust," is beyond all tell! The next day,
a drive to Central Park was proposed ; the
Judge found I rather inclined towards finish-
ing the week at the Fair. I was really impa-
tient to visit the Knickerbocker.

On entering the carriage, Robert told me
the fashionables were at the Park on Satur-
days and Wednesdays, and he thought we
were going to have a long storm. I felt sorry
then that I had been quite so resolute ; but
the Judge was off, and our arrangements
made I'.t the day. Lily assured me her i
did not intend I should go home without a
drive through the Park, and then she said
something to Robert ; and before I understood
where the carriage had stopped, the gypsy
was leading me into the cattle-show. Well,
I have seen big creatures in my day ; but
never one with such a frame as that ox — his
eye was dreadful expressive. " What a lovely
pet !" I exclaimed ; " how well his flaxen hair
would contrast with my clover!" I thought

11*

the child would hurt herself laughing. I
made Robert go in to take a look.

Judge Bond was to meet us at half past five
in the International. He came with a pocket
full of little horseshoes. He gave us each
several clusters, assuring us we would need
something to keep our spirits up.

I 'm real glad you could not enter the
kitchen, Lem ; you would have quit at sight
of such a jumble. My stars I the idea of pre-
tending to go back to 1664, with ceiling sky
high, weakly beams, and shallow fireplace.
What an insult to true Holland rank ! Why,
the present style of your kitchen, Lem, is a
far better resemblance of the olden time. At
one glance in the medley, I saw brocade,
tallow candles, gold beads, onions, big fan,
boiling pot, bracelets, lace, high heels, and
occupation, waiting-maid, stuffed cat, cracked
horn. Seventy-five cents for a seat at the
table, every egg five ceDts extra, second cup
of tea fifteen. Unheard of crockery, pewter
spoons, green apple sauce, smoked beef in
chunks, cheese in nubbins. My Dutch appe-
tite called for a plate of soft waffles. The
female shook her head, sweetly smiled, and
confessed she did not understand me. Then
I looked opposite, and beheld two men with
their hats on. I comprehend the whole :
"Please take me out," I whispered; "we're
in the wrong place. Only see, the men have
their hats on at table ; they must be German
Dutch. I don't belong here ; no, indeed I
don't!''

The greater part of next week happened to
be, as Robert predicted, stormy. Notwith-
standing our fatigue, we attended church. My
carriage formed a link in the grand chain en
Fifth Avenue. It is astonishing the amount
of good there is done in New York. It came
across me in church : perhaps a package of
commodities sold by the grocer at the Fair
would be a nice way of thanking the dominie
for his rich sermon ; it 's so easy to send an
acceptable trifle U> a minister in the name of
"a friend."

The rapid vanishing of precious time makes
one feel dreadful unpleasant. It was Satur-
day again before I knew it. A bright sunny
. day it was ! If the truth is to be told, I was
a little provoked at Lily. She had the Fair
cold ; but I didn't think the giddy girl would
be kept home by snuffles. She wouldn't lis-
ten to my postponing the drive — said, "Uncle
must not be disappointed on any account

132

godey's lady's book and magazine.

•whatever." I could not withstand her coax-
ing, so, when the summons came, I gave the
dear child a kiss, and followed Judge Bond in
happy ignorance. I became at once deeply
interested and amused at the varied informa-
tion flowing from his lips. I never had the
slightest suspicion that he was a widower ; I
thought for certain he was a married man, and
gratefully accepted his politeness on account
of his being Lily's guardian. I can't tell how
it came to pass, but as we rolled on at a fair
pace the Judge called my attention to an ele-
gant row of houses. I am sure I cannot tell
how they are connected with his wife's death.
I only know that from the time I laid eyes on
the brown stone fronts I became so surprised
and perplexed that I could utter nothing but
" Yes ? You don't say so ! Yes ? Dear me !
Yes ? 0 my !" I would give something now
for a sketch of us at that instant, for two such
surprised objects, to a certainty, are not often
to be met with. What he said sounded kinder
nice too, although for the life of me I can't
recall one sentence. Well, who'd have thought
it ? it came so sudden. I did not see the Park
to advantage at that time.

Yes, Lily has deserted me, thought I, as a
half hour passed without her rushing in. I
wished to escape drinking tea alone with Miss
Moore. I knew she would naturally question
me respecting my first impression of Central
Park. How could I confess to her that the
only objects I remembered were a large col-
lection of water and a few trees. I determined
to ring for Rosa, undress, and go to bed. As
I sat meditating upon these things, a low tap
at the door was followed by the entrance of
Lily. " What, dreaming here alone ?"

"Yes; I'm going home on Monday," I
said, quite sadly.

" Going home so soon ? Oh, Mrs. Vanriper,
you are only teazing me ! I cannot be happy
without you." Then she threw her arms
around me and apologized for not telling me
her uncle was a widower She seemed so
very sorry that I could not nelp forgiving her.
"Ah, I see the old smile returning to your
lips. We are good friends again. Come, tell
me ; may I have the right to call you auntie ?
You need not fear to yield your happiness to
uncle. I tried it on a short acquaintance, and
see how highly he values my love. Please
go with us, and teach me to be good."

Is it possible ? three weeks in New York !
The conductor must think me a big story-

teller. The goods I bought at the Fair were
invoiced and carefully packed by the Judge,
who sent them home by express, also a long
confidential letter from me to Mrs. Belden. I
know she can keep a secret. Besides, I want
my house and pantry prepared, and my best
carriage at the depot to receive the Judge and
Lily, who will accompany me home. Dear
Judge would not listen to my going alone,
and he has at last persuaded me to name an
early day in July for our marriage.

Who 'd have thought it, the day I stood in
the midst of the arms and trophies, quite near
enough to compare my shawl with the eamel's-
hair worn by Mrs. Major-General — who 'd have
thought that, in less than three weeks from
that time, I, Betsy Vanriper, would be the
affianced of Hon. James McCarty Bond ? We
live in a wonderful age, Lem ! and you are
buried alive.

"Pshaw!" Yes, I hear you saying it —
"Moving is not in my line ; I don't train in
such company," and a hundred other unpleas-
ant remarks. But don't say too much. Re-
member I am your sister, and not entirely
ridiculous in the eyes of some people, as this
sparkling diamond on my left hand finger
next the thumb fully declares.

I cannot stop to enumerate to you the costly
presents received already from the Judge. His
floral gifts are far more expressive than words,
they are so pure and tender — and the baskets
will always be useful. The picture of our
western home is already before my mental
vision — baskets, flower-baskets everywhere !
But it is not wise to foretaste earthly bliss.

On taking leave of the Fair, I felt a strong
desire to shake hands all round with the
policemen. "Truly they merit the sincere
thanks of each visitor," I replied to the Judge,
who good-humoredly laughed me out of the
notion.

Lily is to superintend my — dear me ! what 's
the word ? I can't get at it ! Never mind,
it 's French, and if you and the girls wish to
see it, you must be at my house by the first
of June, certain. Don't stop to fix ; I will
have a dressmaker and plenty of goods to
work upon. I promise you each an entire

rig-
After our marriage we expect to visit the
most fashionable watering-places. Lily will
go with us. I wish to be thoroughly initiated
before entering on new home duties. You
knew I never was condensative, and there is

THE CASKET OF TEMPERANCE.

133

enough on ray mind to fill a quire. But the
dear Judge lias just sent in a note inviting me
to go with him to have our pictures taken.

I quite long to see Sarah Kemp She pre-
dicted a was "« special call." Trifles often
make perfection, Lem ; you may become an
institution yet.

With the hope of seeing you and the girls
ere long at the top of the pinnacle, petted
and caressed as much as I am, believe me, as
ever,

Your devoted sister, Bess.

THE CASKET OF TEMPERANCE.

BY WILLIE E . PABUR.

(Pearl Oe EiglUh.)
TIIE VISIT OP THE AXGEL.
A window in heaven wa- just ajar,

ill unseen by the sentinel star,
An an. i from her jasper throne,

And wander. nj,' down to this Wood alone.
She watched the children of men in the race
For fashion and fame, for power and place.
She saw how the miser could hoard np his gold,
And leave his own kindred to die in the cold.
She saw how the scholar bent over his books
Till the seal \>i Death s angel was seen in his looks.
She saw how the warrior, in hope of a crown.
The lives of the people, like clover, mowed down.
She saw how the maiden, by selftshnesa named,
Though by flatterers blessed, by her victims was cursed.
She saw crime-stained culprits in pulpit and pew,
And the falseness of those who had sworn to be true.
In the ships on the sea, in the bouses on land,
The touch of the tempter was ever at hand.
In the links of the chain were life's phases all told.
Both the good and the true, with tiie base and the bold.
And the shadow of sin like a firmament hung
O'er the crutches of age and the steps of the young.
And the tears ot the sorrowing flowed like a wave
Over shrines that were broken, that love could not save.
But a sorrow far deeper, more fearful than all
The angel had viewed, though in hovel or hall,
Had yet to be seen, where the victims of rum
In the ashes of grief and in sorrow were dumb.
Not long did she wait ere the trail of the cnp
Was seen in its march over faith, love, and hope.
And never came tide that in ebb or in flow
Covered over such love or revealed so much wo.
"0 children of men?" said the angel. " to me
The sorrow of sorrows, this sorrow must be !
" Beyond all the sorrow the miser can make,
Beyond all the lives that ambition can take,
"The greatest is this, where all hope is bereft,
And the curse o( Intemperance only is left.
"0 men made immortal, for Miss or for pain !
0 men made immortal, for loss or for gain :

"Why, why touch the wine cup? Why take to yoor

hearts
The viper that enters, but seldom leparter
" Why call down the shadow to tout you In wrath,

I ii st. ■ml of tin' sunshine to ung li leu your path V '

Then, weary of seeing such sorrow and crime,

The angel went back to that beautiful clime

When the thrones are ol Jasper the iiarps are of gold.

And the aged gmW young, but tne young grow Dot "1.1 :

Where Loves wings iiifurl our ueartbstone and home,

And the curse of Intemperance never can come.

SCRAPS.

Variety. — What inextricable confusion
must the world for ever have been in, but for
the variety which we find to obtain in the
faces, the voices, and the handwritings of
men! No security of person, no certainty of
possession, no justice between man and man,
no distinction between good and bad, friends
and foes, father and child, husband and wife,
male and female. All would have been ex-
posed to malice, fraud, forgery, and lust.
But now every man's face can distinguish him
in the light — his voice in the dark — and his
handwriting can speak for him though absent,
and be his witness to all generations. Did
this happen by chance 1 or is it not a manifest
as well as an admirable indication of a Divine
superintendence ?

The Human Heart. — You may shrink from
the far-reaching solitudes of your heart, but
no other foot than yours can tread them.

A Word to the Ladies. — Jane Eyre says :
"I know that if women wish to escape the
stigma of husband -seeking, they must act and
look like marble or clay, cold, expressionless,
bloodless ; for every appearance of feeling, of
joy, sorrow, friendliness, antipathy, admira-
tion, disgust, are alike construed by the world
into an attempt to hook a husband. Never
mind ! well meaning women have their own
consciences to comfort them after all. Do
not, therefore, hfflbo much afraid of showing
yourself as you are, affectionate and good-
hearted ; do not too harshly repress sentiments
and feelings excellent in themselves, beca
you fear that some puppy may fancy that y
are letting them come out to fascinate him ;
do not condemn yourself to live only by halves
because if yon showed too much animation
some pragmatical thing in breeches might
take it into his pate to imagine that you de-
signed to devote your life to his inanity "

vol!

SEVENTEEN.

BY THE AUTHOR OF ''THE VERTICAL RAILWAY,

Tiieke is a certain pretty country-seat in
York State, but exactly whereabouts I " diuna
care to tell." It is a lovely spot, kept m such
good order that it is a delight to walk over
the smooth lawn or down the gravelled ave-
nue. The house is long and low, with a wide
piazza in front, covered with Virginia creeper
and odorous Madeira vine. On one side of the
house, at the foot of a sloping grove of maple
trees, is a sparkling brook, bordered thickly
by stunted willows ; the water dashes under a
rustic bridge, tumbles laughingly over a little
mimic dam, and then, quite subdued by its
fall, flows off gently through a green meadow.
On the other side of the house is a great old-
fashioned garden ; the straight alleys, so long
that they taper to a point in the distance, are
shaded by lilac and snow-ball bushes, and
here and there with exact regularity are
bunches of box, of which the children have
made arm-chairs. The garden is full of brightly
blooming flowers — peonies, delicious day-li-
lies, and many, many roses. Then there are
honeysuckle arbors, and one great el in tree,
whose long, graceful branches droop down to
the very ground.

The place is called Brookside, and the owner
is Howard Brooke, a gentleman farmer. Mr.
Brooke is the best farmer and the best neigh-
bor in all the country round. He is the soul
of good nature, and a most indulgent father ;
in fact, a too indulgent father ; for there was
his pretty daughter Greta, who was seventeen
years old. and had never been to any but a
village school until a couple of years ago. She
is married now to a rich New Yorker, and
makes a very funny, dignified little madame.
It is of her I intend to write. If there ever
■was a pretty, romping, sj^ih-d child, it was
Greta Brooke at seventeen. She completely
managed her father and mother, and was the
Jgorshipped idol of her four brothers. An
^mly sister, her will was law to the boys ; and
she, never having had any girl companions,
played their boyish games, rode and drove gay
horses, and, in fact, was one of them.

One morning, late in summer. Mr. Brooke
stood by bis toilet-table engaged in the ardu-
ous task of shaving. His wife sat by the open
134

window, rocking in a rather mournful manner ;
she seemed in deep and somewhat troubled
thought ; at last, she said, with a sigh —

" Did you know that Greta was seventeen
last Monday, Mr. Brooke?"

Mr. Brooke said "No, I did not," very
pleasantly, and continued the delicate opera-
tion of shaving his upper lip.

"Seventeen," continued Mrs. Brooke, with
another sigh, " and she knows nothing that a
young lady ought to know. She is a very
good companion for Tom and the rest of the
boys ; but how would she appear by the side
of other girls ?"

" Rather hoydenish, I fear," said Mr. Brooke,
with a dismal shake of the head.

" I fear so, indeed," answered his wife.

There was a pause. Mr. Brooke slowly
wiped his razor and put the strap into its case.
Mrs. Brooke rocked backwards and forwards
with unusual energy. At last she ventured
to hint that it would be well for Greta to go
to a boarding-school. Mr. Brooke had evi-
dently been thinking the same thing ; but he
said —

" She never would consent to go."

" Reason with her, Mr. B., point out to her
the necessity for going, and I think she will see
it herself; she is a girl of great good sense."

" Why don't you reason with her, my dear ?"
'mildly asked the gentleman.

" Well, you know just how it is ; she can
coax me out of anything," said Mrs. Brooke,
helplessly. -

Mr. B. said nothing, but he thought he was
no more proof against the coaxing than his
wife. He put on a linen coat as the finishing
touch to his toilet, and then came and stood
by her side and looked thoughtfully out upon
the lawn.

"I have thought of a plan," at length he
said. "iLwill, at any rate, do no harm to
try it, and that is to announce at the break-
fast-table this morning that the boarding-
school affair is a settled thing. Perhaps
coming unexpectedly, Greta will make no
difficulty."

Mrs. Brooke looked doubtful, but she acqui-
esced.

SEVENTEEN.

135

Miss Greta, in the mean time, sat in the
broad, cool front hall, lazily playing with her
little "black and tan," and entirely uncon-
scious of the plot forming overhead.

"We are hungry, Snip, ain't we?" she
said, sweetly, tweaking the dog's ears.

Snip answered by an assenting yelp.

"And why don't our papa and mamma
come down to breakfast, Snip ? It is an hour
since I got up. Too bad, ain't it ?"

Snip twitched his tail impatiently, and
growled a low acquiescence.

"That is the crossest cur it was ever my
luck to meet with," said a youth, who lay at
full length on the floor with a hat over his
face.

" And who asked your opinion, sir ? Snip-
py, pull his nose."

The dog made a rush and a grab, and was
rewarded by being caught by the tail by
Master Tom, and twisted round and round
with such swiftness that, when at last re-
leased, poor Snip tottered back to his mistress
in a forlorn and wretched condition.

"Never mind, my dearest Snippy," said
the young lady, consolingly ; "if he will not
let you pull it, I will do it for you." So
saying. Miss Greta arose and gave chase to
Master Tom, who, in expectation of this con-
tinuation of the affair, stood prepared. Much
ambling and laughing, yelping and barking
ensued, which was only interrupted by the
announcement of breakfast.
, Greta and Tom, now joined by Billy, and
Sam, and Frank, tore into the breakfast-room,
and took their places in their usual not very
quiet manner.

Mr. Brooke proceeded with his breakfast,

I every moment thinking he would eommuni-

l cate the dreadful news the nest. Many times

he gave a preparatory "Ahem," and once he

9 even got so far as "My daughter, I have

■decided that" — but, alas, it ended with "I

■ have decided that — I will take another chop;"

and he passed Greta his plate, never daring

to meet the eyes of his wife, who sat behind

the coffee urn with idle hands, and a perfectly

hopeless expression settled upon her face.

Breakfast was almost over ; it must come
now or never !

"Ahem!" said Mr. Brooke once more, and
this time with great determination ; ;>Greta,
my daughter, you cannot even play 'Yankee
Doodle' upon the piano, can you?"
"No, but I can sing," said Miss Greta.

"Now /think," said Mr. Brooke, concilia-
tingly, and looking toward his wife for en-
couragement, "that a young lady of seventeen
years of age ought to be able to play on the
piano, and dance, too, for that matter ; and
even, perhaps, speak a little French."

Mrs. Brooke nodded approvingly.

Miss Greta's pearly mouth was quite wide
open with astonishment at this very unusual
address, and with expectation of what was to
come.

"In fact," said Mr. Brooke, with a despe-
rate effort, "I have concluded that Greta
must go to a boarding-school."

Here there was a dreadful yell from the four
boys and Snip ; and Tompkins, the waiter,
slipped out of the room to tell the stunning
tidings in the kitchen.

" She sha'n'tgo — she sha'n't go!" bellowed
the boys.

" Bow-wow-ow-ow I " yelped Snip.

"Why, I should like it of all things," said
the doomed one, with sparkling eyes.

"No, would you, my precious girl?" said
her father. " I was horribly afraid you would
object."

"How sweet in you, dear!" said her mother,
pouring out a cup of coffee for herself — her
first — with a relieved mind.

The boys still kept up a subdued howl, and
refused to be comforted.

Preparations were made in great haste, and
Miss Greta and her papa took their seats in
the cars within a week after the momentous
decision.

Miss Greta ensconced herself by the window
and put her father's portmanteau under her
little feet by way of footstool, and snoozed
away the time until they reached New York.
To say that her heart did not beat more
quickly than usual as they drove up to Ma-
dame C 's would not be true; but she

was a brave girl, and bore the introduction to
the principal and to a few of the boarders;

withoutflinchingj^fcnd bade her father " i I

by," and commended Snip to his tender mer-
cies without a falter in her voice.

Her first week was rather irksome. Th
are pleasanter things in the world than Lea
ing one's notes and steps ; and, besides, for
my part, I heartily pity any poor girl en-
tering a school where she is entirely unac-
quainted, and where she is put into a room
with twenty other girls to make her way
with them as best she can. But it was not

136

GODEY'S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

long before Greta was prime favorite ; and I
am forced to confess that the girls who had
been models of propriety before she came are
now, incited by her example, frequently in-
vited to Madame C.'s room. I wish to an-
nounce here that I entirely disapprove of
these same polite little invitations. Two
years ago, I was in boarding-school myself.
Was I a good girl? I leave you to judge. I
know I was favored with a private audience
with the principal on an average of three
times a week. One of the scrawny teachers
would give her warning tap at the door, open
it before we said "Come in," and deliver
herself thus: "Madame desires Miss Halsey
will come into her parlor at once." Pitying
glances would be cast upon me by the girls,
and I, with perfect nonchalance (I was too
accustomed to it to be discomposed), would
saunter down to Madame's parlor, receive her
lecture and threat of dismissal, and return to
my room no better than when I left it.

Before two months had passed, Greta's papa
and mamma never would have recognized
their daughter; and I am convinced the boys
would not have dared to approach within ten
feet of her, much less kiss and pull her about.
Such a fashionable little thing that she was 1
In the afternoon's walk down the avenue,
Miss Greta was decidedly the "show girl."
She had such a dainty, elegant little way
with her, that she was quite the admiration
of the young gentleman loungers and tandem
drivers on the Avenue. At church, she was
in her element ; no girl could be so gracefully
devotional ; no girl could use her handkerchief
with half the effect ; no girl could be appa-
rently so completely unconscious of the nu-
merous eyes in the gallery. Madame C.
was really proud of her in church, and took
occasion every Sunday to express her appro-
val of her manner, which she declared was
comme un ange.

In the seat in front of Glreta, there sat a
gentleman whose opinion entirely coincided
with Madame's ; not that ne expressed his
admiration in any obtrusive manner, for he
was a widower, and widowers are universally
TTndemonstrative. Indeed, he kept his opinion
SO completely to himself, that Greta herself
was totally unaware of it.

Sunday after Sunday, he entered his pew
early, and waited impatiently for the rustle
of Miss Greta's beriouneed dress, and the
little velvet, gilt-edged prayer-book she so

industriously nourished became astonishingly
familiar.

But, indeed, she was a good little thing
after all, and said her prayers most earnestly.
Occasionally, her conscience was burdened
with the fact that she had waved her hand-
kerchief or kissed her hand to some ardent
admirer as he walked slowly past her window,
and the next day she would be so extraordi-
narily good to " pay for it, ' ' that she could not
even be induced to glance at the same young
gent as he walked past again and again in
hopes of receiving another favor.

At the close of the year there was to be a
grand soiree musicale et drarnatique. Of course
Mile. Brooke was to take prominent parts ;
and her proud papa and mamma came on to
New York to attend the soiree, and bear off
their truly accomplished daughter.

The evening came at last. Such a trustle
and bustle as there was in the dormitories !
such entreaties for pins ! such implorings for
hair-pins ! such heart-rending appeals to lace
up dresses !

Greta, arrayed in a cherry-colored crape,
with her brown eyes softly shining under their
long lashes, and her wavy, brown hair falling
low on her neck, was as pretty'an object as
one would wish to see : and her appearance
on the little stage as a coquettish young
Parisienne was greeted with loud applause)
And, indeed, she acted well — with so much
grace, with so much delicacy, and yet with
so much effect.

The affair went off with (clat. Madame C.
was delighted with all her scholars, and gra-
ciously acceded to many applications for in-
troductions from enamored young men. Greta
was surrounded, and only now and then got a
chance to run to her father and mother and
make hurried inquiries for "Tom and the
boys" and "Snip."

Towards the end of the evening, when the
band was at full blast, and the young people
engaged in the delights of the "German,"
Madame C. came up to Greta and whispered
that she wanted her to leave the dance as
soon as possible, for there was a gentleman
begging an introduction, and " one you ought
to know," continued Madame, with a tap on
Greta's white shoulder ; "he is a great parti."
Greta inwardly cried "Bother!" took one
more turn with her disconsolate partner, to
whom she had communicated Madame's re-
quest, and then walked slowly towards that

SEVENTEEN".

137

lady, anything but ready to play the affable
to th(> desirable gentleman.

Then- he stood, tall and dignified. Madame
0. was talking in her animated French way,
h,T gloved hand gracefully gesticulating.
Greta leisurely approached. "Ah, here is
'■." exclaimed Madame. "M'lle
Brooke, I have the honor to present to you
Mr. Maxwell."

"Mr. Maxwell," murmured Greta, with a
quick bend, and in a rather frettish tone ; and
then she looked up and met Mr. Maxwell's
eyes — faultless eves !

Mr. Maxwell made her a grave bow, and
some quiet compliments upon her
beting.

"I am glad to know that my poor efforts
met with your approval," said Greta, with
great dignity.

" My warmest approval, I assure yon," said
the gentleman, not looking at all snubbed.
" May I ask if you continue with Madame C.
another year ?"

" No,'' answered Greta ; " I am most happy
to say that my school-days are over."

" Perhaps some day you will regret that
they were so short," he said.

"I never expect to," said Greta, indif-
ferently, and looking longingly through the
vista of rooms to where the "German'' dan-
cers were whirling in some intricate figure.
There, leaning against the wall, stood her
quondam partner looking wretched to a de-
gree. She tapped her foot in time to the
brilliant galop, and looked so bored and dis-
traite, that her companion took pity on her,
and offered to return her to her partner.

"0, if you please," said Greta, eagerly,
! and looking brightly up into his face for the
first time.

He laughed a little ; he could not h.v
inch complimented.

"On the condition," he said, "that you
give me one turn first.''

"With pleasure," was her answer, and
they went to the ball-room.

Othat galop, "Mai Blumer!" I could dance
to it forever.

Mr. Maxwell was a perfect dancer, and
Greta found herself wishing that he had asked
for more than "one turn;" but he re
her to the wretched young man who had
-glared with jealousy as he saw Greta borne
off by another, and was now made supremely
happy once more.

Madame C. whispered to Greta, as she bade
her good-night, " You have gain' 1 a triumph,
cMrie; Mr. Maxwell has not danced since his
wife's death. He used to be the best daucer
in New York."

The Brookes were going to West Point.
They went up the river by boat ; and, by the
by, how much pleasauter it is to do so in
summer ! On a steamboat you find everybody
good-natured and obliging. Ladies sit con-
tentedly on deck, with spread skirts and open
parasols ; gentlemen group together sociably,
and smoke to their heart's content. While in
the cars, ladies look worn out and dusty, their
laps crowded with bags, bundles, and babies ;
their thoughts running miserably upon that
disagreeable woman in front, or that whiskey-
smelling Irishman behind. Gentlemen aro
cross and sleepy, and do nothing but wander
back and forth from the smoking-car to their
seats ; and if abused by their wives for smell-
ing of tobacco, look savage instead of penitent.

The Brookes enjoyed their trip amazingly,
and took pleasant rooms at Roe's. Miss Greta,
as can be imagined, was a great belle at the
Point. Her time was fully occupied by her
half dozen flirtations, which there it is very
easy to keep up at once. One cadet would
get a "permit" for the afternoon and fcll for
Miss Greta to walk, and they would saunter
round flirtation walk, and sit under the trees
(cadets are universally susceptible). On their
return, the poor fellow would go back to
camp in a desperate condition. In the even-
ing another one would have a permit, and he
would sit with Miss Greta on the piazza till
tattoo beat, and then tear himself away at the
last moment, and rush off in the same bad
state as the aforesaid unfortunate.

And at "hops" it would be useless to try
and count the hearts that Greta broke. Her
father laughed, and her mother scolded a
little ; and Greta would say, with perfect
innocence: "Why, mamma, what have I
done ?"

One evening, as Miss Greta entered the
drawing-room on some devotee's arm, she
heard a voice that sounded slightly familiar^
Turning hastily, she saw it was Mr Maxwell,
who was talking languidly with a dashing
young lady. And the dashing young lady
looked perfectly happy with — and not a little
proud of that gentleman's attentions.

Mr. Maxwell looked up, caught Greta's eye,
bowed low with a slight smile, and resumed

138

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

his conversation with more animation. All
that evening he did not go near Greta ; and,
to tell the truth, she felt a little piqued.
After his great desire to obtain an introduction
to her in New York, it was not very compli-
mentary that he should appear satisfied with
what he saw of her there, and make no effort
to continue the acquaiutance. And that night,
when Mrs. Brooke went, as usual, to her
daughter's room, and happened to remark:
' ; By the way, dear, did I not see that Mr.
Maxwell in the parlors this evening?" lam
sorry to say that Miss Greta's "Yes" was
rather snappish.

In the morning, however, as she sat in the
parlor at the piano, drumming away at scraps
of redowas and galops, Mr. Maxwell came up
to her, and, after a brief "Good-morning,"
asked her to continue her playing.

" My musical education is not complete,"
she said ; " I do not play well enough for ex-
hibition yet."

He did not urge her, said "Ah!" indiffer-
ently, and after another moment lounged
away.

" Horrid man !" said Greta, as she marched
up stairs ; and, strange to say, from that time
Miss Greta was as anxious to obtain Mr.
Maxwell's notice as she had been before to
get rid of it.

The " horrid man" seemed to destroy all
her pleasure ; she could not waltz without
noticing how much better he waltzed than the
man she was with; she could not promenade
the piazza in the evening, or go into the par-
lor in the morning, without noticing how de-
votedly he was bending over some pretty girl ;
she could not take any comfort in her flirtations,
because the fact would continually obtrude
itself that he was handsomer than the very
handsomest of her flirters.

Greta's admirers continued as devoted as
ever, and one evening, as she was walking
with one of them, the poor wretch made a
most passionate declaration, and entreated
her to engage herself to him. Greta was
dreadfully distressed, and answered in the
way that young ladies are always supposed to
do on like occasions, declared she did not love
him, could not love him, and had no idea he
thought of her except as a friend. Then the
Miss turned round and made the best of her
way back to the hotel, bade the disconsolate
youth a kind good-by at the door, and started
to run up to her room. But she was stopped

by a bevy of girls who insisted that she
should go with them to the parlors; "they
were going to have a dance all to themselves,
not a man admitted." She tried to beg off,
but it was useless, and Miss Nannie Fletcher
claimed her as her partner, and dragged her
into the room.

Poor Greta really felt badly ; she did not
intend to break anybody's heart en verite, and
she readily saw that the young cadet was in
perfect earnest and very much in love.

Her dancing was, therefore, rather inanimate
and called down the criticisms of the girls.

" What has got into you, Greta Brooke ?'
cried one.

"You dance like a stick," was another
comment.

"And she is as pale as a ghost," said
Nannie Fletcher; "I do believe she has had
a proposal ! ' '

At this suggestion there was a chorus —
"Of course she has; tell us all about it,
Greta ! Who was it ? When was it ?"

Greta gazed in amazement — " How did you
know?" she asked.

"Know!" says Flora Cox, "why, every girl
has dozens every summer ; cadets are always
proposing."

"I had one from red-headed little Smith
walking back from band practice to-day,"
said one of the girls.

"But I really thought he was in earnest,"
said Greta, piteously, "and I was feeling so
sorry. ' '

"Well, so he was in earnest," said Nan-
nie Fletcher ; " but you have only been here
a couple of weeks, and don't know that before
the season is half over he will be just as much
in earnest with some other girls."

"Yes," put in Flora Cox, "but if you had
accepted him he would have loved you for-
ever, army officers are so constaut. / ac-
cepted Frank Williams this morning."

Here all the girls clustered around Miss Cox
to be informed of the circumstances ; and
Greta made her escape, somewhat enlightened
upon the subject of West Point flirtations.

If you doubt this little account, Miss, spend
next summer at the Point, and see for your-
self. Why, it must necessarily be so. Let as
many girls go there as will, and there are still
half a dozen cadets to each girl ; and, poor
mortals (the cadets, I mean) ! they study anil
work hard all the long winter without ever,
scarcely, seeing a pretty face ; so, when th..

SEVKNTEEN.

139

sunnier somes and tli._v.ir.- camping out, and
the place is orowded with pleasure-eeekers,
they very naturally fall in love with the first
pretty girl that smiles sweetly upon them.

The hearty, genial Mr. Brooke was a favorite
with every one. It was a real pleasure to
meet him, his face always smiling — his greet-
ing always so cordial. He was hand in glove
with ev.rv man at the Point, and treated the
cadets as if they were individually his own
sons.

In the afternoons Mr. Brooke and his wife
were accustomed to drive out : they drove a
light two seated open barouche, and always
filled the vacant places with some of the young
people. Mrs. Brooke would walk slowly
_h the halls and parlors, and the ones
that looked a little pale were sure to be the
ones favored. Her tender heart ached at see-
ing a pale face among so many blooming ones.

One afternoon, just before the time to start,
a gentleman came up to Mr. Brooke and in-
vited him to join a whist party in his room.
The temptation was too great to be resisted ;
so Mr. Brooke told his daughter that she
Blight drive in his stead, and went off with
his friend. Many of the loungers on the bal-
cony opened their eyes wide in horror at the
very idea ; but Greta received the permission
with so much nonchalance that others were
quite lost in admiration.

The carriage was brought around, and Nan-
nie Fletcher and Flora Cox sprang gayly into
the back se3t The other young lady, who
had b.en invited upon the strength of her
sallow face, declared for a time that she would
not dare to go if Greta was going to drive ;
but Greta, who was never very renowned for
patience, cried out, rather crossly, and in not
a very ladylike manner, "If you are coming,
come on; if not, stay where you are." This
" decided the matter, and the nervous Mi?s
Thompson decided to "come on."

The horses were gay, but Greta managed
them with so much, skill as well as grace that
there was- a murmur of applause as they dis-
appeared down the road. They drove on in
fine style for a few miles, the girls in the
back seat having a glorious good time. Greta
was tolerably quiet ; the horses were spi
and claimed all her attention. The nervous
young lady sat trembling beside her, uttering
prolonged exclamations of terror BVery time
the horses pricked their ears or danced a
little. The road was fine, and as they bowled
vol. lxix.— 12

swiftly along the horses seemed to grow more
excited. Greta's hand and cm the

alert, and everything in the road, or by the
roadside, that would tend to frighten the ani-
mals she carefully avoided.

"Well, Greta Brooke, you do drive splen-
didly," cried out Flora Cox, in geuuine admi-
ration.

The young lady so complimented looked

id, but declared (aa young ladies always

will) that she was dreadfully out of practice ;

had not driven a span since she left home

almost a year before.

" / should have thought you had been
brought up in a livery-stable," said funny
Miss Fletcher.

Here there was a giggle from all except Miss
Timidity in front, who begged Greta, in an
imploring tone, to look out for that hoi
coming, as he was riding so fast it might start
their horses.

Greta gave a contemptuous "Pshaw!"
The rider rapidly approached ; but, as he
neared them, slackened his speed and glanced
wonderingly at the occupants of the carriage,
and then bowing, as he recognized them all
as acquaintances, passed on.

"Mr. Maxwell How well he rides," said
Miss Cox.

Greta twitched the reins, and gave an impa-
tient little touch with the whip to the off horse.

"Don't do that," entreated the girl besid ■
her ; " they 11 run away next and dash us all
to pieces."

The animals were trotting very swiftly, and
as they turned suddenly round a corner the
pull on the reins was so great that it required
all of Greta's strength to hold them, and when
they were once more on the straight road her
right wrist pained her so much she found she
had sprained it. She bore it without a word,
and drove as well as she could with her left
hand ; she turned the horses' heads, however,
towards home, and soothed them with her
voice till they quieted their pace. Her wrist
began to paiu her excessively, and she felt
very faint. Flora Cox, leaning over to speak
taller, noticed her extreme pallor : " What is
the matter?" she asked, quickly, very much
frightened.

"Nothing," just whispered Greta. "I
sprained my wrist a little — and'' — she could
say no more ; she swayed in her seat, and
then fell back into the carriage.

M:=s Cox seized the reins from her hand,

140

godey's lady's book and magazine.

and managed to stop the horses. At this
moment Mr. Maxwell was seen at some dis-
tance, fortunately approaching. Miss Nannie
waved her handkerchief as a signal of distress,
and the gentleman instantly noticing the sig-
nal galloped toward them. He sprang off
his horse, and giving the bridle to Nannie to
hold, ran around to the side of the carriage
where Greta lay perfectly unconscious.

"What has caused this?" he asked, anx-
iously.

"She sprained her wrist, it seems," said
Miss Cox. "I did not know it till a minute,
ago. As I was speaking to her she looked so
very pale, I asked her what ailed her ; she
said something about spraining her wrist, and
then just fainted off so."

Here the nervous young lady made as if she
was going to faint, too ; but was instanta-
neously restored by Nannie Fletcher remark-
ing that if she fainted they would have to
leave her by the roadside till they took Greta
home, as there was not room in the carriage
for two swooning individuals, and "first come
first served."

Mr. Maxwell's face was almost as white as
Greta's.

" It is a wonder you were not run away
with," said he, as he lifted Greta from the
carriage and laid her on the turf, with her
head in Miss Cox's lap, until he arranged the
cushions more conveniently. " I am sur-
prised that Mr. Brooke was so imprudent as
to allow his daughter to drive such a pair of
horses!"

"She is accustomed to driving, I believe,"
said Nannie, apologetically.

"That is no excuse in my opinion," said
Mr. Maxwell, seriously; "the idea of a child
like that driving a span, it would be all I could
do to hold ! ' '

He took his horse from Nannie, and tying it
to the fence, bade Miss Cox and Miss Thomp-
son sit behind and support Greta, and Miss
Fletcher sit beside him in front. They drove
off gently ; the motion seemed to revive Greta
somewhat : " Where am I ? What is it ?" she
murmured.

"Keep still, darling; everything is right,"
said Flora, soothingly, laying her hand on her
head.

Greta closed her eyes and said no more till
they reached the hotel. At that hour there
were not many people on the gallery, and,
consequently, there was very little excitement

as they drove up. "Send for papa, "she then
whispered.

" There is not time to send for your father.
I shall take the liberty of carrying you to
your room," said Mr. Maxwell, who had heard
the low whisper.

He gave the reins to' the groom standing
near, and then taking Greta in his arms,
carried her up to her own room.

A doctor was sent for who set Greta's
wrist, made a little prescription or so, and
bidding her be quiet, said she would be over
it in a day or two.

Misses Cox, Fletcher, and Thompson were
in great demand that evening ; and the story
of the mishap was repeated dozens of times,
with embellishments. Mr. Maxwell did not
make his appearance.

After several days, the little invalid was
pronounced well enough to go down stairs for
a while ; so, robed in a blue gown which de-
cidedly heightened the interesting effect, she
crept into the front parlor, and took her seat
upon a distant sofa. Her mother followed
with anxiety to see if she bore the change
well, and then left her, satisfied with the little
color she saw tinging the pale cheek that the
exertion would do her no harm.

The parlor was almost empty. There was
no one in it that Greta knew, and she sat
quietly leaning back for some time, her eyes,
made larger and softer than ever by the little
confinement, wandering languidly in search
of a familiar face ; they were arrested at last
by the figure of a gentleman on the piazza
who was leaning up against the window-sill.
He appeared to be having a very interesting
time with some one ; and Greta, raising her-
self up a bit, discovered that "some one" to
be Nannie Fletcher. Sire felt a little pang,
though why she should have, I don't know.
If she could only have heard the conversation
between the two on the piazza !

" Does she look so pale, then ?"

"Oh, dreadfully, and she is as weak as a
kitten!"

" Poor child !>s

" But her mother said she might come down
this morning ; I should not wonder if she is in
the parlor now."

The gentleman started and looked hastily in
at the window ; he met a pair of hazel eyes.
Excusing himself to Miss Fletcher, he joined
Greta on the sofa. She colored faintly, and
holding out her hand said, in a low voice : —

SEVENTEEN.

141

" I have wanted to thank you so much, Mr.
Maxwell, and yet my thanks must be rather
ungracious now, as I am forced to offer you
my left haud."

He took the little fingers in his for a moment,
and said something polite about the "little
service he had rendered" being a pleasure;
then he ohanged the conversation, and talked
on quickly of the weather, and the last hop,
and everything else. He watched Greta ner-
VOUSly, though, all the time, and could not
forbear noticing how white her cheeks looked
in contrast with the long lashes falling softly
Upon them, lie said, suddenly : —

" How pale you have grown I"

"Yes; is it not ridiculous that such a
trifling accident should have affected me so f"

" A sprain is always painful. You should
not have attempted to drive those horses."

"I am accustomed to driving; but they
were rather hard-bitted."

" I was astonished when I passed you," ho
went on. " I could hardly believe that your
father had permitted you to start off so, with-
out any gentleman, and even without a ser-
vant."

"But I hate to have a servant behind,"
said Greta, in something like her old pettish
tone, " it is such a restraint !"

"Rather than risk your life," commenced
Mr. Maxwell ; he was not allowed to finish,
however, for Miss Nannie Fletcher had come
to the conclusion that they had talked long
enough, so she spread the news of Greta's
presence iu the parlor, and quite a little
crowd now collected around her. Mr. Max-
well yielded his seat by the young lady to
some eager cadet, and betook himself to his
own room anil his meerschaum.

The season was more than half over, and
Mr. Brooke longed for his home, his horses,
and his boys. Mrs. Brooke spoke of returning
to her daughter, who made no objections, and
so it was concluded to go.

i was now perfectly well, and more in
Reman 1 than ever ; the cadets raved about
her ; she was so full of fun, and as wild at
times ,-.: an untamed colt. She rode on
horseback every day with her father close at
hand as a protection from all mishaps. She
would race up to the hotel on her return from
these rides — her eyes sparkling, her lovely
hair half tumbling down, her cheeks as red
as roses — and would look triumphantly back
father, who would be puffing away on

a hard trot some distance off. Mr. Maxwell
was always near at their returns, and lifted
the pretty creature off her horse, and watched
her gravely as she sprang up the steps into
the house, her dark habit gathered full into
both white hands. Sometimes he rode with
them ; but if he did, Greta was sure to be
cantering on ahead all the time ; and would
reach home a little in advance, and jump off
her horse without assistance — she seemed so
shy of him.

When her mother proposed going home,
Greta was glad of it. The continued excite-
ment had wearied her, and besides, her proud
little heart rebelled against the love which
she felt was growing within her. " He thinks
me only a child," she would say to herself
fifty times a day, and so avoid him.

I will not attempt to describe the misery
with which the news of Greta's intended de-
parture was received; nor the broken-hearted
depression which settled upon a score of youth
when that sad event actually took place-
Miss Flora Cox and Miss Nannie Fletcher,
made themselves look like frights by crying
all of one afternoon, and appearing at the tea-
table with very red eyes. However, Cadet
F'rank Williams soon comforted the one ; and
the other one was probably soothed by another
of the same j<

Mr. Maxwell accompanied the Brookes to
the boat, and received the last flutter of Miss
Greta's handkerchief. He should have seen
the direction the handkerchief took as his
figure was no longer discernible to the young
lady!

Although I would not rend your hearts by
describing the departure from West Point, I
will gladly tell of the return to Brookside —
how at the gate they were met by four great
boys, a little scrambling head-over-heels dog,
and innumerable quantities of darkeys. And
how the boys dragged their sister from the
carriage, and almost smothered her with
kisses ; and how Snipe gave one bound, and
reached his mistress's arms, and licked her
face in pure delight.

In a few days they had settled down to
their own life, except that Greta was, to the
great disgust of the boys, much subdued.
Indeed, she was so very grave and orderly,
that Mrs. Brooke strongly suspected that
something was wrong ; so she went with her
husband and had a confab with him upon the
subject. But he hooted the id ::. "What,

142

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Greta pining after some little fellow in a gray
coat and white breeches ! Nonsense ! No
such thing!" Mrs. Brooke was not to be
convinced, though, so she went back to her
daughter and informed her privately, that
they would certainly spend the next summer
at West Point, which piece of information,
much to Mrs. B.'s discomfiture, Greta received
with perfect indifference.

One morning Greta shut herself into the
drawing-room, and commenced in earnest the
study of "Schulhoffs Grand Valse, No. 2."
She was busily engaged with it, when her
father opened the door, and with a grave face
asked her to come to the library. Greta
followed him wondering. He put a letter into
her hand, and bade her go by herself and
read it.

Greta went to her room, her heart beating
rapidly, and the color coming and going in
her cheek. She sat down by the window ;
lmt it was some time before she gained courage
to open the letter. At last the seal was
broken ; there, at the end of the white page,
was the signature " Hugh Maxwell;" all else
was confused for awhile.

Greta put her face in her two hands, and
cried a little after perusing the important
epistle. It was such a relief — such a happi-
ness ! Then came a sudden terror, what
should she write in return ? She could not
write to him, her father must write for her. So
she ran swiftly down stairs into her father's
library, and going up to him, laid her blushing
cheek on his shoulder, and whispered, as she
put the little note into his hand: "You tell
him yes, papa, I can't !"

The indignation which seized the boys
when this piece of news was confided to them,
beggars description. "Greta has been away
a year already, and now she must go and get
engaged and go off with some man. Disgrace-
ful ! ' ' said Tom, in accents of strong contempt.

' ' Shameful ! ' ' chorused the rest of the boys.

"Why, I could not help it," entreated
Greta, deprecatingly ; "it was not my fault ;
besides, I did not go and get engaged, I stayed
here."

"Absurd subterfuge!" growled Tom.

Mr. Brooke attempted to quiet the tumult,
by declaring that Greta should not be married
for three years, and by that time Tom would
be through college and be engaged himself.

" Me engaged ! Never !" and Tom left the
room in disgust.

At the end of the week, a bright Saturday
evening, Greta heard, as she sat in her room,
the wheels of a carriage on the gravel. She
started up ; her first thought was to run away,
and then she stood uncertain, her bosom heav-
ing, her face burning. Mr. Brooke called her :
"Here, Greta, come down, a gentleman is
asking for you." And then she heard her
father's laugh and cordial tones, her mother's
quiet voice ; and, another voice still, that
made her heart beat. She opened the door,
and glided down stairs and into the drawing-
room so softly, that she was there before they
knew it. She put out her hand gently and
looked around for help from her father or
mother ; but they had disappeared ; and there
stood Mr. Maxwell, both her hands in his,
and his face perfectly eloquent with happi-
ness. He drew her down beside him on the
sofa, and then she looked up for the first time
to meet his eyes. Her blushing, pretty face
was so tempting, and feeling his right, he
kissed it. "I cannot thiuk you love me
yet!" he whispered.

"But I do!" was the naive and very satis-
factory reply.

Mr. Brooke's threat of three years, dwindled
down to three months ; at the end of which
time there was a rousing wedding at Brook-
side, and Mr. Maxwell carried off his little
wife and installed her mistress of his New
York home.

The last time I saw her (for she is a great
friend of mine, and we visit eternally), she
was seated on the floor in her dressing-room,
teaching Snip how to make a bow. And Mr.
Maxwell was lying on a lounge near by, highly
enjoying the operation.

SLEEP.

BY MONROE QDY CARLTON.

Child of swart Somnus ! born to soothe and charm !

Beforo whose tranquil throne all men how down

To win the sweet oblivion's poppied crown,
I gladly praise thee ! for thy balmy arm

Encirclest all alike, from serf to king ;

Nor pausest here thy favor — thou dost bring
Gossanier'd fancies, wove in magic looms,

T'employ our souls, while our gross natures cling
To downy rest ; or; at thy will, through glooms
Of ghostly crypts, dank, daDgerous, charnel rooms,
Lead'st us in jest. 0 sleep ! strange fairy thou —

Who makest beggars lords, and princes slaves.
And mourners glad — to beck'uing man thy prow

Shalt ever come across the Lethean waves.

THE FAMILY DRAWIXG-MASTER.

1-13

THE FAMILY DRAWING MASTER.

IX A SERIES OF FAMILIAR CONVERSATIONS.

TRIANGLES.

P. Pappose, Ion, that you were drawing on
a piece of paper, and wanted to inclose a space
with lines. How many lines would you want .'

Ion. Let me try. I want two lines to make

an angle, but now I have made it, one side is
n. I must put another line ; now, the

space is shut up, and there are three sides,
and three angles.

/.. I can inclose a space with two lines.
See!

P. Rut the upper one is curved, Lucy. I
should have reminded you that we are only
learning straight lines ; so, to inclose a space
with straight lines, we must make a figure
with three sides. This figure, you see, has
also three angles ; so it is called a triangle.
Look at those triangles carefully, and tell me
if you can see any difference between -them.

1!". Yes, papa. The one marked No. 2 is

much larger than the other.

P. How many sides are larger?

L. Two. papa. The bottom line in No. 2 is
of the same size as the bottom line of No. 1.
Now, I notice something in No. 1.

P. What is it '

L. The sides of it are all of the same size —
equal.

P. That is right. Now, I will tell you some-
thing. The Latin word for side is lotus, so, as
this triangle is equal-sided, it is called an
EquWu.'crci/ Triangle.

12*

W. But, papa, No. 2 is not equi-lateral,
because only two sides of it are equal — the
long ones.

P. And this angle is, therefore, named aft r
two Greek words which mean "equal legs.''
Jt is called an Isosceles Triangle.

Ion. That is a peculiar name, papa. Will
you tell me how to spell it, please .' and I will
write it down on a piece of paper. Now, I
have them both —

Equilateral Triangle, and
Isosceles Triangle.

P. Here is another triangle. How many of
its sides are equal ?

IF. Oh, none, papa ! They seem to be all
real. What are we to call this one ?

P. A triangle with three unequal sides is
called a Scalene Triangle.

Ion. That is an uglier name than the other
one ; but I '11 write it down. S-c-a-1-e-n-e,
Scalene.

/'. Now you may make the lesson — then, I
will give you a drawing to do.

L. I can make it, papa.

LESSON NO. 5.

A figure with three sides has three angles,
and is called a Triangle.

A triangle with three equal sides is called
an Equilateral Triangle.

A triangle with two equal sides is called an
Isosceles Triangle.

And a triangle with no equal sides is called
a Scalene Triangle.

Now, we will begin to make drawings with
triangles.

Here is a drawing of the back of our pigeon-
house. What shape is it ?

Ion. It is an equilateral triangle. I never
noticed that in our pigeon-house before.

J'. And see what I have done. In order to
be quite sure that it is upright, I have made
a perpendicular line of dots. It runs, you
observe, through the middle. Now, I know
that the line is upright. How does it show
me that the triangle is upright too ?

IF. Because it runs exactly through the
middle of the bottom line ; and then there is
just as large a piece of the triangle on the
right side, as there is on the left side.

144

godey's lady's book and magazine.

P. Do not say the bottom line of the triangle
again; say the base of the triangle ; that is the
proper name for the bottom line.

W. Why, what is the matter with the
drawing ?

Ion. Nothing, only it is rather ill. It is
falling down ; and the lines are in the wrong
direction. And then, the triangle — it is — it is
that terrible Greek work, Scalene !

ON READING
THE LAST BOOK OF ALICE B. HAVEN,

Ion. I will say what the line does. It crosses
the middle of the base, and cuts the triangle
in half.

P. Now, who will copy it ?

W. I will, papa. Oh, do let me ; please.
I '11 make such a beauty !

L. How fond you are of the words "such a
beauty," Willie!

W, Well, it will be a beauty. You shall
see. Now, then, the sides are equal. Yes,
and the post is in the middle. It is finished I

P. Then let me look at it, Willie. We shall
soon see if it is right. I will draw a perpen-
dicular line from the top through the base.
Now you can see that the triangle is not di-
vided exactly in half.

L. No. The left hand side is three times as
large as the right hand side. Poor Willie I

BY MART A. DENISON.

A little book— a simple gift —

Yet how it stirs the heart !
How every touching, tender line

Compels the tear to start !
For the slight frame, whose tracings brought

Love's sunlight on the hearth,
Is palsied by the chill of death —

Gone from the loved of earth.

And yet, upon this little page

A light seems falling now—
The radiance of her angel eyes,

Her mild and sinless brow ;
I know she sees how many hearts

Have thrilled to purer thought,
Touched by the holy sympathies

Her blessed life has taught.

I know that every gentle word,

Traced amid care and pain,
"Wrought into jewels, shines upon

Her angel robes again ;
That, in the New Jerusalem,

No whiter soul is there,
Than hers who fashioned life with faith,

And ended it with prayer.

I ASK NO MORE.

BY J. WILLIAM VAN NAMEE.

I have not wealth ; no lands are mine,

I own no houses broad and high ;
I have no costly gems to shine ;

No robes of rich and varied dye ;
No regal coach and dappled grays

To drag me through the crowded streets,
No titled fops to lisp my praise,

And bow in homage at my feet.
No servants to obey my will ;

No slaves to wait on my command;
No golden cups with wine to fill ;
. No rings upon my small brown hand ;
No costly couch, with soft lace hung,

And softly spread with snowy white,
To rest, at night, my form upon

When wrapt in tranquil slumber light.
No, I have none, not one of these ;

My home is but a rustic cot ;
I've no fastidious friends to please,

And mine 's a very happy lot ;
For I am loved by one true heart —

And as the hours and days glide o'er,
I see no golden dreams depart —

Oh, I have love ! I ask no more.

MRS.

WARD'S VISIT TO NIAGARA; AND HER ACQUAINTANCE
WITH TnE SHODDY FAMILY.

IT UAKY W . J A X V KIN'.

How d'ye do, Miss Fettengill? Declare,
I'm proper pleased to see you, and dredful
glad yon come over so soon; though I must
own to bein' clean tuckered out with my visit
to Niagary! It's a consid'able long jaunt
for me, I s'pose the folks to home thought ;
though, now I look back on 't, it don't seem
more 'n goin' down to the spring in the
holIcT, and fetchin' a couple of pails of water
for the tea kettle — there 's nothin' like gettin'
used to travellin' ! S'pose you was kinder
rprised, Miss Pettengill, wa'n't you? when
you heard I 'd took it into my head to go and
pay a visit to Niagary — seein' I ain't took a
[bng trip senoe I went to Bostin, three years
ago come October, to see the Prince of Wales,
and had that sociable set-down with him to
the Revere House. 'Twas kind of queer, I
Liters thought, who went and writ that up in
an! had it printed in Mister Godey's
Lady's Fashion-Book! The fust / knew about
it, Martha — 'Bijah's wife — she come over here
one mornin', when I was a-churnin', and sez
she: "0, mother, here's your visit to the Prince
all writ out in black and white in a grand piece,
and it sounds rale nice — jest as though you was
anorthnr ! I jest got the book, and come right
over to tell you." "Now," sez I, takin' my
hands off of the churn-dasher, " I should
admire to know who 's been and put me afore
{he publick at my time of life — fifty three,
comin' n.-xt May ! I shall jest get Arty to
writ.' a letter to Mister Godey, and inquire all
about it!" "Don't you do it, mother!" sez
Martha. "You orter be thankful ter think
you've got inter print without your doin'
ennything ! Why, some folks is so crazy to
git afore the publick, they do ennything — run
away with other folks' husbands, or some
sech like ! Don't you do a thing ! It sounds
jest as natteral as the days are long!" But
I did go and write a letter myself to Mister
Godey— which ain't no small job for me now ;
and I got one back — the nicest, sociablest
letter you ever see ! anil Mister Godey, he
sent me his love, and sed everybody was so
Interested in the account of my visit to Mister
Wales, he hoped I wouldn't take offence becos

he 'd printed it, and axed me for my potygraff
for his album, and sent me his 'n ; jest as nice,
smilin', proper-lookm' a man as ever you see !
Martha, she 's borryed it to put inter her
album, and then, when he writ, too, that a
readin' woman — Miss Davenport — had been a
lecturin' my piece all over the country and
in all the big cities, I kinder got over my
tonqhy fit, and let Martha read the piece to
me, and had a rale hearty laff over it myself.
' Twould be kind of queer, though, if enny-
body sh'd git hold of my goin' to Niagary, and
write that up for Mister Godey, too! 'Bijah
sez, "he expects nothin' but what they will,
for a pairson that 's been hand in glove with
the futur King of England, is of some conse-
quence these times;" but sez I, back, "son
'Bijah, don't you go to be settin' up your old
mother to be vain ! I never had my name in
the papers but twice afore — once when I was
merried, and agin, when I was appinted by
the Judge of Probitto execute your poor dead-
and-gone father's estate, 'till that time when
somebody writ me up ; and I don't seem to
b'lieve they '11 do it the second time I" though,
to be sure, if they should go and do it, I
couldn't help what I couldn't bender!

But that 's neither here nor there, .l//ss
Pettengill, if I 'm goin' to tell you about my
journey to Niagary. Hev you a comfortable
seat in that roekin'-chair ? and hadn't you
better draw up to the stove a little 1 the days
are kind of coolish this September weather ;
and I allcrs make a pint of kindlin' a fire in
the air-tight when I feel like havin' it. If
it 's the middle of July, and I feel chilly, I jest
start a good fire right away ; there 's nothin'
like keepin' comfortable.

But to begin about my jaunt ! You see,
Miss Pettengill, ever sence I was a little gal,
and read in the Geography-book about Niag-
ary Falls, with the picter of the spray curlin'
up like the smoke off a burnin' house, I felt
dredful curis to go and pay a visit to it. Old
Sqnire Joe Ililton, he allers laffed at my
notions, and sed he 'd jest as soon see the
water come tumblin' over the dam at Man-
chester, when the Merrymack river was Hz. by

145

146

GODEY'S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

a spring freshet, and the boys, Arty and
'Bijah, and even Martha, sed it was temptin'
Providence to think of settin' out at my time
of life on sech a jaunt ; hut when niece Ruth
Ann Wetherell down to Bostin writ that she
and her husband were a-goin' to take a trip to
Niagary about the middle of July, I jest made
up my mind I'd go along with 'em; so I
didn't say nothin' to the folks to home, till
I 'd writ Ruth Ann, and got her answer back
"that she should be rale pleased to hev her
dear Aunt Sophrony make one of their party,"
and then I told 'em. 'Twas too late for 'em
to make any opposition, that you see ; so I
made arrangements to hev a good stout woman
come and keep house for Arty and the hired
hands through hayin', and packed up my
trunk and set off to Bostin.

Ruth Ann, she made me stop a week to her
house to git rested ; then we started — Mister
and Miss Wetherell, and I, and some city
neighbors of theirn, who were going to take
the same journey ; and I declare, Miss Pet-
tengill, I did feel peart as a young gal, when
I found myself in the keers at the Wooster
Depot, actooally sot out to pay a visit to the
great Falls of Niagary !

I aiu't got time to tell you all about the
journey ; only to say that we got to Springfield
by noon — the city, you know, where there 's
the armory, and hundreds of machinists
manafacturin' the guns for guverment to use
against the rebels ; and, late in the arternoon,
we got to Albany without enny accidence, and
crossed the river on a great fiat ferry-boat with
monstrous wheels ; and all the baggage was
toted on to it from the keers, and went over
at the same time. I was beginnin' to feel
worrited about my hair trunk, and was jest
a-goin' to speak to the conductor folks about
it ; but Mister Wetherell, he told me he 'd got
it checked clean through to the end of our
journey, and we should find it safe and sound
at Niagary when we got there ; arter which I
felt more easy, and begun to hum to myself
that old tune Mister Ward used to sing when
he felt good natured — ■

"A boat, a boat, to cross the ferry !
And wo '11 go over to be merry ;
And, as we go, sing ' Heigh down, derry ! '"

Waal, while I sot a hummin' kind of easy, a
little accidence befell me — or liked to, which
amounts to purty much the same thing. It
seems to me, that, wherever I go, Miss Petten-
gill, I meet my share of human natur ! While

I was a-settin' there by myself — Ruth Ann
and her folks bavin' got sepyrated a little
from me in the crowd — a rale benevolent,
mildfaced lookin' man, with gold-bowed specks
and a white neckercher on, come up to me,
and, a-layin' his hand on his buzzum, sez he :
" Madam, I know you to be 2. noble-minded,
generous benyfactress of your specie, by tha
expreshun of your countenance, and for that
reason I presume to address you. I am a
minister of the Methydist persuasion, travel-
lin' on my carcuit ; and am now in desire of
returnin' . to my sick wife and nine small
children, bavin' been sepyrated from them a
long time. But I hev, unfortinitly, been
robbed of my puss containin' my little airthly
all, and am reduced to a great strait. Here 's
an extry pair of gold-bowed glasses" — pulliu'
'em right off of the bridge of his nose — " that
cost me ten dollars ; but, if you '11 take 'em
for five, you '11 confer a lastin' benyfit on a
minister of the Lord and a devoted husband
and parent!" I declare, Miss Pettengill, I
was jest a pullin' out my handkercher to wipe
my eyes, and my puss with it, when the boat
gin a great bump, and Mister Wetherell, ha
came hurryin' up. "What's happened?"
sez I. "We ain't run into another boat, or
been blown up, hev we?" "Nothin of the
kind," sez he, smilin', only we've touched
wharf, so come, aunty !" I riz ; but, jest as
I was agoin', I remembered the poor minister
with the specks, and turned; but he warn't
nowhere to be seen amongst the crowd. Mister
Wetherell, he laffed like everything when I
told him about the poor man and wanted to
hunt him up, and sed : " Mebbe John Rogers
was about on that ferry-boat ; or, most likely,
'twas the Mister Jenkins who fooled Moses at
the Fair, in the old book Oliver Goldsmith
writ about the Parson of Wakefield." I de-
clare, Miss Pettengill. I don't know when my
feclins was so dreadfully hurt ! not even when
I remembered the nice-lookin' young feller
who helped me so perlite onto the steps of tha
Park Street meetin'-'us in Bostin to git a good
site of the Prince, and then stole my puss and
new silk handkercher to pay for't. I'll
never trust smooth-spokeu folks nor ministers
agin, you may depend on't !

Wall, we stopped to Albany over night ;
and, I must tell you about the great tavern
where we put up. It sot in to hev a heavy
thunder-shower jest as we were gettin' off tha
ferry-boat, and the men folks of Mister Woth-

MRS. WARD S VISIT TO NIAGARA.

147

erell's party s.-d they never yet was to Albany
hut what it rained ; howsoraever, it didn't
hurt us, for we all got inter an omnerbus and
rid ap to i tavern not more 'n a stone's throw
from tho ferry depot. It rained and thun-
dered proper heavy ; and Until Ann's husband
M asked me " if I wasn't worrited
about the minister in the gold-bowed glasses,
for fear lie should get struck?" And, to tell
tin- truth, Miss Pettengill, I shouldn't akeered
much if they 'd melted clean off of the bridge
cf his nose — he deserved a judgment for palm-
in' himself off for one of the Lord's own;
though I didn't say nothin'.

Arter we 'd got to the tavern, we had a pro-
per nice supper, in a great dinin'-room sot out
with much as fifty little tables that wouldn't
hold more 'n six or eight apiece ; and all the
Help t" wait upon us was black as the ace of
Spades, with white aprons on, and as perlite
lid be, and there was a head one, who
snipped his fingers and made little signs for
all the rest to come and go by, jest like sol-
diers at a trainin'. One stood right behind
my chair while I was a-eatin'' my supper, and
I told Ruth Ann I never could bear the idea of
hein' looked at while I was a-eatin — it made
me nervous ; but Ruth Ann, she said I must
git used to it, for we should see plenty more
of it before we 'd finished our journey. I
didn't say ennything further; but, thinks I
to myself, " It 's come to a purty pass, if folks
can't eat what they pay for to a tavern, with-
out every mouthful's bein' watched as it goes
down your throat ! It looks as though the
tavern-keeper set ''em there for darkey spies ! ' '

We went up to our rooms arter supper, had
a good night's sleep, ixeeptin' one of the men
of the party said his bed was so hard, his
wife found him settin' up in the middle of the
night at the table, writin' an "Ode to a Cast-
iron Mattress;" but we all laffed, and con-
cluded he wouldn't make a very good soldu r,
and nest moruin', bright and airly, we sot off
on our journey agin. We rid all day, stoppin'
at a town I disremember for dinner, and 'twas
dreadful dusty, and hot, and tiresome, whir-
lin' along all that July day in them railroad
keers, I can tell you, Miss Pettengill ! 'Taint
a bit like settin' in your own rockin'-cheer to
home, out on the porch, with the clover
smellin' so sweet, and pinies and roses in the
gardin' ; but, to tell the truth, I made up my
mind I should have to put up with consid'able
many onconveniences on sech a jaunt ; so I

took it easy as I could, and got along purty
well, considering.

by it begun to grow late in the arter-
noon, and we got nigh to the eend of our
journey. I was proper glad when tho keers
stopped to Niagary, and when we lit and got
inter one of the omnerbusses drawn up in a
line by the depot. When our folks was all
in, Mister Wetherell he told the driver where
to kerry us ; and purty soon, arter drivin' a
little spell through Niagary town — and a real
cool, comfortable place it was, too — we stopped
before the nicest kind of a tavern, a great,
square, stone buildin' three times as big 's the
Eagle Hotel over to Concord, with a great
open, front entry, all paved with blocks of
black and white marble, for all the world jest
like a checker-board. Jest as soon as we driv
up to the door and the driver opened the om-
nerbus for us to 'light, what should I see but
two darkey waiters, smilm' zif they was proper
glad to see company, drawn up each side of
the front door, jest as you see picters in old
fairy story-books, where the genuses stand
ready to get down on their knees and kiss the
hands of the princes and princesses when
they're steppin' out of their charyots after
they've been out a-ridin'. I was gettin'
kinder used to things by this time, and it
made me feel kinder consequence like ; so I
sailed inter the tavern arter Ruthy Ann, with
my head up as high as could be.

The rest of the women-folks, they went rite
inter a great room to the right hand — a sort
of meetin'-'us parlor, with great arm-cheers
all ranged round, and a table in the middle ;
but, jest as I got inside the front door, the
thought of my trunk come over me like a
shock, and I walked straight up to a man be-
hind a little counter partitioned off at one eend
of the entry, and asked him about it. The
man, who was a-writin' in a big book at a
desk, put his pen behind his ear, bowed very •
perlite, and after asking my name, looked at
his book a minnit, and said : " It 's all right,
ma'am ! You '11 find it in your room, No. 21,
'waitin' you!" It seems that Ruth Ann's
husband had sent on and spoke for our rooms
at the tavern afore we set out ; so I curchied
and thanked the man, and followed one of
them black waiters up stairs, and through a
long entry, till I come to my room — and, I tell
you. ^fiss Pettengill, there never was a body
that was gladder to set down and rest a spell,
and git off the dast, than /was ! Ruth Ann,

148

LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

she looked in from her room, next door to
mine, and sed I 'd better lay down a little
afore supper ; and she turned a little liandle
fixed in the wall, which brought up one of
them darkey servants again, and arter he'd
onstrapped my trunk, I looked the door and
took a short rest on the bed.

While I !m talkin' of trunks, J/ws Petten-
gill, I must say I do wish you could a seen
same of the monstrous ones some of the women
folks brought along with 'em; " Saratogy
trunks," theycall'em; but I sh'd say they 'd
better name 'em all " Niagary," and done with
it, for they sartainly were as big as the addi-
tion to 'Bijah's L to his house, and would
hold more gownds than enny woman 'd want
in her lifetime, let alone enough for one jour-
ney. It made me shudder to hear the depot
men swear when they lifted 'em inter the
baggage keers ; and oner feller, he took his
oath one of 'em war'n't a trunk,' but a meeiiV-
'us! I didn't much blame him, neither !

Waal, arter we 'd all rested a spell, we went
down to supper ; and 'twas the same over
again there as to Albany — darkey waiters, all
ranged like statoots behind your chairs, and
perlite and bow in' when they helped you to a
thing close beside your plate, jest as though
you hadn't got hands for yourself! I took it
easier this time ; though I couldn't help say-
in' to Ruthy Ann, "it seemed as if this war 'd
turned loose all the Southern contrabands all
over the North." But la, you can get used
to ennything arter a spell, Miss Pettengill!
Bimeby, I didn't mind them black waiters no
more 'n so many flies crawlin' on the wall — ■
though I stood to it, that I would help myself
when I was a mind to, jest as if I'd been to
home.

I was purty well tuckered out that night,
and went to bed airly ; Mister Wetherell, he
jest sayin', "Be sure and be up betimes to-
morrow mornin', Aunt Sophrony, for we must
hev a sight of the Falls right arter breakfast !"
I slept like a top, for all the great Niagary
Falls were a-roarin' purty close by the tavern
and rattlin' the very window of my room, as
if a hundred baggage trains kept goin' by all
night.

Waal, arter breakfast next day, we sot out
to see the sights. I wore my thinnest black
bombyzine dress and cape, and my commonest
bunnit, for it looked lowery, as if we sh'd hev
a shower ; and I took my new blue umberill,
in case I might need it ; and, if it didn't rain,

'twould be kinder handy to lean on when I
got fagged out. We went out of the back
door of the tavern, nigh to the counter where
the man stood to do the writin' — Mister Weth-
erell sed he was the dark, though I 'm sure he
looked nice enough for the landlord — and we
went along a gravelled walk leadin' through a
yard where there was a great fountain throw-
in' off water, and then through a gate, with a
great white frame fixed over the top above
your heads, tellin' you this was the way to
Goat Island — a place where everybody went
first, to get the best view of the Falls from. I
see half a dozen other taverns, besides the one
we stopped at, in the neighborhood ; and then
we crossed the road, and passed a little store
all filled with feather fans, and curis work,
and bead things, hangin' in the winder.
" Injun curiosities, aunty," said Ruthy Ann;
"we'll stop and examine them some other
time, and purchase some to take home with
us." Then we went on, over a bridge rita
aerost the water that come tearin', and foam-
in', and whirlin' down, like all possessed.

"There are the Rapids," sed Mister Weth-
erell, as we all stopped to look at the water,
rushin', and racin', and bubblin', and the
little jagged rocks stickin' up through it liko
hyeny's teeth a-grinnin'. "Waal," sed I,
" I guess it 's named about right, for the water
don't come very sloio .'" I wish you 'd a-been
there, Miss Pettengill ! and you 'd a-thought
with me them Rapids were the beater, till you
see liiagary itself. We crost the bridge, and
come to some land, with a little house where
they had another injiu store inside — and there
was a pair of bars beyond rite aerost the road,
with a little gate at one eencf for folks to go
through. The bars was for the kerridges.
I was ahead of Ruth Ann* and her folks, and
was walkiu' along, when, all ter once, I was
brought up standin' by a man, who sed,
kinder perlite, but in airnest, "Madam, is
your name entered?" "It will be, if I ken
get through this gateway, mister," sed I,
back; "though, if you're partickeler, I'd
jest as lieves you 'd know it now — Miss So-
phrony Ward, of Bosc'wine, New Hampshire !"
and upon that, I was goin' forrard agin, when
sez he, bowin', "I beg your -pardon, Miss
Ward, bu-t the gentleman has gone in to ar-
range it!" and then he didn't say no more.
But Ruth Ann, she stepped up, and sez she,
"You see, aunty, it's a regulation that each
shall pay a quarter of a dollar, and register

MRS. WARDS VISIT TO NIAGARA.

149

their name in a book kept in there, and that
entitles »> to go upon Boat Island as often as
we choose during our stay. Let's step into
the store a minute !

Waal, we Bpent as much as a quarter of an
hour in there, a-lookin' at the things — and I
couldn't begin to tell you about 'era all!
There were the handsomest fans, with little
hints sewed onto 'em as natteral as life, and
bead cushings, and lamp mats, and Injim
moggersius, and baskets, and boxes, and
patch-oases, and little tinty-tonty birch-hark
canoes all worked with moose-hair — the pur-
tiest and ourisest tilings you could think of!
and the purtiest prices to 'em, too; for they
asked dredful dear. You can't look at enny-
thing at Niagary unless you 're ixpected to
pay a quarter of a dollar for't ! But .Mister
Wcth-rell. he hurried us off; so we crost
through the little gate onto Goat Island.

I can't begin to tell you what a nice place
*ii' was ! The cleanest, wholesomest lookin'
grass : the tallest, greenest trees ; lots of
grt-at arbor-vity bushes growin' everywhere,
and birds singin' as chirp as could be ; and
everything looked as cool and moist as though
they'd been watered airly that mornin'. Jest
then the snn come out, bright and warm, and
lit up everything most splendid! There was
a little house right at the fnst edge of the
island, where they sold cake, and candy, and
things ; and, rite in front of this, the paths
branched off every way: and little guide-
boards were stuck up at every turn and cor-
ner, so 't people shouldn't get lost, nor miss
of serin' all the sights at the Falls. Mister
veil, he said we'd take the right-hand
path, which led to where we could get the
|es< view of the American Falls ; so we turned
inter it. and purty soon, after walkin' a spell,
and goin' down some sort of steps, come out
by the water.

I declare, Miss Pettengill, thai was the mas-
ter.' I 've seen consid'able water in my life —
ns Merrymack in a freshet, when all the
■ridges were kerried away between here 'n'
: 1 ; and when we were on the journey
ont through Yt/k State. Mister Wetherell he
ginted out the falls where Sam Patch jumped
off — a purty consid'able leap for a body unless
he come to soft bottom !— but this beat every-
thing ! You see, the water, arter it tore down
them Rapids over the rocks, jest gethered it-
self all up, then split, and went over two great
banks higher 'n three or four meetin'-'us

BS a-top of each other. One of these
bin!.- was jest about in the shape of a great
-hoe, and the other war'n't quite so
distinct; but, puttin' the two together, that's
what the Falls is likened to ; and the way it
tumbled over, and thundered, and splashed,
and threw up the mist as thick as rain — I
declare, I was glad enough to open my blue
umberill, and jest set down to take a long
look at things without gettin' soaked through
as limber as a wet rag !

There was lots of people settin' on little
benches built there, or standin' round and
lookin' at the Falls; and I couldn't help no-
ticing that none of the women had on good,
sensible, dark travellin'-gowns, but they wore
light ones, ami capes all embroidered and fiu-
itiedoff, a good deal fitter for a parti/'a climhin'
round over wet rocks and along draggly paths
with. There was one family — I couldn't help
ohservin' 'emphrty close the minnit I put my
eye on 'em, and becos I see 'em arterwards,
a-stoppin' at the same tavern with us. The
man was stout and pompons lookin', nigh
onto fifty, I should say — and his wife, mi I ■!■ ■,
was ten year younger — and their darter, a
likely-lookin' gal enough, but dredful peart
and sassy, about eighteen or twenty, I should
guess ; and she was a-hangin' onter the arm
of a tall, dandy feller, with his face all kivered
with a regular underbrush of hair, whom I
took, ter once, ter be her beau. The way
them folks was rigged out was a cantion ! The
men folks both wore great watch-chains a-
danglin' ; and the woman and her darter
looked more as if they was a-goin' to a ball
than out of doors a-walkin', with their gowns
embroidered up to their knees, anil gold
watches, and bracelets, and jewelry enough
to set up a store. And the gal kerried a little
snipper-snapper cane, with a tossel hangin'
from the eend of the handle, and she kept
swingin' it back and forrids to attract atten-
tion ! You look as if you didn't belii ve it, Jfies
Pettengill ; but it 's the gospil truth — that gal
actooally kerried a cane, and she warn't the
only one, neither, for I see half a dozen other
women kerrying 'era, there at Niagary !
Niece Ruth Ann, she smiled, and said how the
French Empress Eugeny had lately Bet the
fashion — she read it in the papers. "Waal,"
sez I, "the news has got acrost the Atlantic
Ocean mighty quick, seems to me ; but I hope
it won't get to be a common fashion here, or
else there won't be a dry alder left in my

150

godey's lady's book and magazine.

swamp to home, for all the Bosc'wine gals '11
be kerryin' 'em round, made into little tinty-
tonty walkin' canes I" And I shouldn't won-
der a bit if that Niagary gal heard me, or,
mebbe, suspicioned I was thinkin' of her; for
she kinder tossed up her head and whispered
to her feller, and then they both looked to-
wards me purty sassy, and she flirted off, with
her little cane a-twirlin'.

Bimeby, arter I 'd sot a spell admirin' the
American Falls under my blue umberill, jest
as safe as you 'd feel ter home in yer own
house in a heavy thunder shower, and Ruth
Ann and her folks had picked some little
sprigs of leaves a-growing rite on the edge
and all wet with the water, to kerry home
and press, Mister Wetherell, he led the way
round to another path, where we could get
the best sight of the Canady Falls ; so I shet
down my umberill and followed 'em. Why
they should call the biggest fall the " Canady"
one, is more'n /can 'see; becos, you know,
the United States own half of the river right
through lengthivays, so 'f we 've really got the
whole of one falls and half of t' other, and
then, seein' that all the rest of the big rivers
and the lakes are ourn, Canady's welcome to
the little piece of Niagary she can chip off at
one corner ! I believe in givin' everybody their
due — English or Injun; but they shouldn't
have an inch of land, or a bucket of water,
more 'n belonged to 'em to brag on, if I was
President of the United States, and my name
was Miss Sophrony Ward, of Bosc'wine, New
Hampshire !

There, Miss Pettengill ! I can't begin to tell
you all about this ere Falls ; but we walked
along a path, and out acrost a little bridge
built over the stones and runnin' water, and
then up inter a tall stone buildin' they called
"a tower," shaped jest like Bunker Hill
Monyment, on a small scale, with stairs
windhi' up round the inside like a corkscrew,
and a platform round the outside most up to
the top, where you could go out and stand,
and see all the American side and over inter
Canady inter the bargain.

When we got up there, who should we see
amongst the crowd, but the folks we 'd met
afore — the fat, pompous man and his wife —
and they did look dredful red and swetty, and
the young gal and her whiskered beau !
Somehow, that gal didn't seem ter take ter
me at all — else my blue umberill didn't come
up to her little cane — for, the minnit she see

me a-comin' up stairs, she pussed up her lips
kind of scornfully, and tittered, and whispered
to her feller, and then they both seemed to be
injoyin' theirselves amazingly. All on a sud-
den, a little arterwards, while Mister Weth-
erell and Ruthy Ann walked round ter the
other side of the platform, the whiskered
feller come up ter me, and sez he, a-bowin' :
"Ma'am, perceivin' that you have an air of
antiquity about you, will you be so kind as
to satisfy my curiosity whether this edyfice is
constructed after the fashion of the tower of
Babel?" and there he stood afore me jest as calm
and sassy as if I was green enough to believe
he warn't pokin' fun. " But," sez I ter myself,
"yer don't skeer Sophrany Ward so easy, if
she never was ter Niagary afore !" So I jest
looked back as calm and perlite as he, and
sez : " My young friend, I left my Bible in my
room, number 21, up to the tavern; but I'll
set down and wait here till you can go up and
get it, or borry one of the landlord, seein' *
how you ain't got any ter read yerself ; and
then, I should be glad to find the chapter for
you, where it tells all about that buildin',
arter which we can compare notes on the
subjick!" I wish, to the land, you could a-
seen that feller arter I answered him, Miss
Pettengill ! The folks round kinder lafled ;
and he never sed another word, but crept
away, lookin' as if he 'd been eatin' a big
slice of humble pie ; but the gal, I guess she
didn't feel enny too clever towards me, neither!
Waal, arter that, we went down from the
tower and walked round an hour or two on
the island — turniu' this way and that through
the paths to see all the sights — and goin
down a long pair of windin' stairs inter a
little cubby hole of a house, where Rutli Ann
and her husband dressed themselves in reg-
ular Bloomer clothes, and put oil silk caps
onter their heads, and went in under the
Falls inter a pitch-dark place called the "Cave
of the Winds," where they had to have a guide
and a lantern and pay a dollar apiece for the
job. They coaxed me to go 'long of 'em ;
but sez I : "Niece Ruth Ann, you 're crazy,
to think of such a thing ! But, if you 're a
mind to run the risk of gettin' the rheumatics
in every bone and joint, and payin' money
besides to hear the wind howl, when, enny
November day you can hear it for nothin', like
all possessed, round the gable end of my old
house to home in Bosc'wine, then you may;
but I've got more sense !" so I jest sot down,

MRS. WARDS VISIT TO NIAGARA.

151

an 1 waited for 'cm to come out, expectin'
nothin' bat they '.1 have to Buffer for't; but
when they come back, they both declared
they never felt better in their lives — though I
had my doubts inside.

Waal, that finished the order of exercises
for that day. Mister Wetherell, he sed we 'd
had jauntin' enough for one forenoon: and
so we sot out for the tavern, as 'twas gettin'
to be purty nigh dinner-time. Jest as we
got nigh about to the bridge at the edge of
the island — and Ruth Ann and her husband
was walkin' on before, and I a-laggin' a little
behind — who should I come up aginst, a-
turnin' a corner of the path, but that same
gal and feller agin, while her father 'n mother
was on afore !

I was agoin' rite past 'em when tlio feller
stopped, and sez he agin, in that kinder sassy
way of his, sez he: "Ma'am, I beg your
parding for troublin' you once more; but,
since you seem to be a very well informed in-
dividooal, can you tell us where we shall be
likely to find some of the anymals from
whom this island derived its cognomen ? for I
have searched everywhere without success."
'Waal, young man," sez I, back, "I guess
you won't find many on 'em — leastways, 1
hevn'tmet but one this mornin' !" lookin' him
full rite inter his hairy face ; for, jest then, it
come acrost me like a Hash where I 'd seen
his picter afore, and that was in the old story-
book about Alexander Selkirk, where he was
a-playin' on his corn-stalk fiddle, and learnin'
his goats to dance on the island of Juan Fer-
nandez. I declare, Miss Pettengill, that answer
of mine sbet him up complete ! You never
see a feller so chop-fallen ; and the gai she
turned just as red as fire, and was mad
enough to eat me np. But I never minded
'em no more 'n nothin' at all ; but walked on,
and overtook Ruth Ann and her husband afore
they got home to the tavern.

Arter we 'd got rested, we had our dinner.
That is the great affair of the day at the
Kiagary tavern ; and, I believe to the land,
Miss Pettengill, that you and I, with all our
bakin' and churnin', don't git ImIj so beat
out as them fashionable women do who live
about at taverns, a-dressin' and a-fixin' for
their meals. The way the silks, and laces,
and ribbons, and jewelry, shone at the dinner
table all the time I was there to Niagary, did
»eem to me a dreadful sin, these war times !
vol. lxix. — 13

but then they say money was never plenties
than now.

Jest as we was ready to go down stairs, Mister
Wetherell, he come to wait upon us; and sez
he, kinder sinilin' : "Waal, Aunt Sophrony,
I 've ascertained who the group are who at-
tracted your attention out at the Falls this
morning. They are Mister and Mrs. Shoddy
and their daughter from New York, and the
young whiskerands is Mister Julius Alonzo
Greenback — worth several millions more or
less, they say!" You see, he'd been and
read their names in the book kept to the
tavern, Miss Pettengill. "Do tell?" sez I.
" I want to know if this is the Mister Shoddy
that 's been in the papers so much ever since
the war fust broke out ? Waal, if he 's got such
a large fortin' as you tell for, it 's came by on-
lawful and onrighteous specylation ; and I only
hope his riches '11 take wings and fly away, as
quickas thecoats he makes forourpoor soldiers
drop off of their backs — and, if they do, he
won't keep his family ter Niagary more 'n a
irirk longer, I reckon!" Mister Wetherell he
laffed ; and sed he guessed 'twant a very bad
wish of mine ; and Ruth Ann she said :
'•This Miss Shoddy must be the very woman
she 'd read about in the papers, who bought
a set of diamond jewelry at Tiffany's in New
York, and put 'em rite on afore she left the
store," and then Mister Wetherell he laffed
agin', and said, "in all probability she hadn't
taken 'em off sence" — and by that time we'd
got down stairs inter the long dinin'-hall.

When we were sot down to dinner, I looked
over opposite, and there, t'other side of the
table, down a little piece, I spied them very
Shoddys agin, dressed out like kings and
i,'i ■■ens. and takin' on the greatest airsl I
jest sot, and watched 'em kinder quiet, while
the waiters was a-bringin' on the vittles.
Mister Shoddy he was redder and pompouser
'n ever, and Miss Shoddy she had on the-
stiffest silk gown — 'twould a-stood alone —
jest the color of russet leather, and the bla-
zinest bosom pin and ear nabs, almost as big
and bright as the drops of the shandylier in
the old South Meetin'-'us in Bostin. I knew,
in a minnit, they were the ones she bought in
that great jewelry shop in New York. And
the darter, she was finnified up in a flowered
dress of some kind of silky stuff — Ruth Ann,
she called it " grannydean" — and wore a great
string of pearls round her neck, and a bracelet

152

GODEY S LADY S BOOE AND MAGAZINE.

to match ; though, for all the world, they
didn't look a hit hetter 'n the string of wax
heads your Jemimy wore over to Kate Simpson's
party last Fast night ! But Ruth Ann, she
said they were rale pearls, and Tery costly,
and she knows all about sech things, becos,
you see, her daughter, Georgyanny's beau
that was — her husband that is now — made
Georgy a present of a beautiful pearl set of
jewelry when they were married. A fust-rate
husband he makes, too ! They 've been mar-
ried two year next Christmas. Mebbe you
remember my tellin' you how they went
together to the great ball the Bostin folks give
to the Prince of Wales, when he paid a visit
to their city ?

But to go back to them Shoddys 1 You 'd
a-laffed out — I know you would, Miss Petten-
gill — to see the airs that woman and her
darter put on ! You 'd a-thonght they owned
all Niagary and the Canady side, too, if yon 'd
seen 'era order round the waiters, and poke
the vittles away from 'em as if 'twarn't as
good as they had ter home. "Ten ter one,"
thinks I, as I watched 'em, "that woman
was a milliner's 'prentice when she was a gal,
and most likely done her own housework till
this war broke out, and her husband got rich
by cheatin' government in a contract !" Such
kind of folks alters make a fuss when they
step out of their own element. And that
young man — it done me good to see him try
and eat with them whiskers, and moustachers,
and goatees a-tanglin' about his mouth. If
I 'd a-been his mother or his gardeen, afore
he sot out on his journey I 'd a clipped him
closer 'n we shear our sheep in June. I do
like to see a clean, respectable face on a man !
It looks as if he 'd got more hair 'n brains,
when he kivers it up with so much under-
brush.

It was the greatest dinner I ever sot down
to ! There were lots of curis dishes, with
outlandish, Frenchified names printed on the
little newspaper they had to let you know
what they'd got cooked; and when I could
git a chance at the waiters for them Shoddy
people, I called for all the foreignest ones,
jest to see what they tasted like. But la,
Miss Pettengill, you, 'n I, 'n ennybody else,
could manufacture jest sech dishes, if we
chopped the ingrediences all into mincemeat,
and then dressed 'em off with green leaves,
and put on a few ornyments, and finnified 'em
np with a French or Latin name ! 'Twas

more in the way they were cooked than what
they were made of! Before dinner was half
over, I hated the sight of them Shoddys !
They called for everything, and then didn't
finish up eatin' nothin', and sent off their
plates every two or three minnits for clean
ones. I should like to hev that Shoddy gal
spend a week with the Shakers over to Can-
terbury, who hev a rule, you know, that a
body shan't take out more 'n they want to
eat, and shall leave nothin' on their plate.
Some folks imagine it looks as if they was used
to everything, to make all the trouble they
can ; but 'pinions don't agree on that pint.

There was a young lady — and her father,
Is'posed, a fine lookin' old gentleman, who sat
jest opposite me ; and she was a rale lady, too,
I knew, the minnit I set my eye on her. She
looked so purty and neat, in her plain, nice
dress, and wore no jewelry except a bosom
pin, and a little gold watch, more for use than
show, and only one ring that sparkled every
time she lifted her white hand, though the
diamond stone warn't half so large as the
Shoddy gal's, and her lace collar was s6ft and
fine as a cobweb round her slender white
neck. I couldn't help hearkening when she
give her orders to the waiters, and she spoke
as soft and low as the South wind when it
blows over my bed of lady's delights in the
garden ; and there warn't a thing in her
manner that said "I'm better 'n the rest of
the folks here at Niagary!" I felt dredful
curis to know who they were ; and, to satisfy
me, Mister Wetherell, he found out they were
Judge Lorimer and his darter — the old judge
bein' one of the highest and wealthiest lawyers
in the country. I tell you, Miss Pettengill, I
hevn't seen but a small part of the United
States, lettin' alone the rest of the world ; but
I can tell a rale lady from a sham one, the very
minnit I put my eye on her ; and them two
gals, who set side by side at that table, warn't
no more to be compared, than coarse, un-
bleached cotton, and the finest linen lawn.
And I can tell another thing, too, which you
may put down for Gospel truth — this war's
goin' to turn out a whole flood of Shoddi/s
on the country — folks who git rich at cheatin'
government, and wrongin' our poor, brave
soldiers, and then set themselves up to dress
and travel, and spend money in that reckless
kind of way, that shows they never were in
the habit of havin' ennything afore. To tell
the truth, I see so many flounces and (lutings,

MRS. WARDS VISIT TO NIAGARA.

153

and gores ami trails, and diamonds and gold
bracelets, and lace ends and lappets, and
embroidered things at Niagary, that it did
seem good to look down at uiy plain black boui-
byzine gown, that only cost me a dollar and
ninepenoe a yard, doubliu' width, over to
Concord, before prices riz so, these dreadful
war times ! Ruth Ann, too, she sed she should
tell her dressmaker to make all her dresses
without a bit of trimmin', only hooks and
eyes the rest of her life, though Mister
Wetherell — he 's the master hand Sorfun — he
declared "he should go to New York on his
way home, and hev all his pantaloons and
coats trimmed round with jlutin\ so 's to be
in fashion afore he went back to Bostin."

Waal, time passed, and we staid two weeks
at Niagary ; and most every day we went off
to some place or other, either walkin' orridin'.
There was the Whirlpool — just like the Mael-
strom iu the gography books off the coast of
Norway, only not so big, of course — and the
great Suspension Bridge that 's all a-teter
when the railroad keers go over it — aud lots
of other places to see ; but I must tell you
partickelarly about the visit we paid to the
Canady side one day, over to Table Rock.

It was a long spell afore Ruth Aun and her
husband could get me to trust myself in a little
boat on the rushin', tumbliu' Niagary river ;
but at last I give in, and we sot out. In the
fust place, we had to go down the high, steep
bank of the river, and there was a little slautin'
railroad, with a keer shaped exactly like a
sleigh that was let down and brought up by
a rope turnin' on a windlass ; but I felt kinder
skittish about trustin' myself to sech an on-
sartin method of conveyance, and so walked
down a long pair of stairs that clean tuckered
me out. Then we got inter the boat — Mister
Wetherell, Ruth Ann, and I, and the man
that rowed — and sot sail for the Canady shore.
You see, the river run so rapid, aud we
warn't more 'n forty rods below the Falls, that
we couldn't cross in a straight line ; so we
went, fust up, and then down, and in that
way we come out safe on the shore opposite
where we 'd started from.

That Canady side was the rockiest, misera-
blest place I ever did see, Mat IVttengill !
\ou might a-took the foundations for a dozen
cities out of the rocks layin' round loose jest
where we landed, and then had so many left
they wouldn't 'a' been missed. We clim' up
the steep bank a piece, and come out in a

kind of road; and then Mister Wetherell, he
hired a man, who was waitin' there with a
kerridge, to kerry us over to Table Rock,
which was consid'able ways off; and so we
rid along, past two or three taverns where the
English people stop when they come to Niag-
ary. Everybody who 's ever heerd of the
Falls, lias heard of Table Rock — but I must say,
Miss Pettengill, I was tltsappinted! 'Twa'n't
a speck more 'n four or live times bigger 'n
my fiat front-door step ; though, they say, it
keeps crumblin' away and fallin' down — and
of course, bimeby, there won't be nothin' left.
We staid a spell, and then were comin' away,
when an old, lame English soldier who 'd got
wounded in the war o* eighteen hundred 'n'
twelve up on the Canady lines, and who sot
there, sunnin' himself ou a bench close by,
got to talkin' with Mister Wetherell, and sez
he : " There 's a countryman of yours stoppin'
over to the Clifton House, sir!" pointin1 off
to a tavern that sot some ways distant on the
high ground. "Ah!'' sez Mister Wetherell,
lookin' round ter me and smilin', and sayin',
" Do you hear that, Aunt Sophrony ?" and I
knew he said so jest to hear what answer I'd
make to the Englisher. " Waal," sez I back,
"I can't say I admire his taste, becos, for my
own part, I should prefer stoppin' on the side
where I should feel the most to home ; not
but what I like to set foot once on Queen Vic-
tory's soil, jest to hev it to tell on ter home,
seein' as how I journeyed once all the way
from Bosc'wine, New Hampshire, down to
Bostin, to see the young Prince of Wales,
when he came over in a sociable way to pay
our folks a visit."

"And did you see him?" asked the old sol-
dier, brightenin' up. "Yes," sez I back.
"And what's more, I had a long set-down
with him ; and Albert Edard behaved like a
gentleman, too, and made me a present of this
very ring you see on my finger I" a-holdin' it
up ; for you see, Mia IVttengill, I 'd been
vain enough to put that ring on when I sot
out on my journey. The old Englisher, he
looked kinder as if he didn't exactly believe
me ; but Mister Wetherell, he spoke up jest
then, and sez he : "It 's a f'ict, my good sir !
Your young Prince actooally bestowed the
ring upon this lady at the Revere Uoui-e,
Bostin, at her visit to him three year next
October — and you can perceive the royal crest
upon it!" And when I showed it to him,
there were several of our American folks, be-

154

GODET'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

sides some few Englishers standin' by, who
come Higher to get a sight at it. I did feel
kinder pleased jest then, Miss Pettengill !
bat I didn't show enny vanity, but went on
askin' about this countryman of ourn, who
was a-puttin' up at the Canady tavern instead
of his own side of the Falls. When I men-
tioned him again, the old soldier kinder twin-
kled his eye, and sez he: "Waal, you see,
I expect he wouldn't exactly feel ter home
amongst his own folks jest now, that's all!"
" Not feel ter home ! Then he 's either a thief
or a. secessioner ."' sez I, right out, "and I don't
know which 's the wust !" And, upon that,
so fur as / could judge of people's thoughts by
their faces, I kinder' guessed all present,
Americans and Englishers, seemed to agree
with me ; and the old soldier he smiled, kinder
scornful like, and sez: "Mebbe you ain't
very wide of the mark, madam !" while Mister
Wetherell whispered : " That 's right, aunty !
stand by your flag on British soil I" jest as
pleased as a school-boy to see me so spunky.
I couldn't help freein' my, mind about that
secessioner afore I come away from the Canady
side. "Waal," sez I, "though I hev been
hand-in-glove with the Prince of Wales, and
wear his ring on my finger, I should be dredful
kinder ashamed to come sneakin' to his coun-
try arter a home I 'd forfeited in my own .' And
though your folks over here are born under
British rule — and they say Queen Victory 's
goin' to give up her crown one day to Albert
Edard, now he 's settled down inter a young
merried man — I don't believe there 's one of
you that 's mean enough to betray your coun-
try and then sneak over inter the United
States for protection ?" I couldn't help speak-
in' out plain, Miss Pettengill ; and there
warn't "\ man of 'em but took off his hat and
give three rousin' cheers ; and I jest stood
still, like the statoot of female American
liberty on Table Rock, while they done it.

Waal, arter that, we went back acrost the
river, and up to our tavern agin. Somehow
or other, it leaked out — mebbe through some
of them folks 'twas over to Table Rock with
us that day — that I 'd been on purty intymate
terms with the futur king of England when
he was on his visit to this country — and the
boarders to the tavern begun to grow dreadful
perlite to me and anxious to make my ac-
quaintance. Mister Wetherell, he sed I was
the lioness of Niagary — he 's a powerful hand
to jokin', you see — but all I had to say then —

and I say the same now — was, that, if folks
was a mind to run arter me jest becos of that
ere sarcumstance of my havin' a little sociable
talk with the Prince, they mite do it and
welcome ! It never made a spec of difference
to me! I was jest as calm as a clock, and as
onconsarned as if I 'd been hand-in-glove with
kings 'n queens all my life. Jest as if that
young Albert Edard was a bit cleverer, or
likelier-lookin' than my Arty to home here
in Bosc'wine, a-kerryin' on the old place;
but then, as I told the Prince himself that
time, one happened to be born Victory's son,
and the other didn't!

But the beater was, them Shoddy folks
actooally turned round and tried to git intro-
duced to me ! and Miss Shoddy, she was
dredful good and perlite, and invited me tq>
take a ride in her kerridge, and told me all!
about her great house on Fifth Avynew in
New York, and showed me all her jewelry ;
and, one day, what do you think she done,
but sent a little note over to my room, "to
beg her dear Miss Ward would be so kind as
to lend her herring the Prince had given her,
to wear to a great party called ' a hop' they
were a-goin' to hev at the tavern that even-
in' ?" I declare, that riz me! I was purty
consid'able riled, I tell you, Miss Pettengill!
To think that Shoddy woman wanted to make
a great spread on a borried ring ; and, jest as
likely 's not, pass me off for some of her rela-
tions ! Mebbe she was mistook in the pair-
son ! I sent her back a very perlite note —
Ruth Ann she writ it for me — sayin' "I should
be glad to obleege her ; but I was purty sure
the ring wouldn't fit her finger!" I told
Ruth Ann " Mebbe she 'd ' hop' when she got
it, if she didn't in the evenin'," and ralely I
ixpected nothin' but what she 'd be offish like
when I met her next time ; but, if she felt it
inside, she never showed it out, but appeared
jist as amiable as afore. And you would a-
laffed, Miss Pettengill, to a-seen how perlite
her darter and that young Mister Greenback
was to me all the time the other folks was I
Jest as though I 'd forgot our little spells of
talk together down by the Falls ; but I allers
make up my mind not to harbor ennything
aginst folks when they show a desire to treat
me with proper respek arterwards. It don't
seem to show a Christian sperrit, in my way
of thinkin', to lay up hard feelins — though,
to be sure, you ain't obleeged to be dredful
thick and sociable with folks you don't like,

Mr.3. ward's visit to Niagara.

and portend you love 'era to death, when, jest

as likely 's not. you 're all the timewishin' 'em

further ! Leastways, 'taint my way of doin' !

But, the land sakes ! how the time does

|go! Five o'olook iu the arternoon, as I live,

■ and I hevn't got done yet a-tellin' you about

'my visit to Niagary ! Seems as if you could set

the days grow shorter arter September sets in,

idon't it, Miss Pettengill ? Wait a minnit till

I put the tea-kittle ou ; and then I '11 finish

up my story !

Arter that, we didn't stay much longer to
ithe Falls. Ruth Anu and her folks they'd
i seen all the Bights ; and Mister Wetherell he
was beginnm' to git anxious about his bizness,
. worritten for fear his pardner and the clerks
shouldn't git along well without him. I never
!see the beat of these Bostin bizness men!
They never feel to home unless they 're in
the store. You jest put one of them on Juan
'Fernandez' desylate island, and he '11 go and
build a store, and fix it up, and git a set of
(account books, aud keep debt and credit with
;all the anyvuals he's tamed, for want of a
Battel lot of customers, I told Mister Weth-
erell so, and it made him laff rale hearty — and
he sed I was about right, he guessed — and,
j for his part, he should feel purtysafe in them
'kiud of operations, 'specially the banks which
I couldn't burst up, unless 'twas a sand bank
leaved in, and then he could draw on another.
So we packed up, and bid the folks good-
by — and that Shoddy woman aetooally kissed
me, and give me a partickeler invitation to
; pay her a visit some time in New York — and
1 got out back for Bostin. Mister Wetherell ho
• was jest as tickled as a boy to git back to his
! store agin. Arter that, when I'd got rested,
Georgyanny and her husband they went off
; for a journey to the White Hills; and so I
thought 'twould be an excellent chance to hev
! company back to Bosc'wine. Ruth Ann she
1 came up, too, for a fortnit, to get a breath of
i the old Granite State air, she Bed ; and I do
j believe she enjoyed every minnit she staid
here. Bimeby, Georgy 'u her husband they
come back by way of Concord ; and then they
all went home to Bostin together.

At fust, I felt consid'able oncasy and lone-
some, come to settle down arter jauntin'
round so and seein' so much company ; but,
arter a spell, I got back inter my old tracks ;
and now, I feel jest as much ter home agin,
Miss Pettengill, as though I never 'd been to
pay a visit to the great Niagary !

13*

MEMORY.

BY CHARLES UORKIS.

Borne on the stream of time,

Sfl Mt thoughts of former days
(.Vine thronging with harmonious chime,

Wheu memory doth raise
The floodgates of my early years —

A varied stream of smiles aad tears.

Friends whom I dearly loved,

Thoughts that my spirit fired,
Bright hopes which faithless visions proved,

Sweat joys long since expired,
All from their ashes rise again,
Like living things within my brain.

And come dark sorrows too ;

Tears shed long years ago
Arise once more aud dim my view,

Phantoms of hitter woe,
Dim shadows of what ouce was keen
When frost first nipped my youthful green.

The fire-sting of pain

Knows sharp yet transient strife ;
Sorrows which in the spirit flame

Expire hut with life.
Oh. could Bad Lethe's waters roll,
Aud pour oblivion o'er the soul !

But ah, a sudden gleam

Of life's first, brightest part,
Like oil flows on the troubled stream

Of sorrow iu my heart ;
As wheu fair Luua's silver light
Breaks through the clouds aud wakes the night.

BIRD SONGS.

BY CLIO STANLEY.

Birds in the nest ! birds in the nest!

They sung rne a song so rare,
That my heart kept time to the merry tnne,
While I listened there iuf^ut sunny June,

Abroad in tho dreamy air.

Many a time! many a time!

When Spring came down to earth,
I had heard the far-off mystical chime
Of songs tbat seemed iu my heart to rhyme,

As the bright birds gave them birth.

With a gentle tread ! with a gentle tread !

My childhood wandered by ;
The thoughts that so oft were left u
Are laid away with the buried dead,

But the bird-songs, never die.

Still the summers come ! the snmmi

But the song I heard tbat day,
Standing and watching the river's flow,
As it danced in the Light far down below,

And silently drifted away,

Ever and ever, when day is over,

Comes with a happy drearn,
While Faith, and Hope, and Love once more
Lift their glad winga to the water's roar,

And toss back its dewy gleam.

A FEW FRIENDS.

BY KORMAH LYNN.

FOURTH EVENING.

It was quite refreshing to witness the cor-
dial greeting vouchsafed by Benjamin Stykes
to Lieutenant Hunter on the occasion of the
fourth meeting of the Child-again Society.
Interesting, also, to the philosophical mind,
as proving a nice distinction in social ethics,
viz., a man viewed in the arena of rival lover-
ship, and the same person considered as
possible future brother-in-law, are two very
different individuals ; so, at least, it was
demonstrated to Ben. The conceited puppy
with the brass buttons of their last meeting
now became a fine, spirited fellow, who looked
remarkably well in his uniform (which, entre
nous, would not have been displayed quite so
generously, had the wearer been a major-
general instead of first lieutenant) ; and the
evident affection with which Mary regarded
the gallant warrior now served but to develop
further beauty in her character.

"I only hope," thought Beu, "that neither
ef them noticed what a stupid jackanapes I
made of myself on that charade-evening —
though I strongly suspect that shrewd little
Teresa Adams understood the whole case, and
tried to sustain the delusion." These shadowy
thoughts were, however, soon chased away
by the sunshine of Mary Ciliddon's presence ;
and as her frank glance fell upon Ben, never
revealing in its cry^al depths any knowledge
of his distracted feelings, the youth soon
settled into a state of beatific peace, from
which nothing but the consciousness that, for
the nonce, he must be a " child again" could
arouse him.

After an hour of lively small talk among
the youthful members, and very ponderous
big talk among the older ones, smothered for
a while by a dashing solo by Miss Pundaway,
Ben was sufficiently himself again to propose
what he termed the grand hair-splitting, brain-
straiuiug game of " Yes and No !"

Mr. Simmons, after glancing uneasily at his
majestic spouse, ventured to ask what that
was.

The Chairman replied : "It is, in my opin-
ion, an improvement upon the game of
'Twenty Questions,' which, you are doubt-
15fi

less all aware, has for some time been a
favorite in distinguished circles in Europe.
The great Canning was very fond of it, and
many of the leading men of our dayare not
ashamed to frequently tread its pleasant laby-
rinths. That game, you may remember,
requires that one of the party mentally select
a subject, and the others, dividing the twenty
questions allowed between them, proceed, by
a skilful cross-examination, to discover the
thing chosen. If ordinarily quick-witted,
they seldom fail, for the holder of the thought
is bound to answer truthfully. One drawback
to this method is that generally the game is
marred by a few stunningly leading questions
such as — How do you spell it ? What is it?
But with Yes and No there is no such diffi-
culty. Shall we try it?"

" Will our worthy brother please to explain
further before we commit ourselves?" asked
the Lieutenant.

" Certainly ! For the benefit of new mem-
bers I will state it more fully. One person
must leave the room, while those who remain
proceed to select a ' subject' — any well-known
person, place, thing, or event, for instance.
As soon as this is decided upon, the banished
party is summoned, and he or she must then
try to discover what particular thing, locality,
or action has been chosen, by asking a ques-
tion of every person present in turn, and re-
ceiving an honest reply from each. These
answers are, however, limited to three forms,
either 'Yes,' 'No,' of 'I do not know.'
No other reply can on any account be allowed.
If the questioner does not arrive at the solu- i
tion by the time he reaches the last person,
he can go the rounds again."

"Do people erer guess it?" asked Miss
Pundaway, innocently.

"Certainly they do," responded the Chair-
man, benignly, "or, rather, they discover the
' subject' on logical principles. Guessing at
all is rather out of order iu this game," he
added, with an expression of mock profundity.

The Lieutenant arose.

" I move that our honored spokesman open
the performances by leaving the apartment
himself."

A FEW FRIENDS.

157

" Always obey my superior officers,'' replied
Ben, gayly, as he vanished at a side door.

" Give him me," said Captain Gliddon, in a
stage whisper, looking mysteriously around
at tho company — hitting his breast emphati-
cally as he spoke.

This was agreed upon, and as soon as the
company were properly seated, Mr. Stykes
was called in.

There is no denying the fact that Ben did
not look quite as confident upon entering as
when in his easy way he was explaining the
game. There was even a slight tremor in his
tone as he accosted the lady seated nearest
the entrance with — ■

"Is the 'subject' you have chosen an
event, or is it an article of any kind f"

" No," laughed the lady.

'■ All. pardon me ; my question was wrongly
framed ! /■< the subject an article of any
kind.'1'

" Yes ; a very definite article."

Captain Gliddon, who was next in turn,
looked conscious, and complained that the
answer was " not in order."

"You are right," said Ben, bowing apolo-
getically to the lady, " nothing is allowed but
' Yes,' ' No,' or ' I don't know.' And now is
this an ornamental article ?"

The Captain hesitated with a mock show of
baskfulncss, and half a dozen ladies answered
for him.

"Yes!"

Grown wiser by the laugh that followed,
and remembering the Captain's nautioal ca-
reer, Ben asked No. -i if this "article" had
ever been to sea.

" Do you call that a ' logical deduction ?' "
asked Miss Pundaway, archly, "i call it
guessing."

"I stand corrected," said Ben; "but the
' subject' betrayed himself. Come, Captain,
you must pay the penalty of your indiscretion,
and take a turn in the hall."

The Captain demurred, shaking his head
resolutely: "I appeal to the company," he
insisted, "whether friend Stykes is not bound
in honor to try again."

Poor Ben was instantly overwhelmed with
a chorus of "Certainly!" Scarcely had he
closed the door after him. when every brain
was taxed to find some impossible subject
wherewith to puzzle the amiable youth.

At last a certain article well known In
English literature was settled upon.

The person dispatched to summon Ben
turned, before he opened the door, to say,
With an inquiring glance around the room: —

"It was linen, I suppose?"

"Oh, of course!" answered two or three ;
" we must take that for granted." And Mr.
Pipes sagely observed that its being the gilt
of an Egyptian made the fact doubly certain,
as the Egyptians were always oelebrated for
their purple and fine linen.

As Mr. Pipes looked at Mary Gliddon for
corroboration, she ventured to remark that
she thought the article was made of silk.

"0 yes, so it was !" exclaimed one of the

ladies; "don't you remember the Moor, in

speaking of it, says —

'The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk.' n

This settled the matter.
4

i
Enter Ben, who proceeded to business with

the air of a man who had determined to do

his duty for once.

1st Question. Have you selected an event ?

No.

Is it something that belongs to either of the
three natural kingdoms ?

Yes.

To the mineral kingdom ?

No.

To the animal t

Yes.

Is it an animal or part of an animal P

No.

Manufactured from an animal substance ?

Yes.

Is it one of its kind — famous in itself .'

Yes.

In the world at present?

No.

Was it in the world before the Chi
era?

No.

Before the 15th century?

No.

Before the 18th?

No.

During the present.centnry then, of course.,
mused Ben, sure that he had settled one point
at least.

Nol volunteered a voice that thrilled him,
simply because it was Mary Qliddon's.

No .' exclaimed Ben. Has it ever been in
the world, then ?

No.

Ah, now I begin to see daylight 1 It is an

158

godey's lady's booe and magazine.

imaginary article then. Is the type of this
imaginary article used by mankind ?

Yes.

By womankind also ?

Yes.

Has this mythical article ever been written
about ?

Yes.

By a sacred writer ?

No.

By an ancient writer ?

No.

By any of those Elizabethan fellows ?

Yes.

By Lord Bacon, Spenser, Suckling, Beau-
mont and Fletcher, Herbert, or Drayton ?

No.

By Shakspeare then ? (Why didn't I think
of him before, I wonder!) *

Yes.

Does it figure in one of his comedies ?

No.

Tragedies ?

Yes.

"Let me see," soliloquized Ben ; " so far I
have learned that it is a useful article, or
would have been if real, manufactured from
an animal substance, figuring in one of Shak-
speare's tragedies. Ah, I have it ! Is it a
small article ?"

"Yes," answered Teresa.

" It is Juliet's glove !" exclaimed Ben,
seating himself in order to rest, a la Hercules,
from his labors, never doubting that he had
given the true solution.

"But it's not Juliet's glove," returned
Teresa.

Nothing daunted, Ben sprang to his feet.
"Well, did this article in the play belong to
a lady?"

"Yes — no," was the conscientious reply.

The question was repeated to the next in
turn and answered in the affirmative.

Was it an article of dress ? (Ben should
have asked that question before.)

Yes.

Woollen ?

No.

Silk?

Yes.

Was it a large garment ?

No.

Worn on the head, neck, or arms f

No.

On the body f

No.

On the feet or hands ?

No.

Ben looked distressed. An article of dress
and not worn on the head, body, feet, or
hands —

Was it carried in the hand ?

Yes.

It 's queer. I don't remember a fan in one
of Shakspeare's tragedies.

Suddenly a bright thought struck the ques-
tioner ; still he would not risk a guess, after
so carefully sifting the answers.

Does it appear in Othello ?

Yes.

"Was there 'magic in the web of it,' Miss
Gliddon?"

Mary faltered out a faint "Yes," amid the
laughter and applause of the company.

" Desdemoxa's Handkerchief! I have it
at last. The rule of the game is that the last
person questioned shall 'go out,' " and the
triumphant Ben, taking her hand, pointed
majestically to the door.

The young man was of course supported by
an overwhelming majority : and Mary soon
stood in the hall laughing in advance at the
failure she was about to make.

They gave her as a subject Sir Walter
Raleigh's cloak of muddy notoriety, and
though the young lady was not quite as direct
in her questioning as lawyer Stykes, her na-
tive wit was of great service to her on the
trying occasion. As soon as she had dis-
covered that it was a veritable garment worn
by an English gentleman, famous in the reign
of Queen Elizabeth, her sparkling eyes be-
trayed her knowledge of the right answer
even while, "for logic's £ake," she asked a
few more questions so as to fasten the final
query upon the Lieutenant.

"Was this garment ever trodden by royal
feet?"

"Yes."

"Sorry to disturb you, Sir Walter," said
Mary, laughing at the rueful countenance of
her step-brother, "but we must request you
to leave the presence."

The Lieutenant, after a mighty struggle,
succeeded in winning the " Battle of Water-
loo" from the reticent party — and subse-
quently Teresa Adams electrified the company
by guessing "The Pyramid of Cheops."

Never once, through all the varied question-
ing, and ofttimes perplexed answers, did the

DISSUASIVES FROM DESPONDENCY.— THE WIFE.

150

interest of the company flag. On the con-
trary, "Yes ami No" was pronounced a great
-. worthy the highest approval of the
Society. All agreed that, while it called forth
indirectly a great deal of information for the
nneral benefit, it was extremely entertaining,
and well calculated to develop the thinking
powers of the players.

By subsequent practice tho "Few Friends"
became very expert in the game — able, as
Mr-. Simmons eloquently expressed it, "to
start in boundless space, with all nature, art,
and history before them, and gradually work
their way to a given point."

The more they practised "Yes and No," the
more they enjoyed it, and carrying it to their
own firesides (i. e. furnace-registers) found it
a valuable acquisition to their home pleasures.
They were, of course, always careful iu suiting
the class of " subjects" chosen to the capacity
of the questioners. For instance, it would
have been cruel to give "King Arthur's
Sword, Excalibar" as a subject for Mr. Sim-
mons ; while the "Bastile," "George Wash-
ington," and "Central Park" would surely
fall within his range of information. Friend
Anna, for instance, who was noted for her
passie attainments, guessed correctly "The
Pebbles that Demosthenes practised with,"
and "The Golden Apples of the Hesperides,"
though, to be sure, there was some little bung-
ling and merriment over the answering ; yet
the same subjects given to another might
have occasioned only pain and embarrassment.
In short, when conducted with good taste and
kind feeling, " Yes and No," is the very prince
of innocent and intellectual games.

DISSUASIVES FROM DESPONDENCY.

If you are distressed in mind — live ; seren-
ity and joy may yet dawn upon you. If you
have been happy and cheerful — live ; and
diffuse that happiness to others. If misfor-
tunes assail you by the faults of others — live ;
you have nothing wherewith to blame your-
self. If misfortunes have arisen from your
own misconduct — live ; and be wiser in future.
If you are indigent and helpless — live ; the
face of things, like the renewing seasons, may
happily change. If you are rich and prospe-
rous— live ; and enjoy what you possess. If
another has injured you — live; the crime
will bring its own punishment. If you have

injured another — live ; and recompense good
fur evil. If your character he unjustly at-
tacked— live ; and you may see the aspersions
disproved. If the reproaches be well founded
—live ; and deserve them not in future. If
you be eminent and applauded — live ; deserve
the honors you havo acquired. If your suc-
cess be not equal to your merit — live ; in
thonghtfulness and humility. If you have
been negligent and useless in society — -live ;
and make amends. If you have beeu indus-
trious and active — live ; and communicate
your improvement to others. If you have
spiteful enemies — live ; and disappoint their
malevolence. If you have kind and faithful
friends — live, to protect them. If you have
been wise and virtuous — live, for the benefit
of mankind. If you hope for immortality —
live ; and prepare to enjoy it. If you ever
expect to reach the mansions above, don't
quarrel with your minister about everything be-
ing foreordained, but love everybody, whether
they be enemies or not, and above all, put
your trust in Him who will never desert His
children in their hour of need, if they call
upon Him in sincerity and love.

THE WIFE.

A delicate attention to the minute wants
and wishes of a wife tends, perhaps, more
than anything to the promotion of domestic
happiness. It requires no sacrifices, occupies
but a small degree of attention, yet is the
fertile source of bliss ; since it convinces tin;
object of your regard that, with the duties of
a husband, you have united the more punctil-
ious behavior of a lover. These trivial tokens
of regard certainly make much way in the
affections of a woman of sense and discernment,
who looks not to the value of tho gifts she
receives, but perceives in their frequency a
continued evidence of the existence and ardor
of that love on which the superstructure of
her happiness has been erected. To preserve
unimpaired the affections of her associate, to
convince him that in his judgment of her
character, formed antecedently to marriage,
he was neither blinded by partiality nor de-
luded by artifice, will be the study of every
woman who consults her own happiness and
the rules of Christian duty. The strongest
attachment \riR decline, if it suspect that it is
received with diminished warmth.

NOVELTIES FOR AUGUST.

ADOLPHE COAT, BONNETS, COIFFURES, ETC. ETC.
Fig. 1. f

Fig. 1. The Adolphe Coat. — Our illustration

of this very novel and stylish garment so

clearly depicts the arrangement of it that an

explanation is scarcely necesStry. In Paris,

160

both low and high coats have been much worn,
and for high dresses we predict the fashion
will he a favorite one. Our diagram consists ',
of seven pieces — 1. The front. 2. The back. '

NOVELTIES FOR AUGUST.

161

DIAGRAM OF ADOLPnE COAT.

3. The side-pieee that fits into the back. 4.
The sleeve. 5. The revers for the front of
bodice. 6. The revers for the basque or tail
behind. 7. The collar. A row of tiny holes
on the sleeve indicates the upper and under
portion, the smallest piece being for the under
part. For a very elegant garment the revers
should be in white silk, strapped with black
velvet, but if required for a more useful style
silk the same as the dress, or black silk, may
be employed. The front of the coat is like a
dress bodice, open a little in front, and orna-
mented with a revers which is carried round
under the arms and ends in the revers on the
basque. A tiny collar finishes the top of the
dress behind ani just meets the revers in front.
The back is shown with 3 stars, indicating the
centre. The side-piece is numbered 1, to cor-
respond with Fig. 1 on the back. The front
is numbered 2 under the arm, and fits into
the side-piece to the corresponding Fig. 2.
The revers for back is numbered 1, and must
be placed exactly over the figures 1 of side-
piece and back. The front revers joins at the
two letters A to the back revers, and the collar
meets the revers at B.

Fig. 2 is a bonnet of white chip, with loose
crown of spotted tulle : all round the Upper
edge of crown is a band of plaid ribbon, and
on the top part of crown is a half diamond of
tulle, edged with the plaid ribbon, and a che-
nille fringe to match the plaid. The curtain
is of white lace, and has in the centre a small
square of plaid ribbon, edged at the bottom
and sides by chenille fringe. The strings are
of white silk, and the cap is of blonde or tulle,
and is trimmed with roses, rose-buds, and
bluets.

Fig. 3 is a Mousqnetaire hat of Leghorn or
white straw. Bound the hat is a scarf of blue
ribbon, with a large bow and long fringed
ends at the back ; in front is a rosette of
black and white speckled feathers, surrounded
by an edging of bine flowers or bluets. The
brim is edged with black velvet. •

Fig. 4 is a black crinoline bonnet, with
loose crown of white spotted tulle ; the crown
is divided from the bonnet by a shaped piece
of pink silk, edged at the bottom with a nar-
row black velvet and a jet fringe, and having
in the centre a group of white roses, rose-
buds, and a few tufts of grass ; the front echje

162

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Fig. 2.

Fig 5.

Fig. 6.

Fig. 7.

of bonnet is finished by a narrow guipure lace
turned back. The curtain is of pink silk,
edged with a black velvet and jet fringe ; the
strings are of pink silk, and the cap is of
blonde -or tulle, trimmed with white roses,
buds, and a few fullings of black lace.

Fig. 5 is a dress bonnet, composed entirely
of fullings of white tulle, those on the crown
being formed into a species of bouillons, divided
lengthwise at intervals by small artificial
pearls ; at the top of front, rather towards the
left side, is a group of green leaves, with a
tuft of white silk or feathers; the curtain is
formed of broad white lace. The strings are
of white silk, and the cap is of blonde, trimmed
at top with a group of large white flowers.

Fig. 6 is an elegant bonnet of white chip,

with loose crown of spotted net ; the crown
is separated from the front of bonnet by a
black velvet, edged with black lace ; at the
top of this is a small bow of black velvet, with
a group of roses and rose-buds ; the front edge
is bound with black velvet, close to which are
two rows of narrow black velvet. The strings
are white, and the curtain is covered with
black lace, and has a bow and long ends of
black velvet at the back. Cap of blonde,
trimmed with roses and buds.

Fig. 7 is a Leghorn bonnet ; the front edge
trimmed with a shaped piece of maize silk,
plaited like a fan towards the top ; at the top
is a plume of maize ostrich feathers. Strings
of maize silk, and blonde cap with a few rosea
and rose-buds.

NOVELTIES FOR AUGUST.

103

Fig. 8.

Fig. 8.
I made of

— A coat for summer wear. This is scarus with puffings of the same, embroidery,
muslin, and ornamented upon the | and Valenciennes edging.

Fig. 9.

VOL. LXIX. — 14

164

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Fig. 11.

Fig 10.

Fig. 9. — Fashionable sleeve.
Fig. 10. — Half wreath, composed of crimson
roses, white flowers, and foliage.

Fig. 11. — A coiffure composed of scarlet
velvet, spun glass, a white flower, and a gilt
butterfly.

NEW BRAIDING PATTERN.

PREPARED AT THE ESTABLISHMENT OF W. CAMKROX,

No. 228 North Eighth Street, Philadelphia.

work; department.

165

THE MARGUERITE POUCH, OR AUtfO-

NIKIIK.

i >■ i; pattern is in dark bine velvet, lined
with white silk. Tlio ornaments, tlio lock
and chain, arc in steel. The velvet may be
worked with a pattern in braiding or beads,
irs with steel beads,, the steel hanging
ornaments replaced by tassels made with steel
beads, and the chain by a blue velvet ribbon

now so much in vogue. They make a pretty
finish to a linsey die u

embroidered with the same. Pouches of this
description are very much worn made of
leather, and in this material correspond well
with the leather trimmings and waistbands

PATTERN FOR A TIDY OR COUNTERPANE.

(See engraving, page Ill )
Mot. ri<ilx. — Cotton, >'o. tj. Steel hook sufficiently lurge
to carry tin1 cotton.

To be worked in stripes. Each thick pat-
tern consists of three squares, which are
afterwards to he sewed together.

JVrsJ /'>r th, Foundation. — Make 4 ch, unite
the lirst with the last loop; then in every
loop work 2 de (8 in all).

Next. — * 2 eh, 8 double long in the first
loop of the next de {these are made In/ first twist-
ing the cotton twice over the hook) ; now with-
draw the hook from the loop, place the hook
through the second of the first two chains that
Were made previous to the L stitches, also
through the loop from whence the hook was
withdrawn, and draw it through the loop on
the hook ; then 4 tight chain, 2 de in next
loop of the foundation, and repeat from * till
there are 4 patterns of L stitches*

Nest row. — * In the loop which drew the
last of the 8 L together, make a dc 1 ch,
another de (all in the same loop) ; and in
each of the 2 dcof the foundation (not heeding
tie- chain stitches) work 2 dc (4 in all), not
heed the next chain stitches, hut repeat from
* all round, which will complete the row.

First jilain ran: — 1 de in next loop, * 1
dc in the I ch, 1 ch, 1 dc in same
loop, 1 de in every loop ; then re-
peat from * all round.

Another plain row like the last. —
Finish in the dc pri aienu to the 1 ch
in tic corner, cut the cotton off,
leaving an end out, draw the end
through this one chain, hook it
down at the back, and tie it securely
with the end left out at the com-
mencement. Make as many of these

squares as are i led, and sew them

together in the form indicated by
the engraving, with the same cot-
ton, and stitch by stitch.

For the Or-F.x Work. — Same cot-
ton. 17 ch, turn hack, 1 L in 8th
loop from that on the hook (that chains are
at to 3 ch, 1 £), 2 ch, 1 L in 3d loop for
3 times.

Next row. — * 5 ch T (or turn on reverse side),

166

godey's lady's book and magazine.

1 L on 2d L, 2 ch, 1 L on each of next long
for twice, 2 ch, 1 L in 3d loop ; repeat from
* till there are S rows worked, then (A) 5 ch,
1 L on the end of the row down the side on
the left of the work (the rotes now appear like
L stitches, and must be so called), 2 ch, 1 L on
L, 2 ch, 1 L on L again, 5 ch, T, and repeat
till there are 4 rows, but reckoning on one
side only 8 rows can be counted, now repeat
from (A).

Make a sufficient length of the open work,
then sew it on to the thick stripe. When the
article is completed as to the crochet, short
tufts of cotton are to be tied into each point
of the open work, and sewed into the thick
diamonds.

PORTUGUESE LACE.

The cotton with which the design is worked
is No. 28. The linen should be somewhat old,
without being worn, and should be of the
kind from which sheets are made. An old
linen sheet answers admirably for this kind of
work. An even number of threads must be

iafflKrapitw»7

■}JM&klJM '

mmmm\-

III!:

s a

drawn each way, then the cotton is fastened
with a needle on to one of the bars, and
carried on to the next, which is drawn up
tight, leaving the cotton of sufficient length

not to draw the work. The whole of the
work must be completed one way first, then
the reverse way, each thread crossing in the
centre of an open space. Then again the
cotton is twisted over each former thread of
cotton, fastening the cotton when it crosses
with a firm stitch, then, when it meets the bar
which has been drawn up, make a stitch
here, then cross stitches over the linen, as in
engraving. This kind of work is well adapted
for altar cloths, which should be terminated
with a plain linen band, having a thick em-
broidery design, outlines of leaves or scrolls,
and the ground be dotted with No. 8 embroi-
dery cotton.

A quicker way of working the design is to
obtain some barred muslin. Cut out the thin
part of it, and with No. 60 cotton, overcast all
the row edges. Then complete the work as
before. For summer coverlids for babies' cots
this is admirable.

WOOLLEN BALL FOR THE NURSERY;-
These woollen balls are light, soft, and
pretty, and children can play with them in-
doors without incurring the risk of breaking
anything. We give three iUustrations of the
ball : the last one shows it complete, the two
others in process of making. A great deal of
wool is required to make the ball, but as odd

Fig. l.

ends of all colors can be used, the expense is
insignificant. Our pattern measures 9 inches
round. Begin by cutting two thin card-board

WORK DEPARTMENT.

167

rings 9 inches round, tad
cut out the centre part of
round, see Fig. 1. This
illustration slmirs both the
card-hoard rings placed one
over the other, and partly
covered with wool. The ring
of double card-hoard should
be wound with wool until
the opening in the middle is
filled up; the wool
should be used double, tho
i nda always placed on the
outside edge of the ring, and
the colors, light and dark,

arranged according to taste-
When the opening is quite
filled up, the wool should
be cut, in layers, round

the edges of the card-board.
Fig. 2 shows the wool half
cut, and a line of dots indi-
ates the plaoe where the
rest is to he cut. When all
is cut, divide the two rings
of card-board a little, and
place a piece of string be-
tween them; fasten this
string tightly two or three
times round the ball, then
cut the ends of it, and cut
the rings of card-hoard in
different places so as to be
able to take them out ; the
wool should cover the string
entirely. Thentriui the ends
of wool all over the ball, to
make the surface even and
tin- ball perfectly round,
Smooth, and of a good shape.
Fig. 3 shows the ball com-
plete.

Fif. 2.

Showing the wool half cut, and indication by dots where the remainder of
the wool is to bo cut.

Fig. 3.

INITIAL LETTHG FOR M.VRKINO.

14*

168

godey's lady's book and magazine.

COARSE KNITTING FOR MATS, RUGS, ETC.

Materials. — White knitting cotton; thick ■wool of dif-
ferent colors ; 2 strong steel needles.

This knitting may be done either with any
odd bits of wool placed as they come, without
any preconceived arrangement, or from a

cording to the pattern. The next row is
knitted quite plain. The first stitch is not
slipped, but knitted. In our pattern, 1 row
is always knitted plain, without any ends of
wool, which renders the work soft and downy.
This mode of working always makes the mat
come loncer than it is wide, even when the

pattern for Berlin work ; in this latter case 1
in the pattern must be counted for 4 stitches
in length and width of the knitting, and the
stitches round the edges must be added. As
it would be very inconvenient to work the mat
all in one place, it must be divided into strips,
which should be afterwards joined together by
a seam on the wrong side, so as to match the
pattern exactly. Our illustration shows dis-
tinctly the three shades of color used in our
pattern ; the stitches of the knitting are also
clearly marked. With double knitting cotton
cast on an uneven number of stitches, which
must not exceed 33 or 35 in order to be easily
held in the hand. Knit the first stitch by
itself, then take 2 ends of wool 3£ inches long ;
place them in front of the next stitch to be
knitted on the left hand needle, so that the 4
ends of wool fall towards the wrong side in
equal lengths, and knit the 2 ends with the
next stitch, inserting the needle first in the
stitch and next under the 2 ends of wool
which are in front, and thus forming a loop
for the next stitch. The next stitch is knitted
plain. Go on in this knitting alternately 1
stitch with 2 ends of wool, and 1 stitch plain
to the end of the row. Change the colors ac-

pattern is square. Three rows may also be
worked without wool between those with, which
allows the mat to be made with less wool ; the
pattern must be exactly followed. The knit-
ting must be done very tightly.

INITIAL FOE MARKING PILLOW-CASES, ETC.

TATTING INSERTION.

mm&

WORK HEl'AKTMEXT.

1G9

NAMES FOE MARKING.

BRAIDING PATTERN.

EMBROIDERY.

INITIAL LETTERS FOR MARKING TILLOW-CASES, ETC.

170

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINI

MISCELLANEOUS COOKING.

Baked Beef and Potatoes. — The cheapest pieces of
beef, suitable for baking or roasting, consist of the thick
part of the ribs, cut frum towards the shoulder, the mouse
buttock and gravy pieces, and also what is commonly
called the chuck of beef, which consists of the throat boned
and tied up with string in the form of a small rouud.
Whichever piece of beef you may happen to buy, it should
be well sprinkled over with pepper, salt, and flour, and
placed upon a small iron trivet in a baking dish contain-
ing peeled potatoes and about half a pint of water, and
cither baked in your own oven or else sent to the baker's.
If you bake your meat in your own oven, remember ihat
it must be turned over on the trivet every twenty minutes,
and that you must bo careful to baste it all over now and
then with the fat which runs from it into the dish, using
a spoon for that purpose.

Potato Dumplings are made thus: Peel some potatoes
and grate them into a basin of water ; let the pulp remain
in the water for a couple of hours, drain it off, and mix
with it half its weight of flour ; season with pepper, salt,
chopped onions, and sweet herbs. If not moist enough,
add a little water. Roll into dumplings the size of a large
apple, sprinkle them well with flour, and throw them into
boiling water. When you observe them rising to the top
of the saucepan, they will be boiled enough.

Pea Sol-p. — Cut up two and a half pounds of pickled
pork, or some pork cuttings, or else the same quantity of
scrag end of neck of mutton, or leg of beef, and put any
one of these kinds of meat into a pot with a gallon of
water, three pints of split or dried peas, previously soaked
in cold water over night, two carrots, four onions, and a
head of celery, all chopped small; season with pepper,
but no salt, as the pork, if pork is used, will season the
soup sufficiently ; set the whole to boil very gently fur
at least three hours, taking care to skim it occasionally,
and do not forget that the peas, etc., must be stirred from
the bottom of the pot now and then; from three to four
hours' gentle boiling will suffice to cook a good mess of
this most excellent and satisfying soup. If fresh meat is
used for this purpose, salt must be added to season it.
Dried mint may be strewn over the soup when eaten.

Bacon Roll-Pudding. — Boil a pound of fat bacon for
half an hour, and then cut it up iuto thin slices. Peel six
apples and one onion, and cut them in slices. Make two
pounds of flour iuto a stiff dough, roll it out thin ; first
lay the slices of bacon out all over this, and then upon the
slices of bacon spread out the slices of apples and the
slices of onion ; roll up the paste so as to secure the bacon,
etc., in it ; place the bolster pudding in a cloth, tied at
each end, and let it boil for two hours in a two-gallon pot,
with plenty of water.

Boiled Bacon and Cabbages. — Put a piece of bacon in
a pot capable of containing two gallons; let it boil up,
and skim it well ; then put in some well-washed split
cabbages, a few carrots and parsnips also split, and a few
peppercorns ; when the whole has boiled gently for about
an hour and a half, throw in a dozen peeled potatoes, and
by the time that these are done, the dinner will be ready.
And this is the way in which to make the most of this ex-
cellent and economical dinner. First, take up the bacon,
and having placed it on its dish, garnish it round with the
cabbages, carrots, parsnips, and potatoes, and then add

some pieces of crust, or thin slices of bread, to the liquor
in which the bacon-dinner has been cooked, and this will
furnish you with a good wholesome soup with which to
satisfy the first peremptory call of your healthy appe-
tites.

To Escallop Potatoes. — Having boiled, beat them fine
in a bowl, with cream, a large piece of butter, and a little
salt. Put them into escallop shells, make them smooth
on the top, score with a knife, and lay thin slices of butter
on the tops of them. Then put them into an oven to brown
before the fire.

Knuckle of Veal and Rice. — Put the knuckle of veal
into a boiling pot, with a pound of bacon, two pounds of
rice, six onions, three carrots cut in pieces, some pepper-
corns, and salt in moderation on account of the bacon;
add three or four quarts of water, and set the whole to
stew very gently over a moderate fire for about three
hours. This will produceagood substantial dinner tor at
least ten persons.

Buttered Parsnips. — Scrape or peel the parsnips, and
boil them in hot water till they are done quite tender,
then drain off all the water, add a hit of butter, some
chopped parsley, pepper, and salt; shake them together
on the fire until all is well mixed.

Eggs Stewed with Cheese.— Fry three eggs in a pan
with one ounce of butter, seasoned with pepper and salt,
and when the eggs are just set firm at the bottom of the
pan, slip them off on to a dish, cover them all over with
some very thin slices of cheese, set tho dish before the fire
to melt the cheese, and then eat this cheap little tit-bit
with some toast.

CAKES, PUDDINGS, ETC.

Breakfast Cakes. — Three pounds of flour, one-half
pound of butter, one-half pound of sugar, a pint of milk,
the white of one egg', and a quarter of a pint of yeast.
Rub the butter and the sugar into the flour, add the milk
and white of egg ; then beat in the yeast and set the dough,
when thoroughly mixed, before the fire to rise. Roll it
out into small cakes, shaped without cutting, and bako
them on tins.

Another. — Two pounds of flour, four eggs, one and a-
half pounds of butter, some ginger, caraway seeds, citron,
half a pint of cream, and some milk, and a little yeast.
Mix the butter with the flour, beat up the eggs, and add
then the cream, ginger, caraway seeds, and citron to
taste, three teaspoonfuls of yqast, and milk enough to
make it of a right thickness. Beatall thoroughly together
with a spoon, set it before the fire to rise, and when it has
risen drop it in cakes upon tins and bake them.

Tea Cakes. — One pound of flour, one-half pound of
sugar, the yolks of three eggs, some caraway seeds, and
a little nutmeg. Make all into a stiff paste, divide this
into flat cakes, and bake them upon tins.

Potatoe Cakes. — Take two pounds of very mealy boiled
potatoes, mash them very fine with a little salt, mix them
with two pounds of flour, add milk enough to make this
into dough, beating it up with a spoon, and put a little
yeast. Set it before the fire to rise, and when it has risen
divide it into cakes the size of a muffin, and bake them.
These cakes may be cut open and buttered hot. They are
particularly nice.

Green Corn Pudding. — Take of green corn full in the j
milk, twelve ears, and grate them. To this add one quart
of sweet milk, one-quarter of a pound of fresh butter, four
eggs well beaten, pepper and salt as much as deemed j

RECEIPTS.

171

'necessary; stir the ingredients well together, and bake
in a battered dish. Some add i" the other Ingredients *,

quarter of a pound of flue sugar and eat with sauce. It i.->
.u . \. ellenl dish, cold 01 warm, with meat or sauce.

Plai.v Wini: Biscuits.— Take two ounces of fresh butter
•aud rub it into one pound of flour very small iudeed, lie u
.with new milk make it into a stiff paste : this most be
(rolled out to half au inch in thickness, after which cut out
dts, using a round cutter about the size of half a
'crown. Lay them one upon the other until they are all
.done. Again mil thorn oat, making fchem extremely thin,
■fed having pricked them, plane them With the pricked
'side downwards on lightly-floured tin plates. A few

Urates l»;iki itLT in ft moderate oven will suffice. They
jbhould he only slightly browned, but very crisp.

Another. — With oue pound of flour, the yolk of an egg,

|and some milk, make a very stiff paste; beat lifts well
and knead it until quite smooth ; roll it very thin, and

(cut it into biscuits, which must be pricked and baked in a
slow oven until they are dry and crisp.

Another. — One pound of flour, the yolks of two eggs,
and the white of one ; mis all together with enough sweet
buttermilk to make it very still" ^ knead it as hard as pos-
sible and let it rise for an hour, then roll it to the thick-
ness of a wafer, cut into rounds and bake.

Pii>1't.ant Bhort Cake.— Hake a short cake in the usual
way ; equal quantities of buttermilk aud cream, saleratus
in proportion ; when it is baked, split it open and butter

■ both sides well. Have ready some pie-plant stewed (n
sugar sufficiently to sweeten it nicely. Spread it on the
cake, put on the top piece, and it will make a nice dessert.
Cheap IiKMOB m-:*.— Take one large lemon, squeeze out
the juice, cut the peel tine; take one teacup sugar, one
molasses, three water, one sifted flour, one egg, stewed

jsour apple or pie plant, sweetened sufficient for one pie ;

'boil the peel till soft, then put in the flour after wetting it
With cold water ; boil till it thickens ; then add the juice
and other ingredients ; this will make four medium-sized
pie-, to be made with two crusts.

GarFFREs.— Take six new-laid eggs, one-half pound of
fresh butter, one-half pint of cream, one-half pound of
flour, a little yeast, and the rind of a lemon. Beat up the
yolks of the -ix eggs with the butter, and add the cream,
the flour, a teaspoonful uf yeast, a little salt, a little roso-
j water, and the grated rind of one lemon. .Mix all by
'beating up the batter thoroughly, and set it in a warm
rise, lor an hour. Whisk up the whites of the
jftU egp and mix them with the batter, aud bake the
[ ganffrcs over a small stove till they are crisp.

Chocolate Cakes. — Have ready one pound of pounded
j loaf-sugar, one and a quarter pounds of chocolate, also in
' powder, and four new laid eggs. Beat up the whites of
j the four eggs to a stiff whip, and add to them the sugar
| and the chocolate. Beat all well together, and with a
| spoon drop the mixture in little cakes on paper, or on
! Pjper battered or sugared, and bake the cakes in a mod-
erately cool oven.

Plain Biscuits.— Xix one pound of flour and one-half
pound of sugar, and rub in one-half'pouud of batter. Mix
in one ounce of caraway seeds, a little broken, two well-
beaten eggs, and a wineglass of sweet wine. Mix all
well together, roll the dough out thin ; cut out the bis-
cuits, and bake them in a rather quick oven.

Soda Cake. — Four eggs, one pint of sugar, one teacup
of butter, one cup of sweet milk, one quart of flour, oue
teaspoonful of soda, two of cream of tartar.

Ai-M.i\u LEMON I>is>tii: I'mvidn one-half pound of

aim. Hid-, six new-lao! eggB, 006 pOUnd Of loal

anel} powdered] the rinds of threi l< ■■■■ ■■ . one quarter
pound of flue floor, and ■ little orange-flower water.
Blanch and boat the almonds, adding to thei
the m bites ol the six eggs, well b< aten to a froth, and a
little orange-flower water. Add by little and tittle the
rate in the rinds of three lemons. Beat up the

yolks of the eggs and mix (hem in, and add one-quarter

ponnd of floor. Bake them in small pans, well b
which should be about half full. Sift tine sugar over them
when they go into the oven.

ADVICE TO HOUSEKEEPERS

Vegetables will ke>'p b'St uu ii si Hour, if the ail be

excluded ; meat, iu ft cold, dry place, where the air is
freely admitted ; sugar and sweetmeats require a dry
place, bo does salt ; caudles, a cold, but not damp place;
dried meats, hams, bacun, aud tongues, the same. All

sorts of seed for puddings, such as rice, etc., should hs close
covered, to preserve them from insects; but if kept long
that will not be sufficient, unless they be occasionally
Billed. Apples and pears should be laid upon very clean
and dry straw, to prevent a musty taste; nor should they
be exposed to either light or air ; the Hour of a dark garret
is a good place on which to deposit them ; or, what is
still better, shelves made by strips of wood, of about two
Inches wide, placed an inch and a half apart, and the
apples laid between them. They should be ranged singly
in rows, without touching each other, and should be often
inspected, both to wipe them, if damp, and to reject those
which may appear to be getting rotten. The larger sort
of pears should be tied up by the stalk. Apples may also
be preserved In excellent condition for a long period by

being packed in large barrels with dry sand, but reOjOJre
to be used immediately they ;ire taken out.

Coarse nets suspended In the store-room are very useful
in preserving the flner kinds of fruit, lemons, etc., which

are spoiled if allowed to touch. When lemons aud oranges

teap, a proper quantity should be bought and pre-
pared, both for preserving the juice, ami keeping the peel
fur sweetmeats and grating, especially by those who live
in the country, where they cannot always be had; and
they are perpetually wanted iu cookery.

The befit Way of scalding fruits, or of boiling vinegar, is
in a stone jar, Or on a hot iron hearth, or by putting the
rea a] Into i saucepan of bulling water, aft* r it has been
closely corked, but nut quite filled, as the heat may occa-
sion the fruits to swell ; but if they diminish after they
are o<ul, th*.' vessel must then be filled.

Onions, shallots, aud garlic should be hungup fur v,
Use, in ropes from the ceiling; as should dried pari

i i, Bavory, and knottod-marjoram, thyme, and
ragon, to be used when herbs are ordered, but with dis-
cretion, as they are very pungent

When whites of eggs are need fur jelly, or other
purposes, podding i ostard, etc., should be made to employ
the yolks also ; and when only the yolks are wanted, the
whites can be made with milk into blancmange. Should
they not be wanted for Beveral hours, beat them ap with
a little water, aud put them In at ■■> they will

be hardened and useless. It was a mistake of old to
think that the whites made cakos and puddings heavy ;
on the contrary, if beaten long and separately*, they con-
tribute greatly to give lightness, and are also an Imp)
ment iu paste.

1-7-2

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

THE TOILET.

Violet Powder. — A lady's toilet-table is not complete
without this or some other absorbent powder. It not only
dries the skin, but also tends to give a smooth surface and
conceal pimples. The following is its composition, and
any lady can, if she please, make it for herself: Wheat
starch, six parts by weight: orris root powder, two. Hav-
ing reduced the starch to an impalpable powder, mix thor-
oughly with the orris-root, and then perfume with otto of
lemon, otto of bergamot, and otto of cloves, using twice as
much of the lemon as either of the other ottos.

Lotion for the Hair. — Liquor of ammonia and oil of
sweet almonds, two drachms each ; spirits of rosemary,
two ounces; otto of mace, one-half drachm ; rose-water,
two and a half ounces. First mix the almond oil with
the ammonia, then, having added the otto of mace to the
rosemary, shake these np with the oil and the ammonia.
Finally, add the rose-water by degrees. It is to be used
as a lotion, and applied once a day. This compound is a
stimulant, and was made at the suggestion of a pbysician,
for promoting the growth of the hair, and preventing it
falling off.

Hair Wash. — Take a small quantity of rosemary, strip
the leaves from the stalks, aud put them into a jar with
nearly half a pint of cold water. Place the jar near the
fire, and let the contents simmer geutly for an hour or
two, without setting or burning. When the water is some-
what reduced, the infusion will be sufficiently strong.
Then add half a pint of rum, and simmer the whole for a
while longer. When cold, strain tho liquid from the
leaves, and keep it iu a bottle to be ready for use. Apply
it to the roots of the hair with a small sponge or piece
of flannel.

White Llp Salve. — Almond oil, quarter of a pound ;
wax and spermaceti, each one ounce ; otto of almonds,
half a drachm; otto of geranium, quarter of a drachm.

Glycerine Balsam. — White wax, spermaceti, each one
ounce; almond oil, half a pound ; glycerine, two ounces;
otto of roses, quarter of a drachm.

Oil of Roses. — Take olive oil, two pints ; otto of roses,
one drachm ; oil of rosemary, one drachm. Mix. It may
be colored, red by steeping a little alkanet root in the oil
(with heat) before scenting it.

MISCELLANEOUS.

Blackberry and Wine Cordial. — We avail ourselves
of the kindness of a friend to publish the following excel-
lent receipt for making cordial. It is recommended as a
delightful beverage and an infallible specific for diarrhoea
" or ordinary disease of the bowels : —

Receipt. — To half abushel of blackberries, well mashed,
add a quarter of a pound of allspice, two ounces of cin-
namon, two ounces of cloves ; pulverize well, mix, and
boil slowly until properly done ; then strain or squeeze the
juice through homespun or flannel, and add to each pint
of the juice one pound of loaf sugar ; boil again for some
time, take it off, and while cooling, add half a gallon of
the best Cognac brandy.

Dose. — For an adult, half a gill to a gill ; for a child, a
teaspoonful or more, according to age.

Coffee Milk. — Milk, oue pint ; coffee, half au ounce.
Boil for five minutes, and strain or fiue it down, then pre-
serve the clear liquid for use.

Simple Mode of Purifying Water. — It is not so gene-
rally known as it ought to be that pounded alum possesses
the property of purifying water. A tablespoouful of pul-

verized alum sprinkled into a hogshead of water (the
water stirred at the same time) will, after a few hours, by
precipitating to the bottom the impure particles, so purify
it that it will be found to possess nearly all the freshness
and clearness of the finest spring water. A pailful, con-
taining four gallons, may be purified by a single teaspoon-
ful of the alum.

To Preserve Eggs. — Let them boil for one minute, and
they will keep good for a month, or steeped in sweet oil
for a short time, and they will keep good for a long while.

Wrinkled Silk. — To make silk, which has been wrin-
kled and tumbled, appear like new — sponge it on the sur-
face with a weak solution of gum Arabic or white glue,
and iron it on the wrong side.

Eggs for Burns. — The white of an egg has proved of
late the most efficacious remedy for burns. Seven or
eight successive applications of this substance soothe the
pain and effectually exclude the burned parts from tho
air. This simple remedy seems far preferable to collodion
or even cotton.

Faded Ink. — Writing rendered illegible by age may be
restored by moistening it by means of a leather, with an
infusion of galls, or a solution of prussiate of potash
slightly acidulated with muriatic acid, observing so to
apply tho liquid as to prevent the ink spreading.

Crystallized Fruit.— Beat the white of au egg to froth ;
dip your fruit in it, then roll it iu white sifted sugar
candy ; when quite dry place the fruit iu a stove to be
very slowly dried. Or you can dry your fruit first, then
'dip it in white of egg, and then dust it with white sugar, f
or sugar-candy, finally drying it off.

Toothache. — Pulverize about equal parts of common
salt and alum. Gut as much cotton as will fill the tooth ;
damp it ; put it in the mixture, and place it in the tooth.
This is also a good mixture for cleansing the teeth.

CniNEsc Cement.— Pulverized flint glass, ground well I
with the white of an egg, will make a cement for china j
impossible to break.

Bar Soap should be cut into pieces of a convenient size,
and laid where it will become dry. It is well to keep it |
several weeks before using it, as it spends fast when it is
new.

Ice Cream. — Beat the yolk of three eggs light, and stir ]
them into a quart of milk, then add half a pouud of sugar,
a pint of cream, and the peel of two lemons. Set over b
moderate fire, and stir constantly until boiling hot, then
take out the lemon peel, let it become cold and freeze it.

Sealing Wax for Fruit Cans. — Take rosin S ounces
gum shellac 2 ounces, beeswax half an ounce, and if you
desire to have it colored, English vermiliou one aud ;
half ounce. Melt the rosin and stir in the vermiliou
if used. Then add the shellac slowly, and afterward th > ■
beeswax. This will make quite a quantity, aud may bo
melted for use when wanted.

To give Plaster of Paris Casts tite Appearance 01'
Marble. — This may be very successfully done with sma 1
figures in the following' manner: Dissolve oue ounce i
white soap and one ounce of white wax in two quarts i
water. Place it before the fire, and when the whole \i
incorporated the mixture is fit for use; Having well dried
the figure, suspend it by some twine, and dip it iu tic
varnish. In a quarter of an hour's time dip it in again
Thesetwodipswill generally be found sufficient. Put tl (
figure carefully aside, covered from the dust for a wiV.
aud then with a soft rag rub it gently, when a brilliau
gloss will be produced.

foitflrs' £aUe.

LINESS OF THE WORLD AND ITS WOKK.

■ in beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning,
ml tho garments of praise for the 8] doss."

Isaiah lxi. 3.

f] Tin- prophetic glimpse of the blessed change that may

-■■rrowful has ever b«-»-u as the star of hope
» tli" desolate hearted. It bears the Divine stamp of

human literature we do not recollect a writer

inoli l the concealed chords of "human

iadu- --."* those Inner and deep r strings of the bleeding

■Seart and broken hope, with the true genius of a comforter

■Ike th>> < Gaspartn. In ber first work,

1 some years Bince, these tender charities were
charm ; in the Uttle volume before us, she baa

•.voter symphonies of compassion for the

I sorrows of private life, and breathed into the

■ nl the loving cheer of the Saviour's tenderness,

411 the weakest nature may take courage, and the wearied

;rayf.i: >.t, oppressed and broken with the load uf life, rise

Up and renew the strength. All women should read this

wrork. and strive tor Its spirit of doing and Its patience in

We will give a few examples of her manner

■ -till life pictures of sadness. The way is
and, we may say, cheerful. The author.

re and preach; she only touches,

te spell, the commonest life of humanity,
t
and the hidden beauty and worth it contains, and tho

■mm Be il may suffer seem Important realities, challenging

ration or deserving our pity. TheCounb

I such gifts of true genius, that

can read ber works without being interested, if
tcted.

OP WEARINESS FROM n.L ITEALTII.

generation is sickly, another source of weariness.

■ large the present day with the fearful epidemics
.:. :" >r all that, health is not our forte, onr age

■ - i" r a robust one. It has em

ength ; when it mounts the breach of a city

Ora preju lice, soon 1 lys both low. Bar with the

I aval id ace. It

. ; it looks w . pun the world ;

; to fits of inexpressible debt lit) ; sometimes wo

metimes palsy; one thing is certain, wo

ealth.

u want strong organizations and the gayety that

J to the frame,

look to our grandparents. They rose at early

- mg like the linnet's on their lips ;

; what they had to do merrily, not over scrupu-

allow. They were a littb id men

way at things in general; and I

p their spirits.

■, not too much of either. They

j straight on firm legs, had a florid complexion,

foreheads, and
i " W i the contrary, are liable to

weariness; they come upoo us the fir.-t

■ rning ; our strength is exhausted

OTr eyes Our I droops Languidly on

That neuralgia at which rs would

I ies too surely die its talons into our

- . very step, Who is

■ can walk now-a-days? We rise late, we go to
wn ; and thus we escape the sun and its vulgar

"Hum By the Countess I>e Gasparin,

- uf "The Near and Heavenly Horizons." Tub-
lished by Robert Carter and Brothers, New York.

brightness, We tire dander, we are pale, we are very
. but, decidedly, we aw not robust.

********

WEARINESS FROM DAILY DETAIL,

"Ifyon ask tor facta of proof look, for instance, at our
writing I Formerly, when two people loved ■
other much, they wrote twice a month, and got on very
well; now, people between whom there is little love,
write to each other every morning, and gel on no better.
Formerly, the post afforded time for reflection : one turned
one's cross moods over in one's mind before giving them
expression; many a Badness hud been transformed into
joy during the Interval between one mail and the next;
many difficulties had found solution. Now they write
them off while they are happening."
********
"And the notes ! how describe their worrying importu-
nity! F^r a mere nothing — a yea, & no — the first idler
thai likes Bret! off a little note at me. All day long 1 run a
mark (br tl j | tice. A mere trifle, yon say! By no

i- ; it interrupts, teases, fidgets; not to say that one
has to answer '."

********

y that yon are in the country ; a railroad cro*8C3

your grounds or grazes them ; or whistles al a few hun-
dred yards from your gate. ' Pear so and so, send for me

at the station of ; I know you would take it ill if I

.I you by bo close without coming to see you.'
■ '..- are constantly coming in and going out in your
house. Strange laces, characters, more or Less congenial,
drop into your home circle like Paixhan's halls.

"Thai ion, that, as it were, self-intimacy

without which no ^ood is to be done, is all lost; your
occupations are disturbed, your thoughts sent adrift;
family life, that holy life which alone fosters character or
bestows happiness, is bored through and through, and iu
order to recover it, I know many « ho fold their tents, and
take to ruuuiug about the world like the rest."

WEARINESS FROM THE TELEGRAPH.

"For my part. I never ^ee one of those gray envelopes
without :t shudder. People may say what they will about
they bring more bad news than good; and
then these telegrams have ■ summary way of
which knocks one completely down. Letters alleviate the
blow, or, at all events, they prepare for it; they antici-
pated your questions, tell you what yon wanted to kn vw.
Toe; ahAlf kills you, or bewilders you; and

having done that, leaves you there."

TTTE REMEDY.

"Would you reconquer vigor of soul; would you
achieve anything great or good, belong te yours*
buss your own existence, have your own hours. Acting
thus, you will not be cruel to others, far otherwise; a
heart will be born again within you, and

"The locomotive crushes with perfect Ind
things, animals, and men. The excess

■ tractor ; it is when "to- obeys
aicaT Impulse that one destroys everything in one's

Way. Let ns beware of having n< be hind

nor time to be human. Those who mre will

bave Bympathiea The man (or womao) who makes him-
self an engine will be hard as iron.

'• Have no fear of belonging too mot :' t i yourself. If I
was persuading you to cross your arms to Uva at ease,

but i want yon
yourselves — to give yoursel res, Indeed — lo aim whose
you should be; and we can only give what we really
have, Ion cannot! The hour is passed! There la to
renewing our youth. God can renew it if only we are
willing.

one onoe said, 'I am accused of bel

human will I belie VO in it. because I believe that human

will i> God's grace! And,' added th.it woman, for the
speaker was a woman of high intellect and larire heart,
'no ooo will ever persuade me to the contrary ; those who
say I cannot, are those who think I will not.' "

173

174

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

HINTS FOR YOUNG WIVES.

Oca readers will, probably, recollect " The Boatman,"
and tbe poem of Mrs. Cram in our " Table" for June.
Those articles seem to have awakened much interest; one
lady, whose writings are always racy and to the purpose,
has sent us the following letter ; its sterling good sense
and firmness in the right way should give it great influ-
ence. It cannot fail of being admired for its womanly
dignity in enforcing all womanly virtues.

Editress of the Lady's Book.

May, 1S64.

Mr dear Mrs. Hale: No one who reads the "Lady's
Book" attentively, from year to year, can fail to see and
feel the high standard you have for women, and the deep
interest you take in their progress in all true virtue and
right conduct. The dress patterns and the costumes are
but the outward adorning of a person whose chief charms
it is your desire should be humility, patience, gentleness,
and godliness. I am sure that in expressing some of my
ideas on the improvement of feminine character, its aims,
and occupations, I shall agree with yod and in the main
object of your ''Book."

Of course, I can barely touch on many points, which,
however, have their own importance. Other traits and
principles there are, too important and too sacred to be
talked of in a familiar letter, sketchy in its character, and
aiming only at the correction of a few salient errors.

If I talk of the duties of married women, I presuppose a
desire to perform those duties, and the fact that the rela-
tion has been entered into with suitable feelings and prin-
ciples.

The fact that the sentiments and feelings that induce
marriage exist in their greatest force at a time of life when
the judgment is still unripe, is to me a proof that it is a
relation intended by Providence to be fulfilled, without
very special reference to any but a natural sympathy.
The Apostle speaks of the believing wife as sanctifying the
unbelieving husband. Qualities, tastes, and tempers the
most diverse meet, and are formed into a compound soothing
to the taste and feelings, by the universal solvent — Love.
That they love each other is the ultimate reason of a har-
mony, better than any prearranged concords that can be
devised by the judgment of friends, the care of parents,
the sharp eyes of guardians. Two persons of exactly
diverse notions on a thousand subjects cannot live apart
without suffering and sorrow. Their happiness is in
being together.

That their happiness does not continue always, is their
misfortune and their fault ; but not a necessity of the en -.
If they could be very happy together before marriage, why
not after ?

And tli is is the one thing I wish to say, through your
Lady's Book, to the young wives, who, finding married
life is not all coulettr de rove, jump to a conclusion that it
is of the color of a thunder cloud.

Somebody has written an excellent essay "on the art of
living happily with others. '' It is the art of all arts,
which the young married women should study* If you
can alienate your friends, your casual companions, by
dwelling continually on the differences instead of the
agreements in your opinions and habits, how much sooner
the daily companion of your innermost life? You started
in that life with a full knowledge of these differences.
Why insist now on agreements ? " A thorough, complete
conviction of the difference of men, is the great thing to be
assured of in social knowledge," says somebody. It is to
life what Newton's law is to astronomy.

Many persons will agree at once to this axiom. They
feel it in their relations with the world at large. They do
not expect to drive their own opinions of things, their own
peculiar tastes into the outer world ; but into their inner
one, into the circle around tbe fireside, into the sanctuary
wjbere should meet only quiet enjoyment, and gentle,
soothing influences, they insist on an impossible union of
sentiments and opinions.

Yet why desire this union? One might ns well com-
plain of the diversities of flower and fruit, the infinite va-
se of earthly objects, the multitudinous differences of
Btara. For the best of reasons, it has seemed fit for the
M;iker and Ruler of all that there should be infinite diver-
si:: is. Yet the same spirit, that of gentleness, yielding —
the recognition of each individual soul's right to its own
tastes and opinions — the same spirit might and should be
in us all. It is so, in general society, to a considerable
extent. The general course of feeling would be continu-
ally turbid and morose without this spirit. But. as 1 said
before, it is too often dismissed from the domestic circle

just when and where it is most needed. In proportion to
the intimacy of the social and domestic relations, should
be the care never to infringe on personal rights and pecu-
liarities.

You will say, perhaps, that this is quite impossible.
That your husband's notions on some subjects are erro-
neous; that his tastes are ridiculous; that his presents
are unsuitable; his opinions decidedly wrong. Not all
these things at once. Possibly it may take ten years to
bring you to the couclusiou. You will, at about the same
time, find out that you are au unhappy, neglected, ill-
used wife, and ought never to have been married at all to
the mau you did marry?

Very good. Or rather, very bad. Some of our young wo-
men— let us hope hut a very, very small portion of them —
at this point of their character and moral existence, make
the fatal mistake of seeking for a new affinity, and for
happiness in a new form. The legalized conditions of
separation are eagerly sought for, the only desire seems
to be freed from a bondage which has become hateful, and
to bind themselves anew with chains whose rose-wreaths
again conceal their iron.

Not the less must you fret and chafe under your new
fetters. Even on the supposition that the fatal "facility of
separation were to give you comparative ease by inducing
a variety in your suffering, still, not the less must you
suffer, until you change your whole principle of action.
Setting aside all the derangement of family relations — the
necessaiy suffering entailed on innocent children — the
uncounted consequences of wrong actions in all directions,
setting aside all these, you have gained absolutely nothing.

You begin the same old error. Your husbands conduct,
opinions, tastes, are again uuder the domestic microscope.
His failings assume gigantic proportions. "What was a
harmless animalcule becomes by constant and minute at-
tention, magnified into a horrible monster with heads and
horns. Slight ebullitions of temper are met by sulky as-
tonishment, and magnified into quarrels. Every sweet
bell becomes jangled and out of tune. In proportion to
your isolation from general observation becomes your
sensitiveness to every fault and peculiarity. And in pro-
portion to your mutual sensitiveness, is your reproductive
irritation. You become, each of you, uncomfortable and
unhappy, and all, simply because you begin to go on upon
a wrong principle. You might be divorced as fast as you
become unhappy, and how is your happiness, setting
aside all other motives, to be improved ?

How were you comfortable and happy at home, before
your ill-fated, ill-assorted, always-to-be-deplored mar-
riage ?

Were you not the daughter to whom papa could refase
nothing? Do you remember whether you gained this
parental fondness by sulkily exaggerating every difference
of opinion and taste between yourselves? or, did you
always exhibit a gentle consideration for his bursts of
impatience? Did you meet his vexed, weary, tired face
at night with angry, mortified silence ? Or did you meet
" him with cordial smiles, pleasant news of the day's
doings, silently overlooking of whatever you knew by
experience to be his very unpleasant mood? Nay, do I
not know very well that you never asked him a favor
until after dinner, when you had lighted his cigar, and,
as it were, coaxed him with your filial endearments, into
good humor with himself and all the world, and of all the
world most, his pet and loving daughter?

If the great principles of Christianity which should
underlie all our social intercourse, and make domestic life
the soother and comforter it might be, if those principles
were not only recognized but acted upon, of course there
would be no need of any expostulations or admonitions
on this subject. But most people recognize principles.
Not all, by any means, act on them. A thousand daily
irritations, sacrifices, vexations, need the application of
these principles, and we cau never be happy till we apply
them. You cannot reason about these irritations. You
may undertake to talk and dispute about them, if you
want to begin an unhappy life. Dr. Johnson says,
" Wretched would be the pair, above all names of wretch-
edness, who should be doomed to adjust by reason, every
morning, all the minute details of a domestic day."

Even if you could settle everything by talking and dis-
puting about it, there is no time to i\o it, and nothing is
worth this perpetual disputing ami settling. When yon
have learned to yield, you have begun the first step
towards enjoyment of your married life. Thenextwill be
a retracing of the old paths, into the feeling with which
you began that life. It was a true love, which made sacri-
. "fice nothing, the desire that yonr husband should be happy,
everything. If you do not thus yield, nay, even if yon
conquer in your disputes, what shall you have gained?
Not y>ur husband's increased love — certainly not your
u\vu happiness.

EDITOB91 TABLE.

175

irritcrs and modern sentimentalists have
■me ■ world of barm in corrupt log the straightforward

! ■ young w omen. I .
■taping theii own hearts ami tempers with all diligence,
■ i . ■ ■ ■ ■

have cl u. Instead of humility and

me critical and ungenerous to the
;. stead of
Eactifying with their own holy purposes and I I
I -.i im!>, they ma
hateful bond, Thi
f r this fi ■ | lenl effect on donn Some based

modes of living, to which I may
refer; but 1 have already exceeded the limits of a

OX THE SURFACE.

lis, li t me wear oj on mj

The crown of thorns your hands have pfaited ;
I -U cover ii with roses now ;

They never should have been un runted.
Their leaves will tube a deeper hue

From ruby drops beneath them springing,
Aud when, 0 World, my crown ye view,

It-- passing fragrance on yon n:> .
1 ur thonght will be, " How blest to wear
A c re :"'

Give me to driuk the cup of pain ;

I would not it were made leas bitter;
But I '11 compound it o'er again

With wine whereou the ft litter-;

And when, o World, the draught ye

wond'ring, mark Its sn .

Kor dream what Harah drops may bo
Concealed within - ming,

Tour thoughts will be, "Blest fate is thine
For whom is mixed life's sparkling wine I"

"WOMAN' A.\D HER ERA."

I A vew work, said to be remarkable, bearing the above
significant title, has lately been published In Loudon.
In 1So3 ft work* of ours was published in New York;

(in this book we designated the li'th century as the era of
womaa and her destiny. The writers of Great Britain are
i now taking up the subject in earnest, as we hope. Some
(three or four years ago, "A Cyclopedia of Woman" was
ht out in London, chiefly* drawn, :>r ac-

[ know I :. I. from our "Womai And now

j another testimony of the interest in these important
Iquesti u's destiny and duties has appeared.

■ Ain-rica, however, keeps the advance. Vabsab College
iwill be the queen of institutions for ladies; and our
k has not its compeer in the wide, wide
Still Great Britain is advancing with hopeful
-Mgns of rapid progress. One is that the most eminent
.', xnea among the clergy and medical faculty of England and
■I Scotland are favoring ug to women their

J two E \fery and of Deaconess I

(The office of instructress for their own sex has always
been held paramount by English women. Every College
and Seminary for young ladies in 'Jr.^t Britain is, we
led over by a lady ; or a lady holds the
Office of Principal, and has the moral control and reepon-
sibllity ; and now that one young woman has. in London,

uitted to a full i
look forward to a rapid and generons movement for the
medical education of such lad to enter the

profession. Of i will*conflne their practice

•man's Record ; or Biographical Di<

idled Women." By Mrs S >ha Hale.

1*P- ''!-. I) Published by the Harpers.

VOL. LXIX* — 15

en; such is their true duty.
i . i . a the Church of Bag-

land already restored in part "The North London
ititutlon and St. John's House of Henry"
has the patronage of the Queen, receives greal praise, and
■
These i (Savor of woman are all significant

that her Era Is now Inaugurated.

Or-K Gold Ctrbbsct:—

i. a good book left behind by a Christian author Is a
voice from Heai en the corridors of yean,

king even Christians the way of duty. This elo-
quence is i (ten the mosl powerful.

2. Ail the sounds "i" nature, the bleating of sheep, the
song of birds, the hum of bees, the chime of the waves,

m icee of the winds, the rustling of the trees, are all
on the minor key. What does that mean?

3. The knowledge of relations, and not of facts, bj the
only real knowledge. It signifies nothing to know that
gold is gold, and irori is iron, unless we have a notion of
the connections and dependencies of these things on others.

4. Poetry is sensibility ; knowledge is curious truth.

5. " God gives us love. Something to love

He lends us ; but when Love is grown
To ripeness, that on which it throve
Falls off, and Love is left alone.''

About CniLDnonp; —

T'i> Brain, — Dp to the seventh year of life very great

3 are going on in the structure of the brain, and

demand, therefore, the utmost attention not to interrupt

them by improper or over excitement Just that degree1

Of exercise should be L-ivcn to the brain at this period as

te necessary to its health ; and the h st Ls moral instruc-
tion, exemplified by objects which strike the senses.

Physical Development. — Pure air and free exercise are
indispensable; wherever cither of these is withheld, the
nces will be certain to extend themselvee ovei
the whole future life. The seeds of protracted and hope-
less suffering have, in innumerable instances, been early
sown into the constitution of. the child simply through
ignorance of this great fundamental physical law; and
the time has come when the united voices of these inno-
cent victims should ascend trumpet-tongued t ■ « the ears of
every pari < her in the land: "Give us

fh air and welcome exercise, leave to develop our ex-
panding energies in accordance with the laws of our
being, and full scope for the clastic and bounding impulses
of our young blood."

Hurra from dr. hall about health.

Taki>"<"; C0LD6. — Somo^ersons can almost tell in an in-
stant when they have taken cold, generally by the dis-
agreeable feeling of chilliness and the difficulty of j
comfortably wanned. Sometimes a ■■

actively finds himself a little chilled before he knows it.
In both cases an available, instantaneous, and almost
always efficient remedy Is at hand — simply walk, run, or
work until p

better, and when the exercise Is over, go to a room of
nheit, or drink several cups of hot
drink, taking cure, if not in a warm room, to cease ex* r-
cising bj

Diphtheria is said I irrested and cured by

swallowing lumps of ice, continuously, until relief la

176

GODEY'S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

afforded ; let them as much as possible melt in the throat.
Common sore-throat is cured in the same way, sometimes.

Reading whilst Travelling fatigues the eyes, as every
observant person well knows ; this icduces headache,
sometimes pains around the eyes, with a slight congestion
of the retina, which, when the habit becomes inveterate,
and the subject is over fifty or of a weak constitution, is
liable to end in an attack of apoplexy.

To ofr Correspondents. — The following articles are
accepted: "Wait"— "To my Wife" — "Change1' — "The
Dewdrop" — " Our Mothers" — aud "Devotion."

These articles we shall not need: "Doctor Danforth's
Dilemma" — " Bella Webster" — "Chronicles of the Lover-
side Family"— "Song" — " The Hose of Destiny" (we have
no room for translations) — "Clouds" — "Housekeeping
made Easy" — "Do not Forget" — "The Soldier" — "Lines
to my Love" — "Memorial of a Classmate" — "When in
my Twelfth Tear"— "The Haunted Crag"— "To J. E. D."
(will not do for our book) — " May-time" (a poem of merit,
if we had room we would publish) — "Dreaming" (very
well for a first effort the writer must work and wait)
— "Only a little harmless Flirting" — "Marie" — and
" Hope." We have articles still unexamined.

fihntrg Notices.

From Frederick Leypoldt, Philadelphia: —
LETTERS OF FELIX MENDELSSOHN BAKTHOLDT,
from 1833 to 1S47. Edited by Paul Mendelssohn Barthol-
dy, of Berlin; and Dr. Carl Mendelssohn Bartholdy, of
Heidelberg; with a Catalogue of all his Musical Compo-
sitions, compiled by Dr. Julius Rietz. Translated by
Lady Wallace. This, the second series of Mendelssohn's
letters, will be choicely treasured by all musicians and
lovers of music. They form in themselves a connected
history, or rather, series of pictures of his life from early
manhood to his death. They are far more valuable than
any biography can be, inasmuch as the reader is afforded
an insight into his peculiar traits of miud, and can know
him familiarly as his friends knew him.

From Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia: —

THE BRIDAL EVE. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. South-
worth, author of "The Fatal Marriage," "The Deserted
Wife," etc. Mrs. South worth's English stories are better,
if possible, than her American ones. There are greater
extremes in the social life of England, consequently more
diversity of character; while there the spirit of romance,
■which still hovers around old buildings, furnishes richer
material for the novelist than can bo found at home.
None can seize these materials and use them with a readier
pen than the lady of whom we speak. " The Bridal Eve"
is pronounced by all as superior to any of her former
works. The plot is most ingenious, and the style bril-
liant. Herpowersof delineation and vivid imagery seem
to strengthen with each succeeding effort.

THE LADIES" COMPLETE GUIDE TO NEEDLEWORK
AND EMBROIDERY. With one huudred aud thirteen
illustrations and diagrams. By Miss Lambert.

THE LADIES' GUIDE TO TRUE POLITENESS AND
PERFECT MANNERS; .,,*, .V/.-.v Leslie's Behavior Book.
By Miss Leslie, author of "Miss Leslie's celebrated new
Cookery Book," etc.

These are new editions of two very valuable works,
which should be in every lady's private library.

THE DEFORMED. A Novel. By Mrs. Marsh, author
of "The Admiral's Daughter," etc. A well-written and
interesting novel, which does credit to the author, and
will repay the attention of the reader.

THE WOMAN IN BLACK. By the author of "The
Man in Gray." We do not think Mrs. Wood or Mis:
Braddon need stand iu any immediate fear of a rivn
the author of this book. We have had no patience to read
the book through; therefore cannot speak of the plot.
But the style is wishy-washy, the characters unnatural;
aud, taking all in all, we judge it to be the poorest novel
of the season.

From Lippinhott & Co., Philadelphia: —
THE BOOK OF DAYS. Parts 25 and 26. Price 20 cents
each. This useful and fascinating work is rapidly ap-
proaching completion.

CHAMBERS' ENCYCLOPAEDIA. Nos. 73 and 74. A
Dictionary of Universal Knowledge for the People, on
tbe Basis of the latest editions of the German Conversa-
tiones Lexicon. With wood engravings and maps. The
best Encyclopedia published, and only 20 cents a number.

From Wh, S. & Alfred Marteen, Philadelphia : —

LOUIS NAPOLEON AND THE BATTLE OF ARMA-
GEDDON. By the Rev. M. Baxter, late missionary of the
Episcopal Church at Onoudaga, C. W. We find this to be
the third edition, so the author can boast of having popular
favor. He writes earnestly, and as if he fully believed in
the explanation of tbe Bible prophecies as expounded in
this work. If Mi-. Baxter is right, the world has but a ;
few more years to suffer before the " Great Consummation M
How many are now living who can, with all the heart,
soul, and mind cry " Amen ; even so, come Lord Jesus!"

LITTLE BY LITTLE. A book without an author's '
name, but worthy of many readers. The story is well
told, and the moral should stamp its impression on every
mother's heart. Keep your young sons from idleness and
temptati'm.

UNITED STATES CHRISTIAN COMMISSION FOR THE
ARMY AND NAVY, for the year 18G3. This Second An-
nual Report of the great aud good work done by this band
of devoted philanthropists makes a large volume. The
history has the warm interest of life; every one, whose
heart is concerned fur the war, and its alleviations, shoubj
read this bouk. , It is comforting to know good can thus
triumph over evil.

From Asttmeap. & Evan's, Philadelphia: —
THE NEW BOOK OF NONSENSE: A Conlrih^'ion to
the Great <"- ntral r<nr, in aid of the Sanitary Commis-
sion. A capital book of its kind : it is nonsense pure aud
simple, without malice or mischief. The illustrations,
enriching every page, are wonderful, and the poetry has
no rival — except Mother Goose. The book is intended Jo I
do good, and will give the benefit of a good laugh to those,
who examine it.

From Harper & Brothers, New York, through Pfter-
eos & Brothers, and Lippixcott & Co., Philadelphia -.—

BARBARA'S HISTORY. A Novel. By Amelia B. Ed-|
wards, author "f "My Brother's Wife," etc. A novel
whose general characteristics remind us strongly of Jane
Eyre. This aunouueement alone is a sufficient as>iirauo>
for the interest of its pages. Not the least attractive por-
tion of it is the description which it gives of the Dussel-
dorf, or some similar German school for the encourage-
ment of art. The author discourses familiarly of painting,

LITERARY XOTICE3.

M one having had actual experience with the pencil, or
than common Information od all subjects,
. PHILLIS. A Tale. The Harpers neve* pub-
lish an inferior novel. Their name upon t:

■Hence.
: ;-, quietly and well told, with cul-

BEN BEAUTIFUL TEAK- Set of a

Girl's Life. Written by her Bister. With an Introduc-
tion by R. v. n < Poster, D. D. a beautiful and touching
book, telling of the pure life and simple faith of one who
ly called."
HARPERS' PICTORIAL HISTORY <>F THE GREAT
R£i;F.LLI',N". ?* ithpart

work, profusely Illustrated with
peenes. portraits, and maps. A work that should be iu
... Price 25 >.

From P. Appletos & Co., New York, through Ashicead
i, Philadelphia:—
»0M <>F KIND IX WILLING : ,„-, Every Being

■■-■'.. By Rowland G. '
specially an age of mi I ! l minds

l.pment
|u all br ifore a metaphysical

work appears at the outset under unfavorable .
men who ar-'

■ir immaterial that they have

■fie results of their investigations,
new era of in-
■

■ nd will engage

ition of the first mind* of the day.

FIRST PRINCIPLES OF A NEW SYSTEM OF PHI-

rt Spencer, author. >t" " Illustrations

)f Universal Progress," etc. We copy from the preface:

sent volume Is the I dgned to

■ principles of a neu It is divided

parts : the aim of the first being to determine the

v of all rational investigation, and of the second,

ise fundamental and universal principles

■ tblished within that sphere, and

trhich are to constitute the basis of the system." Mr.

:of philosophy possess I. e merit

ility, and is worthy of examination.

THOUGHTS OX PERSONAL RELIGION. By Edward

Goulbnrn, D. D., Prebendary of St Paul's, etc.

rican from the fifth Loudon" edition. With a

note, by George II Houghton, D. IV, Rector of

the Ch n re h of the T : w York.

- two chief ele-

■rotlon aud practice. It ■ •-■•ntially

-. warm and earnest in tone, and

a all intolerance or - t. It is a book

jrhich .-very Christian should read, and. having read,

I to profit by.

;Y OF THE ROMANS UNDER THE EMPIRE.
- Merivale, B. D., 1

i the fourth London edition. With
cical Index. Yol. IV. This volume em-

! races nine chapters, beginning with the thirty-third. It
» to us the most portion of the history. The

ist three chapters turn aside from the record of political
ial, and intcl-
n of the Romans of the An?
fTHB FIRST THREE B'"-k- OF XENOPHON'S ANA-
tSE By James R. Boise,

k con-

tains reference* to Hadley's and Kuhner'sGwk Gram-
mars, and t" GOSwin's Greek Moods - ■ copious
Greek-English Vocabulary ; aud Kiepert's Map of the

Route of ttroTeu Thousand.

From Robert Carter & Brothers. New York, through
Wm. s. and Alfred Harass, Philadelphia: —

THE CRIPPLE OF AOTIOCH, and other Scene* from
Christian L<f in Earhj Times. By the author of "The
Chronicles of the Schonberg Cotta Family."' It is. we
believe, settled that the author is a lady: the
work could hardly have been written by a man, even
were he the must pure and zealous of Christians. The
utter loneliness of the human soul can never be d<
in its tendexest pathos by mascnline genius. "The Crip-
ple of Antioch" is one of those pictures of early <,
• us image into loving andsufl'erin.
The other sketches, "The False I

• -torn" are larger, and more inwoven with his-
torical events and distinguished characters, hi.
volume of rare interest aud impressive Christian doctrines
and exaj

THE FOOT "F THE GROSS, AND THE BL1
FOUND THERE. By Octavius Winalow, D.D.

si faith in Christ, intended for household iiu-iru©-
tiou. This simple faith, a* the writer expounds it. ts in-
tended to "br.1 the book Into a state of
r peace with God, through Christ.''
I BY HALL: or, The Straight Road is Shortest
and Surest. By A. L. 0. E. Another of the plea-

• isiple instruction in the high-
est wisdom of humanity, the dilference between honor and
duty. Get it for your children.

HUMAN BADNESS. By the Con:: irin.au-

"The Near ar.d the Heavenly Horizon
"Vespers." See Editors' Table, paye 173, for extracts
from this beautifully writteu work.

From Cakletoji, New York, through Peterson & Bro-
th!:?.-. Philadelphia: —

DARKNESS AND DATLIGHT . . Uh Hary

J. Holmes, author of "Lena River-.'" "Marian Grey,"'
etc. Mr-. Holmes is one of the pleas of American

Her works have always a healthful I
while they possess a fascination which commands the
attention of the reader from the beginning to the end.

From Ticknor k Fields, Boston, through Peterson &
Brothers. Philadelphia : —

>T['MBLING-BLOCKS. By Gail Hamilton, author of
"Country Living and Country Thinking,'" etc. Gail
Hamilton is one of the most sensible writers we know of,
with a das], h that makes her books all the

more attractive. True, she sometimes strains a little after
effect, and occasionally overdoes the matter in attempts at
originality; but we can forgive her that. ' Her pi
volume is a collection of sermons, full of wisdom and
truth; and, we have little doubt, certain of accomplishing
more good than many a like volume hearing the name of

THE MAINE WOODS. By Henry P. Thoroau. author
of "A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers." etc.
This book contains three papers: "Ktaadn," "CI,
cook," and "The AUegasb and East Branch," with an
i Appendix, giving a list of trees, flowers, plants, etc.
Ther satisfaction in reading one of Thorean's

books. You seem to go in his company ; clamber over
- - nd mountain sides, and explore forests; i ]

GODEY'S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

with him the plants and flowers, and watch the animals ;
and share the traveler's fare. He was the prince of ex-
cursionists, and his hooks are a faithful record of his
adventures.

LIFE OP "WILLIAM HICELIXG PRESCOTT. Ey
George Ticknor. This edition has been prepared to meet
the general demand, while it includes the entire contents
of the large quarto edition of Prescott's Life which first
appeared, and which was beyond the means of many.
The biography has been written by one of Prescott's
closest friends during a long lifetime, and has been highly
approved of both at home and abroad. It contains a fine
portrait on steel.

From J. E. Ttltox & Co., Boston, through Lipfincott
& Co., Philadelphia:—

NEIGHBOR JACKWOOD. By J. T. Trowbridge. This
hook, by the author of "Cudjo's Cave," met with such
decided success on its first appearance, that its publishers
have been justified in issuing a second edition. The plot
is interesting, the incidents amusing, and highly drama-
tic. It is a book for the times.

HAFXTED HEARTS. By the author of "The Lamp-
• lighter." A second hook by one who wrote ''The Lamp-
lighter" will be eagerly welcomed by those who read
that beautiful story. The present novel does its author
no injustice, and is, if possible, superior to its predecessor.
The main incident in the story will be recognized by
many as a veritable occurrence; while those details for
which she has drawn upon her imagination are natural
and entertaining.

PHANTOM FLOWERS. A Treatise on the AH of Pro-
ducing Skeleton Leaves.

WAX FLOWERS— Brno to Make them. With new
Methods of Sheeting Wax, Modelling Fruit, etc.

These two volumes will be found exceedingly useful to
those who have leisure for the pleasaut occupations of
modelling wax flowers and making phantom bouquets.
The first named book will be in especial demand, as there
has been so little published on the subject, and that little
so brief and unsatisfactory, the art being stilt so new.
The hooks before us are clear in their descriptions and
full in their directions.

THE LITTLE REBEL. This is an entertaining story
for young folks, about David Vane who rebelled against
the tyranny of a cruel stepfather, and went to live with
an uucle in the country, and David Cram who got taken
to Boston in his stead.

§ohjfs %m-€\nx.

AFGUST, 1864.

A charming steel engraving, "The Savoyard," com-
mences our attractions this month, followed by our gem
of fashion-plates, containing six figures — dresses for the
season, charming in their variety. Our engraving on
wood tells " The same old story."

Among our illustrations will be found some choice
dresses for the sea-side and watering-places.

Brodie gives us an elegant design this mouth.

The Monroe Reporter says — and it is what we aim at,
to make a useful and instructive book —

"There can be found in the Book everything to interest,
enlighten, and edify the whole female sex, from the little
girl in pantalettes to the old grandmother tottering with
age— something beneficial to all classes; to the rich and
fashionable as an exponent of the fashions, and to the

poor as .1 saving in dress, because it teaches them to make
their apparel fashionable at a cheap rate. And then the
reading matter is all original, and from the most gifted
pens of our country. Every man should get the book for
his wife, every brother for his sister, and every beau for
his sweetheart, because it comes as a messenger of pleasure
and delight to every fireside, dispensing brilliant charms
to all around within its circle."

Postal Moxet Orders. — Apply to your postmaster for
a postal money order. Xo more losses by mail.

"The postal money order system just established by
law provides that no money order shall be issued for any-
sum less than $1 nor more than $30. All persons who
receive money orders are required to pay therefor the fol-
lowing charges or fees, viz.: For an order for $1, or for
any larger sum but uot exceeding $10, the sum of 10 cents
shall be charged and exacted by the postmaster giving
such order; for an order of more than $10, aud uot ex-
ceeding $20, the charge shall be IS cents ; aud for every
oilier exceeding $20 a fee of 20 cents shall be charged."

The ridiculous old registry system that charged you 20
cents for a piece of paper, for that was all the security you
obtained, will we hope be done away with. Can auy one
say that he ever recovered the money lost iu a registered
letter?

Mr. Fry's Opera of Notre Dame. — In our last number
we made some remarks upon this opera, favorable of
course, because it deserved it. In a money point of view,
it was a failure. "Why? Because Mr. Fry is an Ameri-
can. We have no hesitation in saying that if the opera
had been brought out under some foreign name it would
have been a decided moneyed success, as it was a musical
one. Signor Frizziani as the composer would have com-
manded full houses. Bah! How we are led by these
foreign names!

O little Queen Cole

Was a singing soul,
So she sent for her singers three ;

And she revelld iu the notes

From the musical throats
Of Grisi and Persiani ;

But one fellow— to wit —

She couldn't bear a bit.
Cos his oanie didn't eud in i;

Some Jones or Brown.

Some fellow from town,
So very soon snubb'd was he.

It is so in other matters. Let Mrs. Brown, or Jones, or
Smith opeu a ladies' seminary, and she may languish for
years before her merits are discovered ; but let Madame
Chaginini, or Delapanti, or Turgosiui announce the open-
ing of an institution for the education of young ladies,
aud she requires no other recommendation than her
name. A matin, e occasionally, with ice cream and cham-
pagne, helps matters along amazingly.

See our new advertisement, "Improved Needle-Holder |
and Needles," on cover of this number. This is a great I
improvement, and one that we are sure will be appreciated, fl

Ocr Fashions. — "We always give them to suit the sea- i
eons. We have seen, in a magazine that purports to give
the latest fashions, and that in a January number, ladies
Standing in the open air, light dresses on, parasols over'
their heads, and the verdure beautiful around them.

Cartes de Visite.— Our subscribers had better send for
a catalogue. We have already supplied our friends with
many thousands of the cartes, and in all cases they have- j
given great satisfaction. Our list embraces nearly 600
subj ects.

GODEY S AKM-CIIAIR.

179

THE SANITARY FAIR
While we are writing this, lr la being ln-

murnrated, and it will be a great success. We presume
tint It i- a near approach to the beauties of the Crystal

dp in this

c-miitiy can we compare it. It la perfect enchantment.

The thre i departments of the Fair that are the mosJ at

■active will be Ink, to be those of Horticul-

fare, the Art Gallery, and the array of Arms and Trophies.

■

■.■ aieht, v. hi a the grand founts in n as LlTuml-

Eted, This fountain lain the centre of the Horticultural

Department, The latter is jast ISO feci in diameter. Tho

ito which the ^ is ten feet in diameter

i nner to the whole circle is

feel diameter. The basin Is provided with a

bottom «f white marble chips, and emerald sod will lino

\ a temporary affair, the main pipe

vered by expensive statuary, but concealed by

- plants, whose broad leaves, lustrous and tropical,

beautiful than anything which art could create,

b f.tr from ovi i" estimating the splendor of this fonntain,

wo cannot even do it justice The effect Is entirely noi el

■ rele of jets at its top is thrown, not a more shower

of spray, but a flow of water thai spreads all around pre-

Heely in the shape of a Chinese umbrella, and that does

■. nto detached streams or spray until like fringe it

Inches ue irlytoihepool b< i h Th« re la i ich fountain

s com ex aheel of « ater

is a corresponding circle of gas jets, No drop of crystal

' ■ bera. And around the foun t is a still

wider circle of gas jets thai give to evi ry spray drop a

glory that thecostliesl i >uld a< ver equal. The

fountain will be and fairy-like

country baa never seen before.

i, two of which are precisely lac-similes of -the

neater one. To Mr. I>. Rodni y King, Mr. J Eaefburn

and other gentlemen \\\v< have arranged this

nral Department, the Sanitary Fair will be iu-

■ i tioo of its success.

The arrangement of the plants and growing flowers in

this dept i'i i.i int 'Vi in':'- c man ate ta :te No or ca ■

Me the opposite contributions j "The Torrid

Erne" and "The Frigid Zone" without the liveliest satis-

Dates, bana na s. and I ts; the mosses,

is, and the pigmy trees of the bleak north • the

■ .

. orchids from
mth America : the foliage plants oi the In-
die-;—tic i ■ singularly beautiful.
Tbo Art Gallery will !>•■ the finest exhibition of pictures
■■r ry. The gems from the best gal-
pted, and no others. There are
jle pictures here which, if exhibited alone, would
price which 1e charged to view tbe
Whole of this splendid collection.

i I Trophies Department is worth alone tbo

whole pri f admissj in, and a day could be well em-

Koyed in examining Mi*' peculiarities of this wonderful
il; collection.
i aor Blitz has the Children's

Bapartiiienl under Ins charge, and we all know Low well
iter for their amusement.

. r in every respect far exceeds anything of the
j up in this country. The New York Pair
: i impare with it ; that fact is conceded even by
Be New Xorkers themsi Ivee.

We have said that while wo write thia article tbe great

Boris being inaugurated; but when our subscribers re-

ceivo this number it will 1> ng have been closed, ourim-

lidon obliging us to prepare so long in advance

. . The Sanitary C immissiou will I B bi nefited, we

it of al least a million of dollars.

d wish it to be double that amount.

Foreio.v BrRD>. — Beautiful colored photographs are fur-
twelve specimens for GO cents, by (J. W. Tomlin-
■ i- m, Massac] d

A nctise, a few days since, speaking of the first-born,
made this speech: "Ma'am, I never did see a child that
hanger agreed with 1< B.

15*

btusicajc column,

■ ! Monthly. — In noticing the publlca*
tion of the August number ol out popular Monthly, we
would call attention to a fact which our subscribers and
tho musical public generally may hare overlooked. It is
notorious that all other sheet music has materially ad-
vanced of late, and is sttll advancing in pi
twenty-flvo cent pieces bringing thirty and thirty-five
cents, and n in proportion. Now while the Musical

Monthly is, in every respect, engraved, printed, and pub-
lished In exact conformity with the most approved sheet
music, being In fad sheet music, we have sot yel advanced
our prices in any way, either by the single number dr the
year. This is an additional reason why piano-players
everywhere should add their names to our subscription

list at once. We do not know how long our present rates
can continue. It is everywhere regarded a wonder how
we can afford to give such bulky numbers of aheel mttsic
for 25 cents, when a single trifling song now OOStS from 30
-. Our very large subscription list explains it.
; musical periodical has ever had such a hold upon
tbe public, and the regard which musical people hold for
the work is constantly on the increase. Briuley Richards,
Balfe, Gounod, Glover, and all the leading composers of
Europe and this country are represented in the pages of
the Monthly, and songs, ballads, transcriptions, marches,
polkas, waltzes, etc., are given from mouth to month.
Terms $3 00 per annum in advance. Four copies one
year $10 00. One copy of the M',lt/h/;/ and one of Godey's
L'fh/'s Book, $6 00. Subscriptions may begin with any
number. While we do not sell single numbers at 25 cents,
wo will send four months' numbers to any address for
$1 00, or six months' numbers for $1 50, three cents addi-
tional to be sent on each number thus ordered for pre-
payment of postage. All orders and correspondence must
bi addressed to J. Starr Hollo way, Publisher Musical
Monthly, Box Post Office, Philadelphia.
Sew Songs an 1 Ballads.— The following now songs,

etc., we can still furnish at tl Id prices. We do not

know .b"\\ long this will continue, and must therefore
request our frlonds to send as their orders for what they

may want a- early as possible. Bach of the following '1'j

cents only. I cannot mind my Wheel, Mother, beautiful
song by Linley. 0 Say thai x"on ne'er will Forget me,
new Bong by Stewart. Blue-Eyed Jennie, sweet song.
The Splendor fells on Castle Walls, by Cavavia the very
best melody yet arranged to Tennyson's famous words.
the Roses, a lively polonoise. The Soldier's
Return. Watching all Alone. Com is King. Wi
Cuffeo, Tho Flowers are Asleep in the Dew, beautiful
serenade by Buckley. As Deer to-day as Ever. I
Hawthorne, (| Ve Tears, by Franz Abt. New editions of
; . Juauita (Waueia), Wlo-n this Cruel
War is l tver, No One to Love, and Ever of Tbco.

fli r- Pi .. . '.■ ,— Bonnie Blue Schottische, 25, Masked
Ball Polka Hazonrka, 2-">. Union Polka, 25. Borne
Bchottisch, 30. Parrot Polka, 30. La Plainte Indienne,
by Ascher, 15, Down by the T de, song without words,
15. Moid ale, 25, Our Governor's Sell

easy and pretty, by Kink. 25. Lea Cloches dn Bf<
(The Monastery Bells), 35. An Alpine Farewell, beautiful
nocturne, 25. Musings at Twilight, by Fritz Spin

b in colored covers.

Floating on tbe Wind, 35. Warbling- at Noon, -1". At

five, At Dawn, 3.}. At Morn, 35. Christmas Chimes,

40. What 1' lis are Those, *0. Juauita, 30. Alexandra,

b lEOS, from Faust, 4". Address all orders

a~ above, to J. Stabb Holloway.

180

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

PARIS ITEMS.

— There is a shop in Paris which supplies a now shirt
to any customer who leaves his dirty one and pays ten
sous to hoot.

— A man, brought a few days siuce to trial in France
for the murder of his wife and mother-in-law, put in quite
n new plea. " Remember, MM. les Jures," said the man,
who defended himself, "that I am fifty years old, was
married very early, aud my wife's mother has never left
us ; aud yei I have never douo this before." The circum-
stances were not considered suflicieutly " extenuating-,"
aud the jury found the prisoner guilty.

— A man advertises in the Prfites AJJiches, France, thus:
"A whlower desires to meet with a young woman who
has been reared in the school of adversity. He asks no
other dowry than an expressive physiognomy, and an
imperturbable character. An entire ignorance of the piano
preferred. No lady of literary tastes or English parentage
need apply."

— At a masked ball in Paris the most striking of the
dresses worn by the ladles was that of the Duchess de
Morny, as an English lady of the last century, and the
Princess Anna Murat, as a peacock, her train bring of
white tulle covered with peacocks1 eyes, her petticoat of
yellow satin, peacocks' feathers in her breast and in her
hair. Her ornaments were aband of magnificent emeralds
and diamonds, worn from one shoulder to the waist as
Queen Victoria wears her royal ribbon, a necklace of the
same, and the aigrettes of peacocks' plumes in her head
confined by au immense brooch. The Princess is said to
"be frequently bedecked with the Empress's jewels. She is
the ouly lady of the court on terms of absolute intimacy
■with her Majesty, whom she always addresses as my
aunt. The Princess Troubeski was dressed as a cat — cat's
head upon her bosom and sleeves, and in her hair;
■another lady as an aviary, with a lace dress covered with
birds in real feathers — her headdress consisted of a bird
•cage, nearly six inches square, with another perched upon
her head. The bosom of her dress was covered with red
berries; birds nestled upon her shoulders, and another
wicker cage hum; from her side in which were several
canaries. One lady represented photography — small pho-
tographic cards forming the trimming of her berthe,
larger sized ones formed the basque, still larger the trim-
ming of the skirt, which was of white satiu. The necklace
wa> composed of very small pictures set in void, and the
ear-ring of likenesses of her hostess, the Duchess de Morny,
also set in gold. The headdress completed the eccentri-
city of this costume ; it consisted of a camera, the front of
which was n mirror instead of the ordinary glass. One
of the most elegant dresses was worn by a very beautiful
£nglish woman, very tall aud well formed. She called
herself Roma ; her dress uys of black velvet ; upon the
train was embroidered tin1 wolf with Romulus ami Remus ;
her hair fell in waves to her waist, and upon her head she
won- ;i turret-like diamond of gold. A belt was embroi-
dered, in gold, with the name she had chosen. Another
extremely pretty costume was that worn by Madame do
-Giradin, as snow. The dress was formed of tulle covered
with swan's down iu flakes; a mantle close around her
throat, trimmed iu the same way, fell to her feet. The
hair was powdered aud glistened with diaxnouds.

— Some of our young literary men aud artists, who at
preseut are richer in hope than in fame or fortune, gave a
few evenings since a performance of Macbeth in a studio
in the Rue d'Assas. The ticket of invitation they issued
-was in these words: Monsieur and Madame McBeth have
the honor to inform you of the painful bereavement they
Jiave met in the departure from this life of their trusty
lord aud cousiu Monsieur Dun Can. You are respectfully
requested to honor with your company the last honors
they pay their deceased lord aud cousin, iu which they
will be effectually aided by Monsieur McDuff. N. B.
Please bring a sperm caudle iu yonr pocket, as the family,
beiug in mourning, are very short of light articles."
Ridiculous as this ticket of invitation is, the Thespians
acted Sbakspeare's play admirably.

— M. H. de Pene, in his "chronique" in the France,
announces that among the fashions to be adopted by the
fair sex in Paris duriuir the coming season is that of the
feminine whiskers. The little tuft (says the writer) which
starts from the root of the hair at the side, and which
formed the little curl known as an accroche-cceur, is now
to fall straight down the cheek iu a thick mass.

— A French medical journal says that hydrophobia may
he cured by a single vapor-bath.

— The following is an advertisement in the Cmn'rkT de
8aonG-et- Loire : "Monsieur aud Madame Cuillier, me-
chanical dentists, inform the public that they are about to
quit Chalons for their country house, and that those clients
who intend according them their -confidence will fiud in

their new Eden of flowers everything to satisfy their
tastes. The apprehension usually raised by the sight of
the instruments will disappear as by enchantment beneath.
the carpet of verdure of this delicious oasis."

Talk of the impudence of your New York servants ; but
beat the following who can. Indeed, nothing short'Of a
sojourn in our Western world of a few months can give-
any one the slightest idea of the height to which their
demands sometimes attain. Some three weeks ago, my
maid of all work took it into her head to leave my em-
ployment very suddenly. On being asked the reason,
she replied that she never had lived any place where she
could not have the front parlor in which to entertain her
company, and she never intended to, so she didn't. Her
•very reasonable demands nut being complied with, she
marched herself off, bag and baggage, leaving me ser-
vantless for the time being. H. M. D.

Music Received. — "We have received the following trom
Horace Waters, 4S1 Broadway, New York, and 0. Ditson
& Co., 277 Washington Street, Boston, Mass. :—

Biinley Richard's favorites — Florence, and Peter the
Great's March.

The New Emancipation song.

The Pure, the Bright, the Beautiful. Music by Stephen
C. Foster.

Golden Dreams, Fairy Castles. Music by Stephen C.
Foster.

Heart Chimings. Waltz for Piano.

General Grant's Grand March.

Little Joe, the Contraband. Comic song.

From John Church, Jr., u'G West Fourth Street, Cincin-
nati : —

Jerusalem the Golden. Sacred song. Composed by W.
West

I Bring Thee a Garland. A ballad. '

From D. P. Faulds, Louisville. Ky. :—

Will tin.- New -Year come to Night, Mamma?

YotTNfi Ladies' Seminary for Boarding and Day
PriMi.s.— Mrs Gertrude J. Gary, Principal, South-east
corner Sixteenth and Spruce Streets, Philadelphia, Pa.
The tw-' mi- th session of this school will commence in
September, 1864.

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 lacility for makiug it the medium of daily
intercourse. Mrs. Cary gives personal attention to the
instruction of her pupils, aided hy experienced lady
teachers, and the best professional talent in the city. It
is her constaut 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. Boardmau, D. D., Rev. J.
Jenkins, D D., Rev. M. A. De Wolfe Howe, D. D., Louis
A. Godey, Esq., Philadelphia ; R><v. J. N. Candee, D. D.,
Galeshnrg, III.; Louis H. Jenkins, Jacksonville, 111.;
Rev. George Dufficld, Jr., Adrian, Mich.

Circulars sent on application.

Grecian Wriggle. — We saw a little girl, whose skirts
did not come within a foot of the ground, give this very
graceful (!) wriggle while goiug over a gutter. Such is
the influence of example.

A pretty girl of our acquaintance says that no one falls
in love with her unless they are " dreadful wicked" or
"awful pious." Is there no young man between these
two extremes that would like to try his luck?

GOPEY 5 ARM-CHAIR.

181

OUT OF TOWN.

BY Al.EXANDCit ai.U.n.

- immer eones I atonse,

My u .'..■ i* " onl of i
But thut you know i" ;iU pretence,

A blind i" Mr-. Brown,
My salary la very small ;

n u e live :ii all,
And il 111 make both ends m<
much u we can do,
For we are forced to pinch aud screw

T.. get a IHtic treat *

But that "i ounrsc we always try

1 : Mrs Brown,

For when the flitting season's nigh,
.My wile is onl of town.

Tin* flronl <l.Mir then we never nee,

• are <i'>wn ;
All !' ruse,

Or hide from Mrs. Brown.
Bach day, as -till as any moose,
My wife remains within the bonne,
Bnl - ml :

lances round,
As ii" I eing found

guilty deed about.
. afraid
Of meeting lire. Brown,
Who thinks signs displayed,

My wife Is ont of town,

smuggled in ;

- . rings we do without,

Or Mr-. Brown might soon

was about.

A- 1 my business cannot l<

Bach morn :i caotlon I re©

11 w;
To ent ■:■ by the area way,
|Lest I the dreadful truth betray,

By ringing at the d«»or."
I dare n< t ask a friend to dine.
For (ear of Milk or frown ;
cial rights 1 must r -
My wife is ont of town.

Of Uncle Tim I was the li>iir,
'twaaao set down,
elan
When be came into town,

by, crabbed, and ill,
A bachelor whose selfish will

Rone dared to disobey :
Or if they did, I bull so grave
lie treasured long, noT e'er forgave

Unto bis dying day.
One pleasant morn to visit me,

The river lie came down ;
Twaa sammer time unluckily —
My wife was nut oftown.

I felt annoyed ; it mad.- me blush

And swear at Mrs. Brown ;
For I mast up the area rush,

And not ; :i\ it-- lain down.

I fonn i elsewhere,

k him there,

urn's and the pi ly
I made him dine,
Then treated him to cream and wine,

I pay.
But my attentions failed to please,

Ho loft me wiih a frown,
An l - 1 l be should n-<t call again

When wife was out of town.

Some loving friend my nnole told —

nee 'twas Mrs. Brown —
Thai be bae

About -Mir " out of town.''
And when in nature's course he died,
I learned that we were Bel

By a fresh c
Becaus leave

T. "-'i ibs*' who could their friends deceive,

And ape the fashions stilL
H .-■ i ■ had a hearty cry.

But, dreading Mrs. Brown,*

■t the Kiimroei heats are nigh,

She still is out oftown.

When I had finished i .1 showed it to

my wife, expecting to see her laugh, bnl hex ayes flashed
wltnindignation. Gracious, how tl Indig-

nant at me I 1 Like that! Did I not promise to be

her "until death dues us part" 1 and death has not taken

my pan yet. Was not what i » ugh?

My w., esl gift to

man as usually falls to the Lot of snfferlo
she is not an angel, Angela do not pretend to be onl of

town wln'ii, in fact, they are sitting on the back parlor

bo& reading the last new novel, oripeeping through (ho
front window blinds to see whether Mrs. Jones oi Brovi n
is not doing the same thing. It is a deception against
which I most emphatically protest, [f i
really out of town, I should rejoice at it. Do not misun-
derstand me. I do not mean to insinuate that I ah* old
rejoice at obtaining a few weeks' liberty. I repndi
a supposition! Let husbands whose wives scold them for
staying ont at dinner until the mutton is burned to a cin-
der, sigh for liberty : my wife only gives me a cold cut
next time.

I should rejoice at the benefit she would derive from

the country air. 1 have no doubl it wonld do her good ;

butto%nbmit to a thousand personal is for the

: _■ Mrs. Jones, Brown, and Tompkins, who

. ality not deceived at all. but are probal ty playing

the same game, is b piece of absurd bumbnggery.

Now, my dear, don't deny it! T se which

yon display on all ordinary occasions will convince yon
of the fiict, if you will only take time to reflect. Don't
shake your head as if yon thought that I was trying to
blarney yon. I never try impossibilities. Hem! You
te a sensible little woman when yon
please: the most sensible little woman that I know of.
So, give me a kiss, And acknowledge thai I am right for
once.

There! ETew you can take what I have written and
tear it up if you like. You won't f Then I shall send it
off just as it is, I may, may It Then ] all have

your rightful prer I put in the last word : and I

k at it. There, take the pen and fold the letter
yourself.

■•I know what John says is gammon, but I shall want
a new dress next week. Mrs. Jons Smth."

BlaSDER, — A Minnesota exchange Bays: "There is a
!i wi si of us-thal has n i newspaper, and the in-
habitants say they do not need any, as they have a ladles'
sewing society."

Last winter a debating society was organized at a
school-house some three miles from this place. One
evening. . ah made

a burlesque of a law speech. Among others he quoted
Bhakspeare as his authority. At this, one lady turned to
another sitting behind, and jesl ' That is

a new thing to me to hear Shakspea i authority

in law. I did nut know before that he was a lawyer."
"Oh, yes!" answered the lady addressed, "I have long
known that he was one of our very first lawyers," The
answer was given wit h

that the first lady was completely silenced nutil sno was
safely beyond the hearing dI Mrs. Pomposity, and theft
such a laugh as she indulged in can -iaed by

those who can see and appreciate a tir>t class joke.

Ttte question is often disensped whether the savages
We suppose they do, as they always seem

anxious to take it when they get a chance.

182

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Adepts m Commercial Puffing. — Packwood, some fifty
years ago, led the way in England of liberal and syste-
matic advertising, by impressing bis razor strop indelibly
en tbe mind of every bearded member of the kingdom.
Like otber great potentates, he boasted a laureate in his
pay, and every one remembers the reply made to the in-
dividuals so curious to know who drew up his advertise-
ments : " La, sir, we keeps a poet !"

But by universal consent, the world has accorded to the
late George Robins the palm in this style of commercial
puffing. His advertisements were really artistically writ-
ten. Like Martin, he had the power of investing every
landscape and building that he touched with an impor-
tance and majesty not attainable by meaner hands. He
did, perhaps, go beyond the yielding line of even poetical
license, wheu he described one portion of a paradise he
was about to subject to public competition, as adorned,
among other charms, with a " hanging wood," which the
astonished purchaser t'ouDd out meant nothing more nor
less than an old gallows. But then he redeemed slight
manoeuvres of this kind by touches which displayed a
native and overflowing genius for pulling. On one occa-
sion, he had made the beauties of an estate so enchanting,
that he found it necessary to blur it by a fault or two,
lest it should prove too bright and good "for human
nature's daily food." "But there are two drawbacks to
this property," sighed out this Apostle of the Mart, "the
litter of the rose leaves and the noise of the nightingales ."
Certainly the rhetoric of exquisite puffing could no further
go.

An Appropriate Name. — A gentleman at the solicitation
of his wife bought a place in the country — a country-seat
and farm. Of course there were alterations and additions
to be made, a mound here, a terrace there, a fountain
elsewhere — a heuery, a piggery, an hydraulic ram, an or-
namental stable, a labyrinthian walk, choice dwarf fruit
trees, hotbeds for early vegetables, Durham and Alderney
cows, black-faced sheep, a pair of ponies, a donkey cart,
and many other etceteras which, no doubt, many of our
subscribers could furnish us with. "And now, deal*,"
said the wife, "what shall we call it?" " Bury-money
I think would be a good title," said the husband.

Hints for Fairs. — Bonbons and dried fruits in boxes
usually sell well, and we have found that a very favorite
amusement is ;1 the wedding-cake,'' as it is termed, which
is arranged in the following way. A piece of card-
board is made into the shape of a large wedding-cake, an
opening being left in the top. It is then covered with
icing in the same manner as a real cake. The inside is
filled with small articles, such as little pincushions, pen-
wipers, packets of sugar-plums, etc. ; and the opening is
covered by an image of Cupid. The company, as they
come up, are invited to take their chauce of the gifts
which Cupid may have in store for them, and each having
paid his or her sixpence or shilling, as the case may be,
tbe little gentleman is removed, and the hand is plunged
into the cake, much merriment being occasioned by the
sight of the pretty things brought out. Another amusing
arrangement, particularly to the juvenile portion of the
assembly, is "'the bran-tub." A cask or tub is filled with
"bran, and a great number of penny toys and inexpensive
articles are buried in it. Upon payment of fourpeuce each
a search amongst the bran commences, and the fortunate
youngster who secures the most valuable prize is much
envied by his companions.

An offender fined a second time is not necessarily refined.

^ JUVENILE DEPARTMENT.

MISCELLANEOUS AMUSEMENTS.
The Feather.

One of the players takes a bed-feather, a bit of cotton-
down, or any light substance coming under the compre-
hensive denomination of "fluff," which he tosses up in
the centre of the assembled circle (who should be seated
as closely together as convenience will admit of). Ho
then blows i»pon it to keep it floating in the air. The in-
dividual to whom it conies nearest does the same, in order
to prevent its falling on his knees, or, indeed, any part of
his person — an accident which would subject him to tho
payment of a forfeit.

One of the chief advantages of this simple but highly
amusing game is, that steady, serious people may be in-
duced to engage in it. Thegravity of their faces, blowing
and puffing away at the contemptible feather, as if all
their hopes were centred in evading its responsibility, is
truly edifying. Sometimes it happens (it being impossible
to blow and laugh at the same time) that the "fluff"
drops into the player's mouth at the very moment when he
is concentrating all hisenergiesin fcheetfort to get ridot'it.
This is the signal for shouts of laughter,- and for a forfeit
demanded in just expiation of the player's greediness.
We recollect seeing au eminent college dignitary in such
a predicament — a spectacle not without its instructive
tendencies.

Bird's Fly.

A very simple game, in which all the players place a
finger on a table, or on the knees of the conductor of the
game, to be raised in the air, when the conductor says,
" Bird's Jly,'' " Pigeon's (or any winged object in natural
history),/^."

If he names a non-winged animal, and any player raises
his hand in distrnctiou, the latter pays a forfeit ; the same
in case of his neglecting to raise it at the name of a bird
or winged insect.

The Trades.

Each player selects a trade, which he carries on in
dumb show, as follows: —

The tailor stitches a coat.

The cubbler mends a shoe.

The laundress washes imaginary tubs full of shirts.

The painter paints a portrait.

The blacksmith hammers at the anvil, etc. etc.

One of the party is chosen as King of the Trades, and
commences the game by exercising his own— setting an
example of industry to the others, who must work away
indefatigably at their various callings.

When the king takes it into Ins head to change his trade
and adopt that of one of the party, all leave off work at
once, and remain inactive, except the player thus imitated,
who immediately takes up tbe trade Of the king, which he
continues to exercise till such time as it shall please his
majesty to change again and take up somebody else's.
The individual honored by this second choice then takes
up the king's trade and continueaJJHl a third change takes
place — the other pjayers remaining- idle till the king
resumes his original occupation — the signal for all to fall
to work aL'ain.

Any player making a mistake, pays a forfeit.

Not a bad name for this game would be Mind your own
Business.

Ton ask for anecdotes of servants; here is one, if you
think it worth publishing. Becky was a " contraband,"
and no brighter than the generality of her sable sisters.
She had a fashion of saying "I guess," to almost every
question ; indeed, she guessed at everything. One day I
said to her, " Becky, you must not say 'guess' so much,
it is vulgar ;" and, thinking to mystify her a little, added,
" the dictionary says that it is the shibboleth of the
north and south." " Well," answered Becky in a very
can't-help-it tone of voice, "then I reckon I must be one of
'em." M, D. W.

Morar is the metal wheel-work of human action, the
dial-plate of our value.

GOPEY'S AJIM-CnAIB.

183

SUBURBAN RESIDENCE.
Designed Gxprtsalyfbr Gfodey'a Lady's B< ;■,-,. 'i u.

PERSPECTIVE VIEW.

i The above design is intended for two houses, 80 arranged

I that they form iu appearance one large building. They
I are conveniently arranged, and have a very agreeable

appearance. They will cost about $G000, and arc suitable
for villages or suburban residences.

By inclosing $30 to Isaac H. Hobbs, Architect, Phila-

FIRST STOET.

SECOND STORT.

184

LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

delphia, sufficient drawings will be sent to the address of
any one wishing to build the above design.

First Story. — I dresser ; K porch, 10 feet wide ; A par-
lor, 29 by 14 ; B hall, 4 feet ; C dining-room, 19 by 12 ; D
kitchen, 16 by 12.

Second Story. — >E bed-room, 16 by 12; G bed-room, 19
by 12 ; II chamber, 15 by 14 ; J chamber front, 20 by 14 ;
H roof of porch, 11 feet wide.

Two elegant little volumes for ladies are just published
by Messrs. J. E. Tilton & Co., Boston. Price $1 CO each.
Illustrated in the style of their "Art Recreations."

Wax Flowers: How to Make Them. With new meth-
ods of Sheeting Wax, Modelling Fruit, etc.

Skeleton Leaves and Phantom Flowers. A complete
and Practical Treatise on the Production of these beautiful
Transformations. Also, Directions for Preserving .Natural
Flowers in their fresh beauty.

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
0"tof post-marks.

L. B. — Seat articles May ISth.

Mrs. G. W. W.— Sent net ISth.

Mrs. J. W. G.— Sent collars 18th.

Mrs. C. E. R.— Sent hair-work 20th.

W. H. C— Sent hair ring 20th.

L. J. M.— Sent pattern 21st.

Mr-. II. C. L.— Sent articles 21st.

Mrs. D. P. W. — Sent hair by express 21st.

Mrs. A. C. II. — Sent box wardrobe by express 21st

Mrs. S. W. B.— Sent patterns 23d.

Mrs. P.. II — Sent braid and pattern 23d.

Mrs. F. L.— Sent pattern 23d.

M. E. P — Sent pattern 27th.

M. M. W, — Sent embroidery cotton 2Sth.

S. W.— Sent skirt elevators 28th.

L. F. II. — Sent India-rubber gloves 31st.

Mrs. R. B.— Sent pattern 31st.

Miss F. A. B.— Sent articles by W. H. S., of Philadel-
phia 31st.

Mrs. J S. H.— Sent silk June 1st.

Miss L. S. — Sent dress shields 3d.

J. T. E — Sent pattern 3d.

St A. C— Sent pattern 3d.

J. B. McL. — Sent cloak by express 3d.

Mrs. L. F. — Sent pattern 6th.

M. H. C. — Sent pattern 6th.

S. H— Sent pattern 6th.

Mrs. J. B. — Sent pattern 7th.

Mrs. G. W. Y.— Sent pattern 7th.

J. W.— Sent pattern 7th.

Mrs. R. J. C— Sent pattern 7th.

Mrs. H. C. L.— Sent pattern 7th.

A. V. S.— Sent hair pin Pth.

R. R. — Sent lead comb 9th.

M. B.— Sr-nt lead comb 9th.

F. M.— Sent pattern 11th.

Mrs. H, II.— Sent hair pin 11th.

Miss C. C. —Sent hair chain 11th.

Mrs. J. H. C— Sent dress elevator 11th.

Mrs. R. P.— Sent articles by express 11th.

Mrs. J. L. M.— Sent lead comb 14th.

Mrs. W. Y. H.— Sent zephyr 14th.

J. C. C. D.— Sent box by express 16th.

Eureka. — " I have found it. A discovery." Have you
no dictionary?

S. H. B. — A hair chain is the most appropriate. Our
Fashion editor can have it done for you.

Miss D. B. — Certainly. An act of politeness deserves an
acknowledgment.

E. L. St. — To match the dress. Most families in New
York dine at five or six o'clock. The dinner followed by
a'cup of coffee, and that is the last regular meal of the
day.

L. M.— -We have published them more than a dozen
times. We will probably publish them again in the
January number of next year.

Myrtle. — The opal stone is supposed to pale when any
danger is about to happen to the wearer. We should not
like to put our trust in it.

Mrs. B. — Children's sayings are no doubt pretty and
pleasant to the parents, but really the public do nut ap-
preciate them. But one of those you sent we Would not
publish, because it speaks lightly of sacred thing

T. R. — You want to be very cunning. But in this in-
stance we are not to be caught. A man cannot "many
his widow's cousin," for the simple reason that he must
be dead before his wife can be a widow.

Miss A. R. H. — The dress shields cost 50 cents per pair.
We cannot give directions for making them ; they are
manufactured by Madame Dernorest.

S. V. A. — Thank you for the receipts. We are not ac-
quainted with navigatiou ; we cannotr therefore direct
your studios in that science.

Mrs. A. S. — Should like to oblige you, but cannot re-
publish the story. If you will let us know what numbers
you have containing the story, perhaps we can furnish
you the others at 25 cents each.

Miss W. H. V. — The gentlemen usually offer the left
arm to a lady, hut there is no rule.

M. E. M.— Dr. Isaac Hays, 1525 Locust Street.

Jfasjnoits.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Having: had frequent applications for the purchase of
jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the
Editress oftfu Fashion Department will hereafter execute -
commissions for any who may dest*e 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 tie addressed to the, care of L. A. Gciaey, Esq.

Ho order will be attended to unless the money is first
received. X> ither the Editor nor Publisher will be account-
abtefor losses thai may occur in remitting.

The Publisher of the Lady's Bonk has no interest in
this department, and knows nothing of the transactions ;
and whether the person pending 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 choir.'. Press

_• Is from Evans & Co.'s ; mourning goods from Besson

& Son; dry good* of any kind from Messrs. A '£. Stewart
& Co., New York; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, from
Bro die's, 01 Canal Street, New York; bonuets from the

FASHION'S.

1S5

from Wriggens

..!i, or Caldu i pbia.

When felons thai prevail here

govern ill" purchase; tberefi ■ be taken

back. When the goods are Bent, the tranaaetiOD oiu*t be
l.red llual.

DESCiilPTIOX OF STEEL FASlilO.VPLATE FOR

AUGUST.
Fig. 1. — Organdy robe with shawl, from the establish-
ment of A. T.« Stewart ft Co., Mew York. Ihe name de-
stgu, In reduced sise, Is on the i ra [-tie of scarlet

silk. White chip hat, trimmed with white and black
f others and a tuft of oats. The brim is lined with white
silk, and very nrach rolled i The shawl is

>f organdy muslin printed t" match the dress.

■ from the establishment of A. T.

New York. The materia] resembles alpaca.

Sne ground is a grayish pearl color, with ornamental

Ophelia purple. Tho hair is very heavily

ortmped, and arranged bi a bow at the back. A ringlet

I.— Child's dress of green silk, trimmed with two

narrow raffles and ruchinga of the Bilk, The white waist

Is caught in Butes at the neck, by running a narrow

■ .. b eyelets placed si regular intervals.

! — A lilac and white _i madlne robe dress. Fancy

.. trimmed with bugle trimming and

1 ■ . trimmed with white ribbon

rlel flowers.

blossom-colored silk,
bimmed with black lace and garlands of flowers. The

hair la dressed with pearl beads and green feathers. An

js is on the left side.

i ■ ■■ — ■■ ■ white grenadine, made over a white

•Uk -lip. The skin is trimmed with box-plaited ruffles
■ ■ Ik, Point and streamers of Eugenie blue silk, trimmed
with a quilling of narrow white ribbon. Black straw
lnt, trimmed w ith Mack and white t\ others, and a black
veil,

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA
FASHIONS FOR AUGUST.
Wb have already mentioned most of the dress foods to
be worn during the summer. Tho organdies

htamly increasing in beauty, and arc DOW Imported with

■hawls to mate] Borne very attractive apeci-

f this kind were shown us at the i stabttshment of
A. T. Stewart & Co., New v.

. i lUUd covered with pin dots of

Imposing black b irdors interwoven w ith garlands

itly colored flowers ornamented the skirt, cor-

iawi.

A pretty sample of the robe organdy with shawl is to

be found in the ftrst figure ol I tn plate. This

second mourn-
ing drci _ lady.

Spanish linen of a beautiful shade of buff is very mnrh
.used for travelling suits. Printed percale suits are used
both for travelling and <' m i

robes of raro quality

' ' i* the organdies. The

ry rich : but generally .u only a

tall and stylish-looking person oould wear them. They

I wear, and probably will only see

fthellghl at b m ■ ■ watering-place, whi

able.

Pora cool, pretty, and serviceable thin dress we would

select tho grenadine bariges. They require no laundress

ration avi ay froi thi y trim up

beautifully, and are verj in sh-looking.

Alpaca ii a have appeared in rol i

chain stitched in silk, others embroidered in different
colored \

Cameleon silks are decidedly the newest ;r Mfi ooosl (a h-
ionable styles. Tho i :■■■•■■ a us n arl - i ha d god to

uo Less than live shades, Bomo reflecting all the delicate
colors of the opal — varying from white to amber, ame-
thyst, rose, and emerald. Tho rich blues, greens, and pur-
p] is In others reminded as of the ever-changing pigeon's
neck. They "were only suited for gr&neb toilette, such as
a morning wedding reception, calls, or a small reunion;
nam; that we saw were suitable fora promenade dress.

Blue-black silks are also a novelty, or rather r very old

fashion revived. They are very rich both in quality and
shade, and range from $3 to $0 a yard. These will he
fashionable during the fall and winter.

The now purples are of the reddish cast, and the pret-
tiest are the Ophelia and Violins. Among the new colore

are goldeu dust, aurore, and cheveux de la reino. Tho
latter borders ou a cuir color. B

Glace vr changeable tnoiria are a novelty. Some aro
both gloci and c/wn a Others are very elegantly orna-
mented With graceful and varied designs.

For instance, the Juno robe, over which are scattered
hunches of the richest peacock's plumes ou a light ground,
such as salmon color. This color it a favorite ground for
all materials, but particularly for foulards.

Feathers are a favorite design this season ; we see them
on all kinds of goods, from cotton to moiris, and the imi-
tation is admirable.

Many evening silk robes have appeared. They aro
generally flowers arranged in a pyramidal design on
each breadth of the dress. These robes are very elegant,
and also, we may add, very expensive.

Basques of all styles are worn, also throe long straight
tails or rather bands directly at the back. Another stylo
is a square tail, split half way up, and set on under the
point of the dress. Others havo basques in the Louis XV.
style.

As the coat bodices are really adopted in good society in
Paris, we uow introduce them to our reader.--, and wehavo

every reason to suppose they will be fashionable during
the fall and winter.

We think regular coats will hardly suit the taste of
our American ladies for street wear: but paletots and
casaqnes trimmed to simulate a coat will no doubt be
well received.

We give in the present number an admirable, illustra-
tion of a coat tail dress, also the diagram for cutting it.
Our Fashion Editress can furnish the paper pattern of the
dress.

These, c^ats were worn in Paris all last winter fox full
ball dress. They were made of velvet or rich silk, and
worn pver skirts formed of masses of airy tulle which are
very appropriately termed nuagts (clouds). As we have
not yet seen any of these fa ill coats, we cannot judge of
their effect; but we ran hardly ino pretty. Wo

would prefer them for a home i
Everything, however, depends apon thecntofthegarment,

and uo doubt from the bands Of a Parisian mudiste they

arei By very*

Some button ' '■■ o thefront like a riding habit,

and gradually slant to a loflj I ■ I back, which

is split up to the waist like a \ drees coat.

fasten with but one button in front, and from thence

slaut off to the back. This style, of course, requires a

186

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

vest. Two buttons are placed directly at the back of the
waist. The most fashionable buttons for all kinds of
dresses are gilt, steel, jet, crystal ivory, both white and
colored, and mixed buttons the size of a large marble.

We tbiuk the coat body will be very much worn ; but
as the style is rather peculiar, we would suggest that the
body and skirt should be of the same material. We also
give iu this number another style of coat suitable for mus-
lin, lace, or silk.

Skirts are made quite short in front, and all the fulness
is thrown to the back, which is made very long. Every
breadth is cut slanting at the bottom, and the longest
part falls to the back. From the hips the plaits all turn.
to the back.

"We saw at Stewart's quite a novelty in ki^ gloves. They
■were of light colors covered with little waving lines or
small stars or pin dots. We mention these merely as a
novelty, for they are far from pretty. For summer wear,
we would recommend kid-finished thread gloves. They
are stitched on the back with a contrasting color, and are
really very pretty. We particularly admire the butf,
stitched with black, and the pure white ones. They are
to be had both with and without gauntlets.

In parasols there is much variety. Most of them have
metal frames and handles; carved sticks are not much,
fancied, as they generally leave the impression of the carv-
ing on the glove. The handsomest we have seen was at
VogeVs, 1016 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. It was of a
delicate mauve silk, with a black thread lace covering
thrown over it. This was worth $75. It was very ele-
gantly mounted and lined with white silk. Less expen-
sive ones are of mauve, green, or some delicate-colored
silk, with a covering of white or black yak or mohair lace.
These are really very stylish. Filch silk, bordered with a
three inch chenille fringe tipped with balls, is another
very beautiful style. Many are embroidered in bead' ; an
effective palm on each division of the parasol, while
others are woven with lace designs which aro extremely
pretty. Plainer ones are made of dark silk, and edged
with a narrow fluted ribbon.

BFo change has yet takeu place with ns in the shape of
bonnets, though we hear that in Paris they have b<;-."n
quite revolutionized. They are said to be but a mere cap
with a ruchiug of crtfpe, silk, or tulle, as a substitute for a
cape. With this style of bonnet the hair is dr^s^ed very
low on the neck, and frequently a flower or tuft of flowers
is placed on the bow or waterfall. This peculiar style
was introduced by the Princess de Metternich, who is
quite celebrated for her good taste in dress. To give our
leaders an idea of these bonnets we copy from a foreign
journal the following description: "The Empress has
already worn one of these curtainless bonnets. It was
made entirely of puffed tulle ; in front it had the smallest
apology for a trout, and was very narrow at the sides. In
the place of a cap, long gold ear-rings iu the style of those
worn by the peasants of Normandy were visible. At the
side of the bonnet there was a small bird with a branch of
lilac, and inside at the top of the forehead a green velvet
butterfly starred with gold. Over tho face, and close to it,
was a small white tulle veil edged with white bugles."

In all probability this extreme bonnet will appear
among the fall importations; but we think it will have
to be altered somewhat, as our ladies do not readily adopt
eccentric-ties.

For young ladies we know of nothing prettier than the
simple and charming muslin bonnets now so popular.
They are made of French muslin or India mull, and
trimmed with Valenciennes insertion and lace. Many are

lined with colored silk, and have the crowus formed of
puffs and insertion arranged like a snail shell, which has
a very pretty effect.

Linen sets are still very much worn ; but tbey are now
trimmed with Valenciennes. The newest collars are
narrow, with square ends in front. The collar is edged
with a narrow Valenciennes, and theendsare trimmed with
Valenciennes lace a finger deep. The cuffs are about three
inches wide, and the upper part falls from the wrist in.
quite a long end trimmed to match the collar. The
newest mouchoirs for ladies have a deep blue or purple
rufHe, fluted at the corners. A rosette of colored fluted
muslin is also placed on each corner.

An illustration of the half wreath now so fashionable
is in the present number.

Information and suggestions on mourning dress and
materials are desired by our readers, and we are pleased to
give them the benefit of a letter on the subject from Mine.
Dcmorest.

Bombazine is used now comparatively little for dresses.
Queen's cloth, Yamise, Henrietta cloth, Barathea, all
wool delaines, and merinos, are much preferred, as being
more durable, handsomer, and still lustreless. Alpaca is
worn where trimming on the skirt is allowable ; of course
in deep mourning no trimming is used.

For the heat of summer, such as we are now experien-
cing, black French grenadine, crape Maretz, and crape
Eugene are the principal materials.

Very elegant shawls are made of silk grenadine, with a
fold a quarter of a yard wide of crape or silk. Circulars
are often made of the same material, trimmed with a fold
of the same. For fall, a fine black Thibet shawl edged
with a wide fold of crape or silk is the most desirable.

In bonnets, bombazine, crape Maretz, silk covered with
crape, and all crape with crape ruche inside, are the only
styles admissible for deep mourning.

There is no dress that requires more discretion in the
choice and arrangement than that called second mourning,
but it is one of the most elegant, when well selected.

For half mourning at this season of the year, Mme.
Demorest is making black grenadine richly trimmed with
flutings and silk, or ribbon quilled and laid on in various
designs, while an endless variety of chene grenadines,
lustrines, crapes, and Mozambiques, in black, gray, and
lavender, give ample scope for a display of taste in all the
gradations of mourning dress.

Some very beautiful designs in shawls have been exhib-
ited this summer, in black grenadine with a border com-
posed of white and violet stripes edged with a heavy silk
fringe. *

Basquines and circulars made in lustreless silk, and
without trimming, are very much worn in light mourn-
ing-

For a half mourning bonnet black tulle puffed and
trimmed with violets ; or, for full dress, white crape
covered with black lace and -.rimmed with violet flowers
and violet strings ; the latter is very much admired as a
reception bonnet.

One of the most elegant bonnets we have seen this
season was composed of a new material having the ap-
pearance of fine tarleton aud velvet woven together to
form small diamonds ; the bonnet was covered plain with
the material, while a simple, trailing vine of black ivy
leaves, veined with white, fell over the crown and cape
inside ; white and black flowers and white strings.

Some very pretty patterns for sleeves, bodices, and fancy
capes have just appeared in the show-rooms of Mme.
Demorest. Fashion.

MMYS IFASlKeMS H.:)IR SEPTEMIE1 [864.

, -y%*t

vol. LXIX. — 16

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EVENING DRESS.

Fig 1. — Evening-dress of white silk, brocaded with bunches of brilliant colored flowers. Over-skirt of illusion, caught
up with roses and leaves. Corsage low, with a short puffed sleeve. A scarf of white silk, figured with gold-color, i-
lastened on the left shoulder with a rose, and passes over the corsage to the right side, where it falls in long streamers.
Tho hair is heavily crimped, and dressed with a gilt butterfly and white plumes.

Fig. 2. — Dress of rose-colored silk, gored and trimmed with black velvet. A wreath of roses forms the coiffure.

196

THE ESTRAMADTTRA.

[From the establishment of C Bkodie, 61 Canal Street, New York. Prawn by L. T. Voiqt, from actual articles

of costume.]

The style presented this month shnws thnt in the mutation of fashion the mantilla is asrain in the ascendant For
mo early portion of the season they are worn in heavy taffetas but later in velvet. The ornam»nt consists of massv
..rocnct headed fringe. This character of trimming will probably be exceedingly fashionable throughout the winter

16* 197

HOME JACKET.

(Front view.)

This jacket can be made of any material, bat for the present season silk or piqui is the most suitable. It fits the
figure quite closely, and is made with a coat sleeve. The braiding can be done with either silk or mohair braid,
and the jacket is edged with a narrow fluted ruffle.

198

HOME JACKET.

{Side view.)

199

FASHIONABLE BONNETS— {See Description, Fashion Department.)

SILX PALETOT FOR A YOUNG LADY.

(Front and Back vieux.)

Trimmed with rich gimp and bugle trimming. Tl

i also very suitable for cloth.

201

UriTIAI, LETTERS, FOE MASKING.

202

BRAIDING PATTERN,

EMBBOIDEBY PATTERN FOB THE END OF A SCABF.

SUITABLE FOR MEKINO, SILK, OR MUSLIN.

203

t-1

f«

i-j

204

GODEY'S

Sajbja %aa\\ anb Ijjappj,

PHILADELPHIA, SEPTEMBER, 1864.

"TAKING BOARDERS FOR COMPANY."

A STOEV OF THE 'HEATED TERM," AND CONTAINING MOKE TRUTH THAN ROMANCE.

BT MARIO n II A R I. A N D .

[Butorcd, according to Act of Congress, in tin* year IS64, l>y Louis A. Godby, in the clerk's olTico of the District Conrt
of tho t'nitcd Slates, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.]

{Continued from page 124.)

CHAPTER II. (Concluded.)
Hats and wrappings were hastily collected ;
Hie sobbing infants shouldered by the much-
pnduring Milesians, and the party defiled up
■ steep, narrow staircase into an upper hall,
surround" '. on all sides by rows of doors lead-
ling into what might have been closets, souear
livore the portals together.
I " Mrs. Bell's apartment !" annonnfed Miss
Saccharissa, engagingly, throwing wide one
>f these. "Your sister's room adjoins it on
.(he left. Mrs. Earle's is just opposite. By
leaving the doors of both rooms open, you can
Always have a delicious draught of air through;
'need never sulhr from the heat. Too will
find cool, fresh water, clean towels, and lights
■a each chamber. I trust that everything is
Wronged to your satisfaction. Supper will be
lerred up in fifteen minutes."

She said all this with the air of a princess
welcoming titled guests to her palace, and
xiwing at the close of her speech, went
smiling down tin' staircase, doubtless to finish
.he love- scene, iu which she had borne so
iptfited a part.

The Bells — father, mother, three children,
ind nurse — crowded into the "apartment"
illotted them, and gazed first around them,
ind then at one another in blank astonish-
uent. A small, low-browed mom, hardly ten
'eat long and eight broad, with a sloping

VOL. LX1X. — 17

ceiling descending to within three foet of the
floor on one side, was ventilated (?) by two
tiny windows one pane deep and four in
width. There were two narrow bedsteads in
opposite corners, covered with patch-work
quilts, neither new nor bright ; between these
was a pine washstand, painted red, supporting
a small basin and a handleless ewer of differ-
ent patterns. Two dingy towels wore bung
on the back of the stand, and above it was
suspended a cheap cracked mirror. The floor
was covered with a woollen carpet, faded and
patched; a table of the same material as tho
washstand, and even more diminutive pro-
portions, with a couple of wooden chairs,
completed the list of furniture. Upon the
table flared and smoked a tallow dip candle,
set in a tin candlestick.

Harry was the first to find his tongue.

"Why, mamma, this must be Mn.v's and
Norab's chamber! We ean't all sh'ep in
here ! There doesn't begin to bo room for
us!"

Poor Mrs. Bell, who Ind been growing hys-
terical for the last hour, could now hive sunk
upon the uninviting bed and cried heartily
with chagrin and mortification. A passionate
petition, born of intense homesickness, was
already upon her lips — an entreaty to her in-
dulgent and sympathizing husband to take
her back to the city on the morrow ; but, at

205

206

GQDEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

that instant, there came across the hall a
roar — a shout of familiar laughter. She knew
as well as if she had seen him with her bodily
eyes how Tom Earle was stamping about the
contemptible little chamber assigned to him
and his family, holding his sides, rocking and
reeling in noisy merriment at his wife's dis-
appointment and surprised observations upon
their quarters.

A glow arose to Mrs. Bell's cheek that dried
the springing tears.

"I have lodged in smaller rooms than this,
my son, at watering-places that were crowded
every year, and which maintained a high
reputation for fashion. Instead of complain-
ing, let us make the best of matters."

' ' Bravo ! " said her even-tempered husband,
deceived by what he considered her cheerful
philosophy, whereas, it was a flashing up of
womanly spirit or spite — whichever it might
be called. " That is sensible ! We won't
trust to first impressions, especially as we are
unexpected guests. Things may look very
different to-morrow."

" They shall ! " responded Mrs. Bell, cour-
ageously, and, following out the principle she
had laid down, she removed her hat and
mantle, and, seating herself in one of the hard
chairs, took the baby in her arms and sent
Mary down in quest of milk for the famished
innocent.

Baby Florence leaned her head against her
mother's shoulder and suffered herself to be
undressed, only an occasional sobbing sigh
testifying that the limit of her slender stock of
endurance was nearly reached. Mary was brave
and shrewd beyond the generality of her
class ; so ready of wit and prompt in action,
that her mistress marvelled at her prolonged
absence. The summons to supper had sounded,
and Mr. Bell, like a good husband and efficient
assistant in the necessary nursery-work to be
accomplished before the meal could be par-
taken of, had found brushes, combs, and soap
in the travelling-bag; washed little Annie's
face and hands and smoothed her tumbled
curls ; then, having performed the like offices
for himself, and superintended Harry's efforts
at imitation, he took Florence, who was by
this time arrayed for bed, upon his arm, and,
stalking back and forth in the short alley
between the bedsteads, sang the enlivening
ballad of—

" Iley, diddle, diddle,
The cat aud the ttddle."

Mrs. Bell had arranged her own hair and
dress, when Mary re-entered with a mug of
milk in her hand.

"Did you have any trouble in finding the
kitchen, Mary?" inquired her mistress, not
noticing her heightened color and worried ex-
pression. "I began to be uneasy about you."

The girl was uniformly good-natured and

respectful ; but the native vehemence broke

bounds no w in the exclamation — ' ' No throuble

at all in finding it, ma'am; but throuble

. enough afther I got there !"

Then ensued a burning account of her griev-
ances, Mrs. Bell being too much astonished
at the unprecedented rush of fiery words to
check her at once. Mary had applied to Miss
Jemima — "the ould young leddy,',' as she
designated her— for the milk, and this person-
age had sent a small bound girl, the sole hired
waitress of the establishment, down cellar for
the desired nourishment. Discovering, by
the combined aid of smell and taste, that it
was sour, Mary had very respectfully an-
nounced the fact to the mistress of the kitchen.

" 'And,' sez she, ma'am. 'Ah!' sez she.
' It 's the thunder this afternoon that has
turned it, shure ! It ginerally does!' And
wid that, she wint on wid her work, leavin'
me a-sthandin' there wid the cup in me hand."
Mary always became intensely Irish in her
speech when excited. "And, sez I, prisently,
makin' bould to spake for the sake of the
stharvin' darlint that was fair breakin' its
heart for the lack of somethin' to ate. Sez I,
'Will you be so kind, ma'am, as to tell me
where I '11 get a dhrop of swate milk, for it 's
sore hungry the poor baby is !' Faith, ma'am,
and she sthared at me as if I had sivin heads,
and sez she, raal scornful-like, sez she — ' Do
you always git fresh milk in the city, or shalk
and water?' 'Pure, swate milk!' said I.
'Well,' sez she, 'I wish you to understhand
for the future, that 's against our rule to dis-
turb the night's milk afther the crame has
begun to rise; but seein' you are just come,
I'll oblige your misthress for this once.'
Wid that, she took the cup herself and wint
off down cellar, and when she brought up the
cup, I '11 be blamed, ma'am, if it wasn't half
water ! But what could I do but howld my
tongue and jest stay to warm it the least bit
over the fire, and put a grain of sugar in .'
'Don't ye put hot wather in?' sez she.
'That 's too rich for a baby's stomach !' 'hi
general, I put one-third hot wather,' sez I ;

"takixg boarders for COMPANY. "

207

'bat I 'm afraid it might waken this too
much.' And as I come out, I heard h. r rail
a' nn' to her Bisters and the black-whiskered
■nan for an impndent Irish huasey!"

"There, there, Mary, say no more about it

Bow !" interrupted Mrs. Boll, hurrying Harry

and Annie from the room, an order they

: with reluctance, so interested Were

they in Mary's narrative.

Their father accompanied them downstairs,
Mrs. Hell lingering behind for a moment to
give instructions as to Florence's resting-place,
Bad as Mary cooled down from her white heat,
1.| administer a few judicious words of mingled
reproof and consolation. She then summoned
»p the most cheerful look at her command,
which, she was nevertheless aware, was a
■Obr counterfeit, and joined the rest of the
p rty in the lining-room.

This " apartment'' — toborrowthe nomencla-
ture of tin- U liuiii — was according to
tern of Barbara Allen's death-couch, as
ordered by that remorseful maiden — "long
rrow." There was barely room for a
single person to pass between the wall and
the row of chairs packed closely together
around the table. On one end of this was
a tablecloth of doubtful purity— leav-
ing exposed a cheerless stretch of pine boards,
Stained and spotted by spilled liquids and hot
dishes. A kerosene lamp, whose villanous
odor was peculiarly penetrating on this hot,
still night, illumined the feast. This consisted
first of two plates of bread — rye and wheat.
Both were hard and both were heavy ; but
the rye was sticky and the wheat dry and
i sour, so there was variety in that portion of
the fare. These flanked a plate of butter —
very oily, notwithstanding the well-stocked
ice-house, and which, before the meal was dis-
patched, was dotted over with greedy flies and
the lifeless remains of rash candle-bugs ; vari-
ety there also, you perceive ! Then came a dish
I of boiled eggs, eight in number — exactly one
i apiece for the party — tea. remarkable neither
! for strength nor heat, and having the unmis-
takable wishy-washy flavor that betrays the
haste or negligence of the maker in not allow-
ing the water to boil ; a saltcellar and castor,
and nothing more !

The three sisters were in obsequious atten-
dance ; likewise the man whom the guests had
seen in the parlor. He made himself princi-
pally useful by replenishing the teapot from
a kettle which he brought from the adjoining

kitchen, and alternately screwing up and
screwing down the kerosene lamp, thus pro-
ducing an agreeable variation of light from
glare to gloom. The lamps were, it soon
appeared, Miss Saccharissa's care, and she
male his officiousness in this respect the
foundation of another coquettish complaint.

" Be still, Saccharissa ; you forget your
position!" said Miss Jemima, sharply.

"Mr. Barley, let me introduce you to the
new members of our happy household. Mrs.
Karle, Mrs. Bi 11. Miss Rose, Mr. Earle, Mr.
Belli This is Mr. Burley, ladies and gentle-
men : A most important and valuable ingre-
dient of our social composition ; I really do
not know what we should do without him.
Have you brothers, .Mrs. Earle ?"

Mrs. Earle replied simply "Yes," not caring
to remind the querist of her relationship to
Mr. Bell. She was both weary and disgusted,
and, as a natural sequence, woefully out of
spirits.

"Jemima, I aniashamedofyou!'' interposed
Hortensia. " Mr. Bell is her brother ! How
forgetful you are growing!"

" If you had one-tenth on your mind that I
have, Miss, you would let a trifle slip from
ynur memory, once in a while !" snapped the
elder; then, mollifying her tone into one of
pensive sentimentality, she pursued — "You
can hardly imagine, Miss Karle, how very
desolate we felt away up here, in the clouds,
as one may say, with no guide and protector,
after being accustomed to the society and
care of our two brothers. When the elder
left us for Washington, it was a fearful blow ;
but when he accepted the foreign appointment,
I thought that I could not survive it. I kept
my bed for a week. Indeed, my nerves have
never recovered from the shock. But we
ought to be more patriotic, I know ; ought to
find consolation in the thought that he is
serving his country. Patriotism is a great
virtue, dou't you think so, Mr. Bell ?"

"It is, certainly!" The unfortunate re-
spondent looked as if he thought that another
egg would be a more desirable thing in the
then state of his physical system ; bnt Miss
Jemima was obtuse to such untiuic ly hints.

"Oh, I fairly dote upon patriotism! So,
when Mr. Burley came to us, it was like a gift
from Heaven. He seems just to fill up the
vacant place in our home and hearts. I
never saw another man with such versatility of
talent. He can do anything. He made us a

208

godey's lady's book and magazine.

splendid pudding yesterday, and some superb
ice-cream to-day. He is a genuine treasure."

" Have some more bread, Miss Rose ? I had
a hand in that, too!" simpered Mr. Burley,
who was evidently used to this barefaced
praise, and relished it amazingly.

Georgie declined the offered plate as coldly
as was consistent with common civility. She
had conceived an intense dislike for the man,
heightened during every minute spent in his
presence by the bold regards he fixed upon
herself. He doubtless meant this for admira-
tion ; but it was none the less offensive on
this account.

"A vulgar, forward fellow!" sho said,
mentally, and forgetting that they had, by
coming hither, enrolled .themselves as Miss
Jemima's friends and equals, she added, in-
dignantly, " What right has she to force her
underbred admirers upon our acquaintance ?"

"Jemima, Miss Rose will take another cup
of tea!" was his next advance.

Georgie prevented him by a haughty ges-
ture, when he would have removed her cup.

"No, thank you, Jliss Ketchum!" she
answered, as if the proposition had emanated
from that lady.

Mr. Burley understood her, for he reddened
and frowned ; then leaning, in an attitude
meant for negligent grace, against the wall
near Miss Rose's seat, he talked with Miss
Saccharissa, in a pretended "aside" that was
distinctly audible to all present. The half-
gallant, half-teasing strain was interrupted
by the rising of the company from table.

"Will you accompany me into the parlor
and make the acquaintance of your fellow-
visitors ?" inquired Miss Jemima. " We have
some delightful people here ; some fine con-
versationalists and excellent musicians. Our
evenings are very gay, positively festive !
You are a musician, of course, Miss Rose ?"

"I am sure she is ! She looks thoroughly
accomplished !" said Miss Ilortensia.

"And such a musical face," observed Miss
Saccharissa. dnleetly. " We can promise you
an appreciative auditory."

"Do come!" cried they all, surrounding
Georgie, and moving towards the open door of
the parlor.

"Mr. Norris!" hailed Miss Jemima's shrill
tones to a gentleman, who just then entered
the hall from the piazza, "we have secured
suck a prize to our musical circle ! Miss
Rose, Mr. Norris 1"

"Mrs. Bell, Mrs. Earle!'' put in Miss Sac-
charissa.

"Mr. Earle, Mr. Bell!" finished Miss Hor-
tensia.

"Do join us in persuading Miss Rose to
indulge us with some divine strains!" cho-
rused the three.

Georgie felt like a haunted, worried fawn
encompassed by a pack of hounds. So rapid
and clamorous was the attack, that she nor
her friends had found space to utter a word,
although both the matrons had striven to
interfere in her behalf. At the appeal to thro
passer-by, her anger reached its height. " I
may prepare for fresh insult I" she thought,
and her every feature expressed her deter-
mination to resist it by the most lofty dignity.

She stood, pale and apparently calm in her
disdain, not moving to shake off the hand
Miss Saccharissa had laid upon her shoulder,
or vouchsafing a glance at the referee. How
soothingly fell the clear, deep accents upon
her throbbing pulses ! The voice was that of
a gentleman, and the words suited it.

"Excuse me, Miss Ketchum! Such impor-
tunity from me would be unwarrantable im-
pertinence." Exchanging his cold tone for
one of cordial respect, he said : "If I am not
mistaken, we have met before, Mr. Earle !"

"We have!" exclaimed Tom, delightedly,
returning the grasp of the other's hand.

" My dear" — to his wife — " you have heard
me speak of Mr. Norris, one of my companions
on that trip to the Adirondacks, last year.
This is the gentleman, and I am right glad to
meet him again."

"What a charming coincidence!" began
the sisters.

Georgie waited to hear no more. Profiting
by this tempting diversion of attention from
herself, she glided, unperceived, from the
group and vanished up the stairway, nor did
she reappear below that night.

CHAPTER III.
TnE sun was redly visible above the brow
of the mountain next morning — a rayless ball
through the dim mist that still enwrapped
the valley, when Georgie and her niece Annie,
who had shared her chamber, descended
to the piazza. There was little temptation)
even to tired tiavellers, to play the slug-
gard upon the lumpy husk mattress and
Lilliputian pillows that had composed her

'TAKING BOARDERS FOR COMPANY.

209

r, the air of her bed

was elo I these things

Serent, tlic incessant gabbling in the

passages and lower rooms would have put to

light all thoughts of steep that might have

her after five o'clopk. The one
able uproar was the clatter, not murmur of
three treble voices — Miss Jemima's loudest
and most piercing, and a base, which Georgie
knew for Mr. Barley's. Her room had a
window near the ceiling — a square aperture,
without sash or shutter, designed as a venti-
lator, and opening directly above the staircase.
Judging from the sounds that ascended through
this, she surmised that the invaluable Burley
was assisting his inamorata in sweeping and
dusting the first floor — stairs and piazza includ-
ed. Finding sleep to be an impracticability,
and discovering that Annie was as wakeful as

Georgia arose, dressed herself and the
child, and, when the voices of the quartette

ay in the direction of the kitchen, she
ventured to leave her cell.

She was not the earliest, even of her party,
on the ground, for, seated comfortably

,:z,i. was Mr. Earle, in close
confabulation with a young gentleman of deci-
dedly j'! | ig appearance. This, ('■•
ifelt sure, was Mr. Norris, although she had not
feieen him the preceding evening. She made
^mends for her former discourtesy by looking
jliimstraight in the eyes, now, as herbrother-in-
|law named him ; acknowledging secretly, as
the did so, that his face was as full of char-
|acter and refhiement as his voice. Ilis coun-
tenance brightened visibly jis he was presented
jto her ; but it was only the expression of
(pleasure one might feel at the introduction to
|a friend's friend. There was not a sign that
'he retained any memory of the disagreeable
■undent conneeted with their former meeting.
■The hot flush passed from Georgia's cheeks,
las she noticed this, and she responded readily
and gracefully to his efforts to engage her in
Hnversation. This was his second visit to

tckum farm-house, she learned, and
while he could not control the amused look
that answered hers of inquiry, he yet spoke

Uy of the indifferent accommodations,
lud the very objectionable triumvirate that
ruled the premises. There were pleasant
walks in the woods and up the sides of the
BXnrStain, he stated, and tolerable fishiug at
-■ertain points on the river. The hunting was
not so good ; as to the trout, he was rather

17*

sceptical; but Mr. Earle and himself had just
been arranging the '1 it

that should determine the truth or falsity of
that theory very shortly.

Meanwhile, Annie Bell had climbed to her
uncle's knee, and, too well trained to inter-
rupt the talk of older people, silentl] occupied
' in robbing numerous fiery spots sprin-
kled over her plump arms. Mr. Earle, chanc-
ing to glance down at her, perceived these.

"What does this mean?" he interrogated,
taking one of the inflamed members in his
hand.

"They are mosquito bites," replied Georgie.
" Our room was full of them. Were you not
troubled in the Bame way ?"

"They never trouble me, individually.
They like me not," said Mr. Earle. " Soho,
mosquitoes ! Why, MissFol-de-rol, the eldest
sister, wrote to us that there never had been
a mosquito seen within ten miles of Soaring
Hirer."

"You were correctly informed, sir!" said
a pompons voice behind him. It came from
Mr. Bnrley, who now thrust his head and
shoulders out of the parlor window, lounging
easily upon the sill, as he continued his
remarks. "That nuisance is confined to the
low countries and the sea-coast. The crea-
ture is a lusus nnturit hereabouts. The eruption
upon your niece's arms and face is a species
of rash that often appears upon the skin when
one exchanges an unhealthy for a pure air.
It is Nature's effort to throw off the evil hu-
mors of the system. I notice premonitory
symptoms of the same breaking out upon
your forehead. Miss Rose."

rgie looked down in dignified silence.
Mr. Norris took care that she should not be
I to speak.

"That is a reasonable theory, perhaps, Mr.
Burley," he responded, Broiling; "but, like
many other theories, it is unfortunately at
variance with facts." He plucked a leaf from
a tree overhanging the porch. "What title
do you bestow upon this insect, in the moun-
tains ? If I had met him in the less favored
Lowlands, I should not have to apply to you
for information."

Mr. Earle's laugh was echoed by Mr. Bell's,
he having just then emerged from the house.

"/ should call that a well-gorged mosqui-
to!" said the former, getting up to inspect
the hapless creature, which Norris held by the
wings.

210

godey's lady's book and magazine.

" I killed twenty-five of his comrades, all
as comfortably filled, before I left my cham-
ber," observed Mr. Bell. " The poor baby is
terribly peppered. I hail forgotten what a
rare species they are in these parts, or I would
have captured a dozen or so of the largest
alive, and brought them down for exhibition."

This raillery was received by Mr. Burley
with sulky effrontery. Deigning no reply, he
disappeared from the window, and. about ten
minutes afterwards, came out upon the piazza,
his hands full of flowers — pinks, larkspur,
and lavender, dripping with moisture. Walk-
ing up to Georgie, he offered her a hunch of
these — as stiff and tasteless a group as could
well be imagined. "We arc all devotees of
Flora, here. Miss Rose."

Completely taken by surprise, Georgie ac-
cepted the bonqui t, hardly knowing what she
did. Recollecting herself the next second,
she dropped it into Annie's lap, transferring
it with a daintily contemptuous gesture of her
pretty fingers that made Norris smile. It was
certain that he liked her none the less for it.

"Is that the major-domo of the establish-
ment?" queried Mr. Bell, looking after the
retreating Burley, as he obeyed a call from
the interior of the mansion.

"I have a fancy that he will become a
partner one of these days," answered Norris.
"His present position is somewhat ambigu-
ous."

Mrs. Karle came down, heavy-eyed and
pale, at the sound of the breakfast-bell, and
close behind her was Mrs. Bell.

" I did not sleep well, and have a wretched
headache this morning," she said, in reply
to Georgie's affectionate inquiries. "But I
am not disheartened. When our trunks come,
we can arrange matters to suit ourselves. I
have baby's crib-net among my things. It is
three times larger than she needs, and I have
calculated that, by cutting it up, we can fur-
nish all our windows with mosquito-bars."

•' I always said that you would be a famous
manager in the back woods," rejoined her
husband, patting her shoulder.

Spunky little woman ! She had reviewed
the whole " situation" i;i her restless brain,
during the tedious hours of that damp, breath-
less night, as she lay, in compulsory quiet of
body, upon the unyielding, uneven flock
mattress, holding Baby Florence tightly in
her arms, lest she should roll from the tall,
n irrow couch to the floor. Mr. Bell and

Harry had possession of the other bed. One
of Mrs. Bell's main resolutions was that,
since the ladies of the two families had been
most eager to try the experiment of a summer
at Roaring River, they should not be the first
to complain. Like most other spirited dames
she dreaded ridicule more than physical in-
convenience, and she foresaw that an early
and ignominious abandonment of a scheme
she had been so forward in advocating would
furnish Tom Earle with perpetual material
for teasing. In imagination, she heard the
whole story talked over among the acquain-
tances to whom they had described, in glow-
ing terms, their contemplated retreat, beheld
herself and fellow-sufferers the mark for abun-
dant jests and unbearable pity, and she raised
her little hand in a vow that, while flesh and
blood could endure, she would, and that with-
out a murmur. Furthermore, her sisters
should do likewise !

By some telegraphical communication, ha-
bitual to the sex, these two were notified of
her determination, and signified their readi-
ness to co-operate with her, ere they reached
the breakfast-table. If the gentlemen chose
to declare their circumstances unbearable,
upon them should rest the responsibility of
changing these, and the jeers of the public.
Most women could be martyrs in a cause like
this, and all three of our fair friends had
rather more than the average amount of wit
and spirit. So each called up a smile that
looked agreeable and natural, in return for
the profuse salutations of the Misses Ketchum.
These stood just within the dining-room door,
en deshabille in calico wrappers ; en grande toi-
lette as to their hair, Miss Jemima's being
puffed over her ears, Miss Saccharissa's curled,
and Miss Hortensia's frizzed. Each wore one
of Mr. Burley's bouquets. Miss Jemima's
was at the back of her head, Miss Saccharissa's
above the left temple, while Miss Hortensia's
crowned the frizzled and pomatumed pile on
the very top of her cranium. As the other
boarders — guests, I should say — entered, they
were presented with much pomp of language,
if not of circumstance, to the later comers.
They were, taken as a whole, an attractive
looking company. There were half-a-dozen
ladies besides those of our party, and about
the same number of gentlemen and children,
and all, with the single exception ofVtMr.
Burley, had the appearance and manners of
well-bred people.

'TAKINC, BOARDERS FOR COMPANY.

211

This last-named personage did not sit with
[ ; but carved at a side-table, dispens-
ing amazingly small strips of a tough, leath-
ery Bubstance, complimented by the name of
" steak." There were, besides this chiefviand,
two large sonp plates of a mixture, suspicious
| in looks and odor, oalled " bash ;" two others
.of stewed potatoes, hard, grayish, and waxy ;
two parts of butter, and four piles of brea 1.
exactly similar in appearance and character to
rve.l up to the hungry travellers the
: night before. Bessie Earle, a fastidious miss
H -;k summers, turned up her nose at the
Bash, and alter a futile effort to masticate the
steak, furtively withdrew the gristly morsel
from her mouth, and depositing it upon the
; side of her plate deolared to her mother that
ishe did "not feel like eating, somehow'."
Distressed at this failure of appetite, Mrs.
Earle turned to Miss Saocharissa, who stood
{nearest her chair, and asked, politely, if the
'child could have an egg.

"Certainly! I hope yon will never feel
any hesitation hi asking for what you wish !"
1 that young lady, benignly, and with-
drew from the room to see to the fulfilment of
iuest.
In a minute or two she was back again, and
leaning OVI t Mrs. Earle's shoulder, with un-
ru ill. .1 urbanity of visage and manner ex-
pressed her regret that there was not an egg
in the house. The last had been boiled for
the late supper of the previous evening.

"How then did they clear the coffee?"
'.wondered Mrs. Hell, who always drank tea.

A glance at the muddy liquid in her hus-
band's cup laid this thought to rest.

• Eggs are- awfully scarce, frightfully dear ! ' '
Said Miss Jemima, who had overheard the
petitiou and reply. "And in a family like
ours we use an immense quantity. Hut I
think it is sinful to murmur. My brother
writes me from the city that they are selling
in their market for thirty cents a dozen. Oh,
toh, oh-h! isn't that dreadful! Just think
how the poor must sutler in those large towns !
[And even the middle and wealthy classes
lhavc to submit to privations that we happy
ountry people never dream of. When I
reflect how many of my fellow-creatures sub-
istupon swill milk, stale vegetables, and taste-
ess baker's bread, I am moved to thankful-
lessthat my lines were cast in such pleasant
.daces. Have you ever visited Washington,
*Ir. Norris ?"

'• 1 have, madam."

"The fare in the hotels thero is abominabln,
isn't it?"

"It did not strike mo as being unbearable."

'• Didn't it .' I passed one winter in Wil-
lard's, while my brother was in Congress.
O, what a gay time I had ! [ to enjoyed
meeting the distinguished men of the day '
My brother's parlor was the favorite resort of
such statesmen as Clay, Crittenden, Webster,
and Calhoun. I became very intimate with
them."

"Indeed! I had not snpposed that yonr
brother was a Congressman so long ago,"
rejoined Norris, with admirable gravity. " I
thought him comparatively a young man,
your junior, in fact. I never imagined that
he was contemporary with Calhoun."

"Is there nothing which that sweet child
will eat, Mrs. Earle ?" Miss Jemima became
suddenly very solicitous for Bessie's comfort.
" We have such a variety that something
must surely tempt her. We always study to
set a varied and appetizing assortment of
eatables before our friends.''

" I will trouble you for a glass of new milk
and a slice of toasted bread, if yon please.
She is not very well this morning, I think.''
said Mrs. Earle, in her gentle, lady-like way.

"Hortensia, give the order!" said Mi's
Jemima, briskly.

The milk was brought pretty soon, and re-
membering Mary's story, Mrs. Earle raised
the glass to her own lips before giving it to
Bessie. There was no mistaking the quality
of the beverage. It had been both skimmer!
and watered. It did not even leave a whit-;
trace on the side of the tumbler as it regained
its level.

" I am very sorry" — this time it was Miss
Hortensia's turn to be affably apologetic at.
Mrs. Earle's car — " hut the kitchen lire is so
low that the cook says she cannot possibly
toast a slice of bread over it."

This general lowness of condition was, by
the way, as all the boarders speedily discov-
ered, a chronic complaint of the kitchen-fir-.

" It is so hot that we only kindle it up to
prepare the regular meals," Miss Jemima ex-
plained. "We could not work in the room
where a constant fire was kept."

Mrs. Earle had a queer sensation in her
throat as she broke up a piece of dry bread
into Bessie's milk, and saw her try, dutifully,
in obedience to her injunction, to swallow it.

212

LADY S BOOK AXD MAGAZINE.

She recollected, as a morsel of consolation,
that she had that morning found still re-
maining in the luncheon-basket a store of
liiseuits and sandwiches. How little she had
known of their real value when she provided
so liberally for their journey ! She was glad
to think, moreover, that there were a box of
crackers ; a fine old English cheese ; cakes,
sugar, lemons, wine, and was candles among
the baggage which would probably reacli them
before night-fall. Crusoe, on his desert island,
did not overhaul the chest cast ashore with
more trembling hope and anxiety than did
this thrifty housewife and tender mother
rehearse mentally the contents of the precious
boxes — yet undelivered.

By nine o'clock the sun gave promise of
throwing aside the envious mantle of cloud,
and the ladies caught, with avidity, at a pro-
position broached by Mr. Bell, that they
should don hats and overshoes and walk to a
neighboring eminence, said to command a fine
view. The grass was high and wet in the
orchard through which their way lay, and the
trees loaded with rain drops ; but they were
not to be turned back by these trifles, remem-
bering the ennui that awaited them in the
house they left behind. After ten minutes'
tramp, they stood upon "Prospect Hill."
It overlooked meadow lands on either side of
the river, in one direction ; the Ketchum farm
buildings in another ; the view was bounded
abruptly upon two others by a range of pro-
saic, monotonous mountains, with no partic-
ular beauty of outline ; not high enough to
be grand, nor was the forest that formed their
scanty covering noteworthy for aught except
the frequent black patches that interrupted
the green, and the curling smoke, that beto-
kened these to be the work of charcoal-burners.
The river was, at its broadest part, half a mile
i u width ; a muddy, sluggish stream, wallow-
ing between reedy and marshy banks.

Georgie exclaimed with disappointment —
then, remembering the feminine compact,
( , ied to divert her escort's attention from her
i idiscretion.

"Why 'Roaring River ?' " she asked. " It
is quiet enough here."

"There is a tale to the effect that it is a
i irbulent rivulet near its mountain source,"
;■ : plied Mr. Norris. "The Misses Ketchum
;'. re eloquent in their description of the grand
cascade to be found by diligent search about
twenty miles up the stream. If you remain

here until clear weather, Mrs. Bell, we can
make up a party to visit it. At this point, I
grant you, Miss Rose, that it ' roars you soft
as any sucking dove.' "

Mr. Earle ejaculated a monosyllable in his
wife's ear, as, warned by the darkening hea-
vens that another shower was at hand, thcy
beat a precipitate retreat from their post of
observation.

"Bosh!" he said, emphatically, and she
knew that the scenery and the indoor accom-
modations were alike written down in his
books as a " sell."

It rained so persistently, for three days
more, that the question was gravely mooted
whether the sun were here, as in the polar
regions, invisible for half the year. The first
day and a half were consumed by the Bill
party in unpacking trunks and contriving
ways and means to convert their cells into
tenable habitations. " Stow close" was here,
as at sea, the imperative maxim. Trunks
were summarily banished to the hall, even at
the risk of torn dresses and bruised shins.
Under Mrs. Bell's strait, slender-limbed bed-
stead were packed, with due regard to order,
first, a dozen bottles of wine, and as many
of porter, laid in rows upon their sides ; then
came a square tin box of crackers — sweet,
Graham, and butter — and a round, wooden
one of cheese; next, a leather case of boots
and shoes ; and nearest the foot a covered
clothes-basket. No decent mechanic in the
crowded streets of her native city would have
endured to live in such a fashion : but the
brave-souled matron said to herself and others
that it was absurd to expect the comforts
of home anywhere except at home, and made
a heroic display of merriment over the shifts
to which they were obliged to resort in order
to move and breathe.

She was not singular in her philosophical
principles and attempted practice of the same.
Yet the feeble show of jollity that reigned
nightly in the parlor which Miss Jemima
described as "the home of social mirth and
intellectual converse," deceived none of the
participants therein into a belief of its reality.
The ladies crocheted and sewed about the cen-
tre-table, conversing in subdued tones ; the
gentlemen, having discussed their cigars in the
damp piazza, sauntered in, one by one, and
allowed themselves to be set down to whist :
submitted to be talked to by one or the other,
often by all the Misses Ketchum, or sat gloomily

"TAKING BOARDERS FOR COMPANY.

213

apart, poring over newspapers three days nlJ ;
for, among the advantages of the place which
Miss Jemima had accidentally omitted to
mention, was a semi-weekly, instead of a
daily mail. The triad of sisters were, we
fely say, the only ones who really en-
(joyed thei pet "evening reunions. '' Tho
domestic duties of the day were over; tho
kitchen liro allowed to perish peace-
fully. Assisted by Mr. Bnrley, Mi^s Saocha-
fi3sa had washed and wiped the dishes ; Miss
fkmima arranged the preliminaries for break-
fast and stored the day's scraps ; Miss Hor-
■nsia scolded, while she helped the bound-
;irl to put water in every room and towels
they were due; for these indispensable
were, like the mail, distributed but
. week, and then only one or two to
no. And, decked in other and gayer
jflbes than they had worn through the hours
|>f daylight, the Misses Ketchum appeared in
te apartment and addressed themselves
o the work of entertaining their "friends."
lot that what Mr. Earle rudely, hut confiden-
tially anathematized as their "confounded
was more incessant then than at other
imes. All three talked continually, Miss
emima especially. Sweeping, dusting, cook-
ag, serving, or waiting, her tongue was a
brible confirmation of St. James' wisdom and
gentler portion of mankind,
'hen he pronounced it to be an " unruly evil,
•hich no man can tame."
But, in the social gathering after tea, the
s sank the kitchen and chamberwork.
Wiles lettres, the fine arts, fashions and flir-
itious were matters to which they did there
lost seriously incline. Then would Miss
emima beg leave to delight the company with
the sweetest thing" from Tupper or Willis,
nd enunciate astounding hits of information
oncerning this or that author, generally a frag-
ment of personal history, she vouching for the
uthmticity of the story upon the strength of
n acquaintanceship with the notability under
■>n, formed "in my brother's parlor in
l/ashington, while he was a member of Con-
The parlors, so often aforesaid, would
hem to have been an omnium gatherum of
Ulebritics, since there was scarcely one be-
Imging to this century whom she had not met
ithin its charmed precincts during that
hj winter in the capital." MissJemima
as strong upon adjectives.
During these three days and nights, the

most powerful emotion of our city party,
mastering even their extreme sense of discom-
fort, and soreness of acknowledgment that
they were the victims of an egregious an. I
barefaced imposition — was a feeling of over-
whelming wonderment at volubility so amaz-
ing— to them unprecedented and terrific.
The marvel was that the woman's vocal appa-
ratus did not absolutely wear out.

"Sheet iron and steel springs would have
gone to wreck long ago, with one-half the
friction," said Mr. Earle. "But gabbling it
Jemima's normal state. She does violence to
her whole nature whenever she shuts her

mouth."

(Tu be continued.)

WAIT!

BY J . H. O.

VoTAfiEK on life's billowy main! Is thy
sky overcast ? Does the storm gather ? Art
thou dashing upon the rocks ? Do the surges
rise, threatening every moment to engulf
thee ? Dost thou feel thy heart sinking, thy
courage failing, and all ready to sink down in
despair ? Wait ! Yes, voyager, wait. The
storm cannot always rage ; the tempest matt
spend its fury; and the fiercer the elements
rage, the sooner must the storm pass. So
purely as we have the assurance from God
himself that there shall be no more flood, and
we behold his pledge in the heavens after the,
ling shower, just so siirflj will the tem-
pest cease, and a blessed calm and sunshine
follow.

Life has its Marahs of sorrow and suffering ;
but there never was a night so dark and
less but there followed a morning, and sorrow
taken in a right spirit cannot fail to beautify,
enlarge, and ennoble the soul, and make one
more spiritual. And He who once on Geth-
e's sea bade the raging waters "By
still!" can speak to thy soul, voyager, pence,
and bid thee toaic, and in his own good time,
if thou walkeet worthy of it, the reward sha I
follow; perhaps not while a partaker of the
changes of time, but will it he any the I ■ |
welcome because an eternal reward ? A<'. I
to thy faith patience, and bide the time.

Wait, voyager, wait.

Praise and Blame. — Praise, when the rea-
sons for it are given, is double praise ; censure,
without the reasons for it, is only half censure.

BEL DANA'S TEMPTATION.

FRANK EHOS

Hap ever a woman such wooing ? Ever
since Mother Eve, for the want of some other
occupation probably, went flirting with the
wily old serpent in the garden of Eden, down
to the present day, it has seemed woman's
especial prerogative to be forever putting her
foot into some unfortunate affair.

Now, if Eve must taste from the forbidden
tree, why need all her many daughters go
reaching for the tempting fruit that turns to
ashes on the lips ? It was a great temptation,
greater than Bel Dana could withstand — she
whose young head was overflowing with all
manner of romancing nonsense ; and, besides,
it was her first offer — and who ever heard of a
woman saying "Yes" to that, or owning to
it if she did ? So the forbidden tree in Bel
Dana's Eden looked very temptingly that
summer's day, and the serpent coiled in its
branches, winked its bright eyes, and seemed
to whisper "Pluck and eat." So the little
"No" hovered for an instant only on her lips,
and then was spoken.

Now, Bel Dana had always thought of lovers
that should come sighing and trembling to
her feet, asking but to touch the hem of her
garment, and be forever transported to re-
s-ions of perfect bliss ; and that she could say
" No," and " Never," in terrible disdain, and
still hold them willing captives until such
time as she was tired of conquest, and then
smile radiantly upon the most eligible of them
all, and see the others expire with envy, or
grow wild with despair.

But romance is one thing, and reality is
decidedly another ; and how her romance
suffered that afternoon when Fred Leighton,
instead of crouching at her feet like a whipped
spaniel, or rolling his eyes like a love-lorn
Romeo, paused in the interesting occupation
of mending his fishing-line, and said, without
preface or preamble, "Bel Dana, you are the
dearest girl in all this world; will you marry
me?"

'Oh what a fall was there ! Airy castles.
that for years had been looming up in the
glowing future — that beautiful Utopia of girl-
hood— how they tottered and fell in that .one
little moment, and all Bel Dana's bright
214

dreams and romancing lay deep down under
the ruins.

It was a rude awakening, and if it had come
from any other lips than Fred Leighton's she
could have borne it better, for, truth to tell,
all Bel Dana's heroes were vastly like Fred.
No matter how she disguised them under fierce
moustaches, or sent them galloping away on
fiery chargers, with "sword and pistols by
their sides," they were sure to turn back
somewhere in the plot, with a gesture or a
speech so exactly like Fred Leighton's th.it
even the little dreamer herself could not fai
to see who was the hero. But never in her
wildest, dreaming had she ever imagined :
lover making love to her in the broad glare o
a June afternoon, tying at full length on tha
green bank of a brawling brook, while hi
angled for trout or mended his fishing-line.

Bel Dana's face grew very red at first, an<
then white, and her short upper lip took a:
extra curve, as she bent low over Longfellow'a
" Evangeline" that lay idly on her lap ; but
she could not read, no, not if the whole world
had been gained thereby.

The line was mended, and a brilliant fly at
the end danced merrily on the sun-lit water,
when Fred looked back over his shoulder and
said — " Why don't you speak to me, Bel ?"

This was the moment of temptation. Should
she come down meekly from her pedestal cj
pride, and say, humbly, "Yes," like any comi
mon maiden ? or should she teach Frederic^
Leighton that the man that won her heart could
not do it so easily as he could draw a shininj
trout from the water ? How the old serpen
writhed, and twisted, and coiled in and 01
among the green 'leaves, and hissed, "Be no
lightly won ; a heart that is worth the askin
is worth a world of trouble to obtain."
would be a splendid triumph to bring thi
saucy independent Fred Leighton sighing
her feet ; and so Bel Dana pursed up h
mouth, tossed her head, and said, empha
it-ally, "No!"

"Oh, Bel, what a beauty! look, quick:
and a little crimson-speckled trout swn:
bark and forth in the bright sunshine, hi-
over her head. "Just come and see if ii

BEL DA2TA.S TEMPTATION.

215

sn't a boautyj Bel, and the largest of the
id Fred laid all Ins shining treasures,

ue by oue, down on the bank to compare
,ith it.

Bel ourlod her lip, and looked supremely
different to all kinds of fish or fishermen,
nd thought, " Is that the man that five min-
■ asked me to marry him?" So she
■Bed quietly back against the old apple-
ree, and tried to follow meek-eyed Evangeline
'i her lonely journeying after her lost lover,
.ut the charm was broken ; her eyes would
■hlder away to the fleecy white clouds s.ul-
lig so lazily along on the faintest of all rose-
■ented June breezes, or listen to the rippling
iusic of the water as it danced away over' the
moolh pebbles in the soft sunshine. 0 it
(as a glorious afternoon ! filled with the
bung summer's freshest beauty, vocal with
pd-songs, and heavy with fragrance. One
tour before Bel Dana would have gazed en-
hanced upon such a scene as lay before her;
jilt now, she could see nothing of all this
pkuty; know nothing, but that Fred Leigh-
■n lay there in the shadow of the great
Iple-tree, watching the sparkling water,
hili/ the soft wind tossed the hair back from
I white forehead, utterly oblivious to all
febgs. 11 seemed an age since that little
i -lipped over her lips, that she had
in such pride, but somehow she felt
>ne of the promised pleasure that she had
I ; she had tasted from her forbid len
,nd found it very, very bitter,
i A motherly robin sat in her nest up in the
'iple-tree 1. ran, lies, and tipped her hi
H, and winked and blinked insnch a know.
g way, while the yellow-breasted hnsband
lent dashing in and out, piping his shrill
Vng, or bringing a delicate supper for his
lithful spouse in the shape of a worm full
\ai inches long. Little innocent things, how
ippy they are! thought Bel, bringing her
'es down from the tree at last to see Fred
jeliug in his line, while he whistled merrily,
oking anything but a disconsolate, discarded
ver.

belle! did I understand you to say
io' to me this afternoon ?" he said, at let
rowing himself down on the soft turf, in
e deepest shadow, and looking over to
icre Bel was sitting.
"I said it."

"And what could have tempted y»n to re-
se Mich a splendid husband as I shall m

Bel Dana? lam afraid you will regret it:"
and Fred laughed that peculiar chuckling
of his that always made Bel think of
babbling water.

"Because I do not love you, Mr. Leighton.
I think that is a sufficient reason why I shoul I
not marry you."

" Not love me ? Why, little Bel, you have
loved me ever since you were so high. Hfdt
love me, indeed ! well, that IS rich ;" and Fred
lay back on the grass and laughed until the
old robin on her nest quaked with fright.

"I do not love you, Fred Leighton, and
what is still more to the purpose, I hate you
desperately." This was said in the most em-
phatic manner, while her face went crimson,
and tears started into her flashing eyes. "Lpve
you, indeed ! I should scorn myself if I
thought it."

"Little pet, then why did you not go with
all the others to Beresford Abbey to-day,
when Colby Vincent went down on his knees
to you almost to make you consent to go,
and proud Clcve Terry even turned back to
see if you had not changed your mind at the
last moment? I think the other girls must
have felt the compliment. Two lackadaisical
swains, looking as though they were going to
the stake, instead of joining a brilliant picnic
party — and all because Lady Bel.Dana refused
to 1. n.l the sunshine of her presence on the
occasion. Ha, ha ! Own up to me now, Bel ;
you thought of the cool shadow of this glorious
old apple-tree, when you said 'No' to them,
didn't you ? and you knew I would come here
and fish — and — and you didn't hate me then,
did you, Bel?"

"Then, now, and forever!" And Bel Dana
swept past him with the air of a tragedy
queen, only that she was so very petite the
effect was quite spoiled. She made one think
of an enraged little wren.

Half an hour after, Fred Leighton came
whistling along through the orchard, bringing
his fishing implements and flinging them down
in the hack piazza, while he displayed his
finny treasures to Kitty, who promised to have
them instantly made ready for supper. After
that. 1'.. 1 heard him come up to his room and
go down again, and then she heard him sing-
ing in the parlor snatches of that beautiful
duet they had practised together that morn-
ing, and then playing over all those delicious
waltzes until her very brain went wild hearing
him.

216

GODEY 6 LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

The sun went down toward the amber-
tlouded west, and the first pale star peeped
forth, and still Bel Dana sat thinking — "you
have loved me ever since you were so high."
j\h, that was the unkiudest cut of all. How
u ire he say it ? And was it not true ? Years
ago, almost as far back as she could remem-
1 vi, Hal Dana and Fred Leighton had been
like brothers. Every summer vacation was
fepent by them at the old farm-house, and
since they had gone into business, the old
time pleasures could not all be given up, so
every few weeks, all through the summer, they,
together with several of their friends, man-
aged to spend a few days among the cool
shadows at the farm.

And so, Bel Dana grew up to girlhood,
thinking of the pleasant days when Hal and
Fred were home, and growing to think at last
that they were the only pleasant days that
came in all the long, bright year.

The last fold in the red banner that draped
the west had faded, other stars came out in
the Blue sky, and the young moon's pale
crescent }'et lingered over the old pine woods,
when the tramp of horses' feet along the
smooth road announced the "coming home."
Eose Vincent came first, with Hal ; Bel could
hear her sweet voice laughing as they came,
ringing out on the clear evening air like music.
Way Terry came meekly along under the
awful shadow of her brother's wing; while
young Vincent managed to ride very close on
the other side.

Bel Dana had settled it in her own mind,
some months before, that beautiful Rose Vin-
cent was to be her sister, sooner or later, so,
when she crept softly up toiler room not long
after, with her riding-skirt over her arm,
and the plumes of her hat drooping over her
dark curls, and bent down over Bel's chair,
and whispered "Sister," she foiled her arms
around her neck and cried ; whether for joy
at Rose's happiness, or she found tears a
convenient escape-valve for her own private
wretchedness.

Bel excused herself from going down to
tea, and so all that evening merry voices came
up from the piazza, and she had the supreme
satisfaction of hearing Rose Vincent singing
her part ill the new duet, ami over and above
all the rest came Fred Leightou's laughter,
happy and gay. It must have been 1 d« when
they separated for the night. I'nr Bel had
been dozing a long time when May Terry's

soft lips touched her cheek and said "Good
night."

" You will be well enough to go to-morrow,
won't yon, Bel ? Cleve has looked dismal
enough to-day, and I know it's because you
were not with us. Do you know, Bel, I think
he loves you ?"

"Oh. dear me! No, don't let him, May !'
and Bel sat bolt upright, clasping her hands,
and looking the very picture of despair.
"What shall I do ? Tell him he must not, May :
never, never in the world. Will you, May,
promise me?" and Bel, with her great fright-
ened eyes, and disordered hair, looked wild
enough.

"Is he so very disagreeable then, Bel?"

"Oh, no, not that, dear May; but I don't
love him, and I can't tell him, it would seem
so — so — "

" Well, never mind ; perhaps I 'm mistaken
after all, Bell ; don't think anymore about it,
dear ; good-night ;" and May Terry went out,
and closed the door softly behind her.

The morning sun had but just peeped over
the eastern hills when merry voices broke in
upon Bel Dana's slumbers, and the girls en-
tered her room ready for the day's excursion.

Half an hour after they were all en route
for the gypsy encampment, lying down the
valley some dozen miles. Cleve Terry con-
stituted himself Bel's particular cavalier, and
Fred Leighton took tiuiid little May under his
special guardianship, while Mr. Vincent was
forced into escorting one of the dashing Len-
oxes. They were a gay party; but still poor
Bel Dana, how miserably jealous she felt
seeing May Terry's pale cheeks grow crimson,
her eyes sparkle, and her light laughter tipple
back on the swift wings of the morning wind,
mingling with Fred's !

Oh, had ever a woman a lover like that ?
The shining old serpent, now trailing over all
the flowers, that so short a time ago were
filling her liden with beauty, hissed again —
" Flirt with Clove Terry ; don't let a lover see
that he has it in his power to make you mis-
erable. Flirt, flirt with Cleve Terry!" But
that idea was too ridiculous, had poor heart-
sick Bel felt ever sn much inclined, for one
would as toon have thought of coquetting with
an iceberg as Cleve Terry, who never wis known
to descend from his rigid perpendicularity.
"Oh, wo to the angel in woman's guise,"
thought Bell, " Hint dares trouble the waters
in that placid pool !"

I' ax a s ti:m PTATION.

, inil 1. did Bel Dana think, riding

on tli.it beautiful morning, think-
ing only "t her own troubles, that the angel
bail already disturbed the deep waters in the
re Terry, and they were at that
very moment swelling an. I surging, making
the strong man a very child. Before tin- day
was over, howeveui she knew it ill. lie had
not intended it ; but it came so naturally, so
■wily, riiling back in the gathering darkness
of tin coming night, and Bel beside him, so
still and quiet, so unlike her usual brilliant
spirits that be felt his heart go out towards
h.r in sympathy, and he longed to fold her in
is, mil keep her quiet, still, peaceful,
all her life.

It had been a miserable day to Bel, and she

I :ng home now, feeling so lonely, so

1, that the tears would sometimes

Hprce themselves from tinder the closed eye-

;lid-. no matter how bard she tried to keep

back, and trickle down over her bnrn-

0 how beautiful the glittering

ifruit on the tree of temptation, little Bel ! but

how bitter, how accursed when plucked and

Bated. It was a very gentle hand laid on

Bel Dana's bridal rein, and alow, kind voice

id: "Bell, you are unhappy; what

Itoubles you ?"

- in vain that she tried to evade the
i, and go faster: h.r horse was under
{a firmer hand than hers now, so. no matter
|how wildly her chafed spirit longed to
,she must sit quietly and hear it all.
< "Tell me, Bel, what troubles you?" he
Jsaid, again feeling the hand that he was half
^crushing in his tremble.

J ''Why do you think me troubled, Mr. Terry?

jHttely a woman can stop talking without

Arable, can't she?'' and Bel tried to laugh,

"but it sounded strangely forced and unnatural.

it "I think not, Bel, Certainly, not you, for

hard for you to stop talking as for a

•wight little running brook to stop singing.

. Bel. I must tell you, to-night,

•I though 1 have vowed a thousand times not to,

Hove you, Bel Dana, dearly, dearly ! Can you

le ?"

0 how the blear-eyed old serpent of a few

moments ago now sparkled and shone ! The

eyes were glittering like a thousand stars,

and the forked tongue hissed, ••This is indeed

Show him that the heart he treats

but lightly, another stoops to win ; say yes —

s."

vol. lxix. — 18

"Bel, darling, can you love met" How
tenderly the little half-crashed hand wa9
i and carried up to the lips aeki:

love : How the siek heart, throbbing in Bel

Dana's bosoin, whispered, '■.'surely, this :;
love! I will try — I'll think no more of one
that— that" —

"Speak to me, Bel, just one word; do you
love me?"

Out on the tip end of the highest branch on
the tree of temptation hung this golden, glit-
tering apple, higher, higher, and higher; still
Bel Dana reached her hands to grasp it, but
every light breeze blew it just a little breath
beyond — and, welling up from the depths of
her tremulous, fluttering heart, the little
answer struggled, and the old serpent hissed,
"Now, take it," and into her open hands
drifted the golden fruit, and over the white
lips drifted the low-breathed "Yes."

Had a thunderbolt fallen at Bel's feet, it
could not have startled her more than the

i at
en,

knew was, in the sight of high Heaven, the
blackest falsehood. lint she had said it, and
her half-palsied tongue refused to take it
back; so she sat mute and statue-like, while
I 'love Terry told her how she had made his
loveless life beautiful — bow henceforth she was
to be bis, his only, brightest and best beloved.

How all that long night B'd Dana tossed
upon her restless pillow ! how dark life looked
to her! Where now was the glittering-eyed
tempter? where now the promiser of a sweet
' Hidden down under all the bright-
est dreams in this young life, watching how
well his work had' been done. All the nest
day she lay in her darkened room, refusing
entrance to all but her mother. Even Mr.
Terry turned away from the door unanswered,
and went silently down the stairs. She heard
Fred Leighton's voice in the hall, once or
twice, speaking gently, and from that she
turned wearily away, letting the tears flew
softly down. O, revenge is sweet !

It was near evening ; the soft wind swept

the rose-leaves clustering around the window
into little pink drifts on the couch whi
lay, looking out into the stillness beyond.
How quiet everything was! only the last
Sweet songs of the birds flitting borne to their
nests, or the lowing of cattle on the far-off
hillsides — these were all the sounds to be
heard, and over all went the golden sheen of
the setting sun. 0, this world is beautiful t

218

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Pity that there should come sin or sorrow,
heartbreakings and weariness, and at last
dying.

There came a firm step on the stairs, a low
knock on the door, and immediately after
Hal Dana entered the room.

"Bel, child, what is the matter with you?
What have you been doing?"

"Oh, Harry" — and she turned her pale face
down to the pillow — " I am so wretched ! you
don't know."

"No, to be sure I don't know; and it's
just for the express purpose of finding out
that I am here; and I want you to tell me
instantly all about it. There 's Cleve Terry
down stairs deserves a strait-jacket — walking
up and down incessantly, refusing to eat
or to sleep, and is making a fool of himself
generally; and as for Fred, something's wrong
with him, too — he sits with his hands thrust
into his pockets, and glares at Cleve like a
■wild beast, and never speaks ; and if you '11
belike it, actually refused a cigar not fifteen
minmes ago. Now, you may rest assured,
something 's up with him, and it must be
something awful! It 's a good thing the Len-
oxes have taken the girls off; they'd have a
precious lime here with things in this state.
Mother 's snivelling in the back kitchen, and
father's stared at the Christian Observer for
two long hours, and it 's bottom side up all
the while. Heavens and earth, it 's enough
to make a man go distracted!"

"Harry, dear, don't be cross to me. I am
so miserable."

"Well, child, what makes you so? what's
the fuss ?" And Hal drew his chair up to his
sister's sofa. "Tell me all about it, Bel; that's
a good girl ; I 'm not going to be cross, not at
all."

After many tears and breakings down, it
was told at last, told between sobs and Har-
ry's ramping up and down the chamber like a
caged lion, and denying all the while that he
wasn't as cool as an icicle — told in a voice
choking with tears, but told wholly without
the slightest concealment — and Bel felt better.

"Now I'll tell you what must be done."
This was said emphatically, and the tear-
stained face looked anxiously up. "Bel, yob.
must tell Cleve Terry this story from beginning
to end."

"0 Harry, dear Harry ! I cannot; anything
but that" — and she buried her head in the
pillows.

"Then you are no sister of mine, Bel Dana.
Am I to have two of my dearest friends made
fools of just for your silly caprice? No, Bel,
in justice to yourself do this ; it 's the only
honorable way ; you must know, child, thfe
is no light matter. Look at Cleve Terry's
face to-day, and tell me then if you think it-
child's play. Oh, Bel, would to Heaven you
had never done this !"

A stifled groan was his only answer.

"I don't say that Fred hasn't done wrong,
too, Bell ; but you ought to know him by this
time. Why, little sister, lie has loved you as
man loves but once in a lifetime. Years ago,
Bel, when you were sick, and we all thought
you were going to die, he loved you then,
and what do you think it must be, living on
till now? Oh, Bel, you had nearly cast away
a priceless treasure, a loving heart !"

Another little groan and shiver was his
answer.

"Come, Bel, don't lie there and cry ; make
yourself ready, and come down. I will go and
tell Cleve that you wish to speak with him in
the parlor. Come ; I will give you twenty
minutes."

"I cannot; never, never. Oh, Harry, will
nothing else do ?"

"Nothing, my dear sister; your lips have
deceived him, and they must undeceive.
Think of him, Bell, if he loves you, and I am
afraid he does — what will this be to him.
Coming even from your lips it will be wretch-
edness, and from any other's it would be. an
insult as well. Come, don't be selfish ; poor
child, I am sorry for you ;" and Harry Dana
put his arms around his sister, and kissed her
flushed cHeeks, and went out, leaving her
alone.

Half an hour after a little trembling figure :
crept stealthily into the parlor, in the gray I
twilight, with eyes swollen with tears, and a
face as white as her dress.

"Did you wish to speak to me, Bel?" and
Cleve Terry came forward to meet her. " Aro
you better, Bel ?" he asked, tenderly, seating
her on a couch by the window.

It took a long time to answer, and a longer
time still to tell him why she came to him;
but it was all over at last ; and all the bright
hopes that had buoyed him up in this new
found world of bliss went drifting slowly
away, and he was again afloat in the old
ocean of loneliness, now darker and drearier
than ever.

WANT.- AND WISHES.

219

"And are you sure yon love him now,
lie asked, at length, thinking of Fred.

"Yes I love him. 1 have loved him
since I was a little child.'' She said it softly
and low. "But I did not know how much
until I promised to love you, and then, look-
ing into my own heart, I saw how utterly and
basely 1 had wronged you, and so — and so I
came to see how much I loved him."

"And he loves you? God bless you both,
good-by;" and before Bel Dana could realize
lit, a swift kiss had descended upon her
upturned forehead, and her hands had been
feasped in his, and then she was alone.

The room was quite dark now, only the
pale moonlight lay without soft and still.
Presently a footstep sounded at the door, and
■soon after, a gentle voice whispered — "For-
give me, darling; I had not dreamed that I
con/i/lose you." Surely Bell Dana's hate was
not very desperate, sitting there in the cool
■stillness of the summer's night, listening to
iwords spoken so low that not even the light-
fwinged zephyr, floating in through the vine-
jdraped window, could catch the faintest
whisper.

This beautiful summer finds a gay party
with Fred Leighton and his wife enjoying the
|cool breezes at the old farm.
I Cleve Terry lives abroad ; Harry and Rose
jsaw him often on their wedding-tour, and hint
,of a "dark-eyed ladie" that he will probably
(bring home with him when he comes.

The flowers in Bel Leighton's Eden are all
and fragrant to-day. No glittering
(temptation woos her from the beautiful path
jwhere she walks uprightly, no reaching forth
jto grasp at fancied pleasure that Sides while
ivet your hands are clasping it, for she learned
'long years ago, that "the trail of the serpent
'was over it all !"

WANTS AND WISHES.

"Max wants but little here below," is a
iomewhat vague and indefinite expression.
For who can determine the exact limits of
man's needs, or fix a boundary to his require-
■jpntt '

It is not what are termed the bare necessa-
ries of life, tlie plain food and simple raiment,
*hich can in all eases be designated as wants,
ind everything beyond as superfluities.

The same things which in one state of
assume the nature of superfluities will

become real needs in another. It was re-
marked by Sydney Smith that all degrees of
nations begin by living in pig-sties. "The
king or the priest first gets out of them, then
the noble, than the pauper; in proportion as
each class becomes more opulent. Better
tastes arise from better circumstances, and
the luxury of one period is the wretchedness
of another."

We are accustomed to designate as comforts
many of those luxuries and elegancies of life
which long usage has rendered so familiar,
that to be deprived of such would be felt as
hardships.

The mind becomes so familiarized with the
surroundings of daily existence, that the very
objects which at first seem magnificent and
luxurious will gradually, and by constant
association, form a part of our ordinary re-
quirements, and be sought for as such. If a
dozen persons were asked to give an example
of a luxury, it is more than probable that at
least eleven out of the twelve wouldAring
forward something, the enjoyment or Trie of
which they seldom or ever experience. Thus
individual habits and social customs are
amongst the most authoritative dictators as to
what we must have, and what we can do
without. And it is a common and true remark
that if we do not accustom ourselves to the
use of such and such things, we shall never feel
the want of them, if we are deprived of them.

Life is a season of anticipation ; full of
hopes, expectations, and desires. There are
few whose thoughts are so completely absorbed
in the time being, the occupations and events
of the passing hour, as to be quite free from
all speculations as to the future. None can
be said to live strictly in the present ; all are
more or less prone to indulge in schemes for
future carrying out, to planning for the time to
come, as best suits their ideas of happiness.
Thought, reason, the reflective faculties, while
they lead us in a retrospective direction, alike
encourage a prospective range of fancy. To
rise above mere animal instinct, to aspire to
something beyond mere animal enjoyments,
is both the privilege and nature of the human
mind and understanding, and in proportion to
the degree of culture which the mental organ-
ization is brought to sustain, so will these
aspirations ascend in the intellectual scale.
"It is only a barbarous and ignorant people,"
says Sydney Smith, "that can ever be oocu-
. the necessaries of life alone." •

!20

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Thus it is that civilization produces wants
which savage life cannot even anticipate ; and
when we read or hear of the aborigines of
any country we intuitively form an opinion
how tar they are removed from barbarism
according to the knowledge we have of their
acquaintance with the arts and conveniences
of civilized life. The improvements, inven-
tions, and discoveries ever going on in a highly
civilized state not only increase the number,
but materially alter the character of what is
considered as the requirements of the age.
There is a passage in Lord Macaulay's "William
and Mary" very significant, as illustrating the
different estimation in which the same quali-
fication, or rather the absence of a qualification
is held at different periods, or in various
stages of society.

In alluding to the two antagonistic com-
manders of the battle of Landeu, the great
historian says: "Never perhaps was the
change which the progress of civilization has
prodwscd in the art of war more strikingly
illustrated than on that day. At Landen two
poor sickly beings, who in a rude state of
Society would have been regarded as too puny
to bear an}r part in combat, were the souls of
two great armies. In some heathen countries
they would have been exposed while infants.
In Christendom, they would six hundred
years earlier have been sent to some quiet
cloister. But their lot had fallen on a time
when men had discovered that the strength
of the muscles is far inferior in value to the
strength of the mind."

Yet none will regard this triumph of the
mental over the physical as owing solely to
the intrinsic value of the former, but to its
adaptation to existing circumstances. When
bodily vigor was in the ascendant, it was
peculiarly fitted for the exigencies of the mode
of warfare then existing ; then the force of
the human arm was indispensable in wielding
the huge weapons of warfare, which had not
yet given place to the firearms of modern
times, and for which something besides simple
rauseular strength is necessary to their suc-
cessful using.

As in the art of war, so also in every other
department of human affairs, progress every-
where brings about an alteration in the re-
quirements of the age.

Progress, which is the gradual advancement
step by step towards tl'e summit of perfection,
tramples under feet as useless many qualifi-

cations formerly deemed of high value, while
it picks up others, and by the aid of inven-
tions and discoveries transforms their nature,
or rather alters their appearance, so as to
assume a different style of character and
feature ; for progressive advancement is an
improvement on a former or existing system ;■
iuventions and discoveries being agents in
carrying on the work.

Thus the character and extent of the wants
of any period are regulated and determined
by those surrounding circumstances over
which mankind in an individual capacity can
have no control. And it is remarkable hov
readily individual tastes and inclinations will
assimilate with prevailing customs, and become
naturalized to habits most alien.

But it would be a great mistake to consider
the gratification of every individual inclination
as necessary indulgence, or, in other words,
to fix the standard of our wants by our wishes.
Between the two there is a great distinction,
for there are many people who in reality want
for nothing, and have enough and to spare ;
who if their wishes were to be taken as re-
quirements would be in want of many things ;
while others less favored by fortune and cir-
cumstances evince the utmost satisfaction
with their condition, and remain content with
such things as they have, seeing it is out of
their power to procure more or better. Does
it require a moment's consideration to deter-
mine which of the two states of feeling is the
most happy and desirable ?

"If you would have your desires always
effectual, place them on things which are in'
your power to obtain," was the'advice of one
of the ancient philosophers. And this is the
way to regulate our wishes according to our
wants.

MY THEME.

3T HEXRY ASTES.

My theme was Love, still new, though old as Time,

And with the royal word I crowned the page,
Bin then the dainty and coquettish rhyme

Would not be caught, and so I in a rage .

Threw down my pen. When like a mother's kiss

Upoe my brow her gentle hand did rest,
And these her words : " Your theme is not amies ;

I 'd only hiut how it should be expressed,
To bring you golden fame. The only way

Tin- seeds of immortality to give it,
Is not to sing (let those do that who may),

Bui live your poem, durliag ; try to live it!"

CINDERELLA; OR, THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER.*

B T 6 . A X S 1 E - 1 -

Characters.

Lord Evsygoing, an old man, childish and hen-
pi eked.
Lady Disdajip, his wife.

Charlotte, ) t „ , .

. \ Lady Disdain s daughters.

Annabellb, ) '

CINDERELLA, LORD EaSYGOINGS daughter.

Prince Amodr.

Fantasia, CiNDEBELLA's/air^ god-mother.

Bully Tin, the I'ri.nce's herald.

Kara, Queen, and Codbubbs.

Costumes.

Lord Easygoing. Scene 1st. White wig and
beard, dressing-gown, slippers, and velvet cap,
cane and snuffbox. Scenes 2d, "id, and 4th.
Black velvet suit.

Lady Disdain, dress of gay silk with a long
tiain, satin petticoat, powdered hair and

ers.

i iiaklotte. Scene 1st. A dress of rich blue
silk, white satin petticoat, and lace kerchief
over the head. Scene 2d and 3d. Ball-dress
of white tarletan over pink silk, trimmed with
pises, train of white spangled jewels and flowers
iu the hair. Scene 4th same as .Scene 1st.

Annabellb. Scene 1st. Dress of yellow
silk over a white silk petticoat, lace kerchief
over the head. Scene 2d and 3d. Crimson
velvet dress and train over white satin skirt.
Hair dressed with jewels and flowers. Scene
4th same as 1st.

Cinderella. A long, loose dress of gray
cotton, made to fall straight and full over the
whole figure, high in the neck with long
sieves : patches and darns of every shape,
size, and color all over the dress. Hair cov-
er.- 1 with a faded cotton kerchief (this dress
must be made to completely cover the figure,
as for rapid change the ball-dress must be
worn under it ; by fastening it with one button
on a band at the throat, it will fall off instantly
when unbuttoned). .Scene 2d. Same as 1st
until transformation, then, ball-dress of white

* The love for private theatricals, charades, and pro-

': this winer the ruling power in almost every

ring, it seems to us but fair that the little

u!d have the opportunity to try their talents ;< ml

aniii-e their friends. The nsual performances are voted

Stupid by more than one-half the juveniles, who want to

cut ' at t!) ttte long Bpeechesand reduce the four-syllabled

words to to >re m iderate dimensions. We are sure, then,

series of little dramas

t their old friends. Cinderella & Co.,

with a warm welcome. The Bcbool-room, parlor, or

nurs.ry (nay be turned into a theatre, and older folks

must Bnbinit to have their finery reduced by busy tittle

till royal robes and ball dresses tit little forms.

ie not too long for quick little brains to

tester, aud - ■ are i n .in thai sneb old and dear friends

k of i.t ry tales otfers will never have any

trouble in finding a personatar m tie1 juvenile department.

i will give hor
me, tho author hazards the Orsl of her

JIMS."

18*

lace over white silk, richly spangled and
trimmed; train of spangled white lace; hair
dressed with white flowers and pearls ; slip-
pers of white satin, thickly covered with
transparent glass beads. .Scene '.id. Ball-
dress. Long veil of white lace thrown over
face and head, and falling over the figure.
Under the veil a small coronet of pearls. Scene
4th same as 1st and 2d.

Prince Amour. Dress of blue velvet, slashed
with white satin and trimmed with silver.
White lace collar and cravat. White silk
stockings, blue velvet slippers with lace and
silver bows. Cap of blue velvet with white
feather and silver clasp.

Fantasia. Dress of dark blue stuff ; scarlet
cloak with hood ; high-heeled shoes with large
buckles ; clocked stockings ; white cap and
crutch.

Bt-LLY Tin. Dress of scarlet and white :
high boots with gold tassels, scarlet cap with
white feather, horn with scarlet hangi|^s an t
ribbons.

King, Queen, and Cofrtiers in rich, old-
fashioned dresses, trains, feathers, powder,
and large funs.

Scene I. Dressing-mom of Lady Disdain. A
table in centre of room supports a mirror, pi: -
cushion, and a lot of finery, flowers, glove",
ribbons, fans, and jewels. Upon the sofa and
chairs are thrown shawls and dresses of gay
colors. Curtain rises discovering Cinderella
arranging the room.

i 'in. (yawning). My sisters are just up;
but I feel as if it was time to go to bed. Oh,
how tired I am ! I have been hard at work
since the first peep of dawn ; yet not half my
day's labor is finished. I 've swept, dusted,
and scoured, washed, ironed, and baked, made
fires and sifted cinders enough to earn the
name my sisters give me. Two little years
to-day since my own dear mother died ! Two
years only since I was the pet aud darling of
this house, wore fine dresses, had my. own
maid to wait upon me, slept on a down bed
under silk quilts, feasted upon pastry and
bonbons, and now, rags and a crust are all
that poor Cinderella may have. Heighhi !
Everybody is out (sits down) ; my step-moth r
and sisters have gone to buy blue satin for a
new petticoat for Charlotte (lays her head down
on table), and I — I — (yawning), am so tired —
and — sleepy. I (closes her eyes) think — 1 l!
take a nap. (Sleeps.)

221

222

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Enter Fantasia, in a rage.

Fan. Here 's a pretty mess, upon rny word.
Alter working for live hundred years without
any rest to try aud get my realms in perfect
order, I can't turn in for a little nap of a
couple of years without the whole of my
speckil charge being upset. Now in this one
family, where my pretty darling god-child
lives, what a revolution they have made here.
My Lord Easygoing must get him a new wife,
with two fine daughters, and these three
vixens make a slave of my pet ! If this is the
way things go on when I take a nap, I 'II
never sleep another wink ! I '11 not return to
fairy land till there is some change for the
better ! Ha ! whom have we here ? the kitchen
maid! (Peeps into Cinderella's face.) No! my
god-child, as I live, and fast asleep. What a
disgusting dress ! So my pretty messenger
from fairy land told me no lies ! Oh, my fine
Lady Disdain, you've heated a pretty kettle
of hot water here, and I '11 see that you get
your full share upon yourown head. Where
is Lord Easygoing ? I '11 find him and see
what he has got to say for himself.

[Exit Fantasia.

Enter Lady Disdain, Charlotte, and Anna-

BELLB.

Lady D. Was it not lucky we heard the
news of Prince Amour's ball here, at the very
gate ? We might have been out when the
herald came ; but now —

Char. We can discuss our dress and jewels.

Anna. And try what color suits us best by
night.

Lady D. 'seeing Cinderella). Heyday ! A
lazy idler ! (Shakes her.) Wake up ! A pretty
time of day for napping !

Cin. (rubbing her eyes). Are you back al-
ready ?

Char. So this is the way you mind your
work when we are out ? Pray, since you have
so much time to sleep, are all your tasks ac-
omplished ? My laces washed ?

Anna. My slippers trimmed?

Lady I'. The dinner cooked?

Citur. The pastry baked ?

Anna. .My ribbons scoured*

Lady L). The beds all made ?

Ciotr. The rooms in order?

Alum. The floors all swept?

Cin. (running from one to the other). 0 pray
I rgiveme! .." shall yet be done.

Char, (pushing her). Go, then, and do it!
Anna, (striking her). Don't be idling here

o it!
here !

Lady D. (shaking her). And no more sleep-
ing in the daytime, Miss ! (They all push her
about, and strike her. Loud knocking.)

Char. Go to the gate, and see who knocks
so loudly. [Exit Cinderella.

Lady D. No doubt it is Prince Amour's
herald I

Anna. Come to invite us to the ball.

Char. 0 how delightful !

Enter Cinderella.

Cin. A herald from the court of Prince
Amour, who asks to see the ladies.

Char. Show him up. [Exit Cinderella.

Anna. I 'in all impatience till the happy
night.

E.i'u i- Cinderella and the Herald, Bully Tin.

Bully Tin (boiemg). Fair ladies, Prince
Amour designs to give a ball to-morrow night,
and begs that you will grace it by your pre-
sence.

Lady D. Say to the Prince that we, with
pleasure, will obey his summons.

[Exit Bully Tin.

Char. To-morrow night ! We have but lit-
tle time to give to any thought but dress,
before the hour. I shall wear white over
pink ; it suits my hair and eyes.

Anna. And I my crimson velvet over white
satin. My diamonds, too, shall do honor to
this great occasion, for — in solemn secrecy —
they say the Prince will make this the excuse
for bringing all the beauties of his realm be-
fore him, that from the fair assembly he may
choose a bride. (Sweeps up the room.) No one
yet can say what lovely girl will be his choice !

Char, (aside). Conceited piece ! As if n g
chance were not as good as hers ; brunettes
are always more attractive than these insipid
blondes.

Lady D. The carriage is still waiting ; shall
we go now to select the dresses for to-morrow ?

Char. At once !

Anna. Without delay !

Lady D. And for you, Miss, see that when
we return we do not catch you napping.

[Exeunt Lady Disdain, Charlotte, and
Annabelle.

Cin. And I am not invited. Yet I am Lord
Easygoing's only c'hild, and they are but —
Tut ! tut ! what am I saying? Am I becoming
envious and spitejul, grudging my

CINDERELLA; OK, THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER.

2 9. 3

Measure because I do not share it .' I trust
uot :

r Lord Easygoing.

Lord E. Where 's my bird '

(.•Am r/'ully). Here I am, papa.
/ /.'. (aside). Fantasia Bays I'm an old
fool; but I guess if she bad my Lady Disdain
to deal with she 'd find submission was the
only course

' . Why what a long face, papa !
Lord E. Why, yes; bring me a chair, dear.
mm.) Your godmamma has been here,
dear.

Cin. What, the darling little old woman
who used to come to see mamma ?

Lord E. Yes, my dear; she says you are ill

I, my love. (Crying.)
Cin. (coaxingly). And has she been teasing
you >.

Lord E. (subbing). I'm sure, my dear, your
ther won't let me interfere.
. There, dear, don't cry ! Some of these
u and I will run off to a place where
Is make themselves, and joints come
from market ready cooked.
Lord E. (brightly). So we will !
Cm. There, you sit still, and I will go find
you a cake or piece of pie.

[Exit CINDERELLA.

Lord E. I am sure Fantasia must !■
taken about her being unhappy. Pretty
birdie ! Anyhow there 's no use in trying to
do anything my Lady Disdain forbids, an 1 she
rules this house completely. I can't out-
scold, out-fight, out-argue, or outdo her; so
I just go along as easy as I can.

[ Curtain falls.

Scene II. same as Scene I. — Curtain ris>
•ing Charlotte and Annabelle dr
for the ball. Cuaklutte stands in front of
mirror arranging her headdress; Annabelle
walks up and down admiring her dress ; Last
Disdain stated upon a sofa in backgi
Cinderella, kneeling, arranges Chaki
train ; Lord Easygoing in an armchair by the
Jire.

D. A little more to the right, Cinde-
rella ! So ! that fold is perfect !

' . (rising). Sow your train falls grace-
fully, si

Char. Indeed ! With my figure it must be
graceful.

Anna. I suppose the conceited little thing
thinks it is all her taste.

Lord E. I am sure, Annabelle, it hnng
vilely before Ella touched it.

I), (scornfully). Men are great j-;
indeed.

Lord E. Well, my dear, I am sure I only
said —

D. I heard you. Cinderella, make
Annabelle's feather droop a little more to the
right.

Cin. (arranging feather). So?

Lord E. And then run and put on your
own ball-dress. You are giving all your time
to your sisters, and will never be ready your-
self.

' in. Oh. I am not to go !

Char, (scornfully). You go ! A cinder-sifter
in a ball-room.

.; . The idea! (Laughs.) Fancy that
figure in a pal

/. rd E. But I want her to go.

Lady D. She is not going. Say no more
about it.

Lord E. But, my dear — ■

Lady D. Pray, sir, do you rule this nous.'.
or I ? If I am not to have my own way about

thing, I had better leave. Cinderella,
if the carriage waits. [Exit Cinderella.

L rd E. Poor little birdie !

Lady L>. I wish yon would not put such
ideas into the child's head. It does not suit
me to have three daughters to take about,
and Cinderella is content to stay at home, if
you don't make Ler wish to go.

Enter Cinderella.
Cin. The .carriage is at the door.
Lady D. Come, my dears. Jly lord, yon
must ride upon the bos ; you would crui. |
my darling's -a - - - inside.

[Exeunt Lady Di.-daix, Chakloti
Annabelle.
Lord E. (Iood-night, my pet. I wish yi i
were going.

' . heerfully). 0 never mini

I shall do very well, indeed. Good-ni

Lord E. (kissing her), (.iood-night, nr. :
pet.

D. (hi hind the scenes). Are you going
to keep us waiting all night ?

Lord E. I am coming, my dear. I am
coming. [Exit Im-

Cin. What a fine time they will all have !
Music, dancing — I wonder if I have forgot'., i
how to dance (

There, my shoe is off {kicks off the i

224

godey's lady's book and magazine.

one) ; I can dance now ! (Sings a few notes,
dancing to the tune.) Ah, they will dance to
grand mnsic. Everybody will be gay there;
and here (weeping) it is very dull. The Prince,
too, they say, is so handsome and good. How
1 should like to see him! (Sobbing.) It is
very hard — I never go anywhere !

Enter Fantasia.

Fan. (aside). Alone, and in tears. Where is
the cheerfulness her father talks about ?
(Aloud. ) What is the matter, my pretty dear ?

Cin. (starting up). My godmother !

Fan. Yes, my dear. No. you needn't kiss
me, because I have just lunched on toad-
stools, and they might disagree with you.
What were you crying about ?

Cin. (sobbing). I was — wishing — that —

Fan. That you might go to Prince Amour's
ball ? Was not that it ?

Cin. Yes.

Fan. Well, why don't you go ? Your father
promised me to take you.

Cmt But Lady Disdain would not let me go.

Fan. Well. I intend you shall go. First,
we must provide a coach. Go to the yard,
and touch a pumpkin with my crutch, then
touch the mouse- trap and the rat-trap ; behind
the watering-pot you '11 find six lizards; these,
too, you must rap smartly, then return here
to me.

Cin. (taking the crutch). I fly to obey you.
[Exit Cinderella.

Fan. What 's this ? The child's old shoes,
as I 'm a fairy (puts them in her pocket). So,
my Lady Disdain won't let her go ! We '11
see whether she or I am the strongest.

Enter Cinderella.

Fan. Well, my dear, did you obey me ?

Cin. 0 my dear godmother ! never was seen
such a change. The pumpkin to a fine gilt
coach is turned, the mice to horses, the rat
to a driver, while the sis lizards are most
splendid footmen.

Fan. Well, my dear, why do you wait? Is
not this such an equipage as you wish to take
you to the ball?

Cin. Yes, dear godmother — but — but — must
I go in this dress ?

Fan. (touching her dress). Look in the mirror.

Cin. (shaking off the gray dress, which is ■pulled
off the stage big a string). O what a lovely dress !
( Takes the kerchief off her head. ) And my hair
all arranged — thank you a thousand times.

Fan. Go now, then.

Cin. (hesitating). I — I — have lost my shoes.

Fan. (taking the glass slippers from her pocket).
Why these too have touched the crutch. Put
them on, my dear, and then away.

Cin. (putting on slippers). How charmingly
they fit me !

Fan. And as they are fairy shoes, they will
fit no one else. Now, my dear, listen to me.
You must leave the ball before midnight !
Remember ! If you are there but one minute
after the clock strikes twelve, your gay dress
will become rags, your coach a pumpkin,
your horses mice, your driver a rat, and your
footmen lizards. Will you be careful?

Cin. I will return in time.

Fan. Go, then ! Good-night ! Remember,
twelve o'clock. {Exit Cinderella.

Fan. Now for the palace. [Curtain falls,

Scene III. — Ball-room in Prince Amour' s palace.
Upon a raised throne, in centre of background,
are seated the King and Queen. Courtiers
are standing round them ; others walking about
the room. Prince Amour standing near right
of foreground.

Prince A. Choose a wife from these fair
ladies of my father's kingdom ? Such are the
royal commands to me this morning, but as
yet I have seen none to please my taste.
They say the daughters of my Lady Disdain
are beautiful (musingly). Perhaps — I — well,
well, choose I must to-night, and the kind
fairies guide me to a good selection!

Enter Bully Tin.

Prince A. Another arrival ! The palace bids
fair to be crowded.

Bully Tin. Lord Easygoing, Lady Disdain,
and the Ladies Charlotte and Annabelle.

Prince A. Ah, the rival belles !

Enter Lord Easygoing, Lady Disdain, Char-
lotte,, and Annabelle.

Prince A. (aside). What overdressed, con-
ceited-looking girls !

(Lord Easygoing and party advance to the
throne and make a deep reverence, which the King
and Queen return.)

Prince A. (advancing to them). We thank
you, sir, that you allow our court to be de-
lighted by the presence of so much grace and
beauty (offers his hand to Charlotte) ; permit
me to find you a partner for the dance (intro-

CINDERELLA; OR, THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER.

225

one of the courtiers, who walks with

.1 ■. (aside). How handsome and graceful I
found Charlotte another partner;
surely lie intends bimsi If to dance with me.

vr Bcllt TiJf.
Bully Tin (bowing to Pri.nce Amuck). Most

lions Prince I
Prince A. I listen, my good herald. What

ighty news sits now upon your brow ?
Bully Tin. An unknown princess has driven
ito the court. Her coach of finest gold glit-
ters with jewels ; six footmen stand erect be-
hind : while six gray horses of the rarest
breed prance on before. She sends word that,
passing through the country, she has heard
cf yniir festivities, and asks the privilege of
> you.
Princi A. I will, myself, bid her alight.

([Exit, / Bully Tin, who walks

backward,
Anna. Rude fellow ! Papa, do you know
o one Iter,' '

E. Why. yes. my love, (iiifi
Axxabelle to one of the CourticiS, 'lull returns
anil >■ anil Lady DlSDALV.)

Hi/). Prince Amour is
oo polite to my dear daughters.

Peixce Amour, leading in Cinderella,
veiled.

Prince A. Before you greet my royal parents,

permit me to remove this envious veil, which

hides the charms I burn to see revealed.

rig it to one of the cour-

Yon honor my poor self too highly.
Prince A. ■). Such charms cannot

I oe too much honored. Allow me. fair prin-
■ lead you to the throne. (The;/'
to the throne, Cinderella kneels, the King rises.)
Prince A. A foreign princess, sire, who
craves permission to greet your majesty.

i nd). We would extend
our most cordial welcome to such loveliness.

(kissing theKixo's, hand). I thank your
majesty for so much graciousness.

King (raising her). Our Queen would bid
you welcome.

. Queen (giving her hand to Cinderella, who
I Mi - it). It is our thanks which are due,
in have deigned to honor us. Our son
will show our pleasure. Amour, we charge
you that our fair guest subVts from no i.

.'. .Madam, it shall be my delightful
task to do the honors of tie- palace. Wl
ho! Music there ! We would dance. (/.
Cinderella to the floor. Annabelle and part-
ner, Charlotte and partner, ami
from the i form a quadrilli . dd

any cotillon. The following dialogue should

id on during the dance, or by those dnin
in the pauses.)

Lord E. My dear, my dear, this princess —

/ idy D. Did you ever see such pearls .'

Lord E. But, my dear, she — don't you see
it ? — she is the very picture of our Ella.

Lady D. (conten . Tin' pi ture of

your Ella! Ha! ha! what an absurd idei !
Compare a cinder wench to this radiant crea-
ture !

Lord E. But, my love, the eyes, the smile —
look at her now.

D. / see her plainly. You must be
Like Cinderella indeed !

r). I never saw such lace.
Who can she be ?

). How gracefully the prin-
cess moves !

Prince A. How has it happened that such
loveliness could exist, and I so wretched as to
remain so long in ignorance of it. !

Cm. My realms are far removed from yours,
my prince. Where I live your foot has never
trodden, my subjects are out of your know-
ledge, and my daily scenes beyond your imagi-
nation.

Prince A. And may I not hope that at some
future time you will extend the hospitality
of your domain to your unworthy slave .'

Cin. Nay. my prince, you would scarcely
deign to visit so poor a realm as mine. ( Tin:
dance ceases.)

Prince A. Let me lead you to a seat and
find you refreshment. (Leads her to a s
and exit.)

Cin. (to Axxabelle and Charlotte). Will

you not share my seat ?

Anna. You honor us too highly. (Sits

Char, (aside). I am dying with envy. (Si's

down.)

*
Enter Prixce Amour with a plate of sweetmeats,
which he holds, kneelii ''ixdekella.

ing the follow-
ing dialogue.

Cin. You will allow me, Prince, to share
your favors. (0 (meats to A.nxaeellg

i ihlotte.)

226

godet's lady's book and magazine.

Prince A. If you will toncli your ruby lips
to one, you honor me.

Cin. You have a fair assemblage here.
Pray tell me, as a stranger, what occasion 'tis
they honor.

Prince A. My birthday, fairest princess, on
which, having seen your face, I first begin to
live.

Courtier (to Annabelle). Will you honor
me, fair lady ? (They waltz.)

Cin. Your birthday ? And I, unfortunate,
have brought no offering.

Prince A. One flower from the knot upon
your bosom.

Courtier (to Charlotte). Fair lady, may I
dare to hope that you will waltz with me ?
(They waltz.)

('in. (giving flower). If so poor an offering
may dare to hope for your acceptance —

Prince A. (kissing the flower). It shall never
leave my heart! (Fastens it to his breast.)
If you are not fatigued, will you allow me to
lead you to the dance ?

( The i] waltz. After a few turns a clock strikes
twelve. At the flrst stroke Cinderella stops
dancing to listen ; at the last she rushes hastily
from the room. All the courtiers rise ; the 7nusic
ceases. )

Prince A. Gone, my love, my princess !
What ho ! without there ! Let no one pass.
Send me a herald.

Enter BrLLT Tin.

Bully Tin. I am here, my prince.

Prince A. Fly like the witod and bid the
guards arrest the princess's coach — or no, that
were discourteous ! Follow it, my herald.
Take the fleetest horse now in the royal stable,
and follow the carriage. [Exit Bully Tin.

King (coming forward). You have other
guests, my son.

Prince A. I care not now ! My star, my
love.

( The guests one after another boio and retire.)

Lord E. Come, my love. Annabelle, Char-
lotte, come. (Lady D. and party retire.)

Enter Boms' Tin.

Prince A. What news ? Speak quickly !
She has returned !

Bully Tin. The guards, my prince, declare
that no one has passed the gates but a dirty
little kitchen girl. We searched the court-
yard, but found only an immense pumpkin and

this ! (Kneels and hands Prince Amour one of
Cinderella's slippers.)

Prince A. Gone! No word of parting]
Oh, my fair love, this breaks my heart 1
(Turns away sadly.)

Queen. Doubtless, my son, this lovely stran-
ger will return.

Prince A. Alas, I fear ! I fear she is lost
forever! (Kissing the slipper.) This little
token is my sole comfort.

King. What a wee token ! A fairy slipper !
Surely there is not another such tiny foot in
the world.

Prince A. Ha ! What say you ? This slen-
der hope inspires me ! My herald.

Bully Tin (^advancing). Here, my prince.

Prince A. My faithful Bully Tin, hear the
royal will. Throughout the length and breadth
of this our realm, send forth your messengers
this proclamation to announce. Whomsoever
this slipper fits, Prince Amour weds ! This
night I was to select my bride, and thus I do
it. (Places the slipper upon a table.) Hasten,
good Bully Tin, that ere the morrow dawn our
subjects know our resolution!

[Exit Bully Tin.

King. My son, suppose some peasant girl
should chance to have a pretty foot ?

Queen. That is a charming prospect !

Prince A. I must keep my word. The kind
fairies speed my errand !

[Exit King and Queen.

Prince A. (gazing sadly at slipper). She will
see the proclamation, read my love ! She
will return ! If not, it matters little who is
made my bride, for, broken-hearted, Prince
Amour will die ! [Curtain falls.

Scene IV. Same as Scene 3d. Curtain rises
discovering the stage as^opening of Scene 3(/.
A large chair stands centre of stage, facing
audience. Prince Amour leans sadly on the bade
of it, while one after another the ladies try in
the slipper. Bully Tin, kneeling, puts it iipm
each ; but all rise, disappointed.

Enter Fantasia.

Fan. (aside, coming forward). I begin to
think my little plot is coming to a close, and
my god-child will meet the reward of her
patient suffering. I bade her come here to-
day, and if I mistake not her lady stepmother
and haughty sisters are already on the way.
How sad my prince looks ! (Advancing to
chair). Let me try !

CINDBBBLLAJ OK, TnE LITTLE. GLASS SLIPPBB.

2 2 7

Bully Tin. You old ling! 'Tis but the
young and fair who try their fate b

Fan. The proclamation is not worded so.
arm with her crutch.)
I Tin. Oh, the old hag ! she has broken
lay arm.

Prince .1. And if she had, it would have
■en most just. (Sternly.) How dare yon,
sir. insult old age within my realm ? Let the
lady try. Madam, allow w to hand you to
,the chair. (Bows, and hands Fantasia to the
neat.)

Fan. (aside to Pbtkcs Anoint). Courage,
Inly prince ! I am not what I seem, and by a
Miry power predict that all yonr dearest wishes
shall he crown. id. Nay! I will follow Bully
Tin's advice, and leave the slipper to younger
,feet. (Mixes with the crowd who have tried the
• slipper.) i

Enter Lady Disdain, Annabelle, and Char-
lotte.

Lady D. (courtesying low to Prince Amour).
My daughters, sir, would try their fate. (An-
*abblle (jots to the chair, tries on slipper, and
rises. )

Char, (aside). I'll pull it on, if I pull it all
to pieces. (Goes to chair and makes desperate
efforts to put on the slipper but fails, and rises.)

Fan. (aside to Prince Amour). Ask her why
,her other daughter does not come.
Prina A. She has no other.
Fan. Ay, but her husband has. Trust to
ime, Prince !

Prince A. I will! (To Lady Disdain.)
Madam, your other daughter will surely deign
to honor us by a trial.

Lady D. A mere child, prince — not worthy
to— (aside) what shall I say ?

Prince A. You will allow me to insist.
Bully Tin, dispatch a herald to Lord Easy-
going's, and say Prince Amour requests his
f daughter to appear before him.

[Exit Bully Tin.
Lady I>. (aside). Confusion. They will
discover how she is treated I I shall be the
laughing stock of the land.

. Char, (to Annabelle). What can he want
of our cinder sifter?

Anna. Oh how did he ever hear of her ?

Enter Bully Tin.

Bully Tin. Lord Easygoing and his daughter
Wail without.

Prince A. Show them in- [Exit Bully Tin ;

, entering, conducting Loan Basygooto and Cra-
derelia, who wears a large cloak over her dusty

. the hood drawn up over her head. She
wears no shoes.)

Prince A. (to FabtASIa). You mock me!
This little kitchen girl can never wear that
fairy slipper.

Fan. Let her try.

(Cinderella sits down, puts on the slipper, and
drawing the other one from under her el, mi, slips
that on too.)

All. It fits. Hail tOj Prince Amour's bride!
(Laugh mockingly.)

Prince A. (fiercely). This is your work 1

Fan. Patience awhile, my prince. Little
one, come here.

Cinderella advances timidly.
Lady D. I am choking with rage !
Char. I shall die of spite 1
Anna. Oh, I shall never survive this morti-
fication I

Fan. (taking Cinderella's hand). My Prince !
I give your bride to you richly .lowered. A
meek, patient spirit, humility, modesty, and
grace she bears to you. My realms afford a
dowry that an emperor could not bring", and
(touching the cloak and dress, which fall and arc
dragged away as in Scene 2d) to your love I
trust for her happiness.
All. The foreign princess !
Prince A. (kneeling). Dare I believe such,
ecstasy is mine ?

Fan. The odious nickname she has borne
shall be her pride now, for every cinder that
her hand has touched shall be returned herb
a glowing diamond, and Princess Cinderella
shall become a name known in all ages.

(Prince Amour leads Cinderella to the King
and Queen, icho greet her kindly.)

Lord E. I said she looked like our F.lla !
Lady D. Hold your tongue, you fool !
Fan. Having rewarded, it is now my task
to punish, Lady Disdain and you, Charlotte
and Annabella.

Cin. (coming hastily forward). No ! for my
sake, dear godmother, forgive them !

Fan. (grumbling). For your sake it is I pun-
ish them.

Cin. Plead with me, my Prince. (The,;
kneel to Fantasia.)

Fan. Well, for your sakes, then, they are
forgiven.

Char, and Anna, (to Cinderella as she rises).
Can you, sister, forgive us ?

22S

GODEY S LADY 3 BOOK AXD MAGAZINE.

Cin. (kissing then). With all my heart.

Prince A. Roll the chair back, Bully Tin,
mid bid the band strike up a waltz. We'll
show our gladness by festivities !

(The music begins, and all select partners and

waltz; Lord Easygoing and Fantasia dancing

r in a corner.) [ Curtain falls.

ASPHODEL FLOWERS.

ET MIiV.VIE WILLIS BANES.

Osce I had a little brother,

Crowned with ringlets, brown and soft,
And his eves were like the nightshade

Poets tell us of so oft —
Pale and blue, with golden flashes

Shining from their depths serene —
Now, he sleepetb 'neath the cypress,

Kosemary his cla-p within.
Oh, I loved my little brother.

Fondly cherished him and well,
But upon his grave I planted

Only flowers of Asphodel.

Once I had a hope that blossomed

From the wreck of joys decayed.
And the brightness of its beauty

Then I thought would never fad
Lived I in iis gladsome visions —

Soft and dreamy grew my eyes,
But upon the rocks 'twas stranded,

Sauk there never more to rise.
On a tablet white is graven :

"In Memoriam!" Farewell,
Oh my hope, that sank, iu shadows,

To the land of Asphodel.

Once I had a friend whose presence

Charmed away the darkest care,
For her voice was soft and gentle,

Silver-mingled was her hair;
And her heart was calm and peaceful

As a sleeping, moonlit lake ;
And she talked to me of Jesus —

He who suffered for my sake ;
While ber voice grew low and tender.

And her fingers, o'er my hair,
Wandered with caressing motion

Like the tropic .summer air.

Now she walketh by the margin

Ol'a life — immortal stream,

soft waves are glinted over

With a glorious, heavenly gleam.
But to me, who knew and loved ber

In her mortal, earthly hours,
Sadder are Eolus' whispers.

And less beautiful the flowers,
she wont away and left me

Iu her Saviour's courts to dwell. .
And they laid her, one sad morning.

In the lield of Asphodel.

Onrp I had an aspiration,

Which had caught the sunbeam's hue,

'. '.. ,. 'l ii iwn by winged angels,
Fallen with the silver dew ;

And I nursed the Are within it.

Fanned the tiny, living spark
Till it brightened all my bosom

Aud dispelled the clouds so dark.
"With a hopeful heart I sent it

Up again to seek the heaven,
But the rude winds blew it earthward.

And for naught my care was given.

Once, I cherished, like "Maud Mailer,"

A vague longing in my breast,
And the Dameless aspiration

Filled me with a sweet unrest
Like a tangled thread of silver,

Or the stream of paradise
(When the trembling, golden shadows

On its bosom fall and rise)
Was the river — flow of louging

For a nobler, higher goal,
Winding, in its wayward progress,

Through the channels of my soul.

And the tropic-hearted summer,

With its music aud its flowers,
With its passion and its moonlight,

With its rosy-tinted hours,
With its soft and misty mantle

'Round its burning bosom thrown,
Died amid the morning twilight

Of another season's dawn.
With the summer died my brother,

For my hope I then did weep,
And the friend who talked of Jesus

With its beauty fell asleep.

It was when the flowers were fadii

And the zephyrs colder grew,
That my brilliant aspirations

And my longings faded too.
All are buried with the summer

That the red leaves covered up,
And I tasted, then, the feunel

That embittered life's sweet i
But I know that, with the sni

I shall find them all again,
For the autumn winds blow never

On eternity's bright plain.

Love. — This passion is, in honest minds,
the strongest incentive" that can more the
soul of man to laudable accomplishment. Is

a man just ? let him fall in love, and grow
generous. Is a man good-natured ? let him
love, and grow public spirited. It immedi-
ately makes the good which is in him shine
forth in new excellencies, and the ill vanish
away without the pain of contrition, but with
a sudden amendment of heart.

Sacrifices. — It is easy enough to make
sacrifices for those we love, but for our enemy
we have to struggle and overcome self. Such
a victory is noble.

— The more we help others to bear their
burdens, the Hghtejr our own will be.

JOHN STERNE'S DISAPPOINTMENT.

i T C A K U O I. L 1VESI.

Everybody knew that John Sterne had had
poiutment. It accounted for anything,
or everything, in his character and manner
different from every-day men. Young ladies
openly admired him; fearless, because he
was so indifferent and apparently so blind to
Imiration. Because he invariably re-
uvitations, his society was the more
eagerly sought ; because be seemed not to
notice whether any were offended, none were
■fended. Whether social or silent, civil or
cynical, fur he was all by turns, he seemed
equally charming ; and his coldest, most
nerved mood only brought out new allusions
to that secret grief which cast such a halo of
• around his most ordinary deed.
Nothing makes a young man more interesting,
in the opinion of gentle-minded women, than
that he is a sufferer provided always that
that suffering be not caused by hunger, po-
verty, s i feness, or any other commonplace
■versity, but by love. Consequently, it
was not strange that .lohu Sterne was a hero
in II .

Any one would have told you, had you
asked, that many years ago he was engaged
to Minna Walton, a girl of unusual beauty,
sprightly, witty, and bewitching, fitted both
by intelligence and grace of manner to fill a
higher position than that of an orphan d
dent upon the reluctant bounty of a miserably
temper. ',1 aunt. She had not a few admirers ;
but John Sterne, not then twenty years old,
only starting in business, and so altogether
different in temperament and manner from
proved the favorite. They were cer-
tainly engaged, and as certain it was that
while he was gone to the far West to gain the
wherew upon, she suddenly returned

from a visit in the city with diamonds on her
taper fingers ; and before the good people had
recovered from that surprise, she added another
by marrying, with great display of trons
and bridal gifts, a Mr. Harding; wealthy — as
allSout1 i 1 the reputation of being at

that day — which made it, of course, of not
the slightest consequence that he was old,
and his children nearly her own age.

She had not been gone to her plantation

VOL. LXIS.

-19

two years, when John Sterne returned. lie
was eyed closely and curiously, pronounced
changed, and variously commented upon. But
whether he pleased the commenters altogether
or not, he was in all eyes a man of note, since
he was no longer working his own way in the
world ; but a man of leisure, retired from
business with a fair share of wealth. He
bought a small but tasteful country s«at,
where he resided alone for a few years. Then
came a change. His stepmother — a widow
at the time of her death — left to his care her
two children, Philip,- a lad of seventeen years,
and Amy, not quite fifteen. So, occasionally,
the fine house wore a look of life. The doors
stood in the long summer vacations invitingly
open ; but, though merry laughter rang out,
it seldom checked, in his monotonous walk
to and fro on the long veranda, the sedate
man whose thoughts seemed only on his
cigar. Nor in the winter, though fires blazed
and lights gleamed throughout the house,
when the young people came home from
college and seminary, did the steady light
vanish from the small library where the bach-
elor-master sat until midnight. Kind he was
invariably, and unwearied in his efforts to
make these orphans happy and at borne ; and
though they were aware that they were en-
tirely dependent upon him for everything,
they were truly so.

Yet it must be confessed that these vaca-
tions, which were such delight to them, were
rather dreaded by John Sterne. They seemed
to revive painful memories; and generally
the midnight vigils in the quiet library were
more hours of deep thought than his ordinary
ones of study. Such they were on the eve of
Thanksgiving. For the children — as he still
called them, notwithstanding Philip was twen-
ty now, and next summer would graduate,
while Amy at Christmas would leave her
boarding-school forever — were at home, having
arrived that very evening, and being at this late
hour sound asleep, their young heads filled
with bright visions of the happy morrow.

He sat alone. An arm-chair, pulled before
a fire on the hearth, held him in a lounging,
yet not indolent position. One elbow leaned

229

230

GODET S LADY'S BOOK AXD MAGAZINE.

on a small table covered with papers and
books ; between bis fingers the inevitable
cigar, gone out ; bis bead thrown back against
the chair, his eyes intent on the fire's flicker-
ing blaze, and a sad expression displacing the
usual sternness of faultless lips. A disap-
pointed man ! And it was of this he was
thinking.

Amy's half-earnest words as she bade him
' ' Good-night, ' ' adding ' ' To-morrow is Thanks-
giving, and to-morrow Mara will come ; but if
she shouldn't, it would be the disappointment
of my life," still rang in his ears. A girl
friend, one of those proverbially fleeting
friendships formed at school, be able to prove
the disappointment of a life !

School-girl sentiment and school-girl exag-
geration ! Bah! and the haughty lips took a
contemptuous curve. But" here his thoughts
ran in a graver and, therein, more charitable
channel. Perhaps a school-girl disappoint-
ment was as real and deep in its way as his
'Mice had been. What more was he then than
almost a school-boy, for all his nineteen
years ?

" Once had been !" Did he then acknow-
ledge it no longer one ? Yes, in the calmness
of his forty years, lie could see that great as
his love had been, cruel as had been the blow
which wounded and stifled it forever, deep
as had been his anger, his pride, his loss of
hope, these things were past. It had left its
scars — what fierce battle does not ? He could
see them in the reserve, the undemonstrative-
ness, the lack of sympathy which people
called coldness in him, because they could
not understand it was grief, and pride hiding
grief. But this was over. He was past such
things — the folly of his life ! And yet — yet
the sweetest dream of his life !

And then memory carried him back to those
early days. Again he walked with Minna to
school, pleased at carrying her books, and
better pleased that they were heavy for even
him. Again they met in long twilight walks,
and he told her of his deep true . love, and
trembled that he had dared kiss those tiny
hands fluttering like little birds within his
own. How he listened once more to her sweet
responses, and blessed the blushes which
made her even more lovely! Once more he
stood upon the little bridge, watching her
white dress and floating ringlets as she crossed
the meadow, his heart filled with pure hope
and firm resolve to prove himself worthy of

her, to be a man .' earning respect as well as
love for her dear sake. What days these
were, in spite of depressing poverty daunting
his young ambition ; in spite of opposition
from a mercenary aunt ! He loved her, trusted
her with the completeness of idolatry I And
therein met his punishment ! Memory grew .
stern as these pictures of the past were re-
newed.

They were engaged, solemnly, sacredly ;
'twas so he considered an engagement of mar-
riage. They might have to wait many years,
but in the end they should belong to each
other. " Never to any one else," he passion-
ately exclaimed ; and she re-echoed the vow
of " Never." This made him bold and brave
to start out, a mere youth, alone in a strange
country, to make that wealth which was to bo
laid at her feet. This made him cheerful in
bearing the heavy cross of separation from
her. This made him calm and hopeful in
their parting, and forgetful of his Idwh suffer-
ing in soothing hers. She, wild with grief
and tears, implored him to remain. "Think
of my unhappiness with my aunt, ' ' she urged ;
"and then never to have any change from
the dulness there. Other young girls go into
the world, and I cannot." She had darling
visions of shining in that world, as yet un-
known. Her ambition centered in herself;
his in her. Still, had she asked even more
than a gay social world to play the belle in.
John would have longed to possess the power
of giving it her. He would have thought of
little else, toiled for little else, till it was won.

"Dear Minna," he said, "if by my exer-
tions you may reach the fulfilment of those
hopes, you shall! Meanwhile we must wait,
wait with patience until I win such means of
supporting you as my .wife, as will satisfy
your aunt and make her consent to our mar-
riage. Work will not be work with such an
end in view. You know you may trust me ;
you know, come what may, I shall remain
true! And you. Minna ?"

She repeated her vows of constancy. Life,
nor death, nor anything should shake her love
and truth.

And so they parted. And he, upheld bf
thoughts of her love, miles away toiled early
and late ; no ambition but to be groat for her
sake, who loved greatness. Her letters were
his solace ; his dreams of her his recreation :
all else was wearying labor. That he was
successful in business was of little worth,

JOHN

DISAPPOINTMENT.

2G1

• that it brought the longed-for day of
rriage nearer. And while he gave him-
self no rest by day, his nights were spent in
•ring study, that he might be fitted for
, the position his hoped-for wealth would give
him.

While patience and time were changing the
mulberry leaf into satin, making of the plain
bashful youth a man of talent and cultivation,
as great a change was being wrought in Minna.
Time but increased her beauty, and with it
increased that restless consciousness of it,
which re-excited her ambition made her
uneasy under her fate — poor herself, and en-
gaged to a poor young man with neither for-
tune nor a name. It seemed to her, at times,
quite useless that she was given beauty, if it
w. re never to be seen, never to bring her the
adulation she secretly envied the heroines of
novels for receiving. Not that she did net
love John Sterne. She did, wildly at times ;
. again visions of what might have
1 • n had she only riches shook her affections,
and her feeling towards him was one of Con-
xion and self-sacrifice, instead of a love
that looked upward to its object. Whether
she confessed it to herself, she felt she was
quite conferring a favor on John to love him,
which the truest love never feels.

It was. perhaps, not singular, therefore,
that in time her aunt's continued fretting at
her for remaining a burden on her hand-.
" for the sake of a silly boy, who would soon
forget her for some richer girl," should have
its effect. Temptation came in her way in the
form of a wealthy widower ; and the few days
of remorse that followed — after she had be-
come hisjlande, and written John Sterne an
impetuous farewell of mingled regret and ex-
to which she received not one word of
!■ I h — were soon ended by the new scenes of
worldly delight, the jewels, and personal
adornments she had coveted.

And he had never met her again, never
even heard whether she lived. To him she
was dead ; a death so d«rk with lost hope and
faith that for it there was no resurrection.
Recalling all this, he rose, approached a desk,
unlocked it, and was about opening a little
velvet case therein, when his resolution fal-
tered, his fingers nervously thrust back the
picture and turned the key.

'■I am weak." he said; ''weak after all
these ye irs. if I dare not look at that face yet.
1 said I would when I had conquered all that

ling. I know it is conquered; and y t
ate to recall that Thanksgiving-eve so
long ago, when she laid this miniature in my
hand, by opening it now. No, I will not re-
call it ; 'twas she cast a blight upon all future
Thanksgivings for me, and I will not forget —
I will not forgive the wrong she did me. Until
I can do both. I will not open the miniature ;
let that end the matter!" And his cigar went
impetuously in its unfinished state into the
deadened ashes, and the library was des

Thanksgiving morning came, bright, clear,
cold, as it ought to be — as it is always intended
in Connecticut it shall be. Ample were the
preparations in Dinah's kitchen for this great-
est of New England days : and when Amy, iu
her frequent running in and out, BUgj
one thing or another as " so delicious a des-
sert," she met with a very decided opinion
from the head of those regions that that was
all very well for such places as New York
and boarding-school, but wouldn't do there.
"Guessed ahe knew a thing or two, and
wa'n't goin' to spile Thanksgivin' by making
up things for dinner Mr. John mightn't like."

"But John isn't company, and he ought to
have what his company like!"

'•I must do my duty, Miss Amy," said
Spartan Dinah. "I never see Thanksgivin'
yet. since your brother John was a young boy,
and used to come where I lived with an old
widow to see her niece — you see they were
sort a' took with one another, though they
was nothing more'n almost children then;
well, I never see a Thanksgiving dinner with-
out the four regular kinds of pies — mince-pie,
one; apple-pie, two; pumpkin-pie, three;
custard-pie" —

"But," interrupted Amy. dabbling her fin-
gers in a dish of flour, "who was the I
And is that why he will not go out, and is au
old bachelor ?"

'•I can't say." with a wise shake of the
head that contradicted her statement. "Only
help ain't blind more'n their betters; and
she married au awful rich old fellow, and some
says as John Sterne was disapp'inted. 'Taint
for me to say, though !"

"Amy," said a quiet, unmoved voice, just
within the kitchen door, "the bell is tolling
for church. Put on yonr bonnet, for it is
late ; I have been waiting some time for you
as it is!"

As she hastened away, vainly trying to
brush off the flour scattered over her merino,

232

godey's lady s book and magazine.

he turned to the confused Dinah: "I do not
wish Amy to become acquainted with my
early days, Dinah. I was not aware* that you
had ever lived with Miss Walton's aunt. I
shall be obliged to you if you will forget, in
this house, that you have ever done so."

Which high and mighty manner had ex-
actly the contrary effect intended, for at the
very first importunity for "the rest of the
story about John," she told Amy and her girl-
friend— with the exception that she withheld
the names of all parties — everything she had
ever known, through seeing or hearing, about
John Sterne's disappointment.

Before noon the longed-for Mara actually
arrived ; Philip playing the attentive, as an
escort should, by carrying her satchel, her
shawl, and the novel which had beguiled the
tiresome hours of railway travel.

Ecstatic expressions of delight at her arrival
being ' exhausted, and a change of costume
accomplished, the young girls left their snug
apartment for the drawing-room, where every-
thing looked cheerful and mindful of the day,
from the crackling of the fire to Philip's ani-
mated face ; everything except the counte-
nance of the owner of all, as he sat on a sofa
distant from the door apparently deep in the
last Atlantic. That was dark and moody.

But a sudden change came over it, as his
eyes fell upon the j'oung stranger just enter-
ing with his sister. He was sorely perplexed,
lie had never met her, and yet she seemed so
familiar to him ; her very voice was well
known. Where had he seen her ? Yet she
was not at all remarkable, so that having seen
her ouce he should remember her again.

She was one of those child-like persons who
ever look younger than they are. A face not
really pretty, except in expression, though
large blue eyes redeemed it from positive
plainness, and clustering curls of a brown
hue shaded and softened a complexion already
fair. A figure round with plumpness, yet
light and graceful. A little creature, as if
born for petting ; with a manner such a mix-
ture of simplicity and sense, vivacity and
earnestness as to be ever new, never wearying
with sameness.

She attracted the blast? man of the world
with her pure freshness of thought and feel-
ing ; and, unconsciously to himself, he was
listening for her frankly uttered opinions, and
soon had formed one of their party before the
fire.

Dinner seemed almost an interruption,
Thanksgiving, though it was ; yet it too
became a time of unusual merriment. John
Sterne thought he was making au effort to be
cheerful on account of the children, when, in
fact, it was no effort, Mara having led him
by gradual steps out of himself and into their
interests.

He — this man indifferent to everything —
actually let Thanksgiving midnight find him
wondering what had made the day so short,
and what amusements he could procure iu
addition to their own arrangements.

So passed many days — they happy in the
pleasures he provided for them, and he hap-
pier than he had been in years in seeing their
enjoyment. His quiet library was invaded at
any and all times ; where Amy, and even
Philip, had entered with hesitation, Mara led
the way fearlessly. Sometimes her errand,
" I want paper or pens ;" but oftener, of late,
"I want you !" Philip and Amy forgot their
former awe of their stern brother. They spoke
of him as "old and queer;" but he was
nearer than he ever had been. And he was
forgetting the miniature that lay unopened in
his desk.

It was the middle of December. Amy had
gone to see a sick child at some distance, and
Philip, who had grown fitful and restless of
late, had gone off on a wild gallop on his horse.
Mara, tired of the piano and books, tired of
the steady snow which fell drearily, making
the day gloomy, strangely out of spirits and
humor with herself, was in the large hall try-
ing the virtues of battledoor and shuttlecock.
"Sixty, seventy, ninety, one, two, nearly a
hundred," when the pretty plaything struck
against the library door, and in a moment it
was opened by the smiliitg occupant.

"I was so tired," she said, "and had
nothing to do ! Did I disturb you ? I am
sorry ! I did not remember that Amy has
said you were displeased at being disturbed ! ' '

"Amy is mistaken sometimes. Any way,
this is not a disturbance. They are not very
polite to leave you to your own devices.
Master Phil has grown fond of riding in bad
weather of late. I think the boy must be
pininjjfor his college-mates. But come in; let
me play host."

She amused herself — child as she was —
taking a survey of the room ; stuck her tiny
feet into his embroidered slippers, tried on his
smoking-cap, adnii. id and polished his silver-

JOHN' stebne's disappointment.

2.-1 .1

lopped meerschaum, lust the markers out of
ibled over his paper, and
pen ; and finally stopped at

bed desk.
" Fastened 1" she said ; "sol can't upset
1 There must be gold or pi
or letters, perhaps I i there-

tnl It is sure to have a story, locked so mys-
teriously. My lingers ache to break the
took."

"They need not. There is but little of any
worth in it. I will show you all there -
day; some day when I can tell yen the story !"
now. I like storii s, and I 've
nothing else to do I" and she drew a footstool
near the hearth and sat on it, looking up at
him expectant.

"No, not now ! Not now. indeed!"
"When then? this evening? to-morrow?
and may Amy know it. too?" and quickly
her thoughts reverted to the tale Dinah had
told their romance-loving ears, of why John
".as an old bachelor.
" No : Amy may not know ! I will toll you
But not now. I have something else
to tell you too, some day, and then you shall
know all I"

"But I shall be going soon, you know, too
soon, time flies so. When shall it be ? Not on
Christmas. I shall have enough besides to
me that day I"
"On Christinas Kre then!" he said: and
strode to the window, looking,' with eyes that
thing, down the avenue.
•• And that is a week to-day ! I slnall die of
curiosity meanwhile."

No reply from him. But he turned and
gazed at her. Her brown curls rested on her
hand — a small hand made whiter by the soft
blue dress she wore ; her eyes were fastened
with an intentness and unwonted sobriety
upon the dancing flames before her. Her
slippers peeping from beneath her dress dis-
played two buckles of cut steel which shone
in the fire-light, betraying every restless move-
ment of the feet within. Tl i mark-
ing time to some tune sounding only in her
brain, and 'presently that "Annie Laurie"
r thought became revealed by her voice
breaking out in snatches of the song — low and
- if unconscious that she sang —

"Gave me her promise true;
And ne'er forget will I.
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
1 d lay me down and die

Strangely and sadly familiar her voice and

that song — the old signal to Mima that it was
he i' IS£ ing under her window ! It pained him,
■and yet there was not the old soreness in the
pain. "Why?" he asked himself: but her
dispelled his revo

" Do they ever die of such a cause ' because
tin- one they have proves inconstant. I mean."

"Neverl Never a woman, I'm very sure!
They have a happy faculty of forgetting. And
seldom a man. If tin:/ don't forget, they
pretend to. But in most cases cither side
finds consolation in marrying some one else !"

" Or marry some one else, and become 'con-
scious of their sin through suffering, mamma
once told in... I don't know, but I 've some-
times thought that mamma did not care for
my father as much as she had some time in
her life for some other person. She used to
speak so sadly of young people loving, and of
proving false, and the wickedness of marriage
without love. And my papa was so much
older than my mother. lie died when I was
so young I never knew him. lie left her all
his Southern property — useless now since the
war ; so, if she had lived, we should have
used together the groat fortune my great-
aunt left me. Poor mamma! in nearly her
last breath she was imploring forgiveness of
some earlv friend she fancied near her."

" Your mother then is dead

" V' s. three years ago. And when the war

broke out I think the Northern hi 1 iu my

veins grew restless for a Northern home. My

step-sisters advised the step, and I have lived

since at the seminary where Amy and I

me friends. I have no other home now."

lie sat himself down iu the arm-chair near
which she sat on her low footstool. Her hand
rested on the arm of it. and he took it gently
up within his own. yet his own trembled as it
lay there. Hers was very still; she seemed
hardly conscious it was there ; but still gazed
on absently into the fire.

'•Mara.'' he said. -'Mara, that means 'bit-
terness.' You are wrongly named!"

" Dear mamma named me so. My name is
really hers — Marian; but I think she mu<t
have had a bitter cup to drink when she could
call me. her only child, 'Mara.' Yet, since
she named it so, I would not change it for a
sweeter one."

"What matters the name, dear child?" a
strange warmth making bright his eyes. " It
is already sweet to me ; too sweet, too sweet ."'

19*

23i

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

he murmured, pressing his lips upon the
hand within his own.

Philip, with some thought weighing too
heavily on his mind, and with the restlessness
of one unused to grief, had striven to forget
mental pain in bodily fatigue. For miles had
he ridden in the storm, impetuously on, as if
he could escape self; impetuously back, self
and his new perplexities -still, like Sinbad's
old man of the sea, clinging to him. He had
resolved to go quietly, unheard by Amy or
Mara, to his brother's library, tell him all the
thoughts within his heart, and abide by his
advice. What if he advised — what seemed
but common sense perhaps to a man of his
years, outgrown youthful feeling- — an aban-
donment of this dear hope ! lie was penniless
and dependent, and if he acted contrary to
his wishes, could he expect his assistance in
life ? And how else could he hope to win her ?
Yet he loved her, and he could not give her
up ! But he would not even ask if her love
was his in return till he had frankly confessed
all to his brother.

Poor Philip ! He had quietly opened the
library door. He stood within it and heard
his brother's murmuring tone, saw the fer-
vency with which he pressed his lips to her
fingers. "What he, he supplant me! He,
cold and haughty, to win her, and break her
heart with his coldness ! He,' his age, to
take her from me ! He shall not, he cannot !
And yet he will, he can ; he has wealth to
support her ; I am a beggar, and worse than
beggared since I have lost that hope." Again
he rushed out into the storm, again mounted
his horse and sped away, though twilight was
fast coming on.

They had not seen Philip. Each seemed
lost in thought, and twilight stole on them
unawares, while only the bright firelight
lighted up the room by fitful gleams. She
had looked at him wonderingly when he
kissed her hand. She looked so again, when,
after the long silence, he added : —

" Shall you care to hear, little Mara, the
story I promised to tell you on Christmas
Eve ? What interest will your pure fresh
heart take in the story of a sad-worn man,
long past youth ? And yet if you do not, if
you do not, Mara" — he leaned back, his face
turned from her still wondering eyes. There
iv;is the coldness of repressed feeling in his
tone, as he resumed: "My story you shall
hear as promised, if you will listen. Yes, and

more ; only first the story of my life, for in
nothing would I deceive you, Mara. Let it
be fairly won, if it is at all !"

" Let what be fairly ?" she said.

He made no reply, but presently, twining
her brown curls in her fingers, he said: "To-
night let me hear of your own life."

"There is but little to tell," she said. "I
was born in Georgia eighteen years ago. I
was my mother's only child ; but when my
father married her his first wife's children
were nearly her age. My name is Marian
Ellis ; not that Ellis is really my surname,
but an old rich aunt of mamma's, upon whom
she was dependent in her girlhood, left me all
her possessions upon condition I took her
name. I never saw her,. nor do I even remem-
ber where she lived ; indeed, I think, for
some reason connected with her early life,
mamma did not wish me to know. I do not
believe she was very kind to mamma. How-
ever, she left me her money, for which I thank
her of course ; it is nice to-be rich !" and she
laughed merrily.

"Go on," he said, hoarsely.

Troubled at his manner, she still obeyed.

" My own name by birth is Harding. My
mother's maiden name was Walton — Minna
Walton. She was a Northerner ; and 0 so
lovely, so beautiful, she must have been ! for
she was still beautiful when she died, but oh,
so sad ! Papa had been dead many years. I
think, from what I overheard my stepsisters
say one day, after papa's death, when they
were »ngry — for they were not kind to her —
that she had loved another before she met
papa, and better than she ever had him. Oh,
I cannot forget how, in the delirium of her
last moments, she seized my hands and im-
plored my forgiveness. £he mistook me for
him she had loved. ' I will wait,' she would
cry ; ' I will be patient, and faithful, and true
till you return, and take me into the world ;
I want to see the world!' I think she could
not have kept her promise, for her self-re
proach was as fearful as her cries for his par
don. Poor mamma, dear mamma!" and the
little head bowed sadly into her hands, and
she wept bitterly.

He groaned aloud : "0 Marian, lost Marian !
I can forgive, I can forget ! In your child I
hold you ; mine — my Marian again !"

If she heard him she did not heed. He
lifted her from her low seat — "Mara, Mara,
darling, do not weep. God has sent you to

JOHN STEBNES M.-.VrPOIXTMEXT.

23o

Be, Bweetestl Marian, ran you Bee this.'
Will you be happier up ill heaven, Minna, to
ur child with him who loved you! Do
you knew this, Mara' do you know how pas-
ly I idolized your mother, and that I
am he whom she loved?"

She understood all now. Dinah's story of

' ippointment, and her mother's words,

11 plain. She upraised her

smiling through her tears, and putting

nds within his: "It makes you nearer

itome!" she said. "I feel not nearly so alone

now. And because she was not true you will

inot like me loss ? Forgive her ! she was so

sad, and she loved you !"

Burning words of love on his lips struggled
for Utterance. Better than he had ever loved
Sthe mother loved_ he now her daughter ! Still
Brl a word bad escaped him ; he only held her
close within his arms, when the fierce gal-
was heard, and frightful
.- hurried both apart aud to the outer
Idoor.

' 1'hilip on the ground insensible, and Amy,
.pallid with terror. leaning over him.

John's strong arms bore him to his own
room adjoining the library. It seemed ages
the village doctor arrived, aud the
bunded man opened his eyes to reveal in
.their dull heaviness the sad truth that he was
.Unconscious of all around him.

At length Amy was enabled to say that as
she entered the avenue, Philip's horse, just
in advance of her, seemed suddenly startle 1.
*an, and as they neared the house, threw
(Philip, his head falling on the sharp stone
Steps. 'What had kept him out so late was
jstill a mystery.

U' Tenderly did calm and quiet John dismiss
e two trembling girls, assuring them he
lihould not leave poor Phil ; and they must
Vest, that they might take his place as nurse
A tli. morrow. Upon this plea he succeeded;
*nd the hours passed heavily, drearily, de-
spairingly, but that, in spite of grief, he could
|uot shut out his new joy in loving Mara.

Days passed, with anxiety pressing more
heavily upon them. Philip, and the frail
Stance for his life, was the only apparent
thought of all.

Christmas eve. the time so joyfully antici-
pated a week before, came saddest of all.
Merrily pealed the church-bells, and brightly
hone lights from the church windows, making
t'isible to the outsider thejestoons and gar-

lands of evergreen within. But they who
hi 1 thought to enter together that little
church, and together rejoice thai a Saviour
was born, were gathered around the bed of
suifering. The crisis had come, and the phy-
sician gave them no hope. Death was very
near them, and they watched each breath,
noted each movement, feeling it was the last.
John's strong arms Upheld Philip; his whole
voice and manner gentle as a woman's, all
sternness and coldness gone from his face,
only a great tenderness, a great love shining
there. Amy knelt beside the bed, her arm
thrown over her dying brother, her whole
frame racked with sobs. But Mara stood
tearless, and so changed from the untroubled
girl to the despairing woman that death
seemed sweeter far than life.

How he raved in his delirium ! how he
called on Amy, on John, on his dead mother
to come to him and unbind that burning band
about his head ; but most of all on Mara.

" Come to me, little innocent Mara. Why
will you stay away when I call you, cruel Mara ?
Oh, you are with John! I know, I see; the
library holds you two alone. Ho kiss your
band, Mara, and I may not, I dare not! He
shall not. shall not win you ! and yet I cannot !
I am poor; do you mind being poor? We
might be happy, Mara ; I would try to make
you so. Hark, the bells are tolling ! do they
know the age to toll ? I am young to give up
life yet. I hoped to live for you — for you !
lost to me forever, Mara ! Amy, do not toll
her, dearest, that I love her so ! You will not
miss me when you have her here with John
forever; and I cannot, will not even try to stand
between John and his happiness 1 He has
been so kind to us. Amy, poor motherless
ones, and he has had no joy in life, Amy!"
Ilis voice sank into a whisper. No sound
throughout the dimly-lighted room but his
moans and murmurs of the beloved name,
mingling with the bereaved one's bitter cries.

A strange pallor and coldness seized John ;
bis limbs trembled, and the room grow close
aud suffocating. Quietly he placed his brother
back upon his pillows, and stepped just with-
out the window upon the veranda. The cold
winter air restored him. He gazed up at the
stars, and in a passion of grief boat his hand
upon his br*ast. "God have pity I" was his
agonized cry. "A second time in life this
cruel stroke I"

Philip's voice rang upon his ear: "John,

236

GODEY 3 LADY 3 BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

John, I had rather you killed me than taken
her from me ! Oil, Mara, why could you not
have loved me, Mara?"

She seized his hand ; she raised his head
on her arm, and pressed her lips again and
again to his chilly hrow. " What can I say !
0 Philip! precious Philip!" she cried, ap-
pealingly.

"Tell him the truth!" said John's deep
voice beside her, and his head rested heavily
on her shoulder. "The truth.' but gently,
gently, Mara ; he is reviving, he knows you,
thank Heaven !

The form, but tossing now in pain, was
Stiller, and his eyes opened slowly, steadily,
but with a light that showed intelligence had
returned. They sought John, growing sadder
as they gazed ; then wonderingly rested on
her who held his head, and pain and darkness
settled again in his face.

Midnight tolled out from the church tower,
and then the room was hushed again. John's
voice broke tfie silence.

" Mara has something to say to you. Will
you hear her ? You have asked her why she
did not love you. Philip, she does love
you!"

"Mara!" and Philip's eyes fastened upon
her.

"I do, Philip! God knows I do, with my
very soul ! Live for my sake ; I cannot have
you die !"

"And John?" asked Philip, faintly.

John Sterne's lips quivered, and then a
calm sorrow settled down upon them, that
they who met him a year after on the battle-
field, and saw him die a brave patriot's death,
never saw removed.

"And John," he said, "says God bless you,
ray dear children, and make you ever happy
in each other ! This shall be your home ;
but you will let me stay with you a little
while. You two must take care of all my
possessions while I go to the war, and give a
home to Amy. They will all be yours and
Amy's alter I am gone, you know!"

It was Amy who clung to him, kissing him,
and weeping now for joy as she had wept for
grief. Mara, whom he loved better than life,
saw him not. Philip, for whom he had given
more than life, saw her only.

Then he grew himself again, ^he unweary-
ing, careful, nurse ; and leading the two girls
out into the hall — "Go," he said, "and rest.
my children. Philip will live ! Thank God

for this, and pray Him have pity upon tin
souls of the desolate !"

And alone, beside the sweetly sleeping man
restored through love to life, sat John Sterne;
his hand tightly clasping the miniature of hi;
first-loved Marian, as his heart held the iniag
of the second. Little ever knew the worl
which had professed all knowledge concerrmi;
his life-history, that though through the firs
came the bitterest grief of youth, yet not til
manhood's prime, and through the second
fell sorely, crushingly, and without cure tin
heavy weight of John Sterne's disappoint
ment.

LITTLE SARAH.

BT FLORENCE HARTLANP.

Wreathe the pale flowers rouod her gently ;

Lay them on the coffin-lid ;
Boon that form so fair and saintly

'Xfeath.the grave-clods will be hid.

Bmooth the hair down reverently

From that marble brow ;
KiBS the dead lips, cold and icy ;

Speak in whispers low.

Weeping? No, oh no ! toogra!

Her young spirit left the earth,
For a single stain of sorrow

To imprint its heavenly birth !

Weeping, that another angel
Swells the pealing choir of heaven ?

Weeping, that another spirit
Has a radiant crown been given?

Would you call a shining seraph
From its blissful heavenly home?

Would you claim your vanished tti- ,

Once again on earth to roam?

Kay, remember that your jewel

Is not lost, but only llown
From its frail and shattered casket

Bright to gleam in Jesus' crown !

And methinks I see her standing

In that far-off happy land,
Waiting till, when Death shall claim yon,

She shall clasp again your hand.

Then the wild, wild, bitter yearning

To behold her shall be o'er ;
In your arms you shall enfold her,

To be parted — nevermore !

Another's Meeit. — We had rather do anj
thing than acknowledge the merit of anoth*
if we can help it. We cannot bear a superic
or an equal. Hence, ridicule is sure to pr<
vail over truth, for the malice of manki'i
thrown into a scale gives the casting weigh

THE FAMILY DRAWING -MASTER.

237

THE FAMILY DRAWING MASTER.

IJ A SEKIES OP FAMILIAR CONVERSATIONS.

TRIANGLES. (Continued)

P. Before I give you a drawing to copy to-
day, you shall see a new triangle. Ilere is
an angle.

Ton. That is a right angle, papa.
P. Now I will make it a triangle.

W. I should call that a right-angled tri-
angle. That would be better than giving it a
Greek name.

P. That is its name.

Ion. And a very good thing too that it has a
difl.ivut name. I have hard work to keep
the names of tlie others in my mind. I will
repeat them again.

Triangles, with all their sides equal, are
called Equilateral Triangles.

With two sides equal, they are called Isos-
celes Triangl

With no sides equal, they are called Scalene
Triangles, and,

A triangle, with a right angle in it, is called
» Right-angled Triangle.

P. I will to-day give you some right-angled
■angles to draw; and when you can do them
Boperly, you shall make some drawings from
mem.

The first drawing is a triangle. In the

second drawing I have added two perpendicu-
lar lines ; then a ground line, and a parallel
line for a roof.

Ton. And so, papa, it has grown into a shed !
P. Here is another right-angled triangle.

Now I will join some perpendicular and paral-
lel lines to it.

P. When yon can draw
isosceles triangle to copy.

this, here is an

Ion. Why have you drawn its base with
dots, papa ?

P. Because in the drawing which I am
going to make, this part of the triangle will
not be required.

233

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Now I will make the drawing. There is the
shed, the gate.

W. Only you have put three palings be-
tween them.

P. I have drawn the isosceles triangle in
the distance ; and now you have a picture
something like one of the little drawings I
made for you in your first month's lessons.

P. Before you hegin to draw, point out to
me again the two right-angled triangles, and
the isosceles triangle. Do not forget, in
drawing it, to make a light line through the
middle of the isosceles triangle, to see if it is
correct. And the other lines, if they are not
quite perpendicular, and quite horizontal, will
be wrong in their direction.

L. And the lines of the isosceles triangle
must be very light lines, or else they will be
wrong in shade.

W. And the house will not seem to be in
the distance.

L. We are going to draw it this afternoon,
papa. Which part shall we begin first ?

P. I should advise you to draw, at first,
with very light lines, the right-angled triangle
in the shed. Secondly, I would make the
ground line at the proper distance from it.
Thirdly, I would join it to the ground line by
the two perpendicular lines which form the
sides of the shed. I would then, fourthly,
draw the gate at the proper distance from it,
and would compare its height with the height
of the shed. How high is it ?

L. Rather more than half as high, papa.

P. When I had thus drawn
the gate and palings in liglit
lines, I would then, fifthly,
draw the isosceles triangle
and would make the parallel
lines outside it, for the roof
of the house.

Ion. But why, papa, ar«
we to draw all this with
light lines ?

W. /can tell: because]
if you should make a mis-
take, you could then rub it
out easily.

P. That is the reason.
You cannot rub out darii
lines easily. When you
have drawn the principal
parts with light lines, and
feel sure that they are cor*
rect, you may make tht

dark lines on them without being afraid

making a mistake.

SHADOWS AND SUNSHINE.

BY ALMA A. CRAWFOKK.

The rose whose bead is bowed
Beneath the passing shower

Hangs from her trembling stem
A burdened, drooping flower.

She tries in vain to rise,

To lift her rosy crown —
And, weeping, bends her head

By crystal drops weighed down.

But when some kindly breeze
Sweeps o'er each burdened leaf,

Or gentle, passing hand
Shakes off her weight of grief, .

Freed from her load of tears,
She lifts her queenly form,

More beautiful thftn e'en
Before the passing storm.

Thus many a child of earth.
Whose head and heart are bowed,

Longs for some kindly voice
To chase away the cloud :

Or gentle hand to take

From off their burdened heart
The weary, troublous load

That has become their part.

And when from sorrow's cloud
Their fettered hearts are free,

Far purer for the storm

Their chastened souls will be.

Bless'd be the gentle hand,
The kindly, cheering voice,

That lifts the weary load,
And bids the heart rejuice.

\Y ANTED, A COMPANION.

3T MARY PORXAir.

'• Wanted ; a companion for an elderly in-

iali.1 lady. Apply at No. -1 Sfc

ief notice, yet there were woven

few words hours of anxious thought,

- nights, and painful niisgr.

u a manner, throwing down a glove

or all my numerous relatives, any one of

7honi would have gladly spared me a child or

me herself to tend my illness, comfort

«y pain, drive back my loneliness, for I was

ich. widowed, and childless. I well knew

lhat Harian my niece, whose son was my

ikosen heir, would have faithfully devoted

fer life to me. and if I could have overlooked

loch trifling peculiarities as an utter E

•■--. . irice, and entire heartless-

might, perhaps, have gone peacefully

Ogether through the short journey that

jeemed to lie between me and the grave.

Sut I wanted a companion whose services,

!v rewarded, might be mine at

•ill. I had no intention of overtasking my

eader and amanuensis ; but I wanted I

tperfeet liberty to call upon her at any hour.

(lieu, too, philanthropic schemes of giving a

pleasant home to some poor struggling woman,

those health, education, or delicacy made her

cofit to cope with the rude world, floated

]hrough my brain.

.' I soon found my office as selector was no

ineeure. All day the stream of applicants

loured in. till my heart ached for the many

l/ho were thrown upon the world poor and

jriendless. grasping at every opportunity fur

honorable employment. Yet. of all the vast

hron^-. not one suited me. Some were merely

.'ervants. ful nt to make my bed or

weep my room, but I did not want a servant ;

lome had vast ideas of salary and privileges,

lotally impossible to meet ; some were learned,

nd proposed to put my seventy years aside

nd commence my education ; some painted,

.nd would till my room with copies of the

reat masters, for a trifling addition to their

alary : some wanted one perquisite, some

nother. till, exhausted and bewildered, I

ismiss I ill, promising to grant another

nterview the next day.

I thought all had gone, and lay back in my

chair weary and disappointed, closing my
■ shut out the brilliant parterre of gay
shawls and overpowering bonnets. I am
sure I looked pale, for a soft little hand fell
gently upon my forehead, and a voice clear
and sweet said : —

"I am sorry you are so tired. Can I do
anything for you before I go?"

Something in the low musical voice, tinged
as it was with sadness, roused again my failing
interest. I opened my eyes to see a small
child-like figure clothed in deep mourning, a
fair, sweet face whose large hazel eyes were
that tender longing depth we s- e
sometimes in the babies early called home.
A face to waken love and tenderness, a figure
drooping and delicate, to call forth all the
protecting care of any kind heart. She stood
quietly beside me as I scrutinized her closely,
her eyes looking frankly into mine, her soft.
cool hand still on my brow.

"You came to apply for a situation?" I
said, at length.

■•Yes ; I have been here all the afternoon
in that corner ; but I shall not suit. I thought
at first I might, but so many far superior have
failed, that I have given up the hope."

■■ What can you do?"

'•I am afraid very little. I could read.
Papa used to like to hear me read, and I
could write your notes ; but you are very
particular about reference, and I have none."

••>\.ne!"

There is no one in the city who
knows me, and I brought nothing from my
old home."

"Can I not write t"

The hand on my forehead grew very cold,
and the sweet face very pale, as she saiu,
steadily : —

" There is no one in the wide world to give
me one word of recommendation."

I was puzzled. Here was the very com-
panion for whom I longed. Some one to
cherish and protect, in return for their ser-
vices to me ; but there was sum, thing start-
ling in this assertion of utter friendlessness.
coming from the lips of such a child. My

239

240

godey's lady's book and magazine.

thoughts formed most unconsciously, at, the
abrupt question —

"Have you done anything wrong to forfeit
your friends' affection?"

I repented the question while I asked it.

The rich crimson blood dyed both cheeks,
but the true, fearless eye never wavered as
she answered : —

"No. I am unfortunate, poor, friendless,
and unhappy ; but I have no sin to carry, no
guilt to crush me down. I know it seems
strange that a girl of nineteen (I had thought
sixteen the utmost limit for her age) should
be thus lonely ; but it is sorrow, not sin, that
lias thrown me out of home and companion-
ship. You are better now, are you not ?"

"Yes ; not so tired."

"Then I will bid you good-night." And
she bent with a graceful salutation, and turned
to leave me.

"Stay," I said. " What is your name ?"

"Alice."

"Alice what?"

" I have no other name."

Another enigma. I could not let her go.

"If you stay with me, Alice," I said,
taking her hand in mine, 'I hope some day
to win your confidence and know what sad
story has blighted your youth. I believe you
when you tell me there is no sin connected
with it, and if you are willing to come to-
morrow for a short visit, we can see if we suit
each other for a longer companionship."

"I will come," she said, with a trembling
voice, and bending down, she left a kiss and
a hot tear upon my withered hand, and was
gone.

I am afraid my readers would set mo down
for a romantic old fool if I told them all the
stories I framed that night for my heroine.
The pale, pure face with its delicate features,
golden hair, and large, child-like eyes, fairly
haunted me. The tiny bands had evidently
never known labor : the sweet, clear voice was
modulated by the education of a lady ; the
graceful little figure, with its modest bearing,
had no cringing in its attitude. At least there
was a new interest for my lonely life ; and if
my new study proved an impostor, there was
no one but myself to be injured, no children
to be trained in error, no young mind to
receive poisonous doctrine ; and in view of
all these negatives I felt satisfied with my
acquisition.

Looking back now, with the love of my

prot(tj(e making the music of my life, I find
it difficult to recall the impressions of the first
few days ; but a few words about myself may
show my reader what my companion was to
me.

As I have said, I was past seventy years ;
but had been, until within a few mouths,
in the full possession of every faculty, and
unusually active and energetic for my years.
Possessed of vast wealth, I had tried, with
sincerity, to remember that I was the Lord's
steward ; and if my name but seldom figured
upon the pompous lists of public charities, I
trust that the courts and alleys where my old
face was so cordially welcomed, the children
snatched from low haunts of misery, the
industrious supplied with work, the energetic
little boys "set up" in the shoe-black or
newspaper business, the dying from whose
bed the sting of want was swept away, tlie
aged whose helpless hands were filled, and
the erring who found an avenue opened for
honorable labor, will bear me witness that I
have earnestly endeavored to be a just al-
moner. Sis months previous to the day
when my daring advertisement appeared, my
physician had passed my doom of future help-
lessness. A severe cold, contracted by some
unconscious exposure, had settled in my limbs,
and produced such results as left me for the
remainder of my life hopelessly crippled,
having no power to move my body below the
waist.

My nurse, a strong good-hearted woman,
fully capable of lilting, dressing, and tending
me, at once accepted the post of permanent
attendant, with some of the housekeeping
cares. I had servants for every lower branch
in the domestic department, but I pined for a
friend. There were plenty to call upon me,
to send me dainty dishes, perfumed notes,
choice flowers ; but none upon whom I could
call for constant attendance. My relatives all
resided in a distant city, and there was not
one amongst them for whose constant society
I felt any desire.

In this lonely, helpless life my companion
came to cheer and comfort me. I cannot
tell the thousand loving graces by which she
won my love, and commanded my esteem.
The yearning, childlike pity for my age and
helplessness expressed itself in every tone of
her sweet voice, inherquick, gentle movements
round my chair, her ready comprehension of
every want, her tender touch and almost

WAN-TED, A COMPANION.

241

reverential respect. There was no thought of
jny wealth or possible generosity io her heart,
only sin li protecting, yet deferential affection as
helpless for from fresh, pure-he

youth, She read beautifully, with an evident
cultivation of her clear voice, ami when in
some stirring passage, I have marked her
large ryes kindle, her cheek glow, and voice
'rise into clear clarion-like tones of enthusiasm.
I have forgotten all Buffering to go hand in
ihandwith her to the pleasant lands of ideality
and romance. Love for literature, elocution,
(and poetry had been one of the ruling pas-
sions of my life, and it soon became one of
Ithe delights of my imprisonment to open for
Alice the portals of history, imagination,
Hence, and classics, and watch the eager en-
thusiasm with which she entered the enchanted
•realms. I smile now to think of the hours
we passed over our favorite authors ; she
seated on a low chair at my side, my hand
bfteii resting on the glossy braids of her golden
iaair, while my pain and her sorrows floated
iff into a misty background to give place to
the spirit of our volume. Iler sweet voice,
•ising in passionate cadences of fancied woe,
linking to love's tenderest intonations, marcb-
ng forward to a martial strain in steady,
[neasured tones, or wailing with despairing
l;rief. carried ihy old heart far back to the
ilays when this was to me also an inner life,
fl resting-place from hard realities or every-
|lay monotonies.

| She grew happier, too, in our daily inter-
course. The heavy grief in her dark eyes
frrew softened into a quiet resignation, and
Vhe slow, weary footfall grew more elastic and
buoyant as she became assured of my love for
per, my pleasure in her society. She had
been with me nearly two months, when one
■lay. leaning her cheek against the arm of my
,;hair, and looking up into my face, she said :
] " Do you care for music ?"
. I told her truly how I loved it.

"When the sorrows of my life fell upon
|ne," she said, mournfully, "I said there
:ould be no more music for me ; my heart felt
larkened and desolate : but you have Hooded
t with love and light, and I can sing again."

And without further preface, still seated at
ny feet, her eyes still raised to mine, she
)egan to sing.

I had often marked, while she read, the
nusical intonations of her voice when it rose
ibovc a monotone ; but I had never dreamed
vol. lxix.— 20

of its wealth and power until I heard it ia
song. The perfection of cultivation which
had evidently been lavished upon it had had
no power to crush out its natural purity and
sweetness ; the elaborate trills and wonderful
scales fell with such easy grace that they
seemed more the spontaneous embroidery of
a bird than the result of science ; and when
she sang ballads, the severe simplicity of
style seemed more like the heartfelt warbling
of a cottage girl than the marvellous finish
of the artist. For nearly two hours she sang,
uninterrupted, her dark eyes looking forward,
filled with rapt ecstasy, her form entirely
motionless, the light striking upon her lovely
face and mourning robes, framing a model for
a St. Cecilia, and I wondering that I had
never before read the music in her brow,
eyes, and lips.

At last the flood of melody sank slowly,
gradually in fainting sweetness into silence.
She sat still, utterly motionless for a few
moments, the high inspiration dying out from
her face, the old depth of grief creeping
slowly into her eyes, till, suddenly, with a
bitter cry of — "How can I bear it!" she
broke into passionate sobbing. I had never
seen her violently agitated before. She was
always so calm, so self-possessed, that this
sadden burst of despairing sorrow alarmed me.
For some moments my voice was unheeded ;
but I leaned forward and placed my hand on
the bent head, saying: "Alice, my child!
Let me share your grief or comfort it."

She heard me theu, and it was pitiful to see
bow she struggled for composure. The little
white fingers, laced together as her arms were
raised over her head, now moved restlessly,
nervously seeking their place ; the slight
figure convulsed by bitter sobbing trembled as
she strove to check the sounds of woe ; and
when at last the sweet face was raised to mine,
its pale lips, swollen eyelids, and yearning,
questioning gaze touched me to the very
heart.

"Surely you can trust me," I said, in
answer to that look. " Tell me your trouble.
Perhaps I can lighten the burden. I am rich,
you know."

"Money will not help me. If it would, I
should never tell you ;" and the head was
raised with a proud erectness it had never
borne in my presence before. Soon, however,
it drooped back to the old place on the arm of
my chair, and she said: —

242

GODEY'S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

"You cannot help me_; but you have been
so kind that it seems wrong to keep a secret
from you. From my earliest childhood I have
lived in such a house as this, surrounded by
every luxury, the petted darling of the owner.
Dr. Greyson, my dear father, made my happi-
ness the object of his life ; he cultivated
every talent he thought he found in me,
making study delicious by his own advice and
companionship. I had masters for English,
French, German, and above all music, and
every day's study was rewarded by his praise
and encouragement in the long delightful
evenings we spent together. He was very
wealthy, and I had not a caprice ungratified,
while his steady judgment kept my wayward
fancies in control ; my whims were analyzed
till they melted into air, or became solid foun-
dations for virtue or improvement. Two
years ago, my father took a pupil into his
office, a gentleman some four or five years
older than myself, the son of a widow lady
who resided in P . It will scarcely in-
terest you to tell you my love-story, for I soon
learned to love this new member of our home
oircle. Evening after evening, when his study
for the day was over, he would linger in our
sitting-room, talking, reading, or joining his
voice to mine in a thousand vagaries of sound
that spring spontaneously to the lips of music
lovers."

She was looking intently forward, as the
narrative fell from her lips, her voice sunk to
monotone, her words set and studied as if she
were reading the tale from some book, instead
of probing her own heart, while the rigid
erectness of her frame, the steady clasp of
her hands, one within the other, told of the
strain for composure, the forced calmness.

"We became very dear to each other,
Horace and I, lovers from similarity of taste,
his noble, true nature absorbing mine, till I
would have been content to be his servant to
live near him and feel the sunlight of his
presence. At last he asked me to be his wife,
and earth held no greater happiness for my
future life. He had won my father's consent
before he asked mine, and we were betrothed,
with every prospect of a speedy, happy mar-
riage. Yet, though he had given a free,
willing consent to our engagement, my father
seemed reluctant to hasten the wedding. We
had been so long dependent each upon the
other for society, that even though his house
was still to be our home, he seemed to dread

the change my marriage might make. We
had been engaged, Horace and I, for nearly a
year, when some business called my lover
from home for a month, and my father prom-
ised that upon his return the wedding prepa-
rations should begin.

" The day after he left, I was sitting in my .
own room when my dear father came up
stair3, and, after a long, loving conversation,
placed in my hand a note for a thousand
dollars, to buy, he said, the wedding finery,
and then, with something like a tear in his
eyes, he kissed his darling for the last time!
The last time ! 'He was thrown from his
carriage an hour later, and brought home,
dead!"

She waj silent for a moment, and then, in
the same steady monotone that covered so
much agony, she recommenced her narrative.

"He had been dead three days when his
lawyer called upon me to tell me that Dr.
Greyson was not my father. I was a foundling,
a child whom he had found neglected and
abused in some low haunt where his charity
had taken him for professional service, and in
his boundless goodness he had taken me to ,
his home. He had always intended to make
me his heiress, but had died without making
a will. I was still sitting trying to realize this
stunning truth, when another visitor entered,
unannounced, Horace's mother."

Involuntarily I drew the child nearer tome.
Well could I understand the bitterness of that
interview !

" She came to beg me to release her son. i
She told me that in his Quixotic generosity
he would doubtless hasten to me, and make
me his wife ; but that by so doing he would
utterly destroy his own prospects. No one
would employ a physician who so violated
prejudice as to marry a woman of no birth or
name, and his aunt, whose death was to make
him wealthy, was proud and aristocratic, and
would surely spurn the husband of a woman
who was picked up, nobody knew where.
My father (I can never think of him by any
colder name) was but a few hours buried, the'
news of my birth just told me. and so, crushed
by the double sorrow, the future looked dark
enough for me to think lightly of one more
pang. She won my consent to a disappear-
ance, and before night I had left P

without one word to Horace or any old friend
of my intentions. My father's present on the
morning of his death I took with me, leaving

WANTED, A COMPANION.

243

everything else for the heir-at-law. I had

lie. n here bat a few days, lodging with a

woman to whom Mrs. Martvn sent a letter by

in.', when your advertisement attracted me,

and I ventured here. Need I teil yon of my

Batitnde for all your kindness, my deep ap-

tion of your goodness ? I can never tell

'pyou. You must feel it, for no words of mine

r'can give it utterance."

j "Suppose!" I said, watching her keenly,
)"you go to this proud aunt and tell your
Utory ; she may not be so cruel as she is re-
Eesented."

"No. I promised to give him up. and I
jannot iu honor try to win a consent opposed
to that of his mother."
■ "Who is this aunt?"

I "I do not know. Horace often spoke of a
'iear aunt Elizabeth; but he never mentioned
liims.lf aa her heir, or indeed mentioned her
(money at all. He seemed to love her very
(■arly ; but she may not be the one his
toother referred to. I do not know her last
(name."

"Alice!" I said, gently, "do you know
.vim sends affliction, and why He Bends it ?"

'Ph.- pure face lighted with a holy fervor as
she said, softly — .

"Thoso whom the Lord loveth He chas-
tencth. His will be done."

1 was satisfied. I had never been attracted
by the religion worn upon the sleeve, the
mat springing upon trivial occasions to the
lips, the Scripture phrases hackneyed till
th'-y revolted against one's reverence ; but
Here was a quiet, holy form of life, a patient
assignation, a deep silent Christianity that

Imore truly betokened the pure, holy fervor of
tried religion, and these .Mice held surely,
clasping the Comforter closely to her heart,
jletting not her right hand see her left move,
Maying secretly and living her piety, instead
of crying it from the housetops.
) I think she felt happier after her confession
jto me. There were words of sympathy which
I could give now, that seemed to comfort her,
and it was evidently a relief to speak freely of
her adopted father. Each day's intercourse
brought our hearts nearer together, till, like
that father, I shuddered over the thought of
losing her, even for her own happiness.

She was sitting in her old place at my feet,
one morning, her hand clasped in mine, read-
ing one of Miss Landon's passionate love
poems. As she let the last word fall from her

lip, she looked into my face with a sad,
earnest gaze, that touched me deeply.

" You have so loved," I said, gently.

" I have so loved, so lost my love. Can we
ever forget! With duty, resignation, and
submission all pointing to oblivion, can we
ever forget I"

She often expressed her thoughts in this
metrical form ; but it was, I think, the result
of close study, intercourse with manly intel-
lect and reading, more than any affectation.

" Why should you forget?" I said; "it is
unnatural to cramp and starve your young
heart to fill the caprice of avarice. Horace
is true. Horace knew of your obscure birth
before he asked you to be his wife ; knew it
from Dr. Grreyson's lips."

She was listening with suspended breath
and dilated eyes.

" His aunt is ready to give her consent. Do
you not guess ? Alice, my child, Horace
Marty n is my nephew and heir, and — "

Did she guess, or was his movement for-
ward too eager ? I only know she sprang to
her feet, turned, and was clasped fast in her
lover's arms, her true, noble-hearted lover,
who has sought her with a breaking heart,
and come post haste in answer to my letter of
summons.

My large house is none too big for the little
restless feet that patter up and down the
broad entries, the little voices that waken its
echoes, while my heart is freshened, my youth
renewed, my whole life encircled by the love
of my nephew, Alice, and their three wee
children.

DOMESTIC HELP.

BY MRS. CHATW1TT.

The want of good domestic help in the
United States is a great evil, and one which
daily increases ; and, were it not for the influx
of foreigners, I do not know but neoi
would drive all housekeepers to somi
boarding-house system, thus banishing the
holiest of all places — our homes and our pri,
vate firesides.

No one can travel through our country
towns, especially of the Free States of the
West, without being struck with the careworn,
faded expression of women scarcely thirty
years of age; and the merest glimpse at their
cares and duties, and the hard work that

241

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

inevitably falls to their share, shows plainly
why they are broken down ere they are in their
prime; shows why there are so many mother-
less children; why there are so many men
mourning over the beloved of their youth, and
the breaking up of their household ties ; why
there are so many with second and third wives.

Look at a young girl entering upon the
duties of matrimony, loving and beloved, and
anxious to fulfil her domestic and social duties.
Watch her year by year until a little family
have clustered around her; see with what
energy and amiability she has striven against
sickness, poor help, and all the thousand
trials and perplexities that no one but Ameri-
can housekeepers can understand. With an
infant in her arms and an inexperienced girl to
help her, she superintends her housekeeping,
receives company, nurses herchildren, acts the
seamstress, and strives for her husband's com-
fort; and often her miserable help deserts her
when she can least do without. What wonder
health and beauty give way! And she could
not retain her spirits, and hope against hope
that she will be relieved in time to recruit her
failing health and energies, but for that calm
trust, which I glory in saying most of my
countrywomen possess, in an all-wise Creator,
an overruling Providence, and a kind Hea-
venly Father. Yet, though God overrules
all things, He does not wish us to fold our
hands over this evil; even with faith in Him,
we must endeavor to remove it, and look to
Him to bless our efforts, not our passiveness.
What can be done ? Will not some one take
up a pen, and tell us what is practicable ? — not
theories; something practical?

One thing, as a partial alleviation, I would
suggest, returning to one of the good old
customs of our New England grandmothers,
which, amid all the fashions, and, as they
would have said, 1: new-fangled notions" of
the day, seems to have grown nearly obsolete.
They used, when first married, to go quietly
to housekeeping (and they had been taught
domestic duties better, I am sorry to say.
than girls are now taught); they used to take
a little girl to bring up, often an orphan, or
some poor child whose parents were glad to
part with her if she found a good home, so
that it was a double kindness. And, as ladies
did not then disdain attending to some part of
their domestic duties from choice, the child
was personally taught and superintended, and
affectionately treated. Thus situated, she

loved and respected her protectors, so when
the time of trial came they had one hand at
least upon whom they could rely — one who felt
an interest that domestic matters should go
right, and the wheels of the household roll on
smoothly — one who every year would he of
more use and more of a friend, morally trained,
and trained as a good housekeeper ; and when
her time came to take charge of a family, she
would be a credit to the lady who had brought
her up, aud a blessing to her own family.
Many might object to this as being so much
trouble. And so it is ; but it is trouble that
pays, to use a popular, though not very elegant,
expression.

It is a great deal of care and trouble to
train a child, to have patience with its way-
wardness, and forbearance with its failings,
and forgiveness for its faults ; but there is
nothing worth having in this life that is not
some trouble ; and this taking some of the
labor from our hands, taking some of the steps
for the wearied feet, disciplining the heart in
patient virtues, is trouble that will repay.

I am far from meaning to recommend bring-
ing up a child as a drudge, making her feel
herself inferior, and dwarfing her in mind
and body by harsh usage and hard work. No
truly thoughtful Christian woman is capa-
ble of doing this, and she who would use a
dependant thus does not know the kindly
feelings of a follower of the Saviour of love
and mercy, and (harsh as it may sound) is
not fit to bring up her own children.

But what is the trouble compared to the
trouble of continual change from one ignorant
servant girl to another? Need I go through
the list ? Not this time. But these troubles
and the trouble of bringing up a child, to have
her assistance, love, and* respect for eight or
ten years, or perhaps more, hardly contrast,
and there are hundreds in our crowded cities
who would be a blessing to as many house-
keepers, if they would only think they could
take the trouble to bring them up. Who will
try the experiment ?

Any one who reads this article will readily
understand that I refer more particularly to
housekeepers in country towns as being so
situated as to try this experiment to the best
advantage.

' — If you would not have affliction to visit
you twice, listen at once to what it teaches.

A FEW FRIENDS.

BY If U R 11 A II LY N X .

FIFTH EVENING.
i At the fifth meeting of the " Pew Friends,''

held at .Mrs. Adams's tasteful residence, Teresa
| exhibited to her delighted guests an impro-
vise.1 kaleidoscope, which was unanimously
i pronounced to be the very palace of that realm
| of dazzling changes of which every child has
had a faint glimpse through the common
, kaleidoscope of the toy-shops. Indeed, so
t gorgeous and varied were the effects, and on
so large a scale, that even the staidest of the
is gave vent to an undignified "0!"
while gazing. Form, color, light, and shade
wen' blended in the most exquisitely symmet-
rical disorder. Sometimes they saw a plain
field of crimson, over which golden Hashes
passed and repassed with the rapidity of light-
ning ; next, flowers in wild profusion seemed
to bud and bloom before their eyes until
nothing but a mass of glowing pulsing loveli-
ness ceuld be Been. Then a gleam of emerald
■arted through its midst, and. like the touch
Of a fairy wand, transfigured everything it
touched into new forms of beauty. Soon,
across a plain of dazzling white, ran quick,
rippling circles of blue and crimson; then the
fairy wand again, and watches, rings, brace-
lets, and ribbons crowded into view, only to
melt away in a wheel of limpid water, never
breaking, though it revolved as if speeding on
Some mad errand. This vanishing, a hideous
face with its dozens of eyes, now scowling,
now staring, now villanously winking, startled
the spectators, who. applaud as they might,
could never win an cut-ore, for the spirit of
change ruled supreme.

As each guest in turn looked in wonder ami
admiration at the ever varied forms, now
laughing, as something " so funny" appeared,
or hastily stepping aside to allow the others
to see some exquisite effect before it vanished,
one would have thought that their days of
childish frolic had returned. And, indeed,
children of a larger growth they were, though
rather indignant children, when Teresa, with
a merry laugh, moved the screen that had
hidden her from the spectators and showed to
them the materials with which she had wrought
such wondrous effects.

20*

Alas, the fairy-wand was but a glass pen-
handle ! The garlands of flowers that had
seemed so fresh and beautiful were but a
handful of tumbled enormities from east-oil'
bonnets. The crystal lights came from an
old bead-basket ; and, for the rest, lamp-
mats, handkerchiefs, gloves, ribbons, jewelry,
and gilt-edged books had served their delusive
purpose. The hideous face was Teresa's own,
as fresh and sweet a countenance, my good-
looking reader, as shall ever bend over these
pages, ami that wondrous water-wheel had
been made by simply pouring a small stream
of water into a pewter-mug.

And now, as others may wish some time to
conjure up similar fairy-like effects from
equally slender means, I will, confidentially,
give them Teresa's modus operandi.

In the first place, her piano-forte, standing
at one end of the long parlor, had been
Boreened from the audience bya flowing white
curtain (<'. c. two sheets suspended gracefully
over a big clothes-horse). Then, after re-
moving the cloth from the highly polished
instrument, she had opened it in the usual
way as if for playing upon it. This of course
caused a portion of the front to lie back upon
the main body of the instrument. Raising
this reversed part up about nine inches (so
that, at the ends, the open section presented
an angle of nearly 45 degrees) she supported
it by means of a pile of books at each end ;
taking care, however, not to let them project
under the elevated portion more than was
absolutely necessary for support. This left a
triangular opening at either end, and by
throwing a heavy shawl or cover across the
entire length to shut out the light from the
side, the kaleidoscope was complete — taking
much less time to perform the work than it
has required to describe it. The only thing
then needed, to produce the full kaleidoscopic
effect, was to throw a strong light across the
end away from the audience, and to shake
bright-colored objects a few inches from it,
while the spectator looked in at the other
extremity. When everything was ready, the
curtain, which had hung close to the piano-
forte, and at right angles to it, was parted in

245

■2±6

godey's lady's book and magazine.

the middle just enough to leave the eye-end
of the kaleidoscope open to the audience, al-
lowing nothing to he seen of the movements
behind the curtain.

Thus, while the "Few Friends" had been
enjoying what seemed to them the most
magical effects, Mary Gliddon and Teresa had
been quietly presenting, shaking, changing,
and swinging their stock of commonplace
articles at the other end — taking care that a
stroDg light should fall upon the colors, or,
when transparent articles were used, allowing
the light to fall through them. Any person
having a piano, the top of which opens lid-
like, can, after a little experimenting, produce
truly remarkable effects in this way.

Before the clothes-horse was removed from
the apartment, Benjamin Stykes, who of
course was present, begged leave to intro-
duce, "for fun's sake," a new pastime which
he insisted had lately been introduced into
the country by an Egyptian. The only pre-
paration required was to cut a few oval holes
about an inch and a half long, and sixteen
inches apart, in a couple of large newspapers.
These were fastened across the clothes-horse,
while the space between papers and floor was
filled by one of the aforesaid sheets.

"Now," quoth Ben, with an inquiring look
around the room, "we certainly are all familiar
with each other's countenances by this time ?"

" I should think so," replied a chorus of
voices, promptly.

"And we would of course recognize every
eye in the room if allowed time for careful
inspection ?"

Nearly all assented to this proposition.

"Well, we will test the fact," said Ben.
"Half a dozen of us will step behind the
screen and look with our right eyes through
the holes, which you see are sufficiently large
to afford you a full exhibition. I will guarantee
that not one of the rest can name correctly
the respective owners of the six eyes."

Thus challenged, all were of course eager
that the experiment should be tried. Ben,
Lieutenant Hunter (Ben's quondam rival),
Teresa Adams, Mr. Pipes, Mr. Simmons, and
Miss Scinwig were selected to go behind the
screen.

Alas for the -uncertainty of human predic-
tion ! not one of the discriminating friends
could name correctly the owners of the queer-
looking optical mirrors now glaring upon
them. Not even when the eyes twinkled

with laughter at the queer mistakes made,
was the task of recognition rendered easier.
A certain full gray orb in the corner (belong-
ing to one Benjamin) looked expressively at
Mary Gliddon, only to be passed by as hope-
less, while it almost shed a natural tear when
its owner heard the grizzly green eye of Miss
Scinwig, in the opposite corner, designated by
Mary in good faith as pertaining to Mr. Stykes.

Numberless were the mistakes made by the
guessers as other eyes were placed under in-
spection. They could generally recognize the
weary eye of poor Mr. Simmons, or the softly-
cushioned little bit of jet through which his
comfortable spouse had so far seen the world ;
but the visual organs of the others, though
strongly individualized enough when seen "in
the flesh," became utterly unrecognizable
in a newspaper setting. The less important
features, yclept eyes and nose, met with little
better fate when the holes in the paper had
been enlarged to give them a trial.

When Beu attempted gently to reproach
Mary for her sad mistake, the saucy creature
declared she was glad he had informed her of
it, for she certainly owed Miss Scinwig an
apology, and must attend to it forthwith —
which she accordingly did, leaving Master Ben
a prey to conflicting emotions. Like Viola,
the poor fellow had "never told his love,"
and sadly did lie suffer for his lack of courage.
"If," thought he, "I could but get just one
encouraging glance — such as Teresa Adams
has cast upon me often — I might venture. It
is true her eye kindled when we spoke toge-
ther the other night as I have never seen it
kindle before ; but we were discussing the
war. And this very evening she blushed
when I quoted those expressive lines from
Tennyson ; but she complained the very next
moment that the room was excessively warm ;
so how can a fellow tell. If that step-brother
of hers were not so confoundedly filial and
attentive, one might escort her home some-
times, and gain an opportunity of exchanging
sentiments. Heigh-ho! how beautiful she is!
And how good, too ! I would stake my very
life upon it."

Just then the grand aria from Don Giovana
with which Mr. Pipes (accompanied on the
piano by Miss Pundaway) had for a few
moments past been regaling the company
swelled to such magnitude that Ben was star-
tled from his meditations. To tell the truth,
our hero was not over musical in his tastes,

A FEW FRIENDS.

247

i and entertained Bentimenta anything but gal-
lant toward that now old maid of whoso
younger days,

" While yet in early Greece she sung,"

Collins has discoursed so eloquently. At last,

"Silence, like ft poultice, came.
To heal the blows of sound.'*

Mr. Pipes' voice exploded on the last bar
[ (or so it seemed to Ben); with a smiling, yet
' modest consciousness of having done his best,
I he received the congratulations of his admirers,
i descending from Italian to the vernacular with
I wonderful ease and condescension.

While tin- finale was still ringing in the ears
of chairman Stykes, he was startled by an
unexpected whisper from the lieutenant.
"Come out in the hall."
Half expecting a challenge from the young
: soldier for daring even in thought to aspire to
1 the love of his step-sister, Ben obeyed. To
' his great relief, as soon as he had closed the
: parlor door behiud him, he was touched niys-
, tenously on the shoulder by the lieutenant,
i and, looking up, saw a smile struggling through
the hirsute thicket on the latter's face.

" Let 's give them a touch of Dumb Ora-
tor," said the lieutenant.

,; What's that?" inquired Ben. "I have
never heard of it."

"Why, it is nearly as old as we are," was
the reply ; "yet a great many people, I find,
have never heard of it. One person makes a
beech of some kind, or recites something,
with his hands behind him, while another,
upon whose lap he is seated, lends him arms,
making all the gestures for him."

"Capital! But who'll make the speech?"

"You must, because /have the longest

arms. With the aid of a cloak, I can manage

to hide myself, you know. What will you

speak?"

"Will Hamlet's Soliloquy do ?"
"Admirably."

The young men then shut themselves in the
"third parlor," and, with a little aid from
Teresa, soon completed their arrangements.

To the surprise of the guests, when the
doors were rolled back, my lord Hamlet was
seen seated in comfortable style, with hat
and falling plume (borrowed from Teresa's
riding outfit), and his cloak flung gracefully
i back from his shoulders.

"To be or not to be," etc. Never were
those well-knowu words rolled more magnifi-

cently from human lips; yet, it must be con-
fessed, the style of action was not exactly
what could be called Booth-ian, unless Booth
has recently used a highly-colored silk pocket-
handkerchief in the part ; taken snuff from
a silver box during certain passages ; sneezed
accordingly; stood his hair out on end with
nimble fingers while exclaiming
''To sleep! perchance to dream; aye, there's the rub!"
put on a pair of green spectacles while allud-
ing to the "pale cast of thought;" and twirled
his thumbs at the finale

"And enterprises of great pith aud moment,

With this regard, their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action."

Still the soliloquy was received with great
laughter and applause ; and being, as we
know, a partnership concern, Ben appropriated
the applause and the lieutenant the laughter,
and both were satisfied.

Just as Ben was on the point of offering to
escort Mary Gliddon home, Mrs. Simmons
slowly approached him.

"As we are neighbors, Mr. Stykes, may I
ask the protection of your arm on my way
home ? Our Stevy is not quite well, and I
had to send Mr. Simmons home in advance
this evening."

"With pleasure, madam," was the cour-
teous reply. And the saintly smile with
which Ben relinquished the damsel's company,
and gave his protecting arm to the precious
three-hundred-weight beside him, was beau-
tiful to behold.

TnE Fouce of Habit. — We find people appa-
rently easy in the midst of great dangers ;
nay, we know that mankind show the same
indifference in cities where the Emperor or
the Bashaw amuses himself from time to time
in cutting off the heads of those he happens
to meet with in his walks ; and I make no
doubt that if it were usual for the earth to
open and swallow a portion of its inhabitants
every day, mankind would behold this with
as much coolness as at present they read the
bills of mortality. Such is the effect of habit
on the human mind, and so wonderfully does
it accommodate itself to those evils for which
there is no remedy.

Gexics. — The man of genius is not master of
the power that is in him ; it is by the ardent,
irresistible need of expressing what he feels
that he is a man of genius.

248

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZIN1

THE CASKET OF TEMPERANCE.

BY WILLIE K. PABOR.

{Pearl the Ni-nth.)

THE TEMPERANCE BATTLE.

(4s recited at St. Joseph's Hospital, Central Park, New
York Citij )

The battles of the world are not alone

Where men meet men to throw and bo overthrown ;

Where cannons belch their thunder through the air,
And scatter desolation everywhere.
And not where rifle click and sabre clash
Bespeak a conflict and a battle crash,

Alone, are fields where foe with foemen meet

To battle for a victory or defeat.

For we are conscious of a war within,

Whose tocsin sounds above the smoke and din

Of nations battling- for their altar fires,

Or for the birthright of their patriot sires ;

Opposing1 elements aro these, that start

In the fair valley of the human heart ;

And where the river of repose should run,

A life is lost or life's disgrace is won :

Lost to all happiness, all peace, all hope

That linger still on earth's rose-laden slope ;

Won to a fate forever sad and drear,

That knows no respite, solace, choice, or cheer ;

Lost to the memories that bloom beside

The banks where flows contentment's sunny tide ;

Won to that sorrow and to that despair

That carry death and darkness everywhere.

And over all there hover for their loss

"Visions of crowns they win who bear the cross ;

And over all a sense of sweetness sweeps

Where love's elysium to its boundary leaps.

But pleasures such as this they may not reach ;

Only the lessons that their failures teach ;

Only the bitterness, the pain, the wo

Are theirs, or they can ever, ever know.

O soldiers of the Flag ! to you I teach

A truth as true as mind of man can reach.

0 soldiers of the Flag ! that flag whose bars,
Whose field of azure, and whose wealth of stars
Your right arms have defended, unto you

1 teach this lesson ! to yourself be true.

As ye have for your country stood, so stand

As brave and fearless in the temperance band.

0 soldiers of the Flag ! your hearts can know

No deeper traitor and no deadlier foe

Than lingers in the wine's empurpled sleep ;

No poisoned bullet ever goes so deep ;

No sabre stroke can cleave so near the heart.

Or sever links that love would never part.

0 soldiers of the Flag ! do you not know

You have lost battles through this very foe?

When they who led you had their senses steeped

With wine, what wonder that to death you leaped

In charges fatal, as, in England's song,

Such charge as Balaklava doth beloug '.

O soldiers of the Flag! for you can come

No foe so fatal as this foe of rum !

For not alone by you is felt its sting —

It sends its venom where your memories cling ;

It gathers wife and children in its gloom,

And sends heart-broken mothers to the tomb.

Who fall in battle, fall as heroes fall !

For them the victor's wreath, and bier, and rail,

A nation's grateful incense, and a name

Recorded on her muster-roll of fame.

Who fall by reason of the wine-cup fall

To a disgrace from which there 's no recall.

The roster of such company must be,

Though sad to write, more sad to hear or see ;

And lips that might make music on the march

Yield only venom for the hearts that parch

For some small token from afar, to yield

A grateful memory from life's battle-field.

O soldiers of the Flag! once more, once more,

By hopes you cherish, ills that you deplore,

By memories of battle-fields well fought,

By memories that home and love have taught,

Be warned in time, or in the battle hour,

A sense of weakness shall exhaust your power,

And, falling in the ranks before the foe, -.

You reach a Libby Prison house of wo ;

Environed by an enemy far worse

Than gray-clad minions who their country curse.

The Two Sexes. — There is nearly always
something of nature's own gentility in all
young women (except, indeed, when they get
together and fall a giggling). It shames us
men to see how much sooner they are polished
into conventional shape than our rough mas-
culine angles. A vulgar boy requires Heaven
knows what assiduity to move three steps, we
do not say like a gentleman, but like a boy
with a soul in him ; but give the least advan-
tage of society or tuition to a peasant girl, and
a hundred to one but she will glide into re-
finement before the boy oan make a bow with-
out upsetting the table. There is sentiment
in all women ; and that gives delicacy to
thought and taste to manner ; with men it is
generally acquired ; an offspring of the intel-
lectual quality ; not, as with the other sex, of
the moral.

— With a double vigilance should we watch
our actions, when we reflect that good and
bad ones are never childless ; and that, in
both cases, the offspring goes beyond the
parent — every good begetting a better, every
bad a worse.

— Love is like honesty — much talked about,
and but little understood.

NOVELTIES FOR SEPTEMBER.

COIFFlTvES, SLEEVES, DRESSES, ETC. ETC.

Fig. 1. — Ball coiffuro. The hair is arranged

in curls and plaits, and fails very low on the
: the back.

F:_'. l.

Fig. (>.- — A salmon-colored merino dress,
trimmed with black velvet, and quilled salmon-
colored ribbon.

Fig 2.

Fig. 2. — A Marie Antoinette tuft, composed
of light white feathers, frosted leaves, and a
gilt butterfly, which is attached by a line wire.

Fig. 3. — Fancy coiffure, composed of sea-
green velvet, black lace, and pink roses.

Fig. 4. — JIuslin sleeve, trimmed with fluted
muslin ruffles and Valenciennes lace.

Fig. 5. — Lace sleeve, trimmed round the
wrist, and up to the elbow with point lace
and insertion.

Fig. 7. — Pink merino dress, braided with
black. This style of dress is suitable for a
boy or girl of two years.

Fig. S. — Breakfast-cap of dotted muslin,
trimmed with very narrow black velvet.

Fig. 9. — White muslin apron, for a little
girl six years old. The bretelles are trimmed
with an embroidered ruflle, and the front of
the corsage is formed of three rows of insert-
ing, trimmed with ruSing. The same pattern

249

250

Fig. 4.

godet's lady's book and magazine.

Kg. 5.

Fig. 0.

NOVELTIES FOR SEPTEMBER.

251

Fig. 10.

makes up prettily in silk, substituting quilled
' ribbon, or bead trimming for the inserting,

and forming the bretelles of fluted silk.

Fig. 10. — Fancy comb of gilt, elegantly or-
I namented with black enamel.

BRAIDING PATTERN FOR A PINCUSHION.

252

GOOEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

RUSTIC FRAMES.

BY R. C. E.

Procure a frame of the shape your fancy
may dictate ; oval is, liowever, the prettiest
for this kind of work.

Have the frame made of wood, entirely free
from paint, oil, or varnish ; it should be as
thick as frames usually are, sloping on the
outside from the outer to the inner edge ; a
bevel should be made on the wrong side in
which to put the picture and glass, also rings
by which it is to be suspended. Make your
collection of materials, which should consist
of acorns, some entire, but especially the sau-
cers ; of these you will need a good many,
say a pint of the small deep ones. A few of
every variety of nuts which are not larger
than a common walnut. I know of no nut
which is not pretty in this work. All the
little nuts and burrs found in the woods which
are hard and durable are useful, yellow corn,
colored beans, cloves, coffee, green and brown-
ed. The kernels out of fruit are beautiful,
especially peach-stones. Clean butternuts are
very pretty. You will also need about a
tablespoonful of lampblack, about the same
of gum shellac, a quarter of a pound of common
glue (not Spanlding's, for it is too thin for
most of the work), some Demar varnish, a
tablespoonful of yellow mustard seed, two
ounces of alcohol, and a couple of common
hog-hair brushes.

Wet the lampblack with alcohol until it is
about the consistency of cream, thick enough
at least to cover the wood and make it black ;
with the brush give the face and edge a tho-
rough coat. Let it dry ; wash the brush. Have
your glue melted and pretty thick ; it will be
necessary also to keep it warm.

And now, for the easier direction of the
ladies, I will describe a frame which hangs
before me, naming the articles as they are
arranged upon it ; but, of course, this may be
varied, as the taste may dictate. First, with
the coffee commence upon the inner edge, put
on a little glue about two inches along, wide
as a grain of coffee, and then place the grains
all around the edge, the end to the edge, a
green and browned one alternately. Find the
middle of the frame, and in the same way
glue the acorn saucers all about the outer *
edge, letting them rest somewhat on the side
so as to droop gracefully down each way.

Form groups of nuts at the top, bottom, and
sides, the side groups smaller than the others.
The frame before me has in the centre a flat
pine burr, on the right of it, the half of an
English walnut, a Albert, and a pea-nut, also
some little burrs, beans, and nobs dropped in
to fill up the crevices, on the right a cream
nut, acorn, and pea-nut, burrs, beans, etc. At
the bottom, in the centre, a graceful group of
three almonds ; extending upon each side are
a cream-nut and filbert, with the little things
to fill up the crevices. On the right side is a
group of two almonds, a peach stone ; on the
left, half of a butternut, a filbert, and a
couple of date stones : these groups, filled in as
the others, will complete the nut work, with-
out the fancy should dictate very small inter-
mediate bunches. Then have your glue very
thin (Spaulding's would do for this), put on a
coat of it upon the bare part of the frame, and
sprinkle some mustard seed upon it, not so
thick as to entirely hide the black ground
work. Fill up all the vacancies in this way,
and when it is thoroughly dry and firm, give
it a good coat of the shellac, and when that is
dry, a couple of coats of Pemar varnish.

EMBROIDERY.
DARNING PATTERN FOR NETTING WORK, SUITABLE FOR TIDIES, BEDSPREADS, OR TABLE COVERS.

■BBBBaBBBBBaaaHBRBaaaBBBBBBBaflBBBBBBBgiaaBBaBaBaaBEaiBBlllS'

■aBBBBanBBBBnHBBBnCBBBnHCBaDQBBBBBnHBBCCBDaBBBBBCOBBB
■BBBBaCDBflflnBBBnCGGDDflaBBaDnDflBBBnBBBaDGBBGBBflBGGaBBB

BBaaaaannanBaaBCDBBaaBBnanBaanBBnDaaBGaaanBBGGncaaGGai
■BaaBDaBBacDBBaaBaaQBBBaaBaaaaaaBBBBOGBHaDBBaaBaaBBaa
■BaanBBaaaaBBaaBaaaBaBBaaBaBBDaccBaaBBGGGBBBaQaBBaaGa
■BHaaBaaaaBBaaGHHaaaBaaBGBBaacaaBGGGBaanGGBBBGGBGGGGB
■anBaaBaaBBaaaaBaBaaaBBaaaGGGCHBBaaaBaaBGaBnnsQGBOGBB
■BBBGaaaaBBaaaaaaaBanBBaaaaaaBnBBBHcaGDDBaaBBBaaaaGBB
iBBBGa»aaBBBBaaasaaaanBoaBaaaBBGGBaaGQBccoaBBBQGBOOBB

aBBBBBBBBaBBBODBBBBBBBBBBBnriBBBBCBBBDGBBBBDBBBBBaaBBB
IBaBBBBflBBBBBaBBBBBBflBBBBBBBBBaflBBBBBBBBflBBaBaBBBBBBB
■■BflBBBBBBBBBflBBBBBBBBflBBBBBflBflBBBBBBaBBBBBBBBflBBBBBB
(■BBBBBBflaBBflSaBBBBBBBBSBBBBBBBBBBBBBBaaaBBBHaBliaHH

WORK DEPARTMENT.

253

SCISSORS CASE.

Bade of fine morocco, and braided with
scarlet braid. Tlie edge is bound with nar-

row braid. Two small scarlet tassels ornament
r-ach side ; scarlet button to fasten the pointed
iflap down.

„.

FLOWERS IX WOOL.

THE I'.USY.

JtatTlaU.— While wool, yellow eilk, lie.
We begin by explaining the heart of this
Howe r. It may be worked in two different
ways. First process : Cut a round in card-
board about one-third of an inch in cirenm-
; cross it twice in the middle, at regular
Ustances, with a piece of wire, the two en Is
vol. lxix. — '21

of which must come out on the same side :
twist them together to form the stem ; spread

BOme diluted gum on the surface of the card-
board, and throw over it a little oatmeal, dyed
with saffron, or yellow wool cut
in vny tiny bits. Second process :
Take a piece of wire, fold one of
its ends so as to form a small
round, fold hark the other end of
wire to form the stem, and place
the small circle exactly over the
stem, then cover over the circle
with yellow silk or fine wool, al-
ways passing from one side to the
other, as in darning. Roll green
wool over the stem, and place
round the heart a double fringe of
white wool, not cut; this fringe is
made on a mesh about one inch in
rircnmferenee : it can be tied either with wire
or white thread. We will complete the expla-

jm>Jt

nations given above by describing different
E mounting the green paper leaves on
the stem. First process: Wrap a piece of
wire longer than the leaf with some green tis-
sue paper ; cover this paper with a thick dis-
solution of gum : press this stem on the wrong
side of the leaf in its whole length, and leave
it to dry. Second process: Place the wire along
the leaf on the wrong side ; fix it by gumming
over it a narrow stripe of tissue paper. Press
dowu the paper very tightly, and leave it to dry ;

254

godet's lady's book and magazine.

then roll green paper over the wire and the stem
of the flower to form the principal atem. If you
cut out your leaves yourself, you should leave
to each a small stem cut out in the paper.
Third process : Take a piece of wire, fold it in
two, and cover a part of it with green silk ;
insert a needle in the middle vein of the leaf,
ahout half an inch distant from its lower edge ;
draw one of the ends of the wire through, so
that there n\ay be one piece under and one
piece over the leaf ; gum over it a small strip
of green paper. This last process can only be
used for somewhat long leaves, because it
would not keep them sufficiently firm, and
would prevent their being bent in the required
direction.

THE VIOLET.

Material*. — Purple and preen single Berlin wool ; gold
or steel beads.

Each of the five petals of the violet is made
separately, like the petals of the rose, but
without using a piece of cardboard. Take a
piece of purple wool, arrange it in a round, or
rather an oral, shape by turning it several
times ; then cross it in both directions with a
piece of very fine purple silk. Our illustration

of the violet shows the dimensions of the pe-
tals ; the middle one of the lower petals is
rather longer than the others. To form the
heart of this flower take a small gold bead,
thread it on a piece of wire, twist the ends of
the wire under the bead, and place under the
bead a small tuft of green wool, which fasten

round the wire ; sew the petals of the flower
on to this tuft, then roll green wool round
the ends of the wire for the stem.

SIMPLE PATTERN IN POINT RUSSE.

Tnis stitch, which is extremely easy to work,
is especially suitable for muslin or cashmere
chemisettes, and is worked in very fine wool
or black silk. An endless variety of patterns
can be formed with it, and all the work con-
sists, as may be seen in our illustration, of a
double row of loops. The first may be easily

done from our illustration ; the second is
worked about one-third of an inch from tlie
first, in the opposite direction, always taking
care to insert the needle exactly in the same
place as the first row, which produces a se-
quence of interlaced rings on the right side, and
on the wrong side two straight stitches close j
to one another between each double loop. For i
infants' and children's clothing this kind of
embroidery is very suitable, and for washing
frocks and pelisses might be done in very ;
coarse cotton.

EMBROIDERY.

$> C$ <§> r£> <g, <§>

<§» <$> <8» <#> <& <$
<§> <§> <&> ■%> <%> <8>

WORK DEPARTMENT.

255

TAPE-WORK EDGING.

Tins edging, which is very quickly made,
will be found extremely durable for petticoats
and other articles of underclothing. The van-
dykes are formed by the peculiar manner iu
Much the tape is folded, tacking it together

quickly to learn it, it is advisable to mark the
tape with a pencil, as shown iu the dotted
lines of Fig. 1.

Commence at the left corner by turning the
tape over in front, pass it to the back, keep-
ing it in the same position as the half of the
third Vandyke ; then fold the tape over in

Fig. I.

With a needle and thread as the work pro-
* ceeds ; after which a row of stitching is made
down the centre, which is easily done with
any sewing-machine. The width of the edging
oan be varied according to the size of the tape.
The materials are Tape, No. 4 ; and for the
Witching, s.-wing-machine thread, No. 30.

The illustrated diagrams describe the man-
ner in which the tape is folded, and in order

front, at the angle described by the second
line, then fold it over again at the first line,
which forms the other half of the Vandyke ;
then turn the tape down in front, in the same
position as the right side of Fig. 2, and repeat
from the commencement. When the required
length is made, the row of stitching is to be
worked along the centre of the Vandykes, as
Fig. 2.

EMBKOIIlEKY.

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& °o0o°

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°COCP

255

godey's lady's book and magazine.

PEN-WIPER.

This pen-wiper, of a new construction, will
be found to possess the advantage of wiping
the pen without any risk of soiling the fingers.
It requires four thicknesses of fine ladies'

the small pieces of cloth that can be cnt off
between the heels of a pair of braided slippers
are often large enough for this article. The
four thicknesses are stitched together up both
ends, about a quarter of an inch from the
edge, and thus the sides are left open for the

cloth, or two of cloth and two of some soft
woollen material that will absorb ink readily.
The braid pattern should be of two contrasting
colors. Green and Magenta on claret cloth
look well, or a piece of blue velvet appliqui
inside the centre braid, which should in that
case be gold, and the outer one light blue ;

insertion of the pen. A little plaited braid
attached to one corner is sometimes conve-
nient with which to tie it to the desk, as they
are often most troublesome things in the way
of never being producible at the moment they
are required.

INITIAL LETTER.

NAME FOR MARKING.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

257

LAMP CAP.

Tiiksk little articles are of great utility in
, preserving lamps from the injurious effect of
• dust, and they are likewise ornamental when

tlie lamp is not in use. Our illustration shows
the effect of this cap when completed, which

is very pretty, and most easy to make. A
strip of green cloth or velvet, ahout two intihes
and a half in depth, and seven inches long,
must be joined up ; a true circle must then
be cut out the right size to fit into the top, in
card-board ; this must then be
covered with the cloth or velvet,
whichever material is used, and
Bewn in to fit neatly ; a row of
gold or steel beads is then sewn
on all round. A quilling of narrow
ribbon to match in color is then
carried round the band, and the
top is completed with a little bunch
of artificial (lowers. A small deep
rose, with a bud and a few leaves,
has a very pretty effect, or any
smaller flowers are equally orna-
mental.

A few of these caps, made of
different bright colors, are very
suitable for presenting to any cha-
ritable bazaar when a trilling offer-
ing is wished to be made, as on
these occasions small things which
have any purpose are often sold,

when elaborate and expensive productions

are sometimes left on hand.

FA.NCY LETTERS FOR MARKING.

21*

258

godey's lady's book and magazine.

DESIGN FOR NAVAL TABLE LINEN.
Worked in satin-stiteh, with Nos. 20 and

sign may also be embroidered in colored silk,
to form the centre of a cushion, or it may be
executed on a small square of silk or satin,

SO cotton. It makes a pretty variety to work | and laid ou to the centre of a square of can-
the name in scarlet ingrain cotton, as it is ' vas, the wool work being done in the usual
shown with more distinctness. The same de- ' manner.

EMBROIDERY PATTERNS.

Oo8°°0o

u*^fcB*^\^^5

WifT

ck d> fo fo fc> . <&

& fo & & & * &

& & <£ & <2b &

6 &> cb &> & &

RECEIPTS.

259

JWtcipts, dx

MISCELLANEOUS COOKING.

Roa«;t Veal, SrcFFUh — A piece of the RnensMflr, breast.
n>r champ-end of the loin of veal, is the cheapest part for
you. anil whichever of these pieces you may happen to
i with the (bl lowing Btofflng: To
ri.-hr ounces of braised crum of broad add four ounces of
chopped suet, shallot, thyme, marjoram, nasi winter sa-
vory. ;iii chopped fin.1; two eggs, pepper nod salt to Bea-
»i>n : mix .ill these Ingredients into a Arm, sompaet kind
and nss this stalling to fill a hole or pocket
•which you will hare cnl with ■ knife la some part of the
! piece of veal, taking ran- to fa-ten it in with a skewer,
real weighing fuur pounds would require rather
'more than an hour to cook it thoroughly before a small
fire.
How to Boil Reef. — Put the beef into your three or
on pot, three part* tilled with cold water, and set
it on the fire to boil; remove all the scum that rises to the
surface, and tben let it boil gently. When the meat has
boiled an hour, and Is about half done, add the parsnips in
'a net, and at the end of another half hour put in the cab-
Iso in a net. A piece of beef weighing five or .x
pounds will require about two hours* penile boiling to
cook it thoroughly. The dumplings may, of course, be
boiled with the beef, etc.

V - i to Sorp. — Peel and chop four onions, and put
them into a gallon saucepan, with two ounces of dripping
fat. or butter, or a bit of fat bacon : add rather better than
three quarts of water, and set the whole to boil on the fire
tor ten minutes; then throw iu four pounds of peeled and
sliced up potatoes, pepper and salt, and, with a wooden
spoon, stir the soup on the flre for about twenty-live
minutes, by which time the potatoes will be done to a
pnlp, and the soup ready for dinuer or breakfast.

Onion BOUT. — Chop fine six onions, and fry them in a
gallon saucepan, with two ounces of butter or dripping
fat. stirring them continuously until they become of a very
light color; then add six ounces of flour or oatmeal, and
moisten with three gnarta of water; season with pepper
and salt, and stir the soup while boiling for twenty
minutes, and when done, pour it out into a pan or bowl
'contaimiij slices of bread.

i pOAST Fowl —First, draw the fowl, reserving the giz-
xardaud liver to be tucked under the wing*; truss the
[fowl witli skewers, and tie it to the end of a 6kein of
■Worsted, which is to be fastened to a nail stuck iu the
i chimney-piece so that the fowl may dangle rather close
to the fire, in order to roast it. Baste the fowl, while it is
isted, with butter or some kind of grease, and
j When nearly done, sprinkle it with a little flour and salt,
aud allow the fowl to attain a bright yellow-brown color
■ | r> yon take it up. Then place it on its dish, and pour
some brown gravy over it.
Brown Gravy for the Fowl. — Chop rip an onion, and
[fry it with a sprig of thyme and a bit of batter; and when
| it is brown, add a good teaspoonful of moist sugar and a
I drop of water, and boil all together on the fire until the
• water is reduced, and the sugar begins to bake of a dark
I brown color. It must then be stirred on the fire for three
minutes longer: after which moisten it with half a pint
of water; add a little pepper and salt, boil all together
»r five minutes, and strain the rravy over the fowl, etc.

BrTTKRED SwKDrsn Trnsir-. — Swedish turnips yield
more substance than the ordinary turnips. Let them
peeled, boiled iu plenty of water, and when done, matin J
■with a little milk, butler, pepper, and salt.

Fried Cabbaos am> Bacon. — First, boil the i '
when done and drained free from water, chop it up. Next
i j some rashers of bacon, and when don ■, lay iin-m i q a
plate before the fire ; put the chopped cabbage in the fry*
Ingt-pan, and fry it with the ml from the bacon ; then pat
this on a dish with the rashers upon it.

Otstrb Ohblbt. — Allow f...r every six largo oy*tcrs i r
twelve small ones one egg. Remove the hard part
mince the remainder of the oyster very flu >; lal
the yelks of eight and the white of four eggs, beat them
until very light, then mix in the oysters with a little pep-
per, and beat all up thoroughly ; put in the frying-pan a.
gill of butter, and move II abOQi until it melts ; when the
butter boils in tlie pau. skim it and turn in the omelet,

stir it an til it begins to stiffen, fry it a Hghi brown, lift the

edge carefully, and slip a round-pointed knife under; do
not let it be overdone, bat as soon as the under side •- a.
light brown turn it on to a very hot plate ; never fold this
omelet over; it will make it heavy. If you want to
brown it highly, you can hold a red-hot shovel over it.

CAKfiS, PUDDINGS, ETC.
Bo-ton Cream Cakes. — Take a quart of new milk, and
Bet it on the rife to bolt Moisten four tahlespoonfuls of
sifted flour with three tahlespoonfuls of cold milk. Sepa-
rate four eggs and beat them up well : add to the yi Iks
Arte heap&uy tabtespoonfbls of Sifted loaf-sugar; when the
milk is hot — on the point of boiling — stir in the moistened
flour; let it thicken, but not boil. Now stir up the whites
and yelks of the eggs together; beat them up and stir to
them a little of the hot milk, and then stir them into the
whole quart of milk. Let it boil for three minutes, add
the grated rind and the juice of one lemon to it, and sot
it away to cool. You must now proceed to make the paste.
Take a pint of sifted flour and a quarter of a pound of
butter (fresh, of course) ; place it over hot water till the
butter melts, add a quart of milk, and stir in three-fourths
of a pound of flour. Let it scald through and become
cold before you beat all the lumps on! into a paste ; .-■ pa-
rate twelve eggs, heat them, and stir iu (first ihe yelks,
and then the whites) to the paste. Batter twenty-four
round tin pans, line and cover with this paste, bake tho-
roughly; when cold, lift the lid, and fill up with your
cream ; put the edges together, and wet them with a little
egg. They should be eaten the day they are made.

Soft Cookies. — Take one coffee-cup of butter, three of
sugar, one of thick cream, and four eggs ; mix the battel
and sugar, then add the eggs and the cream. Take a pint
of sifted flour and a teaspoonful of soda; mix well and
stir in to the other Ingredients sufficient of ii to make the
paste or dough stiff enough to roll OUl ; cut it in squar -.
impress with a fancy mould, and bake in a slow oven.
Caraway seed and ground coriander seed are often used to
flavor these biscuits called "cookies."'

Cake?. — One pound of flour, three-quarters of a pound
of butter; mix into a paste; add two tablespoonfuK i i
currants and one of sugar ; roll them into cakes, and bake
in a quick oven.

Almond Cakes. — One pound of flonr, half a pound of
toaf-SOgar, quarter of a pound of butter, two ounces ,,f
bitter almonds, pounded in a small quantity of brandy,
and two eggs. The cakes are not to be rolled, but made
as rough as possible with a fork.

2 60

godey's lady's uook and magazine.

Pudding. — The yelks of three eggs, three ounces of su-
gar, and the grated rind of half a lemon. Beat them to a
stolid froth, the whites of the eggs to he beaten separately
to a froth like snow ; add the juice of half a lemon, and'
pot these all together immediately into a deep tin padding
dish, and hake it ten or fifteen minutes- It rises very high,
and must he served directly it is cooked. Pour round it
the following sauce: Beat up well two eggs, one ounce
Of sugar, the juice and grated peel of half a lemon, a
wineglass of white wine ; stir it over the fire till it begins
to rise, and pour it rouud the pudding quite hot. Care
must be taken not to let the pudding get too deep a color.
The above is only half the quantity for a large pudding.

Chocolate Cream Ccstard. — Scrape one-quarter of a
pound of the best chocolate, pour on it a teacupful of boil-
ing water, and let it stand by the fire until it is all dis-
solved. Beat eight eggs light, omitting the whites of two ;
stir them by degrees into a quart of rich milk alternately
with the chocolate and three tablespoonfuls of whi te sugar.
Put the mixture into cups, and bake ten minutes.

A Rich Pudding.— Stir a large tablespoonful of fine
flour into a teacupful of new milk ; then add one-quarter
of a pound of fresh butter, the well-beaten yelks of five
eggs, and sufficient pouuded loaf-sugar to sweeten the
mixture, flavoring it with either vanilla, lemon, or al-
mond, as desired. Mix these ingredients thoroughly toge-
ther, and put them into a saucepan at the side of the lire ;
etir continually, and on no account allow the contents to
boil, but ouly to thicken. Line a dish with putf-puste,
and over it place a layer of preserves — apricots, straw-
berries, or raspberries, according to choice ; then pour in
the mixture. Whisk the whites of the eggs, so that they
may be ready ; put the pudding into the oven, and let it
.set well, then pour on the whites at the top, and sift some
loaf-sugar over thorn. Put the pudding into the oven
again, and let it bake for twenty minutes. It should be
slightly brown at the top when cooked. It is eaten hot.

Cheesecake to Keep a Tear. — Take one pound of loaf-
sugar, six eggs well beaten, the juice of three fine lemons,
the grated rind of two, and one-quarter of a pound of fresh
butter. Put these ingredients into a saucepan, and stir
the mixture over a slow fire until it is as thick as honey.
Pat it into ajar, and you will have it always at hand for
making cheesecakes, as it will last good a year.

Pickelets.— Take three pounds of flour, make a hole in
the middle with your hand. Mix two spoonfuls of yeast
with a little salt and as much milk as will make the flour
into a light paste. Pour the milk with the yeast into the
middle of the flour, and stir a little of the flour down into
it ; then let it stand all night, and the next morning work
in all the flour, heat it well for a quarter of an hour, let
it Btand for au hour, take it out with a large spoon, lay it
in round cakes on a board well dusted with flour, dredge
flour over them, pat them with your hand, and bake them.

Robhampton Cakes. — Rub three ounces of fresh butter
into one pound of flour ; add one egg, well beaten, a table-
spoonful of good yeast, as much new milk as will make
it into a nice dough. Set it before the fire for an hour.
When made into cakes, let them stand a few minutes to
rise ; add a little salt and loaf-sugar.

Shout-Bread. — For making good Scotch short-bread
provide two pounds of flour, one pound of butter, four
eggs, and twelve ounces of loaf-sugar, powdered very
finely. Rub the butter and sugar into the flour with your
hand, and, by means of the eggs, convert it into a stiff
paste. This must be rolled out to quite half an inch in
thickness, and cut into square cakes, or round, if preferred.

The Scotch ones are generally square, and six inches in
size. The edges should be pinched up to the height of
about an inch, and on the top of the cake should be laid
■ some slices of candied peel and some large caraway com-
fits. These are slightly pressed down so as to imbed about
half of each in the cake. They must be baked in a warm
oven upon iron plates.

SICK ROOM AND NURSERY.

A Strengthening Brink. — Put a teacupful of pearl
barley into a saucepan with three pints of cold water, the
rind of a lefiion, and a small piece of cinnamon ; boil the
whole gently until the barley becomes tender ; then strain
it through a fine sieve, and sweeten with treacle, honey,
or sugar.

Baked Milk for CoxsuOTTrvE Persons.— Put half a gal-
lon of milk into a jar, tie it down with writing-paper, .
and, after the bread is drawn, let it stand all night in the j
oven ; the next morning it will be the thickness of cream, i
and may be drunk as occasion requires.

Coffee Milk for the Sick-Room. — Boil a dessertspoon- j
ful of ground coffee in nearly a pint of milk a quarter of ;
an hour; then put into it a shaving or two of isinglass,
and clear it ; let it boil a few minutes and set it by the side
of the fire to clarify.

Drink in a Fever. — No drink is more refreshing In
sickness than weak green tea, into which lemon-juice is
infused, instead of milk. It may be drunk either cold or
hot, but the latter is the best.

Barley-water with Honey. — Add the juice and rind of
one lemon to one tablespoonful of honey, aud two tea-
cupfuls of barley ; put it into a jng, and pour a quart of
boiling water upon it.

BARLEY-WATEn WITH ISINGLASS. — A tablespoonful of

pearl barley, six lumps of loaf-sugar, half a lemon, and
enough isinglass to clear it. Pour two quarts of boiling
spring water on these ingredients, and let it stand until
cold.

GLASS.

The most effectual way of rendering glass semi-opaqtre
is with a little fluoric acid, applied with a brush; this
decomposes the surface, and should be washed off when
the action has been carried far enough. This is a way
used by glass painters to produce a white pattern on a
colored ground, in coated glass, as it is called, the coat of
red or blue in this being oniy a thin surface on the white
glass, and therefore quickly eaten away by the strong
fluoric acid ; but I presume your correspondent asks for
some more simple means. Fine sharp eniory powder and
water scrubbed about, is an easy means, as long as a very
finished effect is not necessary, and the scrubbing is done
with the flat side of a piece of cork ; an old bung will
answer. A pattern, I have been told, can be easily made
on this by painting the parts wished for with Canada bal-
sam ; it being remembered that this turpentiny substance
is very slow in becoming hard. The balsam renders the
glass transparent again where it is applied, whilst the
rest remains semi-opaque. A lump of glaziers' putty,
daubed all over a sheet of window glass, will answer the
purpose of making it opaque, and a light pattern may be
produced on this with a palette knife or bit of wedge-
shaped wood te removo the adhesive putty after it has
been stippled all over with a hard, bristly paint-brnsh to
draw the material into a variegated state.

If not required to be very permanent, a saturated solu-
tion of Epsom salts (sulphate of magnesia) or Glauber's

RECEIPTS.

261

: soda), brushed on, will f->rm very pretty
■rv-uii:* u..>u- and ramifications as it becomes dry on the

ad in a dump place a little white nut-tic varnish

will protect it from the effects of the atmosphere for SOBM

.ime. A little Prussian bine, gn.mi.] up in turpentine aud

[he varnish, would give a blue cast to the glass,

jr» little red pigment might be need fof the Bame purpose.

A still pleasanter way U to use a sheet of tissue paper,

•"corn which some simple pattern has been cut ont with

■as ra . -i.tr-, a( equal distances, for example ; and paste

: --, and varnisb afterv

gree of lasting that is
Where smell is an objection, the emery powder
Bald do better than the patty; bat, as il

ird, there would !>•• some chance of breaking the
second sheet of glass
It might be done in diaphana?, aud ap-
ent sheet.

; LLANEOUS,
, To Of an Ccr Glass — Haying washed cat glass articles,
let them thoroughly dry, and afterwards ruh them with
I chalk and a Bofl brush, carefully going into all
the Outings and im\ il

■ .MATK'N <<F CBUST BPOB THE INSIDC
X>F TEAKETTLES. — Put into the teakettle a Hal
.shell, and keep it constantly there: it will attract the
'■stony particles that are in the water to itself, and prevent

their forming up tn the teakettle

' T" Restore Pases Roses. — Throw some sulphur on a

laded rose over the (lames

of the hot sulphur, and ne quite white ; in this

state dip it Ent > water: put it into a box or drawer for

four hours ; v. tut, it will be quite red

j fclBAKS of PrEVESTTX<J GLASS PROM CRACKING BY HEAT.

be cut with a diamond

■ mvex Side, it will uevr crack, as the incision

■Binds room for the expansion produced by the heat, and
ss, after it is cool, returns to its original shape,

with only a scratch visible where the cut is made.

■ Ccke for Cokns. — Apply a piece of linen, saturated in

I, to t,ho corns night and morning, aud let it remain

'on tUein during the day ; it will be found to prove a slow

but certain cure ; they will wear out of the toe, and some
iof the corns may be picked out after the oil has been used

fora time ; but care should be taken not to irritate the toe.
C the feet in warm water ; then, with
ia rough file, for cutting is very injurious, remove the hard
,skin ; after this, apply iodine with a paint brush. This
^Should be repeated till the patient sees an improvement.
4 Gum Arabic Starch. — Get two ounces of fine whit'' cum
. od pound it to powder. Next put it intoa pitcher,
jand pour on it a pint or more of boiling water, according
i to the degree of strength you desire, and then, having
'cov'-nd it, let it set all night. In the morning, pour it

■ from the dregs into a clean bottle, cork it and
(keop it for use, A tablespoonful of gum water stirred into

a pint of starch that has been made in the usual D
e to lawns, either white or printed, a loofa
j |jms i I which nothing else can restore them after washing.
(It is also good (much diluted) for thin white muslin and
net.
A Safe Cobjibtox — There are so many preparations now
sold under the name of cosmetics which are certain to
produce injurious effects that wq v gly recom-

mend our readers t:> b? extremely cautious in using them.

The following simple infusion will be found not only per-
fectly safe, but realty advantageous for the pur;

Scrape a root of horseradish into a pint of milk, and let
it stand two or three hours in a cool oven. Use this milk
after jrasjhing tin- face, when it will be found one of the
.- well as tbe safest of cosmetics.
Glue for BEAST Use. — To any quantity of glue use
common whisky, instead of water; put both together in
a bottle, cork it tight, aud set it away for three or four
days, when it will be fit for use without the application

of heat. Glue thus prepared will keep for yours, aud it is

at all times fit for use, except in very cold weather, when

it should be set in warm water before using. To obviate
the difficulty of the stopper getting tight by the glue 'dry-
ing in the mouth of the vessel, use a tin vessel With the

cover fitted tight on the outside, to prevent the escape of
the spirit by evaporation. A strong solution of ising
made in the same manner, is an excellent corneal for
leather.

For GnroBB Wikb. — To every gallon of water put nearly

three pounds of loaf-sugar, two lemons, and two ounc- s i f
the best ginger, bruised. Boil the sugar and water for half
an hour, skimming it; then pour it on the rinds of Die
lemon- lgOT. When the liquor is milk-warm,

squeese in the juice of the lemons, and put in it a little
yeast at the tame time. Let it work tor two or three
.lays; then put it into a cask, olosely stopped, for - x
weeks. Bottle it with one gallon of brandy to twelve

gallons of wine. The pulp of the ginger and Lemons must
be put into thecask with a littlo isinglass, [o fine ilo v.
but the pips and white part of the lemons should be re-
moved, as they make it bitter.

CONTRIBUTED RECEIPTS.

Nonpareil Sticking-plaster. — As I have generally
found that sticking-plaster is an expensive article I > pur-
chase, if good, and one which is in frequent demand in
our family households, 1 have been induced to ptf

myself from the following receipt, and, as it has
proved an excellent one, I send it with pleasure to yon :
Two spoonfuls of balsam of Peru to BlX o! • ■ ■!

with very little water, and strained. Mix these well
together in a small stone jar over the fire. Pin oul - m
black Persian or sarsenet on a board, and. dlppii g a
brush into the mixture, pass it over the silk five or six
times ; then hold it to the fire, but not very near, and it
will soon become black aud shining. M.

Swiss Cake. — Having lately met with a very nice cake,
called Swiss cake, I have the pleasure of sending the re-
ceipt for making it, as I think some of the readers of the
Book may find it useful : Take butter, flour, and sugar, of
each the weight of four eggs. Beat the yelks with the
sugar and some grated lemon-peel, or ten drops of ess
of lemon, and one large teaspoonful of rose-water or
orange flower water, if preferred. Add the butter just
melted, and slowly shake in the flour, beating it until
well mixed. Beat the whites of the eggs to a froth, mix
the whole together, and beat on foi i few minutes after
the whites arc added. Butter a tin and bake the cake half
an hour. A Housbke&PEB.

Hair-waph. — I inclose a receipt fort hair-waeh which
may be useful tq "A Constant Header.'1 We ha/ve u il
for some years in our own family. One ounce powdered
borax, half an ounce of pnwdered HUnphor, BBS qaarl of
boiling water. When oool, pout into a battle for use, and
clean the head with it, applyiug with a flannel or ep
once a week. A Constant Klal-c-..

PitaiV «bH».

THE GREAT CENTRAL FAIR: PHILADELPHIA.
This superb exhibition— unsurpassed in America, and
perhaps equal to anything of the sort ever displayed in '
Europe — must not be passed over in a Philadelphia journal
without notice. As all our citizens of every age and de-
gree seem to have visited the Fair, any details or particu-
lar descriptions appear supererogatory ; but it will per-
haps be interesting at a future day to recall what gave us
so much gratification during the JuDe of '04, and the
remembrance of what has been so nobly done for our
sick and wounded soldiers will be an enduring source of
satislactiou. Our distant readers will be not unwilling
to learn something of our arrangements in this matter.
Logan Square, that beautiful park —

" Where the deer and the fawn.
Lightly bounding together,
Passed the long summer-day — "

was in a marvellously short time covered with aptly con-
structed edifices stored with avast collection of beautiful,
rare, and homely objects — specimens of the fine and use-
ful arts ; everything was there to attract the eye, the
palate, the intellect. The main entrance led into Union
Avenue ; there the coup tVosil was indescribably elegant.
The nave, five hundred feet long, was surmounted by a
Gothic roof, the whole length brilliant with our glorious
stripes and stars ; groups of arms and scutcheons of every
SUite in the Union were interwoven with these flags, and
the sun streaming through skylights, brightened every
object. At the western end of the avenue the Germania
orchestra was placed. From this elevated spot the view
of the ever changing crowds, the machines working
through the centre, the etfect of light and shade, was
something to make a lasting impression on the beholder.
The departments of Delaware aud New Jersey were ou the
eastern side of the square — Delaware to the north, New
Jersey to the south. The beautiful arrangements of the
Horticultural department cannot be too much praised.
What a fairy land it seemed ! The island, the lake with
its sparkling jets, the rustic bridge, the lovely flowers,
the choice plants! Nobody of any taste or sensibility
could fail to be enchanted tliere.

In a corresponding pavilion, on the other side of the
avenue, was the exsellent Restaurant. The admirable
manner in which this very arduous business was con-
ducted is more than creditable to the managers and
functionaries. It was really a marvel of industry and
good result. The beautiful decorations of the Restaurant
must not be passed over. The canopy of flags, most
gracefully hung, reflected a brightness all around that
gave zest to the good cheer over which they predominated.
We have neither time nor space to go into detail. The
Art Gallery alone would afford scope for pages. The
departments of Trophies, of Relics, the Penn parlor, the
Vase, the Sword, the Indians, the witty group at the Post-
ofBce, our friends of the "Daily Fare" — a volume might
be written were we to do justice to all these. Aud in
that book we would find a corner for the thousand dollar
dolls, and baby-houses, such as were never seen in our
republic before. But as we are only writing a sketch, in-
stead of a book, we must close our report by saying that
2i32

this splendid burst of benevolence was worthy the Cm.,
of Brotherly Love, We would " long keep its memory i
green in our souls."

We must give Chicago the honor of having been ffie
first to step forward in this race of humanity that' has 1
pervaded the Union. The great Fair at Chicago opened ]
September, 1S63 ; it produced $78,000.

Boston followed in May ; she netted $147,000.

Brooklyn in October ; sent in, clear receipts, $400 OOffi

Poughkeepsie, a small city, raised $18,000, which ave-
raged a dollar to every inhabitant.

The great Metropolitan Fair of the City of New York, |
December, 1363, made a million net profit !

Cincinnati, December, 1S63, produced $230,000.

Pittsburg, almost coincident with our own, $300,000. '

St. Louis, nearly the same date, $075,000.

There have also been very successful and spirited Fair- .
in Baltimore, Albany, Buffalo, Dubuque, Iowa, but theii
pecuniary results have not reached us.

Our own Fair coming after several of the others, no'1
only was supplied with emulation by their example, bui |
was able to take lessons from their plans, their advan-J
tages and disadvantages, in short, to profit by their expe- 1
rience.

We have had no accurate estimate of what we hav<- ,
made, but those who know most about the matter, think I
we shall fall short of New York by very little, even if w«-
do not, of which there is much probability, reach her;
million.

THE BURIAL OF POMPEII.

The burial of Pompeii beneath the ashes and lava of
Mount Vesuvius, and its disentombment during the pre-
sent century, concerning which so much has been written,
must ever move that sense of the marvellous whose ex-
citement inspires in man a vague but exquisite pleasure.
It is an event unique in the history of the race ; such as,
probably, will never again occur in all the ages of time.
We need not dilate upon this aspect of the catastrophe,
what we here desire to note is that, by this wonderful oc-
currence, we are enabled to compare the civilization of'
heathenism with the civilization of Christianity, setting
the one side by side with the other. We have not space
to enlarge upon this ; but we desire to call the attention
of our readers to an article in the April number of the
London Quarterly, containing a description of the catas- i
trophe unsurpassed in graphic power even by the novel
of Bulwer. We give the opening paragraphs.

"On the 24th of August, A. D. 79— 17S5 years ago— I
when Titus ruled over the Roman Empire, a town w.i-
basking iu the bright sun upon the shores of the loveh
bay of Naples. Its inhabitants were following their dif-
ferent callings — buying and selling, feasting and mourn
ing, fitting out their galleys for distant seas, bringing ■
their various wares to the crowded markets, and eagerly
preparing for new shows and gladiatorial fights after tin'
lonu interdict against such theatrical amusements undei
which Nero had placed their town. Wealthy RomTSfe
patricians, weary of the great city, and seeking a cooler
and more wholesome air, were eojoying a grateful repose
in the gay villas which covered a mountain slope amidst
vineyards and garden-, and which were so thickly scat-

editors' table.

263

that tluy seemed to form but one continuous

"The inhabitants moreover, were engaged En the rtrog-

.;■ rannicipal officers. New

id dnuravii i wei ten for the town. Influential

Lse .. fur their favorite can-

rii r;iu high. The owners of it"1

ng villas and the population of the village

to the town to take part in the contest, and the

excitement, the fornm, the

oiples, and the theatres were thronged with an eager

^"Suddenly, ami without any previous warning, ■ tm!

: black smoke burst from the overhanging tnonn-

,in. Risi ' pious height iu the cloudless sum-

.er Bky, it then gradually 9pi t like the boad

mighty Italian pin.-, hiding the .sun and over-

■dowing tbe earth for many a league. The darkness

m i pro! >nnd night, only broken by the bine and

Bahurons flashes that darted from the pitchy cloud.

'•■■:] i thick rain of thin, white ashes, almost Impereep-

the touch, fell upon the land. Then quickly suc-

Ued ahoi ... hot stones mingled with heavier

leees, and i-tuitEi n^r stifling mephitio fumes. After a

- of approaching torrents was heard, and

•on steaming rivers of dense black mud poored bIo* ly

at Irresistibly down the mountain sides, and curdled

■t>, insidiously creei ing Into snob reeeases

uven the subtle ashes had foiled to penetrate. There

as now 00 place Of shelter left. No man could defend

,m- if againsl this double enemy. It was too late for

Bit for such .is had remained behind. Those fl i

■ ■ parts of the houses, or in the

up forever. Thot

ngh the Btreeifl were clogged by the

nail, loo* - which lay many feel deep, or

tere entangled and overwhelmed in the mad-streams, or

ere struck down by the rocks that fell from the heavens.

, Ijhey escaped these dangers, blinded by the drifting

ng in the dark, not knowing which way

y were overcome by the sulphurous vapors, and

ys were soon buried beneath the

Even many who had gained H pen

inntry at the beginning of the eruption were overtaken

rkne.ss and falling cinders, and perished mlsera-

lly In the fields, or on the sea-shoro, whero they had

■ us of flight.

("In tli I town had disappeared. It

I th a vast nt;i>s ,.f ^siics, pnmice-stones, and

■ h subsequent eruptions, occurring

in; i'. centuries, added fresh mate-

adunlly above tliern there accdmnlated, from

Br to year, the rich ^ mould, formed from the

■canic soil, in which were again tended the vino and

rree
: " Such is the tale of the fall of this celebrated town, as
Written in its ruins brought to light in our days.''

BTJFFEBI2VGS OF EXGLISH SEWIXG-GIRLS.
BBSC8 Hood's ''Song of the Shirt" wo have seen nothing
ore touching in its graphic power, than the following
bn-and-ink picturings of the milliners and dressmakers
. London. The comic view is even more sad than the
.tying tone of Ilood. — Eds. La»y*s Boot

Suffocated Seamstresses.— There are no slaves
i England — oh, dear, no, certainly not It is true we
- *V" our milliners work fifteen hours a day, and twenty-
•ar upon cmer^'etieie* ; but then of eonrse you know
teir labor is quite voluntary. That is to say. the girls—

rdon, the 'young ladies' who slave — we mean
■ say, who serve in these establishments, are obliged,

xpected,' to do what is required of them ; and
U means, as we have said, to work for fifteen hours a
iy, and to work all day and night whenever press of
winess call* for it. This is the trade rule, which has
U very few exceptions, and the slaves, that is, appren-

expected' to conform to it. But then, of course,
>u know there's no compulsion in the matter. This is
free country, and the 'ladies' who 'assist' at our great
illincry establishments of course are quite at liberty to
.avp off working when they like, only if they do so they

must also leave their places. And as they most of them
are orphans, and have no one to look after them, and see
no likelihood elsewhere of getting easier employmei t,
they seldom find the courage t" resort t<- this alternative,
and so— quite willingly, of course — they Bubmlt to being
worked to death Instead of being starved to it.

'•F..r, bless you, \.'-, our slaves — we shmild say our

young ladies— have the best of food provided them, and,
as far as mere good living goes, there's no fear of thoir
dying. Perhaps they don't get turtle soup and venison as
a rule, but of wholesome beef and mutton they've as
much as they cau eat — in fact, a good deal more, for they
have not much time for eating. The only food they are
short of is the food that feeds the lungs, and for want of
this it happens, now and then, that they are suffocated.
After working all day long in close and crowded rooms,
they sleep two in a bed, with the beds jammed close toge-
ther ; and so they should get used to stifling, for they
have certainly enough of it. But, somehow, now and
then they are found dead in their beds, in spite of all the
care that has been taken for their comfort. It is very
ungrateful of them, to say tho very least ; because w.ien
such mishaps occur, there is sure to he a fuss made at that
stupid coroner's inquest. And then their dear, good,
kind employers, of whom they always speak so well (as
do schoolboys of their masters in the usual holiday letter)
— these tender-hearted Christians, or Hebrews, it may he,
aro called all sorts of horrid names, and almost accused
of manslaughter ! But, poor, dear, injured men, how can
they help such accidents? Why, m'm, they take the
greatest care of their young people, and always have a
doctor handy for emergencies. Yes, m'm, fresh air is the
tiling, but how are you to get it? Rents, you know, m'm,
is hawful 'igh, and every hinch of "ouseroom is uncom-
mon precious. We do heverything we can, m'm, we do
assure you that we does, and as far as morals go, com-
bined with every bother luxury, our young ladies is most
comfortable; you may take our honest word for it. But
you see, m'm, there's a deal of competition now in trade,
and when one 'ires expensive 'onses, one 'as to make the
most of 'em. And so yon sec, m'm, onr young ladie*
muxt sleep pretty thick ; but for cleanliness and comfort
their rooms is quite a pictur !"

MY DOVE.

BY MRS. HALE.

Be still, my heart! Why break with sorrow? —
White rose-buds kiss his pure, pale face ;

A little nest is made — to-morrow
My dove will find safe resting-place.

How sweet he '11 sleep, from sins unspotted, —
Christ's blood hath washed out Adam's sin ; —

He 11 sleep till the Great Day allotted,
Then cherub wings will stir within,

Th' Archangel's Trump, the thunder groaning*.

Heaven's light, that blackens moon and sun ;
Stars falling, Nature's fearful meanings,

Proclaim that Time his work has done!

The world's wide field of graves, Death's prison,
Sow yawns and yields all secrets dread ;

Till spare seems strangled with the risen,
As Earth and Sea give up their dead !

Then, my sweet dove, thy mother "11 meet thee,

And see Love's whitest vesture given,
And hear the King of Globt greet thee —

"My own. my jewel, meet for heaven."

261

godey's lady's book and magazine.

EXCERPTA.
" A stort was set afloat of a nurse in the hospital at
Balaklava (whoso mental weakness was that of high
birth and ancient lineage) that she was once haranguing
one of her patients upon the subject of ancient descent,
when the conversation waxed fast and furious. The
patient, very weak from talking, thought he would end
the business by saying that his family came out of the
ark with Noah. 'Oh! did they?' continued the lady,
*but to convince you of the superiority of my ancestors to
yours, I beg to inform you, sir, that they had a boat of
their own at the Deluge I ' "

" For me I thank the stars I am not great ;
Tor if there ever come a grief to me,
I cry my cry in silence, and have done.
None knows it, and my tears have brought me good ;
But even were the griefs of little ones
As great as those of great ones, yet this grief
Is added to the griefs the great must bear,
That howsoever much they may desire
Silence, they cannot weep behind a cloud."

Tennyson.

" Legrand, who was both an actor and an author, but
a man of short and disagreeable figure, after playing some
tragic part in which he bad been ill received, came for-
ward and addressed the house thus : ' In short, gentlemen
and ladies, you must see that it is easier for you to accus-
tom yourselves to my figure, than for me to change it.' "

"Owls," said the Doctor, "can do nothing but look
wise."

We are indebted to The Knickerbocker for the following
handsome compliment to woman. In the name of all the
readers of the Ladifs Book we thank the writer for this
expression of noble sentiments. — Eds. of Lady's Book.

THE THEORY OF SMALL 3IEN.

"It is a curious fact that a large majority of distin-
guished men, whether in the field, the cabinet, the ros-
trum, the forum, or in the illimitable arena of arts and
sciences, have been under sized ; few have been of lofty
stature. Who can account for this but ou the hypothesis
that they were perfect copies, even to the physique of the
mother nature. A Teuton was asked how he came to have
so feminine a face? "Because my moder was a woman,"
responded honest Hans.

"If we examine the early histories of eminent men, we
find that they nearly all received their early training from
women ; we shall find that the subtle essence that thrilled
into life their dormant powers, emanated from the soul of
woman — mother or instructor. St. Chrysostom, St. Au-
gustine, Louis IX of Frauce, and the Wesleys, are bril-
liant specimens of the mother's training. In the eyes of
woman depredators, it must appear an odd freak to con-
stitute women the brain- moulders of monarchs and states-
men ; such, nevertheless, was frequently the case.

Photograph Albums. — The lady who "wishes to know
where she can find the most elegant photograph albums"
may send to the establishment of Win, S. & Alfred Mar-
tien, Chestnut Street, Philadelphia.

HOW TO MAKE THINGS.
"Dear Brother Glenn: I have got the prettiest little
mound of moss you ever saw, I guess. You see, Mary
and I went out in the country this morning with Aunt
Anna, and brought home a basket of such nice moss, and
it was a pity to let it all get wasted for the want of a nice
place to put it. So I set myself to think what I should do
with it, and I thought of the bricks that lay scattered
around the back yard ; so I fetched ten of them in front of

the north porch, and set them up on the side in a round
ring, and filled them with dirt, and set some myrtle in
the centre, and then put the moss all over the dirt. And
then I went down cellar and found some lime, aDd I
whitewashed the bricks, and then strewed white pebble.*
over the top of the moss ; and I am so proud of it, because
I made it all myself."

Thus writes my little sister Ritta, eleven years old, to |
me, and as I thought it must bo very pretty, perhaps
some of the readers of the Lady's Book would like to
make one, so I send you her description of it.

Yours truly, Glenn W.

P. S. I will send you extracts from her letters now and ;
then, if you like. [Send.]

HEALTH DEPARTMENT.

BRONCHITIS and kindred diseases.

By W. W. Hall, A.M., M.D., New York.

"There is no necessary reason why men should not
generally live to the full a»e of threescore years and ten j
in health and comfort ; that they do not do so is because ]

TJiey consume too much food and too little pure air. t

They take too much medicine and too little exercise.
And when, by inattention to these things, they beeomoi
diseased, they die chiefly, not because such disease is
necessarily fatal, but because the symptoms which natun
designs to admonish of its presence are disregarded until
too late for remedy. And in no class of ailments are de-
lays so uniformly attended with fatal results as iu affec-
tions of the throat and lungs. However terrible may
have been the ravages of the Asiatic cholera in thi.J
country, I know of no locality where, in the course of a
single year, it destroyed ten per cent, of the population
Yet, taking England and the United States together
twenty per cent, of the mortality is every year from difc
eases of the lungs alone. Amid such a' fearful fatality n>
one dares to say that be shall certainly escape, while even
one, without exception, will most assuredly suffer, eithe;
in his own person or in that of some one near and dear t>.
him, by this same universal scourge. No man, then, cat:
take up these pages who is not interested to the extent of
life and death in the important inquiry: What can ha
d,one to mitigate this great evil ? It is not the object of
this publication to answer that question, but to act it out,
and the first great essential step thereto is to impress upon
the common mind, in language adapted to common read-
ers, a proper understanding of the first symptoms of these
ruthless diseases."

Wo have selected the above from BalVs Journal 0/
Health for July, in order to induce our readers to examine1
the number. They will find the whole subject discussed,
and directions for treatment. The treatise should be in
every mother's hands. Price 12 cts. Address Dr. Hall,]
40, Irving Place, New York,

To our Correspondents. — These are accepted: "Line*
addressed to one who believed not in love" — "The Babr
Sleepeth" — "Morning Calls Me" — "Dewdrops" — "Ai
Kissable Face" — "My First Attempt" — and "Flowers iuj
a Sick-room."

We have no room for the following: "When a Child";
— "To Ella" (we should like to oblige the writer, but
cannot spare the space) — "Composition on the subject A
poetry" — "Spring" — " Retribution" — "To Mattie S."-
" Farewell Words" — " Railway Proposal" — "A Frag
ment" — "The Dying Soldier's Retrospect" — "Written,
upou seeing the portrait of a boy reclining wearily on h
drum" (we have not room for such a long poem) — "A
Reconnoisance in Force" (the Lady's Book is not the plac
for battles . but we thank " Potomac" for his compliment).
— "Sam's Revenge" — "Nora Lansing" — "Nervousness",
— "Mr. Wellington's Daughter" — "Joy in Sorrow"'
"Models" — "Coarse and Vulgar" — and "The Joy ta
Come."

LITERARY NOTICES.

265

J it tx a r b Jl o t i 1 1 s .

From Prtbrso* A Brothers, Philadelphia: —
BKLF- SACRIFICE. By the author of " Margaret Halt-
land'' One of the best of Mrs. Oliphant's excellent books.
(The story is of a young man who, to shield his friend
from the consequences of a murder committed accidenta 11 y,
cakes all the blamo upoa himself, and lives an exile, sup-
be dead, for many years, until the death of his
{Head and the publication of the truth allow him to return.
Mrs Catharine and little Alice are favorite characters
with the author, aad we have seen their counterparts in
Ba works of hers.

t From D. Appletos & Co., New York, through Ashmead
& Evan-. Philadelphia: —

BISTORT OF THE ROMANS UNDER THE EMPIRE.
«y Charles MexWab . li. D., late Fellow of St. J. .has Col-
ibridge. Vol. IV. The excellence and interest
of this work do not diminish as it progresses. It gives
the clearest insight into the political aad social history of
the Romans of aay work of the kind we have ever exam-

»ned. The historical portion of the volume before us con-
ludes with the death of Augustus.

From IlmpER k Brothers, New Tork, through Peter-
so* At Brhthers, and Lippi.nvott it Co., Philadelphia: —

SAVAGE AFRICA: Being the Narrative of a Tour in
Equatorial \ SouVtwesttrn, and North uxstern Africa. By
W. Win wood Reade, Fellow of the Geographical and
logical Societies of London, etc. With illustra-
tions and a map. All books relating to Africa areeagerly
welcomed by the public, who are earnest to glean facts
. theories relating to this yet comparatively un-
known country. The author of the work before us deals
plentiful'. y in both facts and theories. His book treats of
the habits of the gorilla; on the existence of nnicorns
Rod tailed men; on the slave trade ; on the origin, cha-
racter, and capabilities of the negro, and on the future
leivilizati<»a of western Africa. It is the result of au ex-
tended low through the portions of Africa above men-
tioned, and is chiedy compiled from letters written home
at Intervals. The style is easy, familiar, and lively.

BISTORT OF FRIEDRICII THE SECOND, calUd
Frederick the Great. By Thomas Cariylo. In four vols.
Vol. IV. Every one reads Carlyle, if for no other reason
than on account of bis original style aad quaint expres-
sions. His history of Frederick the Great, brought to a
Close in the present volume, is a valuable work. It is
!foll and accurate in all the particulars of the career of
'that monarch, and its reliability is vouched for in the
(Copious quotations from every known authority. This
TOlume contains a steel engraving of Frederike Sophie
W- ■ I mine. Margravine of Baireuth.

WIDE-BOOK OF THE CENTRAL RAILROAD OF
NEW JERSEY, and Us Connections through the Coal
r ■ Ids of Pennsylvania. If we are not mistaken, this
-book will be in great demand among travellers
through the portion of country which it describe*. It tfl
carefully prepared, and contains many excellent illustra-

tions of points of interest. The publication of snch a book

1 is a happy thought, and we shall be surprised if other
I roads do not follow the example of the New Jersey Cen-
j tral, and Issue similar volumes.

DENIS DUVAL. A Novel. By W. M. Thackeray, an-
| thor of "Vanity Fair," "Philip," etc. With illustra-
VOL. LXLX. — 22

tions. This is the w i ofa Thackeray was last

engaged, and which his Midden nud untimely death left
incomplete. It promised to bo the must vigorous of hid
works, and unfinished as it is, its wit, its wisdom, its
quaint conceits, Its kindly sentiments, and its occasional
satiro all have their worth, so that it will not fail to flud
a place upon the library shelf beside the other works of
the great English humorist.

From Carlftox, New Tork, through Peterson &. Bro-
thers, Philadelphia: —

A WOMAN'S PHILOSOPHY OF WOMAN ; or. Woman
Affranchised. An answer to Michelet, Proudhon, Girar-
din, Legouve\ Conipte, and other modern innovators. By
Madame D'tlGriomrt. Translated from the last Paris edi-
tion. One does not need to subscribe to all that this book
advocates to enjoy its perusal. Madame D'Hericourt is a
keen, shrewd woman, and she bandies her opponents
severely, holding up the mawkish sentimentality of
Michelet to just ridicule, and so utterly demolishing tho
premises of Proudhon thai he is left no place to stand.
Much that she says relates only to French laws aad French
customs, and can find no application with us; but the
general principles she lays down, though too broad, per-
haps, to meet with unqualified approval, are yet worthy
of consideration.

Ot'T IN THE WORLD. By T. S. Arthur, author of
"Light on Shadowed Paths," etc. For tender a-
cacy, and truthfulness. Mr. Arthur has no superior as an
author. He is the most widely known of American wri-
ters ; and we doubt if there are many homes iu the land,
whether cottage or mansion, among whose literary stores
will not be found some touching story from his pen,
whose well-worn exterior bears evidence of its frequent
use. " Out in the World" is one of the most superior of
his works, and is fraught with lessonsof mutual kindness
and forbearance to husbands and wives.

HOTSPUR. .4 Tale of the Old Dutch Manor. By-
Mansfield T. Walworth, author of "Lulu." We must
thank the author, as welt as the publishers, for a copy of
this work. It is an entertaining story of American life,
written in a highly poetical style, but with an exuberance
of imagination and a redundancy of adjectives and ad-
verbs which the author, when time and practice sliall
have corrected his faults, will learn it is better to suppress
somewhat.

From Fraxk H. Dodd, New Tork, through J. B. Lip-
BDfCOTT & Co., Philadelphia. —

TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. By Charles and Mary
Lamb. A beautiful little edition, in green and gold, of a
collection of tales, based upon various plays of Shak-
speares*, which has so long received the approbation of the
reading world as to render unnecessary further comment
or criticism by us. Though prepared ostensibly for the
young, they will not be found out of place in the hands
of older people.

From Derby & Miller, New Tork : —

HISTORY OF THE ADMINISTRATION OF PRESI-
DENT LINCOLN: Including his Sjtetch^s, Letters, Ad-
dresses. Proclamations, and Message*. With a prelimi-
•ch of his life. By Uenry J. Raymond. ThU
somewhat premature appearance of a history of an ad-
ministration not yet ended, maybe acconnted for, perhaps,
by the effect it is intended to have In the coming Presi-
dential election. .; is a carefully prepared, and we believe
perfectly reliable account of one of the most eventful and

266

godey's lady's book and magazine.

momentous administrations since the establishment of
our government. The future biographer of President
Lincoln and his times will be largely indebted to it. It
is embellished by an excellent steel engraving of our
President, a most accurate likeness, copied from a photo-
graph by Brady.

From Lee & Sitepard, Boston, through Peterson &
Brothers, Philadelphia : —

THE GOLD HUNTERS' ADVENTURES; or, Life in
Australia, By a returned Australian. Illustrated by
Champney. We have read this book 'with great relish.
Our traveller and his friend meet with a great many peri-
lous adventures, and perform wonderful exploits, while
fighting with bushrangers, and seeking for hidden trea-
sure. It is a book which will charm every one who has
the least taste fur traveller's stories.

SISTER SUSY. By Sophie May. This is the second
book of the "Little Prudy" series of children's stories,
and is eminently suited to meet the literary wants of the

little ones.

•

From Gould & Lincoln, Boston, through Astjmead &
Evans, Philadelphia: —

A MEMOLR OF THE CHRISTIAN LABORS OF THO- .
MAS CHALMERS, D. D., LL D. By Francis Wayland.
This unpretending volume of 23S pages does not profess
to be a biography, but simply to present, in a concise and
lucid narrative, the progress and results of his pastoral
and philanthropic labors. It displays an aspect of his
character which is in danger of being overlooked and for-
gotten in his fame as a pulpit orator and theologian.
From its size and price, this book will be accessible to
many whom Dr. Hauna's voluminous biography would
never reach. It will prove an invaluable book for family
reading.

THE MEMORIAL nOUTt; or, Tlie Lord's Supper, in
Us Relations to Doctrine and Practice. By Jeremiah
Chaplin, D. D. . "The design of this work is strictly doc-
trinal— to deepen in the hearts of the readers, with the
Divine blessing, a sense of the value of the Memorial
Ordinance. ' ' The name of the author is the best guarantee
for its success.

LIGHT IN DARKNESS; or, Christ Discovered in His
True Character by a Unitarian. A record of the expe-
rience through which a Unitarian minister was led to
abandon the vague doctrines of his sect for the stable
foundations of orthodox belief.

The paper and binding of all are excellent.

6 ob mi's ^n^Cjjak.

SEPTEMBER, 1S64.

Godey for September opens with a beautiful line en-
graving— "Tired Nature's Sweet Restorer, Balmy Sleep."
A perfect home picture.

Our Fashion-plate contains the usual six figures of the
fashions as they are. Our Fashion editor discourses upon
the matter most eloquently in her department.

Children's dresses — always a pleasing subject for moth-
ers— will be found in the commencement of the number.
Also a beautiful evening- dress. The Home Jacket, front
and side view; Fashionable Bonnets; Silk Paletot for a
young lady, are also some of the attractions of the number.

Brodie furnishes us a very pretty engraving of one of
his peculiar specialities.

A Handsome Present.— We are much indebted to our
fair frieud of Oxford, 0., for fair she must be, for her
present of two beautiful pocket handkerchiefs, with our
name tastefully marked on them in cross-stitch. Our lady
folks thiuk that her eyes must be as sharp as her needle,
to do cross-stitch ou so fine a material. Why did she not
send her card with the present that we might know to
whom we were so gratefully indebted?

Cape Mat Railroad. — The trains over this road make
excellent time, and are well conducted. The road is by i
no means an unpleasant one, as you are for nearly one*;
fourth of the way near the shore, and parallel with it. j
The sea breezes from the Cape can bo felt at some distance. <

Yor/NQ Ladies' Seminary for Boarding and Day j
Pupils. — Mrs. Gertrude J. Cary, Principal, South-east
corner Sixteenth and Spruce Streets, Philadelphia, Pa.s
The twentieth session of this school will commence in |
September, 1S64.

The course of study pursued embraces the fundamen- ',
taland 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 thel
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., LouiBl
A. Godey, Esq., Philadelphia ; Rev. J. N. Candee, D. D.,1
Galesbnrg, 111 ; Louis H. Jenkins, Jacksonville, III.;'
Rev. George Duffleld, Jr., Adrian, Mich.

Circular's sent on application.

"The Casket of Temperance: A Pearl Collection. By\
William E. Pabor. This is the title of a little volume of
poems to be published during the fall season. It will '
contain the 'Pearls' published in Godey's Lady's Book j
for the current year, and be issued in the 'blue and gold'
style at present so popular with the public."

We extract the above from an exchange, and we -an
promise the public a rich treat. Mr. Pabor is one of oar.
rising poets, and he is bound to make his mark.

S. P. Borden's Excelsior Braiding and Embroidery
Stamps. — We have so often called the attention of our ,
readers to these stamps tharwe will simply say, there .
should bo a set in every town in the country. Ladies will ^
find stamping a very pleasant and profitable business,
and they will do well to send for a few dozens of S. P.
Borden's stamps. Pattern book, Inking cushion, and full I
printed instructions accompany each order, free of charge.
Price $6 per dozen.

Address Borden & Biggers, Massillon, Ohio, or St. Louis,
Mo.; or the following agents: J. W. Pickering, No. 96
West Fourth Street, Cincinnati, Ohio ; J. M. Newit, Chico- 1
pee, Mass. ; A. J. Brooks, No. 83S North Tenth Street,
Philadelphia, Pa. : Mrs. D. M. Worden, Huntington, Ind. ;
Mrs. S. Liveusperger, Fort Wayne, Ind. ; Mrs. E. Kelly,
No. 347 Fulton Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y. ; Mrs. M. A. Haw-
kins, ludianapolis, Ind.

Needles — Owing to the great increase in price, we can
no longer take orders for needles. The wholesale price
is now greater than we retail them for. If they should
ever get lower, we will announce our renewal of sales.

godey's arm-chair.

267

OITR MUSICAL COLUMN.
1 TnR very pretty little Home Schottische- which we rul)-
»h in this number »( the Book la au abridgment of the
rigiuiil copy, as we had not the room to publish it entire.
s u 11 be it ia now published in sheet form,

tnplete, and our friends can have copies sent to theiu by
ail. on i ce, 30 cents each.

et Mimc.~-0, Ditson & Co., Boston, publish La

rhe Dance of Love), a charming compo-

klti movement, with Italian and English

i Hymn, bj l>r. Muhlen-

prg, and Tho Banner of the Sea, by Covert, two fine

utriotie songs, each 30. Slumber Song, by Taubert,

.]gli-h and German words, 25 Also Chanson a Boire

npking Song), without words, by Leybach, for good

" Cousin et Constne (The Cousins), Schottische

,egaote, by Jules Bgghard, 4"; tins, especially, is a

autiful piece, showy and not difficult, and calculated to

players, Alexandra, one of the latest and best

1 Brinley Richards' fine nocturnes, 35. Warbling at

the same favorite composer, 40; this fine piece

[tOuld be owned by all who admire the Warblings at Eve.

Win. Hall & Son, New York, publish the following fine

| of new s mgs and ballads, each 30 cents - My Beauti-

jl, My Own, song and chorus, by Tiller. Hy Home on

pirited and graceful song. Come

ffthin the*e Silent Bowers, beautiful song, by 0. Hatch

Bfth. A Sweet Brier Rose is my Mollle, written for and

'ng by Mr-. Jennie Kempton, by Holder. Love Brings

Nnty with it, same composer. Let me Die Face to the

|ie. patriotic song, by same. The Road to Richmond,

pbrated Plantation Walk 'Round. Also, at 35 cents:

fee's a Knocking at the Door of my Heart, beautiful

ng. by Watson. O Come to Me, very pretty arietta, by

I. The Cottage Rose, by 51. Keller, one of the

st ballad composers of the day. Also, by the same fine

Thy Boy 'a an Angel Now, a ballad of greater

i the others, 40 cents.

K T. Gord m, New York, publishes several tine arrange-

jma from Gounod's celebrated Faust, due is the grand

Bier's Chorus, arranged by Brinley Richards, 40. An-

(ier is the Funst Galop, arranged by Helmsmuller^ 40.

\i a third is a fine arrangement of all the leading airs

two performers, 60. Also, La Danso des

mazourka magnetiqae, by Revins, 50,

D. Lawton, this city, publishes the Home Schottische,

ferred t.> above, SO, Also, Parrot Polka, 30.

■ ■' Monthly i for September. This

nob 'i of tht popular Monthly is one of the best yet

■ more than an average quantity of

■ i ^withstanding the continued advance in price i I

■I printing material. Will our readers bear in mind

Jiat we said last month upon this matter? A single

ng now costs from 30 to So cents, while here are

llky numbers of the best sheet nuttfc, beautifully printed

d neatly bound in colored covers, all for 2j cents to

bscribcrs by paying $:i 00 per year. We do not know

w I mg this low rate of subscription can last; certainly

It long, unles* piper, plates, etc at once stop advancing

price Let .oir friends, therefore, send in their sub-

Emmediafely. We will -till send four months'

■bers, or more, at 23 cents a per nnmber to

Uded for postage. When six mouths' numbers are

md IS cents sent for postage, the January doable

mber, containing $2 worth of music, may be included.

Iddress at! orders for the Monthly, or the music named

ilumn," to J. Starr Holloway, Publisher, Box

st Oflice, Philadelphia. J. Starr Holloway.

Dear Godev: Though I cannot claim to be one of your
correspondents, presntnlng my mite of fan will not be
unacceptable, i send you the following little incident : A

friend of mine has recently employed a freshly imported
girl. The morning after that event, I walked ronnd to

Mrs. C s, and was ushered in hy the glow ing Blddj in

the following hearty style: "Walk in, ma'am; the mis*
threes has bin ixpectiu' yex this hour gone." Borneo hat
surprised to learn that my visit had been anticipated, 1
followed the girl into the kitchen, where she affirmed the
"misthress" was. My friend was not there, however,
whereupon she exi la med, " Oh, no matter"— then, point-
ing towards the laundry — " for there bo the tubs with the
wather steaming in thim that the misthress hid me fill for
yes." Astonishment kept me silent, and just then Mrs.

C entered with a hurst of merriment. "Biddy," she

cried, "this is my friend MissQ ." "Ob," retained the

girl, with an apologetic smile,'1 sure and I took ye for the
washerwoman." With a hearty laugh, we adjourned to
the parlor, after Mrs. C — — had explained to her Biddy
that the laundress might be expected through the hack
kitchen door. If my services aro acceptable, they shall
be yours. Qlivis.

I send this hy way of postscript, without which, you
know, dear Godey, my letter (?) would be incomplete:
" While walking on the veranda cue evening with my
little five-year-old sister Maggie, she suddenly looked up
at the stars, and asked mo what they were. I told her.
"They are what the moon Is mad': of, ain't they?" was
her surprising rejoinder. I thought it was a very pretty
idea.

T. B. Peterson k Brothers, publishers of this city,

have issued a cutah'gue uf the \v«.>rks they have published.

We advise all who want cheap, and at the same time good
reading to seud for a catalogue.

That great moralist "Punch," oi London, says, in his
" Advice to Servants" : —

'• Never go into anyplace where a cat is not kept. This

useful domestic aunnal is the true servants1 friend, ac-
counting for the disappearance of tid-bits, lumps of butter,
and other odd matters, as well as being the author of all
mysterious breakages What the safety-valve is to the
steam-engine the cat is to the kitchen, preventing all ex-
plosions or blowlnge-Up that might occur in. the best
regulated families."

Two elegant little volumes for ladies are jnst published
by Messrs. J. E. Tilton & Co., Boston. Price $2 00 each.
Illustrated iu the style of their " Art Recreations."

Wax Flowers: Mow to Make Them. With new meth-
ods of Sheeting Wax, Modelling Fruit, etc.

Skeleton Leaves and Phantom Flowers. A complete

and Practical Treatise on the Production of these 1 fj

Transformations. Also, Directions for Preserving Natural
Flowers in their fresh beauty.

Customer. "A slight mourning hat-band, if you
please."

Hatter. "What relation, sir:'"

Cu-tomcr. "Wife's uncle."

Hatter. " Favurite uncle,

Customer. "Cm — well, yos."

Hatter. "May I ask, sir, are you mentioned in the
will?"

Customer. " No such luck."

Hatrer (to his assistant, briskly) — "Couple o' inches,
John!"

268

godey's lady's book and magazine.

A LITERARY LIFE.

"If my daughter could only become a literary charac-
ter, how proud and delighted I should be!" said the
mother, looking down on the flaxen-haired little girl at
her side, now in her ninth year, and we looked down too
on the bright head of the little girl and thought that if
such a career were bound up in the future of her child,
the mother might have, after all, email cause for con-
gratulation.

We have learned by the letters which we are constantly
receiving from young aspirants for literary fame, that one
great and serious mistake exists in regard to this matter
of literary labor; and this is, that it demands no long
apprenticeship, no discipline of the mind nor cultivation
of one's talents, to achieve success in this department of
mental labor.

And we always lay down these letters with a sigh,
when we think of the surprise and disappointment which,
in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, must await the
applicant. People understand perfectly well that they
must serve a long apprenticeship in music, painting,
sculpture, any of the arts, but with writing the prevalent
opinion amongst a large class of intelligent people seems
to be that the path of literary fame and compensation is
a golden one ; when it is often a long, slow, tedious plod-
ding, full of weariness, and failure, and renewed effort,
even to those whose talents in the end insure to them
success. For we believe that the ability to write well is
a gift, as music, and painting, and sculpture are; and
though it is certainly no disgrace not to bo able to write
poetry, it is no honor to write doggerel, and certainly
wisest not to attempt it.

Moreover, let no young girl snppose that her first efforts
will be likely to meet with acceptance from any considera-
ble editor or publisher, no matter how great a genius her
friends regard her. The divine afliatus does not fall in
any such miraculous way. The imagination does not
bear its blossoms and fruits in a single hour. The soil
requires the early and later rains, and the branches want
the dews, and the sunshine, and long and patient cultiva-
tion, and much pruning, before any gather their sweet
and mellow fruits.

And how many young writers, intoxicated with their
first dreams of fame, send off their crude productions, full
of ardor and high hopes, to be mortified and disappointed,
let the scores of " Articles Declined" in the desk of every
editor make answer.

To a woman, at least, literature is not an easy profes-
sion, one where, with small toil, she reaps green laurels
and golden fruits. The gains are not so large, and the
work is not so light as the uninitiated imagine ; and any
one who makes literature her sole work in life, will most
invariably find that she must pay dearly for it in broken
health and shattered nerves. For every hour of sitting
aud stimulated imagination, she should have several of
reactionary outward life — of occupation, of muscular ex-
ercise and work, for otherwise the constant demand on
her nervous forces will sooner or later exhaust them, and
her days will be full of alternate excitement and depres-
sion. And any woman who enters the path ofliterature,
with no higher aim than that of worldly applause and
notoriety, will find herself sorely deceived and disap-
pointed in the end. An inordinate thirst for notoriety is
a slow gangrene that eats into and destroys the finest
characters, and especially does it rob womanhood of its
truth and graces ; for the heart that is fired with a desire
for fame is fed constantly with unrest, and ambition, and
envy ; and these are continual well-springs of bitterness

in the soul. So, if a woman enter the field of authorship,
let her do it always in that spirit which seeks for other
rewards than the world can give ; let her feel that the
mission of her pen is to elevate and bless humanity — that
she speak always for the right, the true, the good; and by
the blessed law of compeusation, in blessing others she
shall herself be blessed.

And inasmuch as the truth lived is better than the truth
spoken, let all those women whose thoughts have never
blossomed in inspired poem or thrilling tale remember it
is theirs to live in life's secluded places, amid quiet
homes, and it may be in the midst of daily cares and self-
sacrifices, all the grand, heroic truths of patience, and
forbearance, and love which their sisters have sung or
written.

We would not underrate the great work which the pen
of woman is accomplishing in this age— God forbid!

The words of true and noble women, living what they
snng, have been like lamps hung along the years, shed-
ding their blessed light about the altar, the cradle, the
grave; exalting and hallowing the names ot wife, and
mother, and child ; enriching and anointing ten thousand
homes with songs which were sweet balsams for aching
hearts and oils of gladness for those who rejoice.

We could mention many whose names are radiant
jewels in households throughout the world, whose genius
has been consecrated to all sweet, and pure, and noble
teachings, and who by their living as well as their writing
have exalted and ennobled "a literary life."

COPIES OF MEDALS STRUCK BY COMMAND OF THE EMPEROR
VESPASIAN, IN COMMEMORATION OF THE DESTRUCTION
OF JERUSALEM.

The strong-minded sisterhood ought to be content with
the "enlargement uf the sphere of woman" that has.
taken place since the introduction of hoops. The original
Eve was Adam's bone, but our Eves are whalebone.

GODETS AKM-CIIAIR.

269

PARIS ITEMS.

— Titky have a rtin;ip system of nursing lure, wb'ch is
man is to be met with after 11
o'ch^ck bus.ly tn>t(iug along toward* the Lux*' mbourg Oar-
don-, surrouuded by fifteen or twenty little children, eged
fr in two ->r three yearn to seven or eight Their pareata
.1 lady about ten centimes an hour to take their
Hudrco "ut, an 1 jive them ■ walk ur a game of play in
ll i> pretty to see her convey nor little.
jiT-riiii-'iic over a crossing : it reminds me of the old puzzle
and the ba^ of corn. The elder
chiM nu are left in charge on one side, while the rery
'little ones are carried over : then one of the oldest la beefc>
joiu'd nor ks and lectured on her care of them While the
;old w > she is much

mion i ag her shun reign of power tltau the

'old woman herself. At leugth they are past all dangers,
and sale in the wardens, where they make dirt-pies to their
heart's content, while their chaperon takes out her knit-
ling, and seats herself on a bench in their midst. Say the
iha> Ofieeu children, and keeps them out fur two hours, it
banker her a Utile income of half a crown a day; aud
t aey mother la glad that bet child should have

'happy plaj goes a Bhopplng, or

l4oe^some other piece of bousekeep ng work, which Would
t prevent her from attending properly to her child.
H —At a fancy dress ball recently, a l.idy was seen in a
▼cry low-necked dress, while floating and waving an
tebuudancc >>( green ganze. She was politely asked by a
[gentleman what she personated. "The sea, monsieur."
, then, madume." observed he.
— A new Btyle of coiffure is just about to be introduced,

;of Which we shall, no doubt, soon hear further details.
The hair is turned partially back from the forehead, and
f ve the earn, while at the back it is

'dr'--u in about ten or twelve regular stiff curia, main-
tained in their respective places by black pins, and offer-
nag the appearance of a cluster of small bows, fastened
by a comb. L.-. ii. rally richly studded with diamonds or
- and baudsof gold ribbon or
jew- Iry are t<> be Worn with this style of headdress, in
; ■ t<- flowers or even feathers. This totally new

btyl-' ol hair-dressing i* the result of a meeting of the
society 1 sp .Ue of tu you last year, consisting of all the
of Paris and the provinces, who meet in the
and December, and there decide the
■ a bout in theensu,ij_' year'sfaahioue.
I ity has held several meeting-- this past month,

and i> Just about, as usual, to close them by ;i Urge ball
riveu to the wives and daughters of the members of the
, who usually make their appearance in
the la-t appointed coiffure ordered by this supreme tri-
bunal.

— U n--ifur Seguy has opened an establishment in the

' ' Paix for the purpose of teaching ladies how to

''•ox. In a scented circular, M. Seguy an-

that he "comes to open, on the first floor, in the

which he teaches officially to timid persons the art of to

embellish themselves." 'lhere is an excellent brorJiure on

>ct in the last number of La Vie ParuHitniie. A

lady, who holds the idea of enamel in indignant horror,

Dio-int- t .' tin- dangerous first flour. "If madame will

■eat herself in this arm-chair," says one of the enamel-

loses — for the operators as well as the operatees are all of

What Mr Waller calls the "soft sex" — " 1 will explain to

her how the various pomade — " " I came here solely

from curro^ty. mademoiselle," explains the lady, "aud

*have uu iutention of—" "I do uot misunderstand the

, of madame: and it is only for tbe purpose of

. -.- madame's curiosity that 1 propose to explain to

i her the Ui«e of the bhtac nymphea, which senders the skin

f tllky. preserves it from the effect of the atmosphere, and

i- -mi** to a degree. .If madame will have the com*

i to take off her bonnet." "I presume that you

have s«>ap and water here that I may remove the marks

xperirueut.'' says the lady. "Will madame for

oue Instant close her eyes?'* The paintress is at work

with a penumed palette, and in a quarter of an hour

■adame smiles in a mirror at a visage that returns her

ainile . but it is not her face that is reflected, but that of a

very y iuog lady, with her features, certainly, but with a

I complexion like a baby's— half flesh, half fruit.

Cartfs de Visits — Our subscribers had better send for
a caul <_:ue. We have already supplied our friends with
many thousands of the cartes, and in all coses they have
given great satisfaction. Our list embraces nearly 600
subjects,

22*

Di.vi.vu ix titk BflDDLfl A.iis — The servants of the hall,
headed by the steward, or matin- '/'A U ! , With hit I d Of

I ought Hk' dishes to the table in formal procession.
Their approach and arrival were usually auuounced by
the sounding of trumpets and mu.sic. Those Who

al tii.* table itself, whoje business was chiefly to carve,

and pris. ut the wine, were of still higher rank — never
less than esquires, and often, in the halls of pri.. id

great chiefs, noble barons. The meal itself v, i a
ducted with the same degree of ceremony, uf which a
vivid picture maybe drawn from the work call" I the
"Managier de Paris,1' composed abk>ui the year 1393.

When it was announced that the- dinner wa- n ady, the

: Ivanced to the hall, led ceremoniously by two
•' it t'f, who showed them their places, and

served them with water to wash their hands before they
began. They found the tables spread with fine table-
cloths, and covered with a profusion of richly orna-
mented plate, consisting of salt-cellars, goblete, pota or
cups for drinking, spoons, &c. At the high table the
meats wero ewten from slices of bread, called tl
(tranckoirs), which, after the meats were eaten, wcie
tlirowu into vessels called couteures. In a conspicuous
part of the hall stood the dresser or cupboard, Whloh was
covered with vessels of plate, which two e^iuires carried
thence to the table to replace those which were emptied.
Two other esquires were occupied in bringing wiue to the
dresser, from whence it was served tu the guests at tho
table.

The dishes, forming a number of courses, varying ac-
cording to the occasion, were brought in by valets, led by
two esquire-s. An tLssecur, or plaeer, took the dishes
from the hands of the valets and arranged them in their
places on the table. After these courses fresh table-cloths
were laid, and the entremets were brought, consisting of
sweets, jellies, &c, many of them moulded into elegant
or fautastic forms: aud, in the middle of the table, raised
above the rest, were placed a swan, peacocks, or phea-
sants, dressed up in their feathers, with their beaks and
feet gilt. In less sumptuous entertainments the expensive
course of entremets was usually omitted. Last of all
came the dessert, consisting of cheese, confectioneries,
fruit. &c., concluded by what was called the issue (de-
parture from table), consisting of a draught of bypocras,
and the bonte-hors (turn-out), wine and spices served
round, which terminated tbe repast. The yuests then
washed their hands, and repaired into another room,
where they were served with wine and sweetmeats, aud
after a short time they separated. The dinner, served
slowly and ceremoniously, must have occupied aconsid-
erable length of time. After the guests bad left the hall
the servants and attendants took their places at the
tables.

A Comical ForsTAtx Ptatce has been designed by a
Hanover sculptor, Mr. Rosenthal, representing a monkey
holding a champagne bottle, of which he has imprudently
drawn the cork, and the coutcnts uf which he vainly en-
deavors to stop. Tbe champagne is represented by the
different rays of the fountain bursting out in all d.rec-
tioni.

CONTNDBt*M3 : —

When is one man, compared with another, like the
manager of a certain boat ?
When ho 's a lighter-man.

When may a man be said to bnve put Li^ fool in it?
When he has drawn bis stocking on.

270

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Iced Liquors. — The ancients were accustomed to have
their beverages cooled and iced in various ways. Both
Galen and Pliny have described the method, which is still
employed in tropical climates, to reduce the temperature
«f water by exposing it to evaporation in porous vessels,
during the night-time ; and a simile in the Book of Pro-
verbs seems to warrant the conclusion that the custom of
preserving snow for summer use must have prevailed
among Oriental nations from the earliest ages. That it
was long familiar to the Greeks and Romans is abun-
dantly certain. When Alexander the Great besieged the
town of Petra, in India, he is reported to have ordered a
number of pits to be dug and filled with snow, which,
being covered with oak branches, remains for a long time
undissolved. A similar expedient is noticed by Plutarch,
with this difference, that straw and coarse cloths are re-
commended in place of oaken boughs. The Romans
adopted the same mode of preserving the snow which
they collected from the mountains, and which, in the time
of Seneca, had become an important article of merchan-
dise at Rome, being sold in shops appropriated to the pur-
pose, and even hawked about the streets.

At first the only mode of employing snow was by fus-
ing a portion of it in the wine or water which was to be
cooled ; and this was most conveniently effected by intio-
ducing it into a strainer, which was usually made of sil-
ver, and pouring the liquor over it. But as the snow had
generally contracted some degree of impurity during the
carriage, or from the reservoirs in which it was kept, the
solution was apt to be dark and muddy, and to have an
unpleasant flavor from the straw; hence those of fasti-
dious taste preferred ice, which they were at pains to pro-
cure from a great depth, that they might have it as fresh
as possible.

A more elegant method of cooling liqnors came into
vogue during the reign of Nero, to whom the invention
was ascribed, namely, by placing water which had been
boiled in a thin glass vessel surrounded with enow, so
that it might be frozen without having its purity impaired.
It had, however, been a long prevailing opinion among
the ancients, as we may collect from Aristotle, Galeu, and
Plutarch, that boiled water was most speedily converted
into ice ; and the experiments of modern chemists would
6eem to prove that this doctrine was not altogether with-
out foundation. At all events, the ice so obtained would
be of a more compact substance than that produced from
water which had not undergone the process ; and this was
sufficient to justify the preference.

Serya xt-gal- ism. — A friend of ours lately hired a couple
of strapping wenches. The girls were well enough, ex-
cept that one was always accompanied by her spiritual
adviser. Now these spiritual advisers are well enough
in their place, but when they are constantly invading
your kitchen they become a nuisance. The cook was
asked to make some hot cakes fur breakfast, but they were
not forthcoming ; but the lady of the house happening to
go into the kitchen found the party there, of course with
the spiritual adviser, enjoying hot cakes. Upon being
remonstrated with, the reply was, " The party in the par-
lor are too many to make hot cakes for."

"We have received from the American Educational
.Monthly a copy of Simmons's Zoological Chart.

The newspapers are full of advertisements for plain
■cooks. We suppose pretty cooks have no occasion to ad-
vertise at all.

We give an extract from a correspondent's letter from
Paris, giving a description of the costumes and disguises
worn at several fancy bails: —

"At the Duchess de Bassano's a complete menagerie
appeared to be present. Animals are very fashionable
this season.

" At the Tuileries there was a majestic llama, a zebra,
and a white cat ; there was a butterfly, acock — and a very'
brilliant one he proved — he was no less a personage than
the Marquis de Galli. — The Countess de St. Pi — completed
this elegant menagerie as a beautiful blue bird. Her
skirt was covered with azure humming-birds, and a small
half Chinese headdress, with a blue bird flapping its
wings and bending its sapphire throat over the forehead
of the youthful countess, completed her toilette.

" The Duchess de Bassano herself wore with much grace
a very rich Florentine costume of the sixteenth century ;
it was almost completely covered with precious stones.
High fancy dresses were to be seen in great numbers, but
their effect was not good. High dresses at a bail always
Look heavy; and although the Louis XV. riding-habits
aud Iucroyables of the Directoire are tasteful costumes in
their way, they do not appear to advantage among more
brilliant, low-bodiced faucy dresses

"At Mme. Drouyn de l'Huys' ball the Emperor and
Empress were, it was reported, present, but concealed
under black dominos, the only sign by which they might
recognize each other being a bow of cerise ribbon. The
marvellous white cat and the butterfly were also present
at the Tuileries, but represented by different people, the
first by a Neapolitan Princess, the second by a young
English lady, Miss J — .

"A Pompadour quadrille attracted universal admira-
tion. Mme. Druyn de l'Huys wore a Louis 15th gala
dress, with her hair powdered, and arranged with dia-
monds in great profusion. Mile. Valentine Haus — was
attired as a Greek girl, and allowed her magnificent fair
tresses to fall unrestrained upon her shoulders. The Mar-
quis de Galli — changed his costume of a cock for Polichi-
nello, but his lordship was as gay and as full of vivacity
in one character as he was in the other. M. de Lut — was
gallantly transformed into a vendor of violets; his white
satin dress was covered with bouquets of violets, and his
blue satin basket, tilled with bouquets, was quickly emp-
tied at the commencement of the evening. The Duke de
M — appeared as a Puritan of the loth century ; his dress
was very sombre, being composed entirely of black
velvet."

Singular Coincidence. —

"As an in-pensioner of Greenwich Hospital was walk- I

ing along the Trafalgar road, Greenwich, his foot became I

entangled in the crinoline of a lady who was passing. I

He was thrown down, and the back of his head came in I

contact with the kerbstone and severely injured his skull. I

He died in less than half an hour from the time of the I
accident."

One evening last week we read the above in an English fl
paper. The same evening we took up one of our city I
papers and read the following: —

"The Cleveland Herald of Friday says: 'A singular I
accident occurred on Prospect Street this afternoon. An I
old gentleman was passing a couple of ladies on the side-
walk, when his foot caught in the crinoline of one of I
them, and he fell backward striking violently against the I
bottom of a lamp-post, laying open his scalp and stunning
him. He was taken into a neighboring dwelling-house,
and his wound dressed. It was feared that his skull was
fractured by the blow ; but the injuries proved not to be
dangerous, though, in view of his age, serious results
might have been feared. The gentleman is from Pitts-
burg, and on a visit to this city.* "

"No pains will be spared," as the quack said, when
sawing off a poor fellow's leg to cure him of the rheuma-
tism.

Good dinners have a harmonizing influence. Few dis--
pntes are so large that they cannot be covered by a table
cloth.

'Taking Boarder? for Company." This story con-
tinues to increase in interest and amusement.

OODEY S ARM-CHAIR.

271

Epitaphs —
I Oa the family vault of tho Darts, 1632:—

men, as archers doe,
Ooe dart i" find another ;
But now, by shooting, hath found four,
And alt lay'd here together.

J Sovcro satires npon the fair sex :—

On tins marble drop a tew,
Here lies fair Rosalind;
All mankind was pleased with her,

And she With all mankind.

Her body was built of such superfine clay,
Thai at length it grew br.nl.- for want of allay;
Di i -h1 then too busie on tome foreign affair,

iwn pretty dwelling took so little care
That the tenement fall for want of repair.

The following will remind the readers of the famous
Joliloquy of Hamlet, "C:esar dead and turned to clay": —

Beneath this stone lies old Katherlne Gray,

i fr-im a bu^y life to lifeless clay ;
1 got her delf.

Vet now Bho 's turned to earth herself.
Ye weeplug friends, let me ad
Abate your grief and dry your eyes;
For what avails a flood of tears?
Who knows but In a run of years,
In s in.' mil pitcher or broad pan
Bhe iu her shop may be again /

On a miser, 1606 : —

Ilere lies John Chapman, who, in donbt,

Cried, " Bury my pelf, but leave my body out ;"

no \t iviaion made for oheat of pelf,

We fpeut the cash and box'd his self.

"On my Wife," 1714:—

At marriage phe wept atid I smiled,
lu death she smiled and 1 wept. — J. D.

M. Chevrenl, the Government Superintendent of the
[yeiog department of the great Parisian manufactory of
be celebrated Gobelin tapestries, has recently delivered a
eries of lectures at Paris oa complexion and colors, full
fif valuable hint* to our ladies. We quote: —

t"The pink of the romplexion is brought out by a green
ting in dress ,,r bonnBI ; and any lady who has a fair
mpl^xiou, that admits of having its rose-tint a little
jieighteoed, may make effective use of the green color;
n it should be a delicate green, since it is of importance
^preserve harm <ny of tone. When there is in the face a
int of orange mixed with brown, a brick-red hue will
♦esult from the use of irreen ; if any green at all be used
;n such a case, it should be dark But for the orange
romplexion of a brunette, there is no color superior to
jrellow. This imparts violet to a fair skin, and injures
ts effect. A skin more ycuowthan orange has its yellow
neutralized by the su^estion of the complement, and a
lull white effect imparted. The orange skin, however,
jias its yellow neutralized, and the red left ; so that the
-if complexion is increased in dark-baired beau-
lies. Blue imparts orange, which enriches white complex-
ons and light fresh tints; it also, of course, improves tho
tollow hair of blonds. Blue, therefore, is the standard
talor for a blonde, or yellow for a brunette But the bru
jiette who has already too much orange in her face, must
avoid settincit in blue. Orange suits nobody. It whitens
* brunette, but that is scarcely a desirable effect, and it is
jijfly. Red, unless when it is of a dark hue, to increase
the effect of wbiteness by contrast of tone, is rarely suit-
ible in any rloso neighborhood to a lady s skin. Rose
t*1 destroy? the freshness of a good complexion ; it sug-
vu."

In looking over the London pictorial papers, we have
nade np our mind that we wonld not like to be Prince of
♦Tales. Why. the poor follow cannot have a moment to
»11 his own. Presiding t( a dinner here, laying a corner-
stone there, reviewing troops at another place, when is
»e at home comfortable like a common man? This is
>archasing greatness at too great a sacrifice of comfort.

Gradations in HoUBSUVO.— The Hound Tahl,\ has an
admirable article on the subject of mourning habiliments,
especially those by which lady mourners express the dif-
ferent degrees of their sorrow, and of which means of
proclaiming ours our sex are deprived. The writer says
in a fine vein of bitter irony : —

"We men have no such opportunity to express a sense
of our bereavement in an elaborate way Our tailors
uniform us in funereal black, our chapt It rs encircle our
hats with crape, aud there an end, a widower cannot
advertise the freshness or staleness of bis sad condition
by his clothes ; it is impossible tu judge of the state of h:s
feelings from his huo.

"In fact, the taste of mankind in this country tun- BO
generally to black that it is only qow aud then that affllo-
tion finds one of us iu motley. In nine cases out of ten,
all we require to put us m full mourning is a weed round
the beaver. Cannot this be remedied '< Why should there
not be sorrow stores fir tin1 .-(ujmIi- sex '! 1- there any

just reason why lonely men should not be put through a
course of French grays, and puces, aud lavenders as well
as women? Do not our griefs become One by degrees and

beautifully less in the same way a- those of the queens of
creation? Certainly tb. v do. Then let the progress of
the sequence be made manifest in our coats, and vests,
and pantaloons.

"Let us havo the gradations of faded melancholy de-
noted by our hat cinctures, so that the public, and more
particularly the ;inj.li' f ■- . i-i i ■ ■ m of it, may understand
how we are getting along with our tribulations. How
can the fair creatures know, under present circumstances,
whether an unfortunate widower has just been plunged
into inconsolability, or is emerging from it in a lively and
approachable frame of mind P

•'Who can say h'<w n.nny, many male mourners of
nearly fifty years' standing may have missed eligible
offers this blessed leap-year on account of the forbiddiug
character of their sable Buits and love-repulsing hatbands?
We submit to society the propriety of a sliding scale of
funeral habiliments for men. Nothing can succeed in this
world without advertising, not evi-u grief. Who will
take a store on Broadway, aud open a dry goods tribula-
tion shop for bereaved masculinity?"

A gentleman residing not far away, who is very fond of
singing, likes to display his "talent" whenever he can
find listeners.

His friends are Bometimes "brought to tears" by his
looks of agony and his unearthly groans during his mu-
sical (?) performances. One day, having a few invited
guests, he proposed entertaining them by " singing a
little Bong." Tho guests expressed their pleasure, of
course, and the host commenced singing. In the middle
of the first strain, a bright little child of the company,

quit his play and gazed on the face of Mr. , the singer,

then turning to his mother anxiously asked : "Mamma,
what ails Mr. ?" But, without waiting for reply, ad-
dressed the singer in a loud tone with '* Say, Mr. , are

you dying?"

The gravity of the company was npset entirely ; respect
for their host could not keep back the laughter ; the per-
formance closed at the end of the first stanza.

Wrrv do men who are about to fie-ht a duel generally
choose a field for the place of action? For the purpose of
allowing the ball to graze.

Brooklyn, .Tr.vE 30th.
Mr. Godev : In yonr Lady's Book of the mouth of June
I notice "an unfortunate," who has a red nose. For the
benefit of her or him, and others who take your magazine,
I will state what I did to cure mine. 1 left off eating any-
thing too hot, tea and coffee, cud particularly pastry of
any kind ; ate the tendered meats, chewed well; never
ate between meals, and have now as fair a nose as you
care to see. My grandfather was troubled the same way,
and found that that mode of living cured him.

A Constant Reade*.

272

godey's lady's look and magazine.

JUVENILE DEPARTMENT.

OBEDIENCE TO PARENTS.

When I my parents disobey

Iu spite of all their love,
How can I kneel at nigbt to pray

To Him who reigns above?

I dearly love them both, and yet,

When evil tempers rise,
Too often I their love forget,

And God's commands despise.

Am I my Heavenly Father's child
When His commands I break?

And can I sleep unreconciled,
And happily awake?

I bless His name, this need not be,

For Jesus Christ has died —
His blood can plead for sinful me;

His blood my sins can hide.

And He, if I am really His,

Will help me every day,
And make me feel how sweet it is

His precepts to obey.

Corvallts, Oregon.

Mr. L. A. Godet — Sir : Knowing that you are deservedly
the acknowledged leader of fashions, and not remembering
of ever seeing anything in your book setting forth the
following, I send it as a specimen of the style on Long
Tom;—

At a quiet country cottage on the banks of a pleasant
stream known as Long Tom, there were several persons
passing the day, among whom there were a lady and her
daughter and lover, from the adjacent city. All the
company except the young lady and lover went out into
the garden to refresh themselves with the delicious fra-
grance wafted around them on the evening breeze ; when
they returned, they found the young lady sitting on an
ottoman at the gentleman's feet, with her hands clasped
on his knee, and her face in an oblique position, looking
lovingly into his. As an exclamation of surprise came
from the hostess, such as "Why, Mary!" the mother re-
marked that " Aunty wasn't acquainted with the latest
style."

We published, some time 6ince, an article upon the
treatment of diphtheria by ice. We now publish the fol-
lowing. Our readers will have observed that we seldom
publish any receipts for the cure of diseases. We make
this an exception; but at the same time ad-
vise that nothing should be attempted with-
out the advice and concurrence of your physi-
cian : —

Treatment of Diphtheria bt Ice. — Tho
Boston Medical and SurgicalJournal contains
the following important statements concerning
the treatment of diphtheria by ice, which we
publish for the benefit of our readers: —

"Feb. 22d.— Dr. Dorland said he had been
requested by Dr. W. B. Morris, of Charlestown,
to bring to the notice of the society the treat-
ment of diphtheria by ice, whereby he firmly
believed this terribly destructive disease might
be perfectly or nearly controlled.

"The first case to which Dr. Morris was
called was that of a little girl, 11 years old, in
whom the disease was well established. He
gave her brandy, beef soup, a solution of chlo-
rate of potash, and gnaiacum, alternately, every
hour. Having heard of the benefit derived
from ice, he ordered lumps of it, inclosed in
muslin bags, to be held all the time iu the
mouth. This patient was seen in consultation
by Dr. Mason, who suggested the external as well as the
internal application of the remedy, by means of a bladder
filled with pounded ice, wrapped in a napkin, and laid
up against the throat. This was continued for seventy-
two hours. The membranes, which were very thick,
ceased forming after the beginning of the ice treatment,
and were thrown off at its termination. The child is now
well.

" Dr. Morris was called to another patient, and found
one child of the family already dead from diphtheria, and
laid out in the same room with the patieut, who was
failing rapidly, the throat being filled with the diphtheritic
membrane. The ice treatment was commenced without
delay, and the child recovered.

"Dr. Bickford, who had seen the last patient, was sent
for to go to Battleboro', to see a child of the engineer of
the Hoosac .Tunnel. He found the disease well marked,
and advised the ice treatment, which was adopted. The
child improved so much on the second day that the treat-
ment was continued by the friends ; but on the third day
it was much worse. Dr. B. telegraphed to 'go on with
the ice, and stick to it.' This was done, and the result
was that the patient began again to revive, and is now
well."

There are several other cases mentioned where the
treatment was the same, and it proved equally successful.

Clerical Joke.— From Punch. — The Rev. Oriel Bland
(who has come to perform the duty for an absent friend,
at a small country church). " I suppose a hymn is sung
in the usual simple manner."

Clerk. "Oh dear, no, sir ; we have a very efficient
choir of singers, besides three violins, three flutes, a clari-
onet, accordion, horn, and my bass fiddle; and we siog
four hymns, besides chanting the Psalms and Litany; we
kuow Mozart's Twelfth Service, and to-day we perform
Purcell'sTe Deum and Jubilate, besides our usual anthem ;
and, sir, you need not trouble yourself to read the Belief,
for we sing that too ; and, sir, would you prefer our tuning
up for the last pieco during your Exordium or at the
Blessing, for my bass fiddle will drop half a note during

Bervice, and " [The Rev. O. B. turns pale and asks for

a glass of water.]

If we were asked what physician stood at the top of his
profession, we Bhould say it was the gentleman who was
in the habit of attending "patients on a monument."

Woman has this great advantage over man — she proves
her will in her lifetime, whilst man is obliged to wait
till he is dead.

GODEY S ARM-CIIAIR.

273

DESIGN FOIt AN ORNAMENTAL COTTAGE.
Designed expressly for GocUy's L<tdy's Book, by Isaac II. IIobbs, Archiiect, Philadelphia.

FIRST STORY.

Firs' Story —A pirlor, R porch, C main hall, D dining-
room, E breakfast-room, F kitchen.

Second Story. — G principal chamber, II I J chambers,
K roof of porch, L bay-window.

■WnAT is the difference between a duck with one wlog
and a duck with two? It is merely a difference of a-
pinion.

SECnyD STORY.

Wb have received from George n. Johnson, ofSan Fran-
cisco, two photograph^ of ■■That Banltar? Beck of Flour,''

which brought so wonderful a price. The photographs
are well executed, and the newspaper account that ac-
companied them is very amusing.

The best cough drop for young ladies is to drop the

practice of dressing thiu, when they go into the night air.

274

gobey's lady's book and magazine.

The Things Required. — Every one knows the alphabeti-
cal list of requirements in a wife given in " Don Quixote."
An old bachelor of our acquaintance has rendered it
according to his own notions, and added a rather amusing
list of the contrary requisites of a young lady. It is as
follows: —

WANTED IN A WIFE.

Judiciousness

Amiability

Benevoleuce

Carefulness

Diligence

Economy

Faithfulness

Gentleness

Hopefulness

Industry

and Zeal for her husband's interests.

Kiudness

Love

Management

Neatness

Obedience

Patience

Quietness

Religion

Steadiness

Temperance

Usefulness

Virtue

Wisdom

Xperience

Youthfulness

WANTED BY A TOUNG LADY.

Admiration

Beauty

Crinoline

Diversion

Excitement

Flirtation

Giggling

Happiness

Indolence

and Zeal in a dressmaker,

Jewelry
Kid-gloves

Love-letters

Music

Kovels

Optra-Boxes

Pin-money

Quarrels

Reconciliations
Sight-seeing
Tea-parties
Universal Gaiety
Visits

Waste Time
Xtravagance
Youth for ever

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

No order attended to unless the cash accompanies it.

All persons requiring answers by mail must send a
post-office stamp ; aud 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. D. C— Sent pattern June 18th,

Miss H. V. B. — Sent pattern ISth.

Mrs. J. S.— Sent pattern ISth.

Mrs. E. B. M.— Sent pattern ISth.

A. J. M.— Sent pattern ISth.

Mrs. S. W.— Sent pattern ISth.

Mrs. E. L.— Sent pattern 20th.

Miss M. E.J).— Sent pattern 23d.

M. A. H— Sent pattern 23d.

Mrs. H. D.— Sent pattern 24th.

Mrs. L. A. G. — Sent articles by express 24th.

N. M. L.— Sent dress shields 2Sth.

J. M. S.— Sent box by express 30th.

Wm. F. M.— Sent hair chain 30th.

Miss N. B. — Sent pattern 30th.

Miss S. 1L— Sent pattern 30th.

Mrs. R. R.— Sent silk 30th.

L. A. C— Scut dress shields 30th.

Mrs. Dr. M — Sent pattern 30th.

Miss M, MeC — Sent pattern 30th.

Mrs. L. J. B.— Sent pattern 30th.

Mrs. E. M. M.— Sent box July 2d.

Mrs. J. W. B.— Sent gloves 2d.

Mrs. M. H D.— Sent pattern 2d.

Mrs. W. W. W.— Sent marking cotton 6th.

M. H.— Sent articles 6th.

Mrs. G. C. W.— Sent lead combs 6th.

L. G. A. — Sent articles by express 11th.

G. F. C— Sent articles by express 11th.

A. B. B.— Sent hair frizzetts 11th.

J. M. H.— Sent pattern 11th,

S. M. M.— Sent hair rings 11th.

S. E. C— Sent hair rings 11th.

C. F. B.— Sent hair cross 11th.

Miss D. B. — Sent hair pin 11th.

Mrs. E. P. J.— Sent pattern 12th.

Mrs. G. C. S — Sent pattern 12th.

H. R. G.— Sent pattern 12th.

M. E. W.— Sent pattern 12th.

H. C. D.— Sent pattern 12th.
■ C. H.— Sent pattern 13th.

Miss J. H —Sent pattern 13th.

L. C. F.— Sent box by express 16th.

Dr. R M.— Sent box by express 16th.

Mrs. J. G. W. — Sent box by express ISth.

Miss H. S. — Sent box by express ISth.

A Perplexed Subscriber.— Cyanurate of Potash diluted
But you must be very careful with it, or you will destroy
the fabric.

E. B. — Skeleton Leaves, or Skeleton Bouquets. Apply
to J. E. Tilton & Co., 160 Washington Street, Boston
They have recently published an interesting book on this
subject.

Miss L. M. C. — We can furnish the two numbers for 50
cents.

A Housekeeper. — About two pounds of coffee equal one-
pound of tea in household consumption.

Perplexity. — It would not be proper to show any recog-
nition. If he is a gentleman, he will not find it difficult
to procure a proper introduction. We doubt his gentle
manly qualities, or he would not have acted £s he did,
unless you showed him great encouragement.

S. M. C. — We think you had better suggest something
You have mentioned everything we can think of except
pincushions and suspenders.

Sarah. — We can only refer you to the Book, where wo
are constantly publishing receipts on the subject. We d>-
not know that different kinds of hair require different
kinds of treatment. We have from time to time published
about fifty receipts for the treatment of the hair.

Mary. — Certainly not. At the age of fourteen or six
teen, what can a boy or girl know of love ? This is a fast
age, we know, but you are rather too young.

Mrs. W. W. E.— Ich Dien— the motto of the Prince o:
Wales. This is the explanation: —

" A king of Bohemia, blind from age, was led, on horse-
back, between two knights to the Battle of Creci. When
the day was decided against the French, he commanded
his two conductors to rush, with him, into the thickest of
the fight, where all together perished. So grand a sacri-
fice on the altar of feudal loyalty has* consecrated ra
motto 'Ith Dien' (I servo). This, accompanied by the
triple plume of ostrich feathers which he wore, was then
adopted by Edward the Black Prince, and, as we know,
has been borne by all succeeding Princes of Wales."

cfasljiotts.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Havixo bad frequent applications for the purchase of
jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, fht
Editress nf the Fashion Department will hereafter execute
commissions for any who may desire it. with [be charge of
a small percentage for the time and research required.
Springand autumn bonnets, material- for dresses, jewelry,
envelops, hairvworfc, worsteds, children's wardrobes, man-
tillas, and mantelets, will bp 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 most be given.

Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed esapin-
diture, to he addressed t>> tlte cure of h. A. Godeyt Esq.

jWi order icUl he attended to unless the money is jprst
reci >•■■ d XfUhiy the Editor nor Pvltislter will he account-
able for louses that may occur in remitting.

FASHIONS.

275

| Tlio Publisher of the Lndy's P>ook has no Interest in

tun- ni, and kuows uotbing of luo transactions ;

: tier the person sending the order i* or is not a

r to the Lady's Book, the Fashion editor does

uot know.

Ipsiructions to be as minnte
hy a Dote of the height, complexion, and general style of
tne person, on which mttch depends in choice. I'ress
;oods fr.'in BvaoH \ Co.'s; mourning goods from Reason

h Sou ; dry g l«of any kind from Messrs. A. T. Stewart

• iw Vorfc ; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, from
. en Fork ; bonnets from the
qim; Jewelry from Wriggena
& W.u ,].■[!, i>i Ca Idwell's, I'l

When l- Is are ordered, the fashions that prevail here

corern the articles will be taken

•back. When the goods are sent, the transaction must be
couMJtred AnaL

DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR

SEPTEMBER.

Fig. 1. — Dress suitable for a dinner party. Sea-green
trilk iress, trimmed with binds of black velvet. On these
bands are diamonds cnt out of white satin and trimmed
round with hue. Duchess collar of point lace. Coiffure
of point lace. The hair is also dressed with beads and
loops of green velvet.

Fig. '2 — Robe dress i f pearl- colored silk, ornamented

With figures and flowers in bright colors, (niiuipe and

#eeves of white muslin, finished with a muslin inching.

Alack straw hat, trimmed with a long white feather, an

of spun glass, aud small scarlet feather tips.

Fig. 3.— I'ress of black silk. The skirt is plain. The
corsage is in the coat tail style, and trimmed with a nar-
row fluted ribbou and a bead trimming The vest is of
Ophelia purple silk. Bonnet of white chip, trimmed with
along white plume. The inside trimming is of Ophelia
velvi t.

Fig. 4. — Dress of pearl-colored poplin, trimmed with
bands of Solferino velvet sewed in waves around the edge
of the skirt, aod up to the waist on the right side. Fancy
lace cap, trimmed with Solferino flowers.

Fig. 6. — I'ress of tan-colored poplin, trimmed on the
edge of the skirt with a quilling of the same. Above this
are chenille cords, gracefully festooned and fastened on
each breadth with bows aod tassels. The corsage is made
With a short basque behind, and points iu frout. The
bonnet is of Eugenie blue silk, trimmed with a white lace
reit.

Fig. 6. — Morning-dress of white alpaca, richly trimmed

rino silk. It is made short, to show a cambric

•klrt, which is trimmed with four Anted ruffles. Fancy

with long tabs, which fasten at the throat with

a pin, and take the place of a collar. a

CHILDREN'S DRESSES.
(See engravings, page 193.)

Fig. 1.— Dress of Eogenio blue poplin, trimmed on the
| skirt with alternate pieces of- black and white ribbon
sewed on Blanting. Zouavo trimmed with white ribbon,
black velvet, and black drop buttons. The point is bound
With black velvet. Leghorn hat. corded with black velvet,
and trimmed with a blue feather rosette.

Fig. 2. — Drees of black and white poplin, trimmed with
alternate quillings of scarlet and black ribbon, half the
point being of one color and half of the other Wide sash
of scarlet, black, and white ribbon. Gnimpe and sleeves
of white muslin, trimmed w th muslin ruchings.

Fig. 3.— Dress of white piqu ', made square on the neck,
and with bretelles. It is braided with scarlet mohair
braid.

Fig. 4. — Suit of fine gray cloth, trimmed with a darker
shade. Scarlet neck-tie. Polish DOOta, with BCAllat tassels.

Fig. :>. — Dlack poplin blouse, trimmed with blue velvet,
and confined at the waist with a blue bilk cord and tassel.
Black velvet cap. In mined with blue Velvet and a white
Wing. Polish boots, bound with blue velvet, and trimmed
with bluo chenille tassels.

FASHIONABLE BOXXETS.

(See engravings, j" i j' 2

Fig. 1, — A dinner-cap, formed of spotted tulle, and
trimmed with a largo pink rose and bud A ruffle of the
tulle with scalloped edge also trims the cap.

Fig. 2. — Pearl-colored cr'pe bonnet, trim mod with black
lace. A fan of pearl-colored silk and white feathers. The
inside trimming is of pink ribbon and stiff white feathers.

Fig. 3. — White silk bonnet, brimmed with violet rib-
bons and pink roses. A net formed of ribbons is attached,
to the bonnet.

Fig. 4. — A Leghorn bonnet, trimmed with a salmon and
black ribbon. The feathers are black. The inside trim-
ming is composed of scarlet velvet, black lace, and sal-
mon-colored flowers.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA
FASHIONS FOB SEPTEMBER.

The weather continues too warm to admit of any notable
change in fashions; we therefore take this opportunity to
present to our readers a variety of fancy costumes.

Gypsies, Turkish ladies, Greek, peasant, and flower girls,
powdered dames, and vivaodi re-, appear in such hordes
at all the fancy balls thai many of our fair ones implore
us for novelty in fancy drosses. To gratify them, we
present the following costumes, worn at some of the
Tuileries balls: —

"The Legion of Honor." The skirt is of red moire,
embroidered with gold flowers; over this falls a white
satin tunic, which is cut iu the form of the cross. The
bodice is made of cloth of gold In the style of the Middle
Ages; that is to say. descending below the waist, and
rounded off both in front and at the back. The cross of
honor is embroidered upon it in while silk, and a wreath
of laurel leaves around tho lower part of the bodice.
Upon the shoulders is fastened an ermine mantle, lined
with cloth of gold (for which gold-colored satin maybe
substituted). Tho headdress is a small coronet, studded
with precious stones. Iu the hand is carried an immense
goose-quill, dyed in the national colors.

''Roulette."' The hair should fall in curls, through
which are showered small gilt coins. The bodice is made
with a bertha formed entirely of coins, with a white satin
note for 10,000 fraucs fastened to it. Two small red fea-
thers are placed in front of the head. The skirt is of red
silk embroidered to represent gold coins, aud in i)
hand is carried a rake such as the croupiers use to gather
the gold at Baden and Ems.

"Snow." A shnrt white satin skirt, edged with swan's-
down, and long crystal beads, imitating icicles. The low
bodice is in thi Louis XV. form ; it is pointed, and made
of white satin crossed with a band of swan's-down. In
tho centre, as an emblem of hope and spring, a tuft of half
opened primroses i> fastened. The hair is powdered, and
underneath the left ear is fastened another tufl of prim-
roses. A necklace of large crystal beads, with lung drops
in the form of icicles, is worn round the throat The boots
are of white satin, trimmed with swan's-down.

"The White Cat." On the head should be the head of a
white cat, and round the throat a blue velvet collar, upon

276

godey's lady's book and magazine.

which, is Minette, in golden letters. A blue satin bodice,
edged with white fur and cats' tails ; a skirt of blue satin,
also edged with white fur, aud embroidered in cats1 heads.

"The Bird of Paradise." A blue silk, dress, trimmed
with birds of Paradise. In the centre of the forehead is
another bird of Paradise, with its tail spread, and its long,
beautiful feathers falling on each side of -the throat.

" Eve' ' is represented with a white robe, ornamented with
green leaves. On each side of the skirt is a pocket. On
one is written Good; this is fastened with a small gilt
padlock. On the other is written Evil, and from this comes
a serpent, which is twined round the waist, and has its
uplifted head, with an apple in its mouth, resting upon
the breast. The headdress is a wreath of green leaves.

"Undine" is robed in a cloudlike white dress, trimmed
with shells, sea-weed, aud sprays of coral.

Among the more singular costumes are "Fire," "A
Game of Draughts," "The Bluebird," and "A Basket of
Roses." We could mention many other effective cos-
tumes, but we have not room for so many lengthy descrip-
tions. It is of everyday fashions and novelties of which
we must now speak.

Curtainless bonnets are rapidly gaining ground in Paris.
Some are but mere caps, almost entirely covered with
flowers; others are a half handkerchief, with a small
front ; and others again* have only a fall of lace for the
crown. In the nest number we will give a very pretty
illustration of one of these curtainless bonnets, and the
ladies will then be able to decide whether to accept or
reject them.

The coat-tail bodices are now considered in very good
taste. Scarcely two are to be seen alike. Every dress-
maker has a style of her own. They are rounded, pointed,
squared, and cut in every imaginable way ; but still they
are coat-tails, and decidedly the newest and most fashion-
able style of corsage.

White muslin bodies are very much worn ; indeed, many
persons wear them during the entire year, and a prettier
style of dress for a young person could not be worn. Even
white muslin bodies are made with coat-tails. The pret-
tiest styles, however, for thin muslins are Garibaldies,
trimmed with puffs, tucks, and insertings. Yokes are
also very pretty formed of colored insertings and puffs.
We. particularly admire the black and white insertings;
they are decidedly more stylish than the gay colors. The
more elegant bodies are embroidered with bees, butterflies,
and hummiug-birds.

Elegant sashes are very much worn, crossed over the
body and fastening at the side. Some are of black lace,
others of black aud white lace mixed, others again are
rich silk scarfs, woven for the purpose with bright bor-
dered and fringed ends. Some are a quarter of a yard
wide, while narrower ones of the same style are made for
children. These, arranged over a pretty white dress, are
perfectly charming.

Corsages, corselets, and points of every description are
worn. We will not, however, dwell upon them, as we
are constantly giving illustrations of the newest and most
attractive styles.

One of the latest inventions is tulle flowers; they are
particularly suited for tulle ball-dresses, opera bonnets,
and wedding wreaths.

The arrangement of the hair varies but little; the
adopted style is to part the front hair in four equal por-
tions. The upper bandeaux on cither side of the parting
are rolled over frizettcs, and the lower locks drawn
plainly back. Tho back hair is generally arranged in a
waterfall, and covered with an invisible net.

Charming little caps, or rather headdresses, are now
worn by young ladies as well as married ones. One style
consists of a square piece of tarletane, about eight inches
every way ; this is bordered with a pinked ruche of the
tarletane, a tulle ruching, or a quilling uf ribbon, and at
each corner is a bow of bright ribbon. It is arranged in
diamond form on the head. The other style consists of a
piece of tarletane or white muslin, half a yard long and
about eight inches wide. One end is pointed and finished
with a bow. The pointed end is placed over the forehead ;
the other end, which is square, hangs down behind ; tha
whole is trimmed with a Anting or ruching of muslin or
tarletane. These are decidedly coquettish and becoming
little affairs.

Festooning the dress has now become a decided fashion,
and we now rarely see a dress "sweeping up the streets.
The simplest method of looping the dress is to sew hooks
and eyes on each breadth of the dress, at proper distances.
If the dress material is of double width, hooks and eye.1
will be required in the centre of each breadth.

We see a great variety in muslin skirts, as many per-
sons have a Btrong prejudice in favor of white skirts,'
particularly during the warm season. Tucks are de-
cidedly in favor, as they are easily done up ; but tha
more elegant skirts are trimmed with fluted ruffles—*
sometimes a single ruffle, sometimes three ruffles. Tha
very latest style, however, is to have the edge of the ruffle
bound with either black or red, and tassels of either blaclc
or red arranged over the fluted ruffle.

A very pretty skirt is made of either white delaine or
cashmere, trimmed with fluted ruffles bound with black
velvet or braid, or else the skirt can be trimmed with puffs
of the material, with bands of velvet between.

Another very pretty and novel style of skirt is formed
of alternate lengthwise stripes of blue and white, black and
white, or scarlet and white cashmere. The lower edge
of each stripe is cut in a sharp point and bound with
velvet. As this style of skirt is rather troublesome to
make, we would suggest that the upper part of the skirt
should be of plain material, and the bordering be but hal.
a yard deep.

Polish boots are now worn both by young and old.
They are generally of black morocco, laced up in front
quite high on the leg. They are bound with scarlet lea-
ther, and trimmed with scarlet tassels ; some are tipped
with patent leather. Lasting boots are frequently trimmed
with velvet rosettes. Boots matching the dress are con-
sidered in very good taste.

Mask veils are altogether worn. Some are fastened at
.the back with a long black lace barbc, which has a very
pretty effect.

Bands of velvet are much worn round the throat. Somi
are ornamented with studs of precious stones, and, though
reminding us somewhat of a dog-collar, they are pretty.
Three or four yards of velvet or ribbon, tied round the
throat and the ends falling at the back, continue to be
worn by young ladies.

The newest hair nets are made of small shells or coral.
They are very pretty and dressy.

Hats are altogether worn for travelling, and the favorite
shape is the turban, with a mask veil. They are generally
trimmed with an aigrette of feather perched in front, or
else a wing.

The latest style of bridal veil is a combination of veil
and mantle. It encircles the face, and is fastened in front
with a bouquet of flowers, thus forming a very pretty and
sufficient trimming for tho corsage.

Fashion.

' JV. Y.

LEAP YEAR.

v I., lxix. — 23

283

SILVER SPRING MAZOURKA.

COMPOSED FOR THE PIANO FORTE FOR GODEY's I. A D Y S BOOK.

By W. H. WILKINSON.

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Black alpaca dress, trimmed with black moLuir lace md velvet Luttcus. The coat ia made of Ihxs
the dress, aud trimmed to match.

286

<uuic Uiuu rial a*

THE ARTILLETTR

P t r suitable f"r «ilk or cl.^th. In either case the trimmings should be of Jet and crudict. If ui;.<1<- nf rlotli, lh*

r»-v :rs of the oa>*[ue fchould be lined with silk.

23* 2)- 7

THE DINORAH.

288

Coat palet.lt, railalile for s.lk, c!o:li, or velvet. The lnrnniinfc"( nu be guipure laee, or crochet gimp.

THE ANDALTJSIAN.

[From the establishment of G. Bbodie, j1 Canal Street, New York. Drawn by L. T. Voigt, from actual articles

of coKtame.]

Tlie ele^auce of this model renders it certain of adoption by those whose figures Justify the choice It will be
perceived that it is a combination of circular and gilet. This is adjusted, of course, to the figure. The m;i title, join-
ii t -r lite vest, is a three-quarter circle ; attached to the vest just beluw the level of the Bhoaldor ;it the back, and
*li-'htly curving upwards over their tips till the seam terminates at the fulness of the breast. The ornaments are
exquisitely designed crochets, and with crochet fringe complete this magnificent pardessus.

The rngravinff above represents a black reive,. We have also seen velvet circulars similarly trimmed, which,
in tlie estimation of many rival the ab«'ve.

^i)0

291

EMBROIDERY PATTERN.

TOILET CUSHION.

This cushion is very pivtty made ol white pUftb and braided with Majeuca mohair bruid. The palLui'u \» ;a»ou.c
for auy material.

292

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293

EMBROIDERY.

Sfe

GODEY'S

Jabj$j %ask into

rniLADELpniA, October, isc4.

"TAKING BOARDERS FOR COMPANY."

A STORT OF THE "HEATED TERM," AND CONTAINING MORE TRUTH THAN ROMANCE.
BY M A It I 0 X HARLA-VD.

[Entered, according to Act of C.incres«, in the year 1S64, by Loris A. fionr.T, in the clerk's office of the District Court
oi tne United Static, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.]

(Continued from page 213.)

CHAPTER IV.

At last the sky really grew clear, the mists
rolled sullenly out of sight into their mount-
ain hiding-places, and the Ketchum house
gave up its prisoners. The children, wild
with joy, were thickly shod and permitted to
in the garden, a tolerably extensive
plot of vegetables, bounded by currant-bushes;
the babies' carriages were brought out into
the drier, because treeless area between the
house and the barn ; the gentlemen were busy
with live bait and fishing-tackle ; the ladies
dispersed in various directions — some to gather
flowers and berries, while others preferred
accompanying their husbands and brothers in
the excursion upon the river.

Mesdanies Bell and Earle were adjudged by
Mr. Norris to be, with their respective lords,
full weight for the capacious family-boat they
had engaged for the season. The young man
had, for his own use, a tight-built, jaunty
little skiff, that danced on the water like a
cork. Would Miss Rose honor his humble
craft by becoming his passenger ?

With a blush and a smile that made her
look prettier than before, Georgie thanked
him for the compliment, and giving him her
hand stepped lightly into the boat and took
her seat in the stern.

"Why, Mr. Norris!" called out a sharp
voice that was only too familiar to the ears of
vol. lxix. — 24

all. " What a naughty story-teller you are !
Didn't you declare to me, last week, when I
almost went down upon my knees to you to
entreat you to give me a sail in your beaute-
ous ' Butterfly,' that it would not be safe for
a lady to go in her ? And here you are, in-
veigling Miss Rose into danger ! Mrs. Bell !
I wouldn't trust my sister alone with such a
wicked, reckless man ! Miss Rose ! I warn
you against his machinations !"

With a movement savoring more of impa-
tience than any other that Georgie had as yet
seen in him, Norris swept the bow of the skiff
around by a stroke of his oar.

"I said that, iu my opinion, it would be
unsafe for you to go with me. Miss Jemima.
I thought so, then — I know it now!"

Miss Jemima commenced an energetic re-
ply— not one word of which they understood,
as they moved down the stream, the three
pairs of oars clicking unnecessarily loudly in
the row-locks, but the sound of her unmelo-
dious tones pursued them until they lost sight
of her behind a bend in the river. She pre-
sented a remarkable figure as she stood on the
bank watching them. On her head was a
wide-brimmed straw hat, yellowish-brown,
from the combined influence of rain and sun-
shine. To the edge of the flapping brim wa;
sewed a curtain of green cambric, thrown
back in front; her dress was a faded print,

- !

296

godey's lady's book and magazine.

tucked up to avoid draggling, and on her arm
she carried a basket, she being bound upon a
berrying expedition. She was a homely wo-
man at the best, but, seen thus, with a vix-
enish look in her gray eyes, and a mortified
sneer she tried vainly to alter into a playful
smirk, curling her lip and lifting her retrousste
nose, she was, at once, a ludicrous and an
unlovely spectacle. Our voyagers were human,
and they united in a hearty laugh when she
disappeared from their view.

' ' Grand tableau ! Dido calling vainly upon
iEneas!" said Mr. Earle. "Take care how
you handle that egg-shell of yours, Norris I
Who knows but she may have cast an evil
spell upon it !"

" I defy her witchcraft I" returned Norris,
glancing involuntarily at the fair, sweet face
of his "passenger" — a look of unconscious
meaning that seemed to claim her as his good
genius, whose pure influence would render
all malevolent designs powerless.

"But wore you really so ungallant as to
refuse her passage in your fairy barque ?" in-
quired Mrs. Earle.

" I told her the truth, madam — that it would
be a perilous experiment for her to accompany
me ; that I thought it more than likely that
one or the other of us would be at the bottom
of the river before we had gone a mile. She
would have run a great risk, for my patience
is not illimitable, and better men than I have
been driven by a woman's tongue to murder
or to suicide. I can assure you that you are
perfectly safe, Miss Rose," he added, lower-
ing his voice, as the boats drifted apart.
"The boat is entirely staunch, and I am not
an inexperienced oarsman."

"I know it. I have not thought of fear,"
was the simple rejoinder, uttered with an
ingenuous trust that sent a thrill to Norris's
heart.

"What are you musing about, Tom?"
asked Mrs. Earle, touching her husband's
arm.

Her own regards being fixed upon the hand-
some young couple, and her mind engrossed
by a pleasant thought relating to them, that
had just entered her brain, she was not quite
prepared for his reply.

"I was dreaming of Miss Jemima's berry-
basiet. I hail its stained sides as the har-
binger of better things for the future — some-
thing less odious than the pie-plant stewed in
molasses, with which she has physicked us

for three evenings past. Berries of any de-
scription, however green and sour, would be
an epicurean treat in comparison with that
villauous dose."

"Why, she recommended it as the most
wholesome sweetmeat in the world, ' quite
medicinal!' " returned his brother-in-law.

The two ladies were instantly and gravely
silent.

"So was Mrs. Squeers' matutinal potion of
brimstone and treacle !" growled Tom, making
a face. "I should not be surprised, some
morning, to find Jemima waiting to catch us
all at the foot of the staircase, with Burley
standing by to hold the bowl, intent upon
administering to each of her dearly beloved
guests a spoonful of the delectable compound,
just to cool the blood !"

"How fast that little boat goes!" Mrs.
Bell adroitly changed the subject.

Norris was indeed pulling with a will, but
was not so engrossed in his work as to be in-
sensible to the charms of the pleasing picture
opposite to him. Georgie wore a summer
poplin, a silver gray fabric ; about her shoul-
ders was cast a light worsted shawl, chin-
chilla and crimson ; a piquante hat. black
straw, with a drooping black plume, shaded
her eyes. These were downcast in modesty
or reverie, and one delicate hand hung over
the gunwale into the water. She was watching
the miniature waves, as they broke up to her
wrist, and enjoying their cool, rapid rush be-
tween her fingers. So graceful and full of
repose were her attitude and expression that
she seemed to shed peace and blessing around
her, like the delicious quiet of a fragrant
summer's eve. jj

"Can she and the fright we left screeching
on shore belong to the same sex ?" meditated
the gazer.

Great is the power of contrast, and this one
was too striking not to have a telling effect
upon imagination and heart. Miss Jemima
never knew it, and there is reason to believe
that she would not have gone into ecstasies
of delight if she had, but this unavoidable
comparison settled a momentous question :
showed Mr. James Norris that Georgie Rose
took rank above any other woman in his
estimation and affections. Miss Jemima had
actually helped one of her "friends" to an
eligible wooer I

The two boats met again on the fishing-
ground, or water. Oars were drawn in,

"TAKING BOARDERS FOR COMPANY."

297

tackle disentangled, bait adjusted and pcr-
Bnaaively lowered, ami the solemnly exciting
sport commenced. For half au hour all
watched and waited before the ball was
opened by Mr. Earle's capture of a prodigious
catfish. Norris next secured a fine silver
perch, and after that affairs assumed a more
interesting aspect. Decidedly, the best fea-
ture of Roaring iiiverwas the fishing. Morris
was a capital angler, and evinced such zeal
and skill in the amusement that Georgie was
ashamed to confess how devoid of attraction
: seemed to her. She shuddered when the
barb was thrust into the quivering, squirming
minnows that did duty as bait ; she grew tired
of staring at the sun-bright water, that made
head and eyes ache, until to her dazzled sight
the motionless "float" changed from white
and green to scarlet, then to black; then be-
came utterly invisible for one blind, dizzy
second. Whenever it really disappeared, she
felt a nervous shock, although it was the very
thing she was instructed to expect and hope
for. and the chief end of a float's creation,
and drew in her line so hastily as usually to
detach the fish that had laid hold of the hook,
and to send him Hying back to his native ele-
ment. She deprecated her awkwardness when
this happened, and perhaps felt the mortifica-
tion her looks and language expressed, but
she inwardly rejoiced, at the same time, at
the release of the writhing innocent. Her
spoils were not numerous, as may be sup-
For an hour, all that she had safely
landed in the boat were two small "shiners,"
so tiny that Morris laughingly seconded her
motion to return. them to the river, and a cat-
fish of decent dimensions. By and by, Morris
In aid her call in a half-frightened tone, "I
think that I must have hooked Leviathan
himself'.'' and hastening to her assistance,
found her tugging desperately at some heavy
weight. Taking the line from her, he hauled
the prize to the surface : a black nose, a hor-
rid, gaping mouth, filled with jagged teeth, a
long, shrivelled neck and shining shell.

"It l»oks like a walrus!" cried Georgie.

"It is a monstrous" mud-turtle ! We have
no accommodations for his lordship," re-
turned Morris.

Scarcely had the mirth at her alarm and
the nature of her captive subsided when
Georgie exclaimed — "This time it is the sea-
serpent!" and, in a paroxysm of laughter
and fear, threw into the bottom of the skiff

an immense eel, twisting and floundering, and
effecting such a complete tangle of his own
summis length and the lines as only an eel
can do.

Georgie was really pale when Norris, with
the help of his clasp-knife, had freed the
creature from the coil of twine, and, rolling
him up, unceremoniously thrust him into the
covered basket provided for their booty. It
was plain that she was too timid or too sensi-
tive to cultivate the piscatory art with any
hope of success. Blaming himself for not
having sooner relieved her from an embarrass-
ing position and distasteful employment, Mor-
ris reeled in his line, and proposed a row up
the stream. There were rocky banks and
shady coves a mile further up, where, the
channel being more shallow, there was no
danger of her taking such grotesque speci-
mens. Georgie consented with a glad face that
confirmed his resolve not to allow her to throw
another hook that day. lie said, moreover,
to himself, that ho admired her for this wo-
manly shrinking from giving needless pain,
and from seeing and handling these uncomely
reptiles. They had a pleasant pull back, past
their starting-point, towards the mountain
gorge that afforded passage to the river. At
length, Norris ran the bows on shore into a
thicket of flowering shrubs, and sprang out
to gather a bouquet for his companion. She
watched him for a time as he mounted mossy
rocks and trod gingerly on marshy ground to
obtain the bright blossoms that grew in pro-
fusion all around ; then quitted the boat and
joined the hunt. It was a delightful ramble
to both, and, tempted by one and another
delicate favorite and brilliant stranger, they
wandered nearly a quarter of a mile away
from the landing.

In her purity of heart and thought, it never
occurred to Georgie that there could be im-
propriety in strolling from bush to vine with
her brother's friend, picking here a flower,
there a cluster of berries, or standing, as they
frequently did, for whole minutes together,
inhaling the spicy smell of the evergreens,
admiring the rich green moss that draped
every fallen trunk and stone, enjoying the
pipings and twitterings of the birds that flew
above their heads in the sunshine, and speak,
ing softly of these and other beautiful things.
It seemed profanation to break by incautious
tones the spell of holy silence nature had
thrown about the place.

293

gopey's ladts book and magazine.

Returning in the direction of their boat,
they were awakened from their midsummer
dream by a sort of rhythmical screeching
proceeding from the cove where their craft
lay. Norris smothered an exclamation of
petulant disgust as he stepped quickly ahead
of his fair charge towards a natural hedge of
evergreen crowning the little cliff. After a
peep through it, he beckoned silently to
Georgie, his eyes brimful of fun, and his lips
apart in noiseless laughter. Right beneath
them, in the stern of the skiff, sat Miss Je-
mima, her unique head-covering thrown back
upon her shoulders, her hair dishevelled, her
eyes upturned, and herself wrapped in the
enjoyment of her own music.

" My skiff Is by the shore ;
She 's light, she 's freo-e-e !
To ply the feathered oar

Is joy for ine-e-e!
And, as we glide along.
My song shall be-e-e,
My dearest one — I love but thee !

Tra la, la, la, la-a-a, la, la, la, la'
Tra la, la, la-a-a-a-e-e-e / "

The cadenza was absolutely frightful, and,
feeling unable to bear a repetition, Norris
descended the shelving side of the rock into
full view of the songstress, and turned to
assist Georgie down.

"I am making myself at home, you per-
ceive, Mr. Norris," commenced the talking-
machine, not offering to vacate the seat that
had been Georgie's. " Oh-h-h ! I have had
the sweetest time here, holding communion
with nature. I do so adore nature ! As the
divine Cowper— or is it darling Tupper who
says 'I am never less alone than when alone?'
Solitude is my specialty ; so is nature. I
feel refreshed, elevated, purified by my sea-
son of converse with the holy mother. She
has few more devout worshippers than myself.
I was so weary ! I have walked at least five
miles ; and, chancing to espy your lovely
Peri's shell lying here, I formed the bold
resolution of casting myself upon your cha-
rity, and begging for a passage homeward in
her. See what splendid berries — and a bas-
ketful ! Won't they pay for my ticket ? And
your ' Butterfly' put me so in mind of that
delicious little song of Moore's, ' Come, 0
come with me,' that I couldn't help chanting
it, and we have had quite a concert — I and
the birds."

This was too much. Norris was vexed and
Georgie disconcerted by the prospect of the

addition to their load, but both were obliged
to laugh.

"There must be a colony pf crows' near
by," said the former, sotto voce, pretending to
pluck a flower close to Georgie's feet. "The
insult to the feathered tribe can be excused
upon no other hypothesis."

But how to get out of the present dilemma
was a serious question. The idea of ending a
forenoon that had been elysian in its delights
by a row home with this bedlamite — thus he
termed her iu his irritated musings — facing
him, and chattering like a score of magpies,
in place of the dear and beauteous vision that
had blessed his eyes, and the soft, musical
accents that had wooed his hearing for hours
past, was intolerable ; yet there sat Miss Je-
mima, a stubborn fact, and one hard to rid
himself of. For once her everlasting tongue
furnished him with a welcome thought.

"I suppose you were very. successful in
your fishing, were you not, Miss Rose ? I
have no doubt that you are an adept in all
descriptions of angling. Don't you think so,
Mr. Norris?" — with a spiteful little laugh.
"She angles well for hearts, as we have al-
ready discovered. Are you fond of water
sports, Miss Rose?"

"I hardly know," Georgie answered, not
very audibly.

It would uot have signified if she had said
nothing, for the machine was under a lull
head of steam, and stayed not for such trifles
as replies.

"Now, /dote upon the water! Oh-h-h!
I think aquatic amusements perfectly magni-
ficent ! Fishing, bathing, sailing, rowing ! I
can fish like dear old Izaak Walton, whose
poems we all admire so much ; swim like a
duck ; sail as long as a genuine Jack Tar, and
row like — anything ! I have often, after a
hard day's work, pulled myself and sisters
three miles down the river and back, just for
recreation, on a moonlight night. Water is
my specialty."

"In that case, I am acting a kindly hospi-
table part in resigning the ' Butterfly''entircly
to you," said Norris, politely. "Deal gently
with her, if you please ! She is coquettish
and delicate, like her insect namesake. Miss
Rose and I are going to walk through the
woods, in continuation of our botanical stu-
dies— that is, unless you are tired," he added,
turning to Georgie.

She answered, rather too eagerly: "Not in

'•TAKING BOARDE&S FOB COMPANY."

209

tin- least ! I shall enjoy the walk, of all
things.''

•• 1 cannot consent," remonstrated Miss Jo-
mima. vehemently. "I am shocked at the
thought of doing so rude a thing. There is
plenty of room for us all. I am light as a
.feather — positively aerial, and — "

"The last feather broke the camel's back,
you remember,'' interposed Norris. "The
matter is settled, Miss Jemima. Shall I have
of pushing you off?" — as cour-
leously as he would have requested a part-
ner's hand for a dance.

Not pausing for a response, he gave the boat
a shove meant to be gentle but effectual,
which sent the "Peri's shell" rocking and
pitching into the middle of the creek.

"Murder!" screamed Miss Jemima. But
she scrambled over into the middle seat and
seized the oars, handling them like an expert
iin the business before her.

" Bun :■ ."■ said Norris, lifting his hat.

And the pedestrians disappeared among the

A vinegar visage and a bitter heart went
down the muddy stream in the Butterfly.
The botanists carried smiling faces and buoy-
ant spirits along the path through wood and
meadow.

| "Are you sure that I have not wearied
you >." inquired Norris, as they reached the
ifarm-house gate. "Your friends will scold
m.-. and I shall not soon forgive myself if this
walk has been too much for your strength."
\ "The walk! you must not think me such
a fragile fine lady that a ramble of half a mile
can break me down," smiled Georgie.
, It was nearer a mile in length, as Norris
iknew, but did not say, however well pleased
'he may have been at the compliment to his
Society, so innocently implied.
• In crossing the lawn they had to pass the
jloor of the wash-house, a small building to the
jleft of the family residence. The doors, front
*ind rear, were open to secure a free circulation
of air : and between these, to get the benefit of
»aid draught, stood Mr. Burley, hat and coat
3ff, diligently turning the crank of a washing-
aiachine. Outside, Daffy, the small bound
|;irl, was stretching wet clothes upon the line.
[Upon a chair in the front doorway sat Miss
jSaccharissa, her hair in full carl, and, as
psnal, dressed with Mr. Barley's tloral offer-
ings, her hands crossed idly, and her smiling
'ae turned bewitchingly towards her stalwart

■M*

adorer. It was a received principle among
the Ki'tclmins that smiles were more easily
given than shillings, and in this currency the
fair baccharissa was recompensing her washer-
man.

"Hercules and the distaff," said Georgie,
softly.

"Mantalini and the mangle, rather," was
the response.

The speaker took no pains to conceal tho
contempt miugled in his amusement, and Mr.
Burley, who was not dull-witted, detected it.

"You may consider this an unmanly occu-
pation, Mr. Norris," he observed, brushing
the soap-scented vapor from his black mous-
tache ; "but I rise superior to the contempti-
ble prejudice and false pride that make a man
ashamed to render himself useful in any way."

"Mr. Burley is the soul of gallantry, tho
very embodiment of high-souled chivalry — a
rare combination in these degenerate days,"
simpered Miss Sacoharissa, sugaredly. "Daf-
fy, lend a hand at that clothes-ringer!"

11 ' Spirits are not finely touched
But to fine issues,' "

quoted Norris, involuntarily, as the Hercules
shook out the wrung tablecloth and tossed it,
with a triumphant air, upon the heap of wet
clothes in the basket.

Burley failed to take in the exact words,
but he interpreted their meaning, and resente 1
it, alter the manner of his class, by a cut at
the real offender over the shoulders of another.
It was safer to be impertinent to a lady than
insulting to a full-grown, able-bodied man.
Georgie's poplin skirt was looped above a
Balmoral gray and crimson, revealing her
high, neatly-laced walking-boots. Glancing
from her feet to her face, where there was a
merry play of roses and dimples, the gentle-
man (.') asked, in a rudely familiar tone :
"Miss Rose, will you inform me what is the
utility or beauty of wearing a skirt so long
that you have to fasten it up whenever you
put your foot to the ground ?"

Norris Hushed up angrily, and would have
retorted, but Georgie was too quick for him.

"Not being so thorough a utilitarian a-i
yourself, Mr. Burley, I do not know that I can
give you a satisfactory reply. I presume,
however, that this very sensible fashion is
another illustration of the beauty and propri-
ety of adaptation to circumstances" —

"Don't see it!" muttered Burley, inter-
rupting her.

300

LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

" Because you did not hear me through. I
was about to give an analogous example.
There are persons with whom we feel it to be
needless to practise formal reserve, as my
dress fears nothing from a well-swept carpet ;
while from others we shrink as surely and
with as much reason as I loop up my skirt
lest it should suffer by contact with the muddy
earth." And, having said this, with the
most innocent air conceivable, she dropped
him a little bow, such as a princess might
deign to bestow upon a presuming boot-black,
and walked on with her attendant. She
meant to huff one man — she never suspected
that she elated another, but they both knew
the double effect produced by her repartee,
and so did Miss Saccharissa. It was hourly
becoming more evident that our Georgie was
an incorrigible rebel to the beautiful system
of social equality which lay at the base of the
Ketchum domestic organization.

Mr. and Mrs. Earle had already returned
from the fishing-banks, and she upon, one
bed, he on the other, were resting after the
exertions of the morning and preparatory to
dressing for dinner. He was quite asleep ;
she was half way to the land of dreams, when
a hubbub in the direction of the wash-house
awoke her. Raising herself upon one elbow,
she peeped through the window and beheld
Miss Jemima, basket in hand, her hat pushed
back from a very red face, discoursing exci-
tedly to her sisters and Mr. Burley.

"I never was so insulted in all my born
days!" was the first intelligible sentence that
reached Mrs. Earle. "Never! never! never!"
beginning to sob — " and I '11 have my revenge
upon him, so I will ! and I am ashamed of
you. Mr. Burley, that you will stand by tamely
and hear of it — and I am disgusted with you,
Hortensia, for submitting to have your beau
stolen right under your nose by a doll-faced
minx like that, and — Saccharissa ! if you
don't stop laughing, I'll make you sorry for
it ! Daffy ! what are you doing, standing
there, listening ? Off to the kitchen with you ! ' '
A cuff upon the ear enforced this order, and
the termagant marched off, driving the whim-
pering handmaiden before her.

CHAPTER V.

The supper, that evening, was marked by
two interesting features : First, the substi-

tution of dewberries for the brownish-green
mixture whose virtues as a febrifuge were
lauded by the manufacturer thereof, but which
commended itself, neither by taste, odor, nor
appearance, to the fancy of those for whose
benefit it was prepared ; secondly, clean nap-
kins were dealt to all at the board.

I should fail in presenting to my readers a
true picture of this model establishment —
which, I take this opportunity of saying, is
painted from life — if I were to omit mention
of the table-napkin system. A fresh supply
of these useful squares of napery was fur-
nished every Wednesday to the guests. A
slip of paper, containing the name of the
owner, was carefully pinned to each, and the
advice of the proprietors was that all should
take their napkins up to their bed-rooms, at
the conclusion of every meal, lest this distin-
guishing mark should become detached and
unpleasant exchanges result from the loss.
There was not one who did not appreciate the
wisdom of this counsel, when it was found
that there would be no more clean table-linen
until these had fulfilled their week. For two
or three days, as the case might be, the ab-
surd and increasingly soiled little rolls were
carried up and down stairs, one of the children
being generally appointed bearer for each
family ; then, in very shame and disgust,
they were tossed into the receptacle for dirty
linen, and such as had brought napkins of
their own along, in anticipation of picnics in
greenwood and on river, used theirs, while
others had recourse to pocket-handkerchiefs.

But, to-night, there were clean napkins,
thanks to. Mantilini and the mangle ; and the
Misses Ketchum felicitated their visitors upon
the luxury. Miss Jemima, who had been
snappish at dinner-time*to such a degree that
she felt herself called upon to remind each
one of her sisters that she was forgetting her
position, had cooled down by sunset, or bad
concluded to bottle her wrath.
. "Oh! oh! oh-h-h!" she said, over her
shoulder, while pouring out the tea. at the
side-table. "Isn't a washing-machine thel
invention of the age ? Just think! we washed
out all the towels and table-linen for the wholi
establishment in one hour and a half!"

"Mamma!" chirped Annie Bell, "see!"
poking five small, pink fingers through the
like number of rents in her napkin.

Everybody laughed, more heartily than the
occasion seemed to warrant.

'TAKING boarders for company.

301

" 5fe8, dear." returned Miss Jemima, nowise
ashed ; "I meant to get some new ones this
ason, but they were too awfully dear. We
ght to he thankful to have any. I know
me professed boarding-houses where such
thing as a napkin is never seen on the table.
W, we don't pretend to keep a boarding-
n<>\ but we i/ogive our friends the comforts
a home, let it cost what it may. Every -
Hng is shockingly expensive, now; don't
•u think so, Mrs. Earle ? I paid lifteen cents
pound for that very sugar you are now
jrtling into your cup."

Indeed !" answered the amiable lady ad-
with equal sincerity and politeness,
I should not have supposed that it cost so
Ben."

-Another, but a partially suppressed move-

■ent of applause. The guests were fast learn-

jg to make common cause against their

•jipressors ; a feeling manifested only by

'ch slight and guarded exhibitions of sym-

■t.thy. All were well-bred, accustomed to

jigance, some to luxuriousness of fare and

rnsehold appointments. IIow they bore

eir present mode of life was a puzzle even

themselves. But there were various things

at rendered a change of place a matter dif-

■Jult of accomplishment. It was now the

ight of the fashionable season, and watering-

md country boarding-houses had never

en more crowded. It was almost hopeless

think of securing lodgings for families at

jry of these, and the extreme heat of the

leather forbade a premature return to city

B- This location all believed to be healthy,

sides being so remote from all public thor-

ighfares as to make the removal of baggage

id babies a serious undertaking. Then,

;ain, the society assembled here — leaving,

lit the Ketvlnims and their lover-assistant —

as irreproachable. Social and kindly, in

eling and conduct, the boarders did much

wards the relief of one another from the

any disagreeable features of their situation.

)r example — one gentleman, the head of a

mily. whose arrival had preceded that of the

Blls and Earles by ten days, having dis-

■vered that the scarcity of eggs was, like the

ibility of the kitchen-fire, a constitutional

firmity of the manage, visited the neighbor-

g farms and obtained the promise of a liberal

ipply of these desirable and popular edibles.

enceferward. a dish of them always graced

le upper end of the board, where sat the

purchaser, and three as invariably found their
B a to the plates of Harry and Annie Bell and
Bessie Earle, although their parents gratefully
declined the polite offer of the delicacy for
their own use.

For eggs were delicacies here — rare dainties
upon a breakfast-table where, .lay after day,
and week after week, the eyes of wistful
"guests" were never greeted by a warm bis-
cuit or griddle-cake of any description ; where
the article "bread" meant always the four
piles of sour wheat and heavy rye; where the
beef was tough beyond comparison, and, to
use an expressive, if a vulgar term, "cowey"
to the smell, giving, as Mr. Earle said, "indu-
bitable evidence of having borne the yoke in
a youth that belouged-to the far past;" where
the ham, that sometimes diversified the bill
of fare, was not unfrequently tainted; where
the potatoes were always grayish and unpleas-
antly glutinous; above all, where the hash,
as was discovered by the horrified Mary, and
testified to by the sickened Norah, was com-
pounded of the miscellaneous fragments of
yesterday's feast — in plain language, such
portions of the scrapings from the plates as
were deemed suitable for this savory dish !

"Still," says some disgusted reader, "I
cannot comprehend how they endured it ! If
I had been in the place of Mr. or Mrs. Bell, I
would never have slept a second night under
the Ketchnm roof."

I dislike to divulge the fact, since I fear
that it will lower my martyr friends in the
estimation of the lovers of moral courage ;
stamp them as arrant cowards in the minds of
those who have never been so unlucky as to
taste of similar experiences ; but, as a vera-
cious chronicler, I cannot withhold the state-
ment that one of the most powerful dissuasives
to the immediate and indignant departure of
the dupes was the fear of Miss Jemima's
tongue ! I am prepared to admit the pusilla-
nimity of this course, my dear sir ; my dearest
madam, I grant yon that it was a miserable
baseness of spirit, unworthy of grown-up men
and women; but, respected sir and madam,
ynu never heard Miss Jemima talk! Espe-
cially (and I write it with groanings of spirit in
the retrospect) you never heard her talk with
a sister at each side, on the alert to dash in
to her help at the least signal of faltering; to
cover any chance opening in her harness
caused by a momentary and providential ex-
haustion of the wind in the bellows ! It was

302

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

never your misfortune to witness the flash of
the eye, the twist of the moutli, the viragoish
upturning of the nose that accompanied and
intensified the fulmination of some ' ' stunner, ' '
like that hurled, on the evening of which we
have just been speaking, at Mrs. Bonner, a
gentle, lovely lady, wife to him whom Bessie
Earle gratefully styled "the egg gentleman."
The provocation for Miss Jemima's petard
would have appeared very slight to a disinte-
rested looker-on. The bitter-sweet spinster,
who was an inveterate gossip, pulling other
people's characters into shreds as publicly as
she proclaimed the "sacred sensibilities" of
her own refined nature, was discussing the
manners, appearance, etc. of a lady who had
passed a part of the preceding summer in the
enjoyment of the Ketchuin hospitalities. As
it happened, Mrs. Bonner was an acquaintance
of the party assailed, and was stirred up by
the uncharitable and sarcastic remarks of the
hostess to defend the absentee.

"She paid her bill, I presume," said the
usually quiet matron, in a clear, even tone,
but with a flushed cheek and kindling eye.

So full of meaning was her face and intona-
tion that all felt she had made a fair hit at
Miss Jemima — the first on record, except Nor-
ris's telling replies, which, it was whispered,
the eldest sister bore with such singular meek-
ness in the ambitious hope of securing him as
a lifelong partner for Hortensia. Jemima was
neither thick-skinned nor thick of skull.
Taken by surprise she certainly was, but she
let no one perceive this. She set the teapot
down with a thump, and wheeled upon the
assailant.

" Paid her bill ! yes, and found lots of fault
while she did it! That is a thing we don't
allow in this establishment ! a privilege not
set down in the bill of rights! We don't
invite people to come here ! Thank fortune,
we are not obliged to stoop to that ! We con-
sent to receive a few friends who solicit us to
do so, and when they are under our roof-tree
they must be contented, or else leave ! If
there is one vice upon earth that I can't,
sha'n't, and won't tolerate, it is grumbling!
My rule is to put it down, instanter!"

Everybody made a mighty show of being
busy with his or her supper. Mrs. Bonner
was intimidated. Being a lady by nature and
breeding, she was unfit to contend with a loud-
tongued shrew. The rest of the company felt,
and despised themselves for mean-spirited

cravens while they did so, that she, Mrs. Bo{
ner, was effectually "put down," and that '.
must, in truth, be a valiant man of war wlkj
should attempt, after this volley, to grunib
in Miss Jemima's hearing.

The latter part of that July and the fir
week in August were .known throughout tl »
country as "the heated term." The new |
papers teemed with stories of the extren:
heat in the cities ; how the thermometer stoc
at 100 in the shade, and eggs were baked b
the sunbeams, and men fell by the score i
the scorching streets, dying or dead from sui
stroke. The Ketchuin sisters were profus
and clamorous in their congratulations to the
captives upon their immunity from these an
the host of kindred disasters incident to
sojourn in the "horrid, unhealthy town,
and enumerated almost ad infinitum, qui: .
ad nauseam, the manifold blessings they ha
purchased by a judicious flight to this delect.-
ble refuge. And the unhappy twenty pantefl
through the breezeless nights, in close pros
imity to the hot roof, vainly fanning the dam
or fevered faces resting on the coarse cotto
pillow-slips, hardly able to endure the weigh
even of the scanty sheets ; leaving their dooi
wide open until driven to desperation by th
hum and sting of ravenous mosquitoes, the
shutting themselves in and a few hundred i-
their tormenters out, until, again urged t
extremity by suffocation, they admitted al
who chose to come.

Mem. Mosquitoes never molested Miss Jt
mima. Tom Earle said — "It was no wondei
He was not so harsh in his judgment, even c
these pests, as to suspect them of the depra
vity of taste that would lead them to bite her

Heavy-eyed and spiritless, the boarders mt
at breakfast, and ate, -as well as they coul
force themselves to do, of the stereotype
abominations offered and commended to thei
attention, airily and pitilessly, by the trio o
Graces — or Fates ; this work accomplished
they dispersed to seek a fresher atmosphen
and quiet, if not refreshment, in orchard
meadow, or wood. Commuuity of suffering i:
a sure bond of hearts, and in a marvellousb
short time the victims became warmly attache'
to each other, and formed a mutual aid society

"But for our luncheons, we must hav<
starved," said Mrs. Bell, feelingly, in late
months, when the thin veil of moderate con
tentment with the '"establishment" was ren
away.

"taktxo boarders for company."

303

'All, those luncheons!" responded her

er. " Do you remember how Tom, Ronald,
Mr. Bonner took turns in going down to
eity for supplies, and the jubilee that en-

I upon their return — the vote, of thanks,
all that ? Those charming yiftes champStrel

II we ever forget them?" •-''
is. Bell had a covered hand-basket; Mrs.

'iner ditto ; ditto Mrs. Earle. The place of
dezvous was a large, flat stone on a hill-
;!, distance from the house nearly a mile,
yas shaded by chestnuts and hemlocks,
J beneath the boughs one had a tolerable
Bpect of river and low grounds. Here, at
; appointed hour, were collected the three
pes Bountiful. Napkins — private proper-
yon may be sure, since they were damask,

clear white — covered the rough face of the
c; crackers, cakes, cheese, nuts, apples, figs
e set out in tempting array ; a spring, hard
iwas the wine-cooler, for it was "against
rules" for visitors to invade the ice-house.
1 The water from our well is so deliciously

that ice really spoils it," Miss Jemima

wont to remark.

ither also came punctually the hungry-
d children, who, to the delight of their
1ents, seemed for a time, in spite of bad
. close bedrooms, heat, and mosquitoes, to
ve in the country, and enjoy the freedom
kit-door life. No royal banquet could ever
ig to the partakers thereof one tithe of the
piness or inspire one-hundredth part of
admiration that these simple repasts ex-
Id in the breasts of the little creatures,
her came, on most days, the husbands of

entertainers, hot and thirsty after the
se or angling ; sometimes with spoils,
Inest, when their quest had been conducted
dry land, empty-handed ; for a fortnight's
gent beating of every available cover within
idius of six miles resolved the interesting
•y of the abundant game of the region into
s Mr. Earle conveyed the verdict of the
iting committee — "bosh." Last, not least,
e met Norris and Georgie, if, indeed, they
not make their appearance in company,
i glowing reports of a sail up to the head
javigation or a stroll in the woods,
ounging on the grass, eating hiscnits, .
jerbread, and cheese, with an avidity they

never felt at any more sumptuous board,
>ing wine, porter, and ale from drinking
iels of divers patterns and dimensions,
n the babies' silver mugs to a huge yellow

earthenware bowl, borrowed secretly by Mary
from 'the nominal eook, the real scullion of
the house, a raw Hibernian, whose one recom-
mendation was her exceeding good nature,
the revellers told stories, cracked jokes at
and with one another, and enjoyed the sylvan
fete until the sun, striking through the leafy '
canopy at the westerly side, warned them of
the approaching dinner-hour ; likewise that
punctuality was one of Miss Jemima's innu-
merable "specialties."

It need not be said, after describing the
scene at luncheon time, that the participants
in the private collation brought slender appe-
tites to the principal meal of the day in-doors.
It was well that they were not voraciously
inclined, for the bill of fare corresponded well
with that of the breakfast-table. More oft kfss
could hardly be said of either. Tough beef, or
underdone mutton, dubbed, par contptaisance,
"lamb," formed the chief dish, and was
carved by Mr. Burley at the side table, with
a just regard to the number of mouths to be
provided for. By the time it came to the
children's turn, a triangular lump of tallow or
a half denuded bone was all that was left for
each. Soaked potatoes, that stuck viciously
in one's teeth, and oppressed the stomach
like hot lead ; string beans that deserved their
appellation, greasy and imperfectly drained ;
now and then a mess of onions, discolored by
being cooked in an iron pot, and guiltless of
butter or cream ; these were the vegetables.
As to fish, of which there were several excel-
lent varieties iu the river, it was an inscrutable
mystery what became of the quantities brought
in daily by the amateur anglers, until Master
Harry solved the riddle by reporting that so
long as there was a fish on the premises the
farm hands never tasted meat at their meals,
except, perhaps, a bit of the salt pork used
for frying the finny tribe.

Harry was likely to become what the French
call Venfant terrible to the hosteSses. He it
was who soonest possessed himself of the de-
tails they would have kept secret pertaining
to the interior machinery of their vaunted
housewifery; dragged to light, with boyish
wonder and mischievous exultation, many a
mean pretence and stingy cheat. For exam-
ple, it was reserved for him to walk boldly
into the kitchen, one evening, soon after
"milking time," and detect Miss Saccharissa
in the very act of watering the foamy, white
contents of the pails, just set down by Daffy.

304

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

"Whydoyou do tliat ?" he asked, directly.
"Don't it spoil the milk?"

From Miss Jemima he might have caught a
scolding, if not a push or tweak of the ear.
Miss Saceharissa reddened visibly, but re-
sponded sweetly: "It cools it a little, my
darling, hefore it goes on the table. The la-
dies don't like milk warm from the cow. It
is very ungenteel. But little boys cannot
understand these matters."

"Why don't you put ice in it, instead?"
■ "Why, my dear, that would both waste
the ice and dilute the milk. Don't you see ?"

The poultry promised by Miss Jemima in
her written bill of fare was very slow in com-
ing. For three mortal weeks a crew of chat-
tering hens, lordly roosters, and saucily piping
chicjcens strutted and strolled unmolested in
the barnyard, before the covetous eyes of the
visitors, while upon the side-table ox relieved
sheep, and the porcine species contributed an
occasional rasher or an unctuous chunk from
the barrel of pickle in the cellar. But at
length, impatient waiting had its reward ;
the day arrived when olfactories joyfully in-
haled the savor of roast fowl, and visual or-
gans feasted upon the remembered outlines of
a goodly-sized bird, lying, with trussed legs
and folded wings, in the centre of the side-
table dish. The children tiptoed, pointed,
and whispered gigglingly in their delight ;
those of a larger growth could not restrain
an exchange of amused yet congratulatory
glances. Harry alone remained phlegmatic,
and his mother noted this with the more sur-
prise because his fondness for poultry was
proverbial in the home-circle. Her amaze-
ment increased when, in reply to Miss Je-
mima's business-like query, "Pork or fowl,
Master Harry?" he said, very decidedly,
"Pork, if you please."

Miss Jemima eyed him sharply as she passed
him a plate containing an oleaginous morsel ;
but he heloVhis peace, and attacked the fatty
slice with such energy as to consume nearly
a half of the same.

There was only one fowl, but Mr. Burley
was at the helm — to wit, the carving-knife —
and it "went around." Wee Annie only got
a merrythought with a dry piece of white
meat adhering to it ; but her mother changed
her look of disappointment into a smile of
grateful pleasure by transferring the second
joint — her share of the spoils — to the little
girl's plate, really enjoying her own dinner of

dressing and gravy, while her child eage
devoured the tidbit.

" We have a royal dinner to-day, positivi (
a sumptuous banquet!" said Miss Jemin \,
when the plates were removed to make w
for the dessert. This was also dispensed l't<
the convenient side-table, the dishes of vcj
tables being left upon the main board for t r
family dinner, a labor-saving plan that f
not very appetizing to the guests. "F
and huckleberry pie ! Just think of it
continued Miss Jemima, rapturously.

Lest they should not think enough of
she actually cut a triangle out of the pie a
ate it, as she stood in the sight of all prcse:
before she offered to help a single other pers> ||

"Jemima," said Hortensia, distressed
"I am ashamed of you!"

"I don't care if you are, miss," rejoir
the spunky elder. "Huckleberry pie is i m
specialty, and, for fear of accidents, I mean ..
make sure of one piece."

The huckleberries were sweetened w
molasses, as had been the long series of dri
apple and rhubarb tarts that had preced jj
this tempting dessert. Nevertheless,
change of fare was rather agreeable thji
otherwise, and the eaters would have ov
looked the treacle flavor, if the pies had 1 <i
"given out" before all were supplied. Fi
or six were compelled to partake of a tastelt ,
rice pudding, or go without any nomina
sweet conclusion to the "sumptuous b;
quet." Miss Jemima, as was now appare
had foreseen this shortcoming, and, with 1
bitual shrewdness, looked out for Number

"The chicken was not very tender,"
marked Mrs. Bell, on the piazza, after dinn
"Still, it was pleasant to see and taste po
try once again. I ho"pe this is a beginning
better days."

' ' That means a little more of the same so
doesn't it?" queried her son, with couri Jt
gravity.

"Yes, my dear. We would not object
the like every day."

Hearing this, Harry roared out laughing,

"Mamma! mamma! you will be the der
of me ! If you just knew all I do ! Ho ! 1
.ho!" placing both hands on the pit of
stomach, with an indescribable contortion
countenance.

"Tell us what you do know, you viciojs
young monkey !" said Mr. Earle, laying k<».
of him.

TIIE DEPARTED WIFE.

Yes, my man ; if there is a laugh in it,

is have it!" added his father.

Maybe you won't feel like laughing when

hoar it. papa. But I don't mind telling,

that none of them" — nodding towards

1 dining-room, which was kept jealously

ed while "the family" ate — "are by to

■•. Toil mast know that that fat old white

laid down and died yesterday, with the

or colic, or dropsy, or something. Joe

.ner and I came upon her just as she was

ng her last kick out there behind the pig-

! and we ran to call Miss Jemima. She

| Mr. l'.url.v came out and looked at her,

' wondered what had ailed her, and said

tt a loss she was. and we — Joe and I —

fed at her with sticks, just to make sure

she was a sure-enough 'goner,' until

Barley picked her up and threw her high

lpon the top of the ice-house, and told us

* fct her alone. I saw her lying up there, as

89 a poker, early this morning, and then

••got all about her until I saw that we had

for dinner. While the rest of you were

ng your seats, I slipped out of the dining-

i and ran to look for heT. There was not

:n of her on the top of the ice-house ; but

itiv way back, I saw a heap of white and

ikied feathers in a basket just outside the

hen-door, arid as sure as I am a live hoy,

le lay Old Whitey's head right in the

fet of them ! I knew it by the top-knot.

rather thought I wouldn't eat fowl to-

I — there, mamma ! I knew you would feel

' Mrs. Bell had arisen hastily, looking

white — "but papa and Uncle Earle

Id have the whole story !"

(Conclusion next month.)

I ITEM WHICH EVERY MAN SHOULD

READ.
''e have probably all of us met with in-
ces in which a word heedlessly spoken
lost the reputation of a female has been
nified by malicious minds until the cloud
become dark enough to overshadow her
le existence. To those who are accus-
ed— not necessarily from bad motives, but
i thoughtlessness — to speak lightly of
lies, we recommend these "hints" as
:hy of consideration : —
Never use a lady's name in an improper

e, at an improper time, or in mixed com-

f. Never make assertions about her that

you think are untrue, or allusions that you
fed she herself would blush to hear. When
you meet with men who do not scruple to
make use of a woman's name in a reckless
and unprincipled manner, shun them, for
they are the very worst members of the com-
munity— men lost to every sense of honor,
every feeling of humanity. Many a good and
worthy woman's character has been forever
ruined and her heart broken by a lie, manu-
factured by some villain, and repeated where
it should not have been, and in the presence
of those whose little judgment could not
deter them from circulating the foul and brag-
ging report. A slander is soon propagated,
and the smallest thing derogatory to a wo-
man's character will fly on the wings of the
wind, and magnify as it circulates until its
monstrous weight crushes the poor uncon-
scious victim. Respect the name of woman,
for your mother and sisters are women ; and as
you would have their fair name untarnished,
and their lives unembittered by the slander-
er's biting tongue, heed the ill that your own
words may bring upon the mother, the sister,
or the wife of some fellow-creature."

THE DEPARTED WIFE.

(Mrs. Susan W. Crosby died in Brunswick, Missouri,
February 13, 1S64.)

BY E. CROSBY.

O fair and lovely- ! They, whose eyes

H.id rested on thy face,
Not soon forget that radiant smile

Of gentleness and grade.
O fair and lovely ! They, who heard

Thy words of troth refined,
Forget the heauty of the brow

In beamy of the mind.

0 fair and lovely ! Many a heart
With grateful warmth retains

The record <>f thy liberal deeds

That soothed their wants and pain.
But all the charms that cheered our home
' To me were only known —
And all the innrT life of love

Reserved for me atone.
So is my grief unfathomed still

By those who but beheld
The polished surface of the gem

That heaven's own spirit held.
And yet, remembering how thy breast

Was on the Saviour staid,
And how His arm embrac-d thy soul

In the dark valley's shade —
Remembering that the pure in heart

God's glorious face shall see —

1 kneel amid my tears, and pour
A hymn of praise for thee !

THE MINISTER'S WIFE.

JY MARY KYLE DALLAS.

To be the minister's wife is the very tie plus
ultra of distinction in the eyes of a Tillage
maiden, particularly in the Eastern States.
No one can deny that; and, knowing this to
be the case, no one can wonder that a single
man is generally exceedingly successful in a
rural district, while a married clergyman finds
it far more difficult to make a favorable im-
pression under the argus eyes perpetually
fixed upon himself and his spouse, who never,
in any ease, comports herself in a manner
which quite tallies with the preconceived ideas
of the spinsters in her husband's congregation
as to what the clergyman's wife ought to Be.

The gentlemen who had successively, but,
alas ! not successfully, filled the pastorate of
Appleblow, had good reason to learn this les-
son by heart. They had all been married
men; they had all had large families and
small salaries, principally paid in what was
known in the neighborhood as "green truck"
and "garden sass," and had never given
satisfaction. After the first few months, the
trustees groaned over the salary. The elders
began to wonder whether Brother A. was quite
right on "them there doctrinal p'ints." The
congregation complained of not being visited
enough, of not being sufficiently edified. A
few influential personages gave up their pews,
and travelled miles every Sunday to a church
in another village where they were better
pleased, even at the expense of breaking the
fourth commandment with regard to the
"cattle" and the "man-servant." Andfinally
matters came to a crisis, and there was a
vacancy in the Appleblow pulpit, and a suc-
cession of young ministers and old, who
preached "by request," and generally made
a favorable impression. And finally another
call was made, another pastor came, was wel-
comed, fSted, treated to donation parties,
ascended to the summit of popular favor on
the wings of the wind, and descended as ra-
pidly, until his light died out in darkness.

Appleblow was particularly unfortunate in
this respect ; it was, in fact, famed for its
dismission of pastors without peculiar provo-
cation. Clergymen, so to speak, "foughtshy"
of the pretty village with the white spire in
306

the middle of it, and declined calls thereunto
and many a grave middle-aged man gave goa
advice to Walter Redlaw, the newly-fledge
clergyman who at last proclaimed himse
willing to be installed as pastor of Appleblow
Men of more experience, men old enough 1
be Redlaw' s grandfather, had failed there-
able men, too, whose orthodoxy could not rj
questioned. Redlaw was a man of promise-
why should he doom himself to certain dij
appointment at the outset of his career
Nobody approved of the act ; but Redla^
ardent, hopeful, and not twenty-five, was a1
the more resolved to accept the call. To sue
ceed where no one else had ever succeeds
before him, to do good, to become beloved, t
see his congregation grow about him, and t)
end his days at last where he had begun hi
life of pastor, wept for by old and young, anl
humbly looking forward for reward in heaviii
for the good he (as an instrument in hi
Maker's hands) had done amongst his flock-]
a pure and beautiful ambition, albeit worklll
men might smile at it as being very humble

So Walter Redlaw came to Appleblow, an4
stood before the pulpit during the ceremon;
of installation one evening, and received tli|
charge from the presbytery with an humbly
determination (God helping him) to obey it:
and the next Sabbath stood in the pulpit, anil
preached unto the people.

There are some very few young men win
have all a woman's beauty without beinj
effeminate. Walter Redlaw was one of thesa
He had soft golden-brown hair, which couil)
not be dubbed "red" by hia greatest eneniyl
A broad, high forehead, white as flesh an<)
blood could be, regular features, pearly teetlij
and a color that came and went — now tliJ
faintest tinge of rose-leaf, now deepest carnaJ
tion. Moreover, he was neither puny nol
ungraceful, stood straight as an arrow, anq
had a voice clear and musical, and powerful
enough to fill the church without an effortj
and give old Deacon Pugsby for the first tiui^
no chance to deliver himself of his well worrj
jest — "Dominie hadn't nuthin' to say t' us to-
day, so he thort he 'd mumble on 't, so 'st we
shouldn't know it."

TIIE MINISTERS WIFI

307

Village girls, with bright round ryes and
Keeks into which the peony-red seemed burnt
M are the hues of porcelain, wondered at the
jflkate and aristocratic beauty of his face.
Even the maiden lady who had played the
■organ in the gallery for fifteen years turned
around on her stool, and looked down upon
jiim with a sort of Bad regret in her poor old
jieart that she had not married in her girl-
hood, and had not now a son like this, as she
plight, if — ah, if! But there bad been a quar-
* «el, and a return of rings, and all that sort of
.hing, and it was no use thinking of it now.
Duly that boy's mother must be proud of him.
And the old maid turned toward the organ
£nd Old Hundred again.

That day bright eyes looked up at the young
Minister; and many a girl, if the truth were
mt known, thought more of his fair face than
>f his sermon ; and he, preaching with all
lis soul in the words he uttered, thought not
it all of any one of them. '

Perhaps they did not quite understand this,
.'or that night, when family prayers were over,
Uid shutters closed and barred, and old folks
inoring in their beds, more than one girl in
,he snug little Tillage of Appleblow stood be-
bre her glass and wondered how she would
ook iu white muslin, and orange-flowers, and
ill the paraphernalia of a bride ; or in black
i'.ilk dress, and broche shawl, and straw bonnet
rimmed with white ribbon (Appleblow fask-
ons were yet primitive), sailing slowly up
he aisle of the little church some Sunday.
Utile envious maidens gazed, and whispered
'There goes the minister's wife."

And, at the same moment, Walter Redlaw,
iitting at his desk, traced, at the beginning of
i long and loving letter, the words — "My
llearest Rosa."

No. we are not going to be so treacherous
is to give that letter to our readers. Suffice
t to say that it would have nipped the budding
lopes of maiden Appleblow with an untimely
rost.

Bewing-societies, fairs, tea-drinkings, mer-
■y-niakings of all kinds followed each other
n quick succession. Appleblow, so to speak,
•aroused, though in a genteel and virtuous
■anion, for the nest three months, and Miss
'inchemall, the dressmaker, took a new ap-
>rentice, and superintended the fitting de-
lartment herself, leaving the needle to vulgar
lands, so great was the demand upon her
kill. New bonnets, too, purchased in "the
vol. lxix. — 25

city." came by express to Appleblow, and the
nine Misses Fish excited envy unparalleled by
appearing in the first bodices ever seen in the
village, all of black velvet trimmed with
scarlet.

Successful ! there had never been such a
success before; nobody dared to find fault
with Walter Redlaw, upheld by all the wo-
mankind of Appleblow — maid and matron,
young and old. grandmothers, granddaugh-
ters, mammas, spinsters, aunts, aud school-
girls yet in pantalettes with frills.

By and by whispered rumors were set
afloat. The young minister had paid particu-
lar attention to Miss Smith, he was seen out
walking wiUi Miss Brown, he had taken tea
thrice with Mrs. Jones, who had two unmar-
ried daughters ; in fact, he was engaged in
turn to every single lady in the village, if
report said truly ; though, on the statement
being made over the teacups, some one was
always found to aver, with downcast looks and
conscious blushes, that she had "particular
reasons for knowing the rumor could not pos-
sibly have the slightest foundation."

Then "dearest friends" became rivals, and
feminine Damons and Pythiases "didn't
speak," aud young farmers, tradesmen, the
schoolmaster, and the doctor were jilted, one
and all, in the most ruthless manner, for the
fair-haired, blue-eyed young pastor, who had
no more thought of aspiring to be king of
hearts in Appleblow than he had of attempt-
ing to become the President of the United
States, but who, gentle and amiable in thought
and manner, liked all women, and was kind
enough to them to encourage all those foolish
ideas which came into their heads of their own
accord, and would not be driven out again.

And so the days passed on. Spring van-
ished, summer followed in her steps, autumn
came, and every grapevine in Appleblow hung
heavy with their purple fruitage ; and amidst
its balmiest days, when a golden haze hun^
over everything, and russets were more glo-
rious, and the moon seemingly rounder ai: i
more brilliant than it ever was before, Walter
Redlaw took the train to New York one eve-
ning, and it was known that there was to be
a strange face in the pulpit on the next Sab-
bath.

There was a special tea-drinking at Deacon
Yarrow's to discuss the cause of this ; and
stories, hatched no one knew how or by whom,
were circulated.

808

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Mr. Kedlaw's mother was ill. No, that
could not be, for Miss Brown knew, "for cer-
tain sure," that he lost his mother in infancy.

"His sister was about to be married, and
he was to perform the ceremony." Mrs. Mor-
ris had this from good authority, but better
contradicted her. Mr. Redlaw was an only
child, and consequently had no sister to be
given in marriage.

Somebody had told Deacon Yarrow that a
maiden aunt had died, leaving the minister a
large fortune in real estate. This was very
favorably received, and gained universal be-
lief. It would have been firmly established,
but for a suggestion of old Aunty Brown, who
had neither daughter nor granddaughter her-
self, and who threw cold water on the air-
castles of maids and matrons by saying, with
a solemn shake of her head, " Mebbe minis-
ter 's gone tu git married himself."

Aunty Brown was sent to Coventry at once ;
but, nevertheless, her suggestion made an
impression even on those who averred most
loudly that it "couldn't possibly be so."

It was not the reputation of the Rev. Silas
Ormsby that drew so largo an attendance at the
little church on the next Sabbath. Curiosity
led most of those who wore bonnets and crino-
line thither, and it was gratified to the utmost,
for in his very first prayer the old gentleman
uttered a devout and earnest supplication for
the pastor of the congregation, who at that
very moment, perhaps, took upon himself the
solemn obligations of married life. Might Hea-
ven give him strength, and bless him and his
young and pious wife, etc. It was a prayer
worth listening to, but the ladies of Apple-
blow heard nothing after the word wife. They
were lost in astonishment ; and hurried out
of church, after the benediction, with indecent
haste, to discuss the affair by their own fire-
sides. And on Monday, when it was known
by all that black Betty, the charwoman of the
place, was engaged to scrub and scour the par-
sonage ; that an ingrain carpet had been sent
down from New York for the parlor floor, and
that a tea-set had arrived in a box, marked
"this side up, with care," the certainty of the
astonishing fact became established, and Ap-
pleblow joined in denouncing Mr. Redlaw as a
despicable flirt. "And," said the plump
mamma of the nine scraggy Misses Fish, "of
all men. a minister should blush to earn such
a reputation. Nobody would believe the at-
tention he has paid my girls. I couldn't tell

which one of 'em he wanted, he was so par-
ticular to all of 'em."

Other mammas said much the same, and
during the afternoon a procession of " help*
might have been seen on the road leading to
the cottage, carrying white paper parcels con
taining principally small volumes — -"Practical
Piety," "Baxter's Saint's Rest," tracts, and
hymn-books, presents from Walter Redlaw to
the sisters of his flock, now returned with indig-
nation. The excitement lasted all the week,
and was still strong on the next Sabbath when
the minister walked up the church aisle with
a beautiful girl upon his arm, and the Apple-
blow girls looked upon a face so exquisite that
none of them could resort to the usual course
of declaring her "not the least good-looking."

They were decorous and prudent in Apple-
blow, and all the forms of courtesy were gone
through with. The new minister's wife was
invited out to tea, was called upon by all the
ladies of her flock, and was favored with a
donation party; nevertheless, there was lit-
tle cordial feeling in Appleblow. The ladies
did not take kindly to their pastor's wife, and
soon the clouds began to gather. At first, in
secret whispers, Mrs. Redlaw's bonnet was too
gay, she was frivolous, not a good house-
keeper, not zealous in good works. By and
by louder, more serious fault-finding, not
only with the minister's wife, but with the
minister himself.

The women began it ; the men were talked
over by their wives ; finally the first step was
taken. 'Squire Gorse and his family gave up
their pew, and found themselves more edified
by the Baptist clergyman in the next village ;
others followed their example. The fault-
finding and slander reached the parsonage
itself, and little Rosa Redlaw, with her head
upon her husband's shoulder, sobbed: "What
shall I do, Walter ? I meant to help you, and to
make them all like me, and you see how it is."

And the young clergyman soothed his weep-
ing wife, and bade her have good cheer, for
matters would mend, and all would be right
again. He was mistaken ; matters did not
mend ; they grew worse and worse ; and, a
year from the date of his marriage, came to a
climax. A bevy of trustees waited upon him
in his study, and bemoaned their wrongs.
They paid a large salary ; they expected the
pastor to do his part, and he lost them money
— absolutely had emptied the church, instead
of filling it. Besides, his wife should havo

THE MINISTERS WIFE.
I

309

been instructed in her duty. She had made
herself generally disliked ; if the minister's
wife were not popular, it was a very unpleasant
thing. Could he explain I

Of course the visit ended as they expected ;
there was but one consummation possible ;
Appleblow knew, in a day or so, that their
pastor was about to leave the place forever.

The winter had set in — an unhealthy win-
ter, warm ami moist, instead of cold and
bracing. Rumors of prevailing ill health
km ad over Appleblow, and the minister,
parking his books in his study, came to hear
of them. They grew louder. Whole families
of children sickened and lay low ; and a dread
cry arose — "It is the smallpox!"

One day Walter Kedlaw left his home to
perform the burial service over the graves of
three children of one family. The next their
mother called him to the bedside of her hus-
band, to see him also die. And with these
■Baths the horrors of that time, never to be
forgotten by any who dwelt there then, began
in earnest.

Men, women, and children sickened with
the loathsome pestilence. Horror seized those
yet uusmitten, and they fled. Appleblow be-
came a great lazar-house, and Walter Redlaw
said to his young wife : " Let us go quickly,
dear one, before the scourge falls upon our
household."

But she, as he spoke, left her seat, and
knelt before him, resting her head upon his
breast, as he still sat before their evening fire,
in a child-like fashion, all her own, and, as he
sheltered her upon his bosom, whispered :
"My husband, do not bid me go, for I must
stay here and do all I can — watch with them,
nurse them, strive to comfort the bereaved. I
should indeed be all they think me, if I, their
pastor's wife, fled at such an hour."

The man listened at first unconvinced. "We
owe them nothing," he said.; "they have used
us shamefully. Remember, I am actually their
pastor no longer."

But his wife gently pleaded ; pleaded to stay
amidst the danger, to aid him in the duties
which would fall to him amidst the sick and
dying ; and, touching his heart and soul by
her sweet' Christian spirit, brought him at last
to say: "You shall have it as you choose,
Rosa : we will stay amidst this hard heathen-
hearted people in their hour of trial ; but,
God sparing us, we will leave them when it is
over, and go elsewhere."

And Rosa Redlaw rejoiced and thanked him.
But by and by a natural womanly dread came
into her heart, and she looked at him with
tears in her dark eyes. " Walter," she whis-
pered, blushing as she spoke, "you have ofteu
called me beautiful. Should I lose that beauty,
could you love me still ? Should this pesti-
lence, falling upon me, scar and mar my face,
would I be as dear to you ? Speak truly,
darling."

But he had no need to speak, for she read
the constancy and purity of his love in the
one long look he gave her, and sobbed upon
his shoulder — "Nay, then, I shall have no
fear. "

At dawn the two wont forth upon their
missiou.

In their selfish horror, kinsfolk fled from
each other. Sisters shrunk from those who
had been nursed at the same breast, children
deserted their parents, friends grew brutal to
each other; but those two young creatures
never swerved from their appointed task ; like
ministering angels, they went from house to
house, aiding the overtasked physician, sup-
porting the mother's failing courage, coming
to the lonely and deserted in their greatest
need. Sometimes they were together, but
more frequently apart, there was so much to
do. When they could, they met at night in
the old parsonage ; but often dying couches
or sick beds, where lives hung in the balance,
kept them separated for several days. But
their hearts and prayers followed each other
always.

It was a trying time, but they were very
brave and faithful. Some of those who had
been most cruel to Rosa Redlaw were her pa-
tients now, and lay helpless as infants while
,she fanned the flickering flame of life within
their bosoms.

When, save for her, no friend had watched
beside the couch of loathsome disease ; when
in the death room, pestilence-haunted, she
sat all night and watched ; when her own
hands robed the dead infant for its last sleep,
and it was known to all what mission she had
taken upon herself, wonder filled the village,
and in a little while there ardse to Heaven so
many prayers for Rosa Redlaw and her hus-
band that, had the Mohammedan belief been
true, they need have had no dread of the
"burning path," it must have been paved so
thickly.

And in time, though that day was slow in

310

godey's lady's book and magazine.

coming, the pestilence began to abate, and
health came to Appleblow again, with the
sharp frosts and keen cold air of the Christ-
mas time. On Christmas day joy-bells were
rung from the steeples in Appleblow, to tell
the people that the rod was lifted.

But before night sad news ran through the
village. She who had watched with them,
who had been so tender and so faithful, who
had passed through those fearful scenes when
the pestilence was at its worst as though she
bore a charmed life, was smitten, now that
she was no longer needed.

The shutters of the parsonage were closed,
the windows darkened, silence as of death
reigned throughout its rooms, for the angel of
the house lay trembling on the margin of the
grave. Another pastor preached this Sabbath
iu Appleblow, and all knew well why he was
there. Walter Redlaw watched beside his
darling's bed, and never left it day or night.

Penitential tears fell in Appleblow that Sab-
bath ; prayers went up to Heaven for the pas-
tor's fair young wife, and the angels heard
them, and heard also those of the young
husband, and bore them through the gates of
Heaven, and saDg them to celestial music at
the foot of the Throne, telling how good she
was, and how true, and so fit for heaven that
it were a mercy to less perfect mortals to let
her stay on earth.

And the Most High listened. The death
angel's wings flung their shadow on the portal
of the parsonage, but did not pass it ; and,
pale and feeble, but with life still strong in
her young breast, for she clung to her husband
with all a woman's earnestness, and loved
earth for his sake, Rose Redlaw lay at last
free from the burning fever, certain to live —
so the old doctor said, with tears in his gray
eyes.

But was she sure of her soft, childlike
beauty, of her pearly skin, of her golden hair,
of her bright blue eyes ? God alone could
tell. But Walter, bending over her, thought
of the promise he had made her on the day
when she entered on her task of peril and
self-denial, and knew, knowing how dear she
was to him, that no change iu his darling's
beauty could change his love.

And into the darkened room health came,
bringing balm ; and the sun shone in again,
and the soft air breathed through the lattice,
and the birds sang in their golden cages and
the housemaid in her kitchen, where she

made dainty messes for the convalescent ; audi
there came a Sabbath at last when Rose was I
well enough to go to church with her hus-
band.

Appleblow knew it, and the church was full,
and out upon the grass in the church-yard
groups were gathered, girls and boys, young
married couples, old folks who had seen their
grandchildren grow to be men and women and
die. And, waiting in the morning sunlight of a
pleasant winter day, they saw their pastor com-
ing along the frost-hardened road with his wife
upon his arm. They came nearer, and they saw
how frail her form had grown ; but still her veil
was down, and they could not see her face
until, standing amongst them, she put it back,
and then — yes, breaths were held, and all
eyes riveted upon those features ; and there
was a hush, unbroken, until a child's voice,
clear as dropping silver, arose upon the air :
"Oh, mother, look; the lady is just as beau-
tiful as ever." And then, though it was
Sunday, and in New England, and beside a
church, a cheer arose upou the air, and men
tossed their caps on high, and women sobbed ;
she sobbed also, beautiful Rose Redlaw, thank-
ing God for all this love, and thanking Him
also, as a woman must, that He had not taken
from her the charms in which her husband
took such tender pride, and of which, for
his sake more than for her own, she was also
just a little proud, though she had laid that
pride aside, knowing well her danger, when
she went forth upon her mission.

They never spoke against the minister's
wife after that in Appleblow. Amongst them
she lived and moved as might some loving
queen, and dwelt in the old parsonage, beau-
tified as the temple of some saint might have
been, until her youth changed to maturity
and her maturity to age ; and there you may
see her yet, and her husband also, though his
hair, like hers, is of frosted silver. And his
grandson fills the pulpit, for Appleblow loves
the race of Redlaw, and will not part with
them.

Contentment. — He is happier who has little,
and with that little is content, than he who
has much, and with it impatience for more.

Speech and Silence. — With your friend
speech and silence are one, for a communion
mysterious and intangible reaches from heart
to heart.

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.

B V B . A N HIE PE08T .

Cltaracters.

B.\Xi)rERCPT, a retired merchant.
, Bblim, }

hab, ;■ /us (/irte ions.
1 Casper, )

Helena, *l
) Marietta, > his three daughters.
. Bbadtv, )

'< Pkivk Virtuous, the Beast, afterwards a hand-
some prince,
i Golden Wings, a fairy.

Costumes.

Banqueeuft. Scene 1st. A farmer's dress.
Begin 2d. Rich dress of velvet. Scene 5th.
I Dressing-gown and slippers. Scene Hth same
. as Scene 2d.

Selim. Scene 1st and 2d. A farmer's dress.
3d and tith. A scholar's dress of black
j silk, with a square cap.

Conrad ask Casper. Scene 1st and 2d. A
killer's dress. Scene 3d and (5th. A captain's
Uniform.

Helena and Marietta. Scene' 1st and 2d.
Shabby dresses of worn-out finery, faded silk
dresses, old satin shoes, and disordered hair.
Scenes 'id, 5th, and 6th. Dresses of rich silk,
with flowers, feathers, and jewels.

Beacty. Scenes 1st, 2d, and 3d. A neat
cottager's dress of chintz. Scenes 4th, 5th,
and nth. A very rich dress of velvet and satin,
with jewels on hair, neck, and arms.

Prince VlBTr/OOS. Scenes 3d, 4th, and 5th,
tpart of Sth. A beast's skin, a head. (This is
J easily procurable at a costumer's, and should
] be large enough to permit the other dress to
jbe worn under it.) Last dress, a rich velvet
! suit, slashed with satin, jewelled cap, and shoe
| buckles.

j Golden Wings. A gauze dress, headdress
j of line feathers spangled, white lace wings,
■ thickly spangled with gold.

JScene I. — The cottage of Baxquerupt. 'Curtain
rises, discovering Beauty putting the breakfast
i upon the table.

Beau. There ! breakfast is ready, and I am
sure my father and brothers will be satisfied.
1 was up before sunrise to gather the water-
\ cresses, and the eggs are fresh and tempting.
The bread is my own baking, and my butter
is acknowledged to be the best in the village.
Oh, how I wish my sisters could see the
pleasures as well as the hardships of our pre-
sent life ! True, we have no luxuries, but
health follows labor, and content is the re-

25*

ward of industry. I am sure if they would
look for blessings instead of pain in our pre-
sent lot, they would find them on every side.
{Goes to door and waves her hand, returns front.)
They see me !

Enter Banquerupt, Selim, Conrad, and Casfek.

Ban. Breakfast ready, my Beauty ?

Beau. All ready, papa 1 ( They all sit round
the table.)

Sel. (cutting bread). The country air gives
one an appetite far keener than is felt in a
student's life !

Cas. (eating). We've got the corn all un-
derground, Beauty.

Beau. Then you can rest to-day ?

Con. No, indeed ; the other lots are waiting
for the plough, seed, and harrow. We '11
feed on produce of our own cultivation this
year.

Ban. With Beauty for a cook.

Beau. And hunger for a sauce.

Ban. Sisters not up yet, Beauty ?

Beau. Not yet ! They seldom rise so early.

Ban. Come, lads, we must not linger, how-
ever tempting Beauty makes her breakfast.
One kiss, little one, to sweeten to-day's toil.
(Kisses her.) And now, boys, to work !

[Exit Banquerupt.

S /. Don't work too hard to-day, Beauty.
Anything will do for dinner, and you are too
precious to be overworked ! Good-morning,
little sister ! [Exit Seliji.

( 'as. 1 'm a new man, Beauty, after such a
famous breakfast. [Exit Caspek.

Con. What should we do without you to
oheerus, Beauty? [Exit Cohrab.

Beau. Oh, is not so much love reward for
any toil ? My dear, dear father, and my kind
brothers so overrate the little I can do to soften
their hard lot, that my whole heart is full of
gratitude. In our old home, before my father
lost his princely wealth, we scarcely knew the
pleasures of affection. My father was en-
grossed in business, my brothers at their stu-
dies, my sisters always away seeking pleasure
in balls or parties, while my masters took
every hour ill the day preparing me for entry
into the great world of gayety. But now,

311

312

GODEYS LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

how different. This reverse of fortune which
seemed so hard to bear has made the love
between my father, brothers, and myself our
sweetest pleasure. Would that my sisters
joined our circle !

Enter Marietta and Helena.

Mar. (fretfully). Anything fit to- eat for
breakfast, Beauty ?

Beau. Indeed there is ! Fresh bread, new
laid eggs, watercresses, and pure milk.

Bel. Faugh ! what trash ! Is there no sweet
cake, no jam, no potted meat ?

Beau. You know, dear sister, these luxu-
ries are now out of our reach.

Mar. It is very hard that we cannot even
have enough to eat. Father is frightfully
stingy.

Beau. Oh, Marietta ! Our dear father ! He
toils early and late to give us comfort.

Hel. (sneering). Comfort, indeed !

Mar. 0 cruel fortune !

Beau. Will you not eat some breakfast ?

Mar. I have no appetite for such rude fare.

Beau. Ah, you should rise at dawn, spin,
sew, or cook, taste the fresh air by feeding
the poultry, or seeing Mooly get her break-
fast, hunt after eggs in the hay, and let the
sun kiss your cheek when it rises ! Then you
would find the fare delicious.

Hel. And look as coarse and blowsy as a
milkmaid. I have no taste for such vulgar
pursuits !

Mar. Nor I !

Beau. But you take no exercise.

Ilel. We have no carriage !

Beau. I walk.

Alar. Oh, you are a paragon! (Sneering.)
We do not aspire to the virtues of a milkmaid
or the perfections of a housekeeper.

Enter Banquerupt, Selim, Casper, andConRAD.

Ban. News ! news ! good news !

Hel. 0, what is it ? Tell it quickly !

Mar. Have you regained your fortune ?

Ban. Not all; but one of my most richly
laden vessels, which was supposed lost, has
safely arrived at port !

Sel. Our father's cloak and hat, dear Beauty;
he must go instantly to town. [Exit Beauty.

Hel. Dear father, you will not forget to buy
ns new gowns and bonnets. We are shabby
as beggars.

Mar. And new jewels, dear father. The
few we have left are quite out of date.

Enter Beauty, with cloak, cane, and hat. She
assists her father in putting them on.

Hel. We can again keep a carriage !

Mar. And have dainty food.

Con. Ah, if my commission is now within
my reach!

Sel. Perhaps some new books can now be
purchased !

Cas. We can hire laborers for some of the
farm work.

Beau, (aside). Oh, if this good fortune will
only relieve my dear father of his heavy toil
and care !

Ban. I must be off. I will return as soon
as possible. Kiss me, dear children.

Mar. (kissing him). Bring me a blue silk
dress and satin cloak, dear father.

Hel. (kissing him). And me a set of Orient
pearls, in golden setting, dear papa.

Con. (embracing him). Bay my captain's
commission, if you can.

Sel. (embracing him). Bring me the latest
books for my share, father.

Cos. (embracing him). Purchase me a horse.

Beau, (kissing him two or three times). Hear
father, return soon to us. Be careful not to
take cold, and, if you can, ride home in the
coach ; it is a long walk from town.

Ban. But, Beauty, how is it that you ask
for nothing ? What can I bring you, dear
child ?

Beau. Since you are so kind as to think of
me, dear father, I would be glad if you would
bring me a rose, for we have none in our
garden.

Ban. You shall have one, if I walk a hun-
dred miles to find it. Good-by, dear ! Good-
by, all!

All. Good-by! Farewell!

[Exit Banquerupt.

Mar. (sneering). A rose, dear papa ! Miss
Modesty !

Hel. To shame us for our paltry requests.
I hate affectation.

Cas., Sel., and Con. We must return to
work. Good-by, Beauty.

[Exeunt Casper, Seum, and Conrad.

Bean. I fear that it will storm to-night. I
hope our father will reach the city safely
(looks out, anxiously). Heaven guard him from
all harm) [Curtain falls.

Scene II., same as Scene I. — Curtain rises, dis-
covering Beauty spinning, Helena sitting idly
before the fire, Marietta asleep in a chair,

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.

813

\n mending a spade- handle, Caspeh ««:/.■-
ing a net, and Sklisi sorting seeds.

Beau. It is surely time onr father had ar-
rived. I hope ii" harm befell him in the storm.
ILL Oh, never fear ; he '11 come home safe-
] \j. I suppose he is busily occupied in invest-
ing the price of his cargo.

. {rising"). I feel very anxious {goes to
door). Oh, Selim, Casper, Conrad, come here !
Mar. {waking iiji). What is the matter?

(.1// go to the door.)
Bran. A great chest, directed to " Banque-
rnpfs children," is here on the step.

(CoNRAD, SbsIH, and Casper bring in the
chest.)

I. 'raising the lid). 'Tis full of gold!
All. Gold! {They crowd round the box.)
Hel. Our father has indeed been fortunate,
lie has sent this chest to herald his success.

Enter BAXQOEr.crT, with roses.

All. Ah, he is here ! Dear father, welcome
home !

Ban. {sadly). Poor children !

M ir. Poor ! With this great chest of gold,
and yon so finely dressed ?

Ban. {siring cheat). Ah, he has kept his
word. {Hiring Beauty the roses.) Take these
■Bea, Beauty; but little do you think how
dearly they have cost your poor father !

Beau. Oh, father, how could a few roses
cost much ? I am so sorry I asked for them.

Ban. Yet yon may cherish them as my last
gift. Get me a chair. Conrad ; I will tell you
my adventures. {Conrad gets chair, and all
sit or stand near while he speaks.) Upon my
arrival at the city, dear children, I found that
my claim upon the vessel was involved in a
lawsuit, which was decided against me, and
of the whole cargo I received only enough to
•| hiro myself a horse.

Mar. But this chest of gold ?
'Ban. Patience : I will tell you all. When
within a few miles of home, thinking of the
joy I shoalS have in again joining you, my
dear children, my road lay through a thick
forest, and I lost my way. It rained and
snowed, and the wind was so high that I could
not keep my seat upon my horse. Night
came on, and I expected nothing but to die of
hunger, or be torn to pieces by wild animals.

Con. Poor father !

Ban. All at once, when I was nearly de-
spairing, I cast my eyes upon a long row of
trees, and saw a light at the end of them, but

tad a great way off. heading my horse
by the bridle. I made the best of my way to-
ward it, and found it came from a line palace,
lighted all over. I soon reached the gates,
Which stood open, and was very much sur-
prised to see no one in any of the yards. My
horse, seeing a stable door open, entered it at
once, and helped himself to a fine supply of
hay and oats in one of tie' racks. I, mean-
while, knocked and called, but no one answered
my summons.

Mar. What a strange adventure !

Ban. Tired at last of waiting, I entered the
honse. In a superbly furnished dining-room
I found a good fire and a meal of delicate
dishes spread for one. Hoping the master of
the house would pardon me, I-made a delicious
supper, dried my clothes, and sat waiting for
some one to appear. At midnight, being
faint and weary with my long ride, I ven-
tured to open another door; and, seeing a
luxurious bed, took courage and crept into it.
A profound slumber held me until ten o'clock
this morning, when I awoke, to find my old
clothes gone, and this fine suit replacing them.

Bean. Surely this palace belonged to some
good fairy who pitied your misfortunes.

Ban. I thought so, and dressed myself with
new courage. In the room where I had
supped I found a delicious breakfast spread
.or me ; and, thanking the fairy aloud for his
kind care of me, I prepared to depart. Pass-
ing through the garden, I found the snow all
gone, and bowers of beautiful roses blooming
on every side. Remembering your request,
dear Beauty, I gathered a few to bring home.
Hardly had I done so, when a noise like thun-
der filled the air, and a monstrous beast,
armed with an enormous iron club, sprang
before me. "Ungrateful man!" hi- cried, in
a terrible voice, "I have saved your life by
letting yon into my palace, and in return you
steal my roses, which I value more than any-
thing else that belongs to me!" I fell upon
my knees while he continued: "But yon.
shall make amends for your fault, for you shall
die in a quarter of an hour."

Beau, {kneeling before her father). Oh, can
you ever forgive me for having caused this
terror ?

Con. But you are here, safe and well.

Ban. I implored his pardon, calling him a
lord, bnt he was angry at the compliment,
and finally let me come home on condition
that one of my daughters returned to die in

314

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

my stead. Dear children, no thought of al-
lowing the sacrifice occurred to me ; but I
knew, if I seemed to accept the beast's terms,
I could at least embrace you all once more.
• Uel. But this gold. You have told us no-
thing of this.

Ban. The beast made me promise to return
myself in three months, if my daughters re-
fused, and then said: "But you shall not
go home empty-handed. Go to the room you
slept in, and you will find a chest there. Fill
it with what you like best, and I will get it
taken to your house for you." I obeyed him,
filling it with gold, which lay in heaps around
it, feeling that if I must die, I shall at least
have the comfort of leaving my children rich.

Bel. And Beauty is the cause of your death
{weeping'). If it had not been for those nasty
roses, this generous beast might have been
your friend for life.

Mar. (weeping). See what happens from the
pride of the little wretch ; why did she not
ask for fine things as we did ?

Uel. But, to be sure, Miss will not be like
other people.

Mar. Though she is the cause of her father's
death, she does not shed one tear.

Beau. It would be of no use to weep for the
death of my father, for he shall not die now.
As the beast will accept one of his daughters,
I will give myself up to him, and think my-
self happy in being able at once to save his
life, and prove my love for the best of fathers.

Con. No, sister, you shall not die ; we will
go in search of this monster, my brothers ?

Cas. and Sel. At once ; either he or we will
perish.

Ban. Do not hope to kill him ; his power is
far too great for that hope. I am charmed
with the kindness of Beauty, but I will not
suffer her life to be lost. I myself am old,
and cannot expect to live much longer, so I
shall give up but a few years of life, and only
grieve for the sake of my children.

Beau. Never, father, shall you go to the
palace without me ; for you cannot hinder
my going after you ; though young, I am not
over fond of life, and I would much rather be
eaten up by this monster than die of the grief
your loss would give me.

Con. Let me go, dear father.

Ban. No, he especially said a daughter; but
Beauty shall never go. I had rather die a
thousand times.

Beau. Dear father, you cannot alter my re-

solve. If you will not accompany me, I will
alone seek this palace and find the monster.

Uel. 0 let her go, dear father ! Her life is
not to be compared to yours.

Mar. Listen to us all, father ! Let Beauty

go-
Con. Unnatural sisters !

Ban. Oh, my children, you tear my very
heart.

Beau. We have three months yet before us,
and for the present let us talk of other mat-
ters. Know, dear father, that in your absence
Helena- and Marietta have been sought by
their old wooers, Albert and Arthur ; your
consent, and the dowry this chest will supply
will make them happy wives. Pray let me
see the weddings before I go. Then Conrad
and Gasper already see their Commissions in
this chest. Is not this so, my brothers ? And
for Selim, we must find some professor's chair,
for that alone will suit my grave and studious
brother.

Ban. My precious child ! Every thought
of your heart is given to others.

Beau. And now to supper, for I am sure
you must need refreshment after your jour-
ney. Conrad, Casper, will you take the chest
into our father's room ?

[Exeunt Coxrad, Casper, and Selim with
the chest.

Ban. Marietta and Helena, come to my room
and tell me more of these wooers.

[Exeunt Banquerupt, Helena, and Ma-
rietta.

Beau, (sadly). How happy they will all be !
( Weeps.") Tears ? Shame on me, when I can
have the joy of saving my father's life. My
brothers and sisters in comfort, my dear father
with wealth for his declining years, and only
my poor little self the* sacrifice. I will not
weep ! (Draws table forward, and lays the
cloth.) [Curtain falls.

Scexe III. — A room in the palace of Prixce Vir-
tuous. A curtain hangs across background,
cutting off part of the stage. In the foreground,
a table is spread icith fruit, wine, cake, and
biscuit t a plate, knife, tumbler, and napkin for
two people.

Enter Bakquerupt and Beauty.

Beau. What a superb palace ! Dear father,
all you have told us of its beauties was nothing
compared with what I see.

Ban. (sadly). It is all very gorgeous.

BE.U'TY ASD THE BEAM'.

315

Beau. And see, our supper waits for us.
Come, my dear father, >-at something.

Ban. Food would choke me.

Beau, (coaxing him to sit down). No, no, yon

will not let me eat alone (helping Aim) ; this

oake is tempting, and I know a glass of wine

will revive you. Come, eat ! (Sits down at

\table.) You see I do ! (Eating.)

Ban. (trying to eat). I cannot ! Beauty,
my dear, dear child, I cannot consent to leave
■you here.

Beau, (embracing him). Hash, we settled all
Ithat long ago. (A loud noise behind the scenes.)

Ban. It is the monster!

£«tcr Prince Virtuous.

Prince V. You are punctual ! So, your
(daughter is willing to die in your stead ?

Ban. She insists upon it, my lord.

Prince V. (to Beauty). You came quite of
your own accord .'

/. ■. (trembling). Y-e-e-s.
I Prince. V. You are a good girl! (To Bax-
.jueiutt.) My good man, bid your daughter
(farewell. (To Beauty.) I will return when

Itie is gone. [Exit Prince Virtuous.

Ban. (sobbing'). Oh, Beauty, how can I say
llarewell ! I am half dead already at the
■tonghts of leaving you with this dreadful
beast. You had better go back, and let me
'itay in your place.

Beau. No ! I will never agree to that. You
nnst go home — and, father, you will not for-
get your little Beauty.
Ban. Never! never! (Embracing her.)
Beau. Farewell ! Remember, my sisters
ook for yo» !
Ban. Farewell !

[Exit Baxquerupt, weeping.
Beau. He is gone! (Calling.) Father!
*ather ! No, no, why call him back to renew
he pain of parting ! ( Weeping.) I shall never
lee him again. (Sits down upon a sofa, laying
xer head upon the arm. During the singing,
Ieazty falls asleeji.)
Voices (singing behind the scenes.)

Beauteous lady, dry your tear*.
Here's no eaase for sighs or fe.irs ;
Command a* freely as yon may,
Kojoymeot still shall mark your sway.

Enter Goldex Wings.

Beau, (sleeping). My dear father !
Golden Wings (wooing her wand). I am very
nuch pleased, dear Beauty, with the good-

ness you hrtve shown in being willing to give
your life to save that of your father ; and you
shall not go unrewarded. Wake, Beauty, to
a life of happiness ! ( Going slowly hurl-ward to
door, waving her wand.) Wake, Beauty, wake!
[Exit Golden Wings.
Beau, (waking). What a comforting dream !
(Looks off right.) A door, and upon it written
Beauty's room. (Exit for a moment, returning.)
And what a lovely room. Music, books, flow-
ers, nothing is wanting. If I wen? to die to-
night, would such pains have been taken to
make this place so charming ! But I dare not
hope. (Weeps.)

Voices (singing behind scenes).

Beauteous la.ly, dry your tears.

Here 's no cause for sichs or fears ;

Command as freely as you may,

Enjoyment still shall mark your sway.

Beau. The voices I heard in my dream!
Command ! Alas ! there is nothing I so much
desire as to see my poor father, and to know
what he is doing at this moment.

(The curtain across the stage is drawn apart,
showing a tableau of the cottage of Baxquerupt.
Baniiuerupt is seated at a table, in an attitude of
deep grief Conrad, Casper, Selim, Marietta,
and Helena grouped around him, all showing
deep dejection. Ajter a moment, the curtain
closes. )

Beau. My poor father ! Could he but know
the hope that fills my heart ! (J. loud noise.)

Enter Prince Virtuous.

Beau. The beast ! I shudder with fear.

Prince V. Lovely lady, do you find my
palaoe agreeable ! Pray command, if anything
displeases you, and it shall be removed.

IJ'ini. (trembling). Everything is only too
beautiful.

Prince V. Will you give me leave to see
you sup ?

Beau. That is as yon please.

Prince V. (offering chair). Not in the least.
You alone command in this place. If you
should not like my company, you need only
say so, and I will leave you in a moment.

B OB. (gently). Nay, after all your courtesy,
I would regret to issue such a command.
Pray join me at supper.

Prince V. (see/ting himself opposite to her).
Allow me to Berve you (helps hi r to fruit, wine,
and cake). But tell me, Beauty, do you not
think me very ngly ?

Beau, (smiling). Why, yes, for I cannot

316

LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

tell a story ; but then I think you are very
good.

Prince V. You are right. I am very ugly,
and I am very stupid. I know very well that
I am but a beast.

Beau. I think you cannot be very stupid, if
you yourself know this.

Prince V. Pray, let me see you eating, and
be sure you do not want for anything ; all you
see is yours, and I shall be grieved if you are
not happy.

Beau. Yon are very kind ! So kind that I
shall soon forget that you are not handsome.

Prince V. Yes, yes, I am good-tempered ;
still I am a monster.

Beau. There are many men who are worse
monsters than you are, and I am much better
pleased with you in that form, though it is so
ugly, than with those who carry wicked hearts
under handsome faces.

Prince V. If I had any sense, I would thank
you properly for what you have said ; but I
am too stupid to say anything that would give
you pleasure. ( They eat in silence for a mo-
ment.)

Prince V. (suddenly). Beauty, will you be
my wife ?

Beau, (trembling). N-no, Beast.

[Exit Prince Virtuous.

Beau. I have offended him, when he was so
kind to me. How terrible that such a good
heart must be carried in so frightful a shape !

[Curtain falls.

Scene IV., same as III. — Curtain rises, discover*
ing Beauty seated at table.

Beau, (looking at her watch). Almost nine
o'clock; my dear friend will soon be here to
sup with me. Three months to-night since I
came to live in this place, and they have
passed like a dream of delight. My days are
only too short for the pleasures crowded into
them, and the evenings spent with my dear
beast are delightful. Only one grief clouds
my pleasure — that I cannot listen to his con-
stant petition, and be his wife. Every eve-
ning, before we sup, he asks the question,
and I, seeing his frightful form, cannot say
yes. (A loud noise.)

Enter Pkixce Viktuous.

Prince'V. Good-evening, lovely lady.
Beau, (joyfully). You have come at last.
Prince V. Dare I hope that you wish for me?
Beau. Every hour !

Prince V. Ah, Beauty, if you would only be
»iy wife !

Beau. You vex me greatly by forcing me to
refuse you so often. I heartily wish I could
love you well enough to consent to marry you,
but I must tell you plainly that I do not thinli
I ever shall. I shall always be your friend';
so try to let that make you easy.

Prince V. I must needs do so (sighing), for
I know well enough how frightful I am. But
I love you better than myself. Yet I think 1
am very lucky in your being pleased to staj
with me. Now promise me, Beauty, that you
will never leave me.

Beau. Alas !

Prince V. Why do you sigh, and turn fron
me?

Beau. Alas ! it was only to-day that I saw.
behind yonder curtain, my dear father, sick,
grieving for me. My brothers are away, mj
sisters married, and he is alone. Only to-
night I meant to petition you to allow me tc
visit him, and comfort his grief. I willing]}
promise to return to you ; but if you refust
my request, I shall die of grief.

Prince V. I would rather die myself, Beauty
than make you fret. I will send you to yom
father. You will stay happily with him,
while I die with sorrow for your loss.

Beau. No, no ! I love you too well to cause
your death. I promise to return in one week
Let me stay but one week.

Prince V. You will find yourself there to
morrow morning. When you wish to return,
you have but to place your ring upon the
table beside your bed, and you will return
here during the night. And now„my Beauty,
let us sup. [Curtain falls.

Scene V., same as Scen£ I. — Curtain rises, dis-
covering Helena and Marietta seated.

Hel. It is very stupid, having to leave all
our town gayety to come to this sUipid place,
■and nurse a sick father.

Mar. Yes ; Beauty, the little wretch, would
have taken that off our hands.

Hel. It is only fretting for that child thai
makes him sick. Between ourselves, Mari-|
etta, I almost wish I had never married. Al-
bert is so handsome that he will not bestow 3
thought on anything but the looking-glass,
neglecting me entirely.

Mar. While Arthur is so absorbed in books
that he lets his whole estate go to ruin, and
refuses me the most trilling requests.

BEACTY AND THE BEAST.

317

Enter Beauty.

Beau. As tho beast promised, I awoke in
ny old home. My dear sisters (kissing them),
blena ! Marietta ! It is au unexpected joy to
u 1 you hero !
Bel. Beauty! Alive!
Mir. You here !

/>. au. Alive, indeed ! Yes, and the hap-
,n'est woman in the world. You will be re-
oiced to hear that this monster is to me the
dndest friend. Every desire of my heart is
(•ranted. I live luxuriously, fare sumptu-
ary, liave a wardrobe like a queen's, and
very pleasure my heart can desire. Yester-
ay, to crown all, he gave me permission to
pend a whole week with my dear father. I
.Unst find him. I will return after I embrace
[,iin. [Exit Beauty.

( Hcl. I shall die of envy. Did you ever see
uck a superb dress ?

| Mar. The little hypocrite ! No wonder she
iras so ready to go. Oh, my heart is ready
j burst with spite !
Uel. Such lovely jewels !
■Ear. What can we do to humble her ?
Bel. Why should the little wretch be better
ff than we are ?

■far. We are much handsomer than she is.
// .'. Sister, a thought has just come into
ly head — let us try to keep her here longer
(ban she has permission to stay. Then he
I'M be angry, and perhaps eat her up in a
limit'' '.

Mar. That is well thought of. But to do
'lis we must seem very kind to her.

Enter Baxquerupt, supported by Beauty.

1 .Bin. There, dear father !

il/'ir. (handing a chair). Sit here, father.
Ho wonder you are better, with dear Beauty
,t home again.

! Bel. Our little sister cannot guess how we
are mourned for her. What a lovely neck-
ice, Beauty !

j Beau, (offering it). You will wear it for my
ake, sister, and Marietta (offering bracelet) will
ot refuse this trifle.

Mar. Oh, thank you ! Your gift, it will
'.ways be precious to me. (Aside.) It is
"orth a king's ransom.

Bun. Little Beauty ! my dear, dear child !
he is happy, too, she tells me. Ah, I shall
ot grieve, knowing she is safe and happy.

am well already.

Beau. Dear father! No words can tell how
your love and that of my sisters moves my
heart !

Ban. And you say the beast is kind to you!

Beau. Always. Nothing can surpass his
generous care. My days are passed with
books, birds, flowers, low murmuring foun-
tains, and delicious music, while in the eve-
ning his gentle conversation makes the time fly.

HA. But, dear Beauty, you have not break-
fasted.

Mar. You must let us wait upon yon, as
you were wont of old to wait on us. ( They
drxao the table forward.) [Curtain Jails.

Scexe VI., same as Scene III. — Curtain as be-
fore concealing background.

Enter Beauty, hastily.

Beau. I cannot find him ! I have searched
the garden, and in every room (weeping). Oh,
if my dream was true, and I have killed him !
How wicked I was to stay so long ! But my
sisters urged it so strongly, and my brothers'
visit made homo so charming, that I forgot
my dear, dear beast ! Oh, what shall I do !
How ungrateful thus to repay all his kindness !
Why will I not marry him ? I am sure I
should be more happy with him than my
sisters are with their husbands. Oh, if I can
only find him, he shall not be wretched on my
account any longer. Last night, I dreamed I
saw him dying, and with his last breath re-
proaching me for staying from him ! Have I
indeed killed him ?

Prince I', (behind the curtain). Beauty! (in
a faint voice) Beauty ! •

/; atl. Who calls ? Where are you, my love?

(Curtain is drawn aside, showing Pkixce Vir-
tuous extended upon a sofa.)

Prince I'. Beauty! you have come to say
farewell !

/. "i. (kneeling beside hi?n). No, no; I will
never leave you !

/V.i.e V. Y'ou forgot your promise, I'., auty.
My grief for your loss made me resolve to
starve myself to death. But I die content,
having once more seen you.

Beau. No, dear Beast, you shall not die !
Y'ou shall live to be my husband. From this
moment I am yours, for I offer to manry you.
I thought my heart felt only friendship for
you, but now my sorrow shows me that I lovo
you. and cannot live without you.

(Music behind the scenes, and 1'RIXCE Virtu-

318

GODET S LADY'S BOOK AND ilAGAZINE.

ous leaving the beasV s skin on the sofa, kneels in
his court dress at Beauty's feet.)

Prince V. My preserver ! my benefactress !
My life shall be one long grateful love for you.

Beau. Prince! my lord! Where is the beast?

Prince V. Here, at your feet. Long years
ago, dear Beauty, when I was a babe, my
mother offended a wicked fairy. In anger she
gave me the frightful form you saw, and con-
demned me to keep it till a beautiful young
lady should agree to marry me. She ordered
me, on pain of death, not to show that I had
any sense. {Rises and leads Beauty forward.
The curtain closes behind them.) You alone,
dear Beauty, have kindly judged of me by
the goodness of my heart, and in return I
offer you iny hand and crown ; though I
know the reward is much less than I owe you.

Beau. You have always been most kind!

Enter Golden "Wings.

Golden Wings. Beauty, receive the reward
of the choice you have made I You have
chosen goodness of heart rather than sense
and beauty, therefore you deserve to find them
all three joined in the same person. You
shall have your family to witness your trf-
umph. ( Waves her wand, the curtain is drawn
back, and Banquerupt, Selim, Conkad. Casper,
Marietta, and Helena advance from behind it.)
Beauty will be a great queen, and I hope a
crown will not destroy her modest virtues.
For you, Helena and Marietta, I have long
known the malice of your hearts and the
wrongs you have done. You shall become
two statues, but under that form shall keep
your reason, aDd be fixed at the gates of your
sister's palace, and I will not pass any worse
sentence upon you than to see her happy.
You will never appear in your own persons
again till you are wholly cured of your faults,
and I am very much afraid will remain statues
forever.

Music. Curtain falls.

HEROISM.

BY CNA.

Tjte age of heroes is not dead.

Nor numbered with the past ;
Each day calls forth some daring deed,

More brilliant than the last ;
Each day some noble sacrifice,

Made in a glorious cause,
Bids earth to her foundations shake

With thunders of applause.

The hero stands, a derai-god,

'Mid the admiring crowd
That sounds ttitejtrumpet of his fame

In plaudits long and loud ;
Their praise is music to his ears,

Yet had he toiled the same,
And failure, not success been his,

How would he bear their blame ?

And though unmoved where passion rolls

A fiercely flaming flood
Of strife across a nation's breast.

That must be quenched iu blood ;
Though he the warring elements

May dare in deadliest strife,
The hero of an hour may be

The coward of a life.

But more heroic is the soul

That acts its humble part,
And makes its lowly dwelling-placg

In a true woman's heart ;
That praise, or blame, or coward fear

Of what the world will say,
Cau never for a moment luvo

From its appointed way.

Her heartstrings may be snapped in twain.

Her heart itself may feel
The stab' of countless bitter woes

That cut more keen than steel ;
Hot dearest treasures may he on

Some flaming altar cast,
Or folded in death's icy arms

Ere youth's bright spring is past ;

Or worse — in her heart's sanctuary

The idols shrined away,
Unveiled at last may prove but clods

Of soulless, heartless clay ;
Tot patient still, without reward.

She toils as seasons roll,
Wearing perhaps a careless smile

To hide a martyr soul.

As sweetly in some quiet dell

The violet newly blown,
Breathes fragrance on the passer-by,

Itself unseen, unknown ;
Distilling balm for others' woes,

She spends her quiet days,
Content to see her ncblest works

Win blame instead of praise.

The world may have no meed of praise,

No laurel wreath to give
To those who daily walk with death

That others yet may live —
Who stanch the blood that laurelled brows

Have caused in ftreams to flow-
But angels twine unfading crowns

For those uncrowned below.

The hero true, forgetting self,

Will ready ever stand
To live, to suffer, or to die

For God or native land ;
But while ye give him honor due,

Pass not unheeded by,
ner whose brave heart endures and lives

Where he could only die.

WHAT LEONAED WATSON FOUND TX TUE POST-OFFICE.

i Y AM V Q U A HAM.

She was sittingin the prettiest of bedrooms,
kiting busily ; aometimea the Una eyes filled
with mirth, as the rapid pen jotted down some
odd conceit or queer expression ; again she
wonld toss back her bright curls, and a saucy
smile would cross her little mouth, as mischief
11, .v., I from the small golden point of her
weapon. One after another, the little sheets

f of note paper were filled with dainty charac-
ters, foiled, and slipped into the snowy enve-
lopes. Suddenly the pretty writer paused.
■Beting her little dimpled chin on her hand,
she sank into reverie ; the blue eyes lost their

1 smiling light, the rosy mouth folded into a
Meet, earnest gravity, as she sat buried, in

j thought.

"If I only dared," she whispered — "if I

• only dared." Then, with a. quick impulse,

i she selected a sheet of paper somewhat larger
than those she had been using, and began to

I WTite again, not, as before, merry and careless,
but with deep earnestness, the rapid pen
evidently tracing words of grave import and
■eight. Once she paused, and. folding her
little hands, raised her eyes in prayer. As
she sealed the long letter, she did what she

!had neglected before — directed it, in a clear,
pr-tty hand, and then placed it carefully in
her writing-desk. Again she continued her

I task, sometimes a scrap of verse, a saucy

(quotation, or even an address, tilled the sheet,

' hut oftener a little graceful note was written
and folded. She was still busy, when laughing

'voices in the hall male her pause.

"Come right up, girls. I am in my room,"
ma railed.

And in answer to the summons four gay
belles of Claireville came dancing into the
room, with "How many have you written.
Amy?"

"Oh, ever so many 1 I don't know. Let
me see yours."

And a shower of snowy billets fell from
eight white hands into her lap, while the four
girls eagerly opened and read the missives
upon the table.

"We've sold every ticket." cried Leonore
Darcy, the brunette, whose charms had set
half Claireville in a ferment.
vol. lxix. — 26

"All!" said Amy. "The hall will be
packed!"

" Yes, " said pretty Mabel Lee, "and every-
body Bays the post-office will be the most at-
tractive feature of our fair. I am so glad you
suggested it. Amy. And if it was late, we've
got a good pile of letters written."

"There," said Amy, signing a note with
"Gabriella," in the most minute characters,
"there 's my last sheet of paper and my last
ounce of brains. I 'm utterly exhausted |"

"But, Amy, you won't feel exhausted to-
morrow," said demure Susy Jones, "when we
hand dear Mr. Rivers a nice sum of money to
help him rebuild the parsonage."

"That dreadful fire!" said Amy, shudder-
ing. " Mother says she don't approve of fairs
generally ; but when one's minister is burned
out, and the money won't come in fast any
other way, why, she '11 bake cakes and make
pincushions with the best of us."

"And then, you know," said Mabel, ear-
nestly, "there will be no raffling or cheating,
and the articles are all pretty, and good of
their kind."

"Girls, is it not time to dress?" said Susy,
consulting a wee watch at her belt. "We
Open at seven."

" The tables are all ready."

"True, but it is after live now, and every-
body wants time for at least one extra touch
to their finery, when they must face all Claire
vil'.e."

"Scatter, then," said Amy, laughing.
"Run home, all of you! Leave the letters
hen'; I will take care of them. I am to be
postmistress, you know."

" Not a bit of it," said Leonora. " You are
only to sit in the background and direct tie
envelopes, which I will deliver to anxious
inquirers."

" Whew ! how important we are !" was the
merry answer. And the laughiug group dis-
persed.

The large hall of Claireville was brilliantly
illuminated when, two hours later, the young
girls announced all in readiness for opening
tie- doors. The pretty tables, tasteful decora-
tions, and groups of lovely girls made nc-

319

320

godey's lady's book and magazine.

mean picture, and Claireville walked about,
admired, and, above all, purchased to the full
content of the fair originators of the enter-
tainment. Hidden away from sight by the
full folds of a curtain, Amy sat shrined in the
post office, answeriug Leonora's call for letters.
Busy excitement had flushed her fair cheeks,
and, as her pen traced familiar names, one
after another, smiles chased each other over
lips and eyes'. Suddenly a call from Nora
made her turn pale : her fingers trembled as
she drew from her bosom the letter she had
written with a prayer. It was fully directed,
yet she hesitated, holding it as if reluctant to
let it go.

"Come, Amy. Is there nothing for Mr.
Leonard "Watson?" cried Leonora.

The letter was slipped through the ap-
pointed place in the curtain, and Amy drew
a quick breath of apprehension as she heard
the manly voice that said, " Thank you, Miss
Darcy."

"If he is angry!" she whispered. "If he
should be angry !"

But Leonard Watson had slipped the letter
carelessly into the breast pocket of his coat,
and was sauntering in his usual lazy manner
down the hall. He was a tall, handsome man,
with a broad forehead and large eyes, which
spoke well for his heart and intellect ; but
with the blazt air and debonnaire manner of one
for whom the world had offered its pleasures
to satiety, and who had not learned to look
for life's purpose in duty. The little world of
Claireville spoke well of Leonard Watson.
The girls admired his courtly gallantry, his
polished manner, and honeyed words ; the
young men applauded his generosity, his
wines, his horses, and his good temper; the
older heads were ready to worship his wealth,
his birth, and position ; only here and there
a word was whispered of late revels at Fair-
bank, of an occasional lapse into inebriety, or
dropped a hint that "young Watsou was
living too fast."

There were many bright belles who cherished
a secret belief of Leonard's marked preference,
yet the gay heart was untouched, the travelled
taste unsatisfied, and he was a free man, in
word or thought, as he sauntered up the fair
at Claireville with Amy's letter lying upon his
breast.

It was night, and he was alone in the library
of his spacious house before he recollected
the missive ; then, with an indolent curiosity,

he drew it forth. "Some flat school-girl
verses," he muttered, "or, worse, a dose of
flattery veiled by an incognita."

At first he read with a lazy expression of
mocking upon his lips ; but, as the lines were
traced with earnest care, so, as he read, the
man's soul was roused to thought and inte-
rest. Hot, angry flushes chased each other
over his brow, yet he did not flinch ; every
word of the appeal, though it stung him with
its scorching truth and searching questions,
was perused faithfully, till, at the end, the
dainty signature, "Your sincere friend,1
found him serious and sad.

"It is all true," he said, in a low tone,
rising, and pacing the floor with quick yet
even steps. "I am wasting all God's bless-
ings— squandering my wealth foolishly ; un-
dermining my health wickedly ; flinging my
best years away in folly, if not vice. How
earnestly she writes ! and her ' dear brother'
seems from her very heart. Who wrote it .'
Ha ! the same hand on the envelope as inside,
and it was directed by Amy Greyson. Amy
Greyson ! I always thought her a merry,
light-hearted child; but this — this is the letter
of a noble, earnest Christian woman. How
beautifully she writes ! Yet — yet how she
despises me ! How she lashes my follies aud
vices ! With what bitter sarcasm she questions
my course ! yet how earnestly she implores
me to pause while there is yet time, and think
of where the path I tread will lead me '.
Think ! Ah, she has raised a train of thought
now that will not die — that I can never quiet
again ! Conscience is alive now, and there is
no more careless folly for me."

Up and down, pacing sometimes with thu
slow tread of earnest thought, again rapidly
crossing and recrossing , the room, his foot,
falling with passionate fmphasis, he spent the
hours till long after midnight ; and when, at
last, he sought his own room, Leonard Watson,
for the first time in long years, knelt and im-
plored God's blessing on his resolutions for
the future.

Claireville wondered what had " come over'
the young millionaire. Old tenants, who had
been wont to look upon their young landlord
as an easy-going scamp, began to open thai a
eyes over sanitary improvements in their
lowly homes ; charity appeals began to find i
ready response at the large house ; musty
books, that had long given his office a name,
now began to fulfil their mission, as the youu.j

EARLY RISING AND EXERCISE.

121

lawyer loaded his brains for service ; old
friends wondered how Leonard could preserve
Lis genial brightness, his generosity, wit, and
grace, yet hold the reins on his follies with
such a strong, firm hand ; new acquaintances
■ spoke warmly of the conscientious, able young
i advocate, who was steadily working his way
to future eminence.

But in one house there were tears of thanks-
giving, prayers of humble praise, as Amy
n hoard from every tongue of the re-
form in that noble young life ; and when,
after a year's probation, words of love and
petition greeted her as the young lawyer im-
Iplored her to be his wife — to aid him by her
'love and presence in maintaining the new life
'he owed to her QS, she humbly

1 lleav.-n for the impulse that had
[prompted her to write the letter I.

a found in the post-office at the Claire-
Will e fair.

EARLY RISING AND EXERCISE.

Clear, healthful, and invigorating plays

the breeze upon the cheek these fair autumnal
mornings. Clearer, healthier, more invigo-
rating by far than that breathed and breathed
again in chambers closed the long night
through. Come, rouse yourself from your
lethargic slumbers. Open your eyes upon
-born day. Ret up, I say. The first
Hinge out is half the battle. Come out
through the open fields, and look the blessed
hrorld face to face while the day is young.
'But no. Yon will not make the effort ; reso-
lutely you turn away your drowsy load, and
jelose your eyes against the clear, brilliant
light streaming in through the window-blinds.
INot yet has the late sitting-up of the night
previous been atoned for by the sleep into
Abroad day. 'Tis far too early yet ; the morn-
ing is so cold ; the parlor not yet worked up
to steaming heat. What though the morn be
'slightly clouded or not, yet do the sunbeams
|pier.e through the lower branches .' Come
iout with me and tread upon the crisp leaves
falling in a many-colored shower around.
Look up at the glorious hues of autumn —
birch feathering away its graceful boughs with
tints of brilliant red. Scarlet is the cherry's
leaf; brown the chestnut's; yellow is the
apple, pear and ash-tree — from the latter hang
down clustering catkins, an : fruit

still hang from the former. Along the grass

roll lightly waves of hoar mist, and from spray
to spray Hits the. confiding robin, cheering
us with his glorious song of thanksgiving as
he trills out the morning's welcome. The
spider's web — so mathematically placed —
Stands out boldly ou the brier decked with
pearly drops of dew, now flashing into jewels
of glittering colors through the golden light
of a stray beam sent from earth's great burn-
isher. Do not imagine that the wild flowers
are all gone yet — not they ; they do not fly
off all at once, like friends when misfortun
come. See how golden, on the hillside, blos-
som out the furze and the daisies — spring's
first offering of hope spread out their fan-like
collars on the sward. The crimson berries of
the thorn and ivy, and the bright green leaves
of laurel too, make up a rare and brilliant bou-
quet. Wrapped in a warm shawl, how much
loal;hier and happier will you feel out in the
glad fresh world, filling the lungs with the
clear buoyant air, gazing upon the magnifi-
cent picture of orange and yellow foliage, and
golden cornfields and green pasture-land,
which Nature has spread out before us, in
such rich and varied loveliness ! Come and

pon the broad blue heavens, the waving
fields, the green and yellow woodlands, over
which the Great Architect of the world has
left us such a profusion of His genius and fine
conception. 0 come and prove for yourself
how much healthier, and happier, and more
contented you will be, out among the glorious
creations of a wonder-working God, than loll-
ing away the hours before breakfast in listless,
apathetic indolence, lounging down to the
breakfast parlor late in the forenoon, dull and
unrefreshed, to sit before the strong fire in an
easy chair, nursing a sick headache, doors
and windows closed, blinds carefully drawn,
lest the glad beams of the sunny light offend
your weary eyes. See how your face glows
at the mention of a ball. With what alacrity
you go to your dressmaker ; how fresh and
strong you are for shopping ; hut these things
over, and the stupid loll, the fretful sigh, and
i nal round of complaining commence
again.

Do you know how much self-enjoyment you
are losing ? Hear Betty singing and laughing

lltly in the kitchen. Coarse, ungrace-
ful, and ignorant as she is, God looks upon
her with more favor than upon you. She is
filling .up the measure of her life usefully.
You are wasting yours. She is living for

322

godey's lady's book and magazine.

something — doing good to somebody. You
are ruining yourself, and living to the injury
of those around you. Yes, you render them
uncomfortable by your ungracious words,
your gloomy repinings, your moody silence ;
you damp the spirits of those around you ;
you live not only to do no good, but to do
positive injury. What are the glad blue
skies, the green trees, the wild, dancing winds,
the clear, sparkling waters, the fragrant flow-
ers to such as you ? Your mind is vacant —
your society wearisome. Take exercise. Ex-
ercise not only your limbs, but the affections
and principles God has given you. Set your-
self to work for the household good ; do some
office that will call for energy and a little
thought ; don't scruple to use those fair hands
of yours, nor fear that, by exertion, you will
lose the distingue' air and look of colorless
aristocracy. Don't come down to your death-
bed to feel that you are going before all heaven
to be called an unfaithful servant. Happi-
ness, like every other precious good, must be
sought for. Some people, to be sure, are born
like sunshine — they are naturally pleasant
and light-hearted ; but these are few and far
between, and always monopolized. Emulate
them. Why may not you be as cheerful as
they ? They have their trials and private
annoyances as well as you, and with some
effort you can cull as many flowers and catch
as many sunbeams as they.

We firmly believe that many a case of
chronic ugliness might be cured through the
means of healthy exercise. Get up, then, and
shake off your sloth ; send that dead black
blood through the channels of your body — let
it come up to your sallow cheeks in red waves ;
come to the resolution that you give your
blood a quicker circulation ; your hearts will
be the sooner purified, and made meet for the
joys, and strong for the trials of life.

A PICTURE IN THE ROOM.

A distinguished writer has said somewhere
of the portrait of a beautiful female, with a
noble countenance, that it seems as if an un-
handsome action would be impossible in its
presence. Most men of any refinement of
soul must have felt the truth and force of this
sentiment. We have often thought that the
picture of a beloved mother or devotee! wife,
hung up in the room where we spend our

leisure hours, must certainly excite a mighty
influence over the feelings and thoughts.
Cowper's picture of his mother was a living
presence, whose speaking countenance and
beaming eye appealed, as no living mortal
could, to his inmost soul, and stirred its pro-
foundest depths. But what is it that give's .
this power to the inanimate resemblance of
departed ones ? Their virtues, their moral
graces and excellencies, as remembered by
the affectionate survivor. It may seem an
odd thought, but we cannot help suggesting
it to every female reader — to every sister,
wife, and mother — that it is a worthy ambi-
tion for each of them to labor to be, both now
and when dead, that picture in the house before
which vice shall stand abashed, confounded,
and in whose presence every virtuous and
manly heart shall glow with every honorable
and lofty sentiment, and be irresistibly urged
to the love of goodness and truth.

THE CASKET OF TEMPERANCE.

BY WILLIE E. PABOR.

(Pearl tin Tenth.)

"TOUCH NOT THE CUT."

Touch not the cup, or it for thee shall make

A doom whose endless dirge shall o'er thee break.

And surge across the future's darkened years,

And ripple o'er a sea of sighs and tears

Until it dashes on th' eternal shore,

And you are lost, forever, evermore.

Touch not the cup, or hovel or in hall

Shall shadow fall on hearthstone, floor, and wall;

And misery, and want, and wo, aud crime

Ou passiou's tide shall sweep the stream of time!

Touch not the cup ! You suffer not alone 1

If for your sin you could yourself atone,

'Twere well ! but where the light of love should shine,

There, there the shadow drapes the hallowed shrine.

And there in sackcloth aud in ashes lie

The young and innocent, who droop aud die

Beneath the curse that centres in the cup

Aud gathers all the loved and loving up !

Touch uot the cup ! else memory shall make
Your life more bitter by the hearts you break.
The hopes you crush, the tears you cause to flow,
The agonies the good and gentle know,
Who. bound by ties of kindred to your fate,
Grow iu the love or wither iu the hate
Your life inspires ; and by this test alone
The measure of your future shall be known.
Then let us take this lesson to our hearts
Aud profit by the wisdom it imparts,
Or else the day wilt surely dawn, when we
Shall see life's shallop lauuehed upon the sea
Of bitter grief, aud on a tide whose flow
Cau know no ebb, shall reach the shores of wo
Where ever aud forever, but in vaiu,
We call for years that cannot come again.

THE YEAR 1859: A STORY.

E V THE A C T II O K UF " It . V M li E K , A K T 1 H T .

"We ::r.- -;>ir:r^ < l:i ! :u veils |

Man by man vii never Been ;
AU our deep comraonton faiU

uvivo the shadowy screen."

{ Tnr-r.E was ''a cloud no bigger than a man's
'liau 1" in tli.- heaven of the bride's happiness.
-For three weeks it had been flawless — a se-
rene, illimitable expanse; hut the cloud had
cone- — a small, motionless curl of vapor,
iwhich a breath could blow away ; and, look
■rich v. iv she might, she was sure to revert
to that ; when her glance had circled the infi-
nite sphere, it rested last upon that little

fleck. Sitting i lay by the window of her

;bridal chamber, lost in delicious retrospection,
it suddenly occurred t<> her that there was '<»*
.year of her husband's p<i*t lift <;/' which she knew
She smiled when she first
made the discovery ; there would be something
|Oew for them to talk over that evening; a
girlish curiosity heightened the anticipated
pleasure.

' When Mr. Gilbraith came home to tea, she
was so glad t'> see him that she forgot all
Rbout the promised novelty; but when, later
!in the evening, lie drew her, by the arm which
[he clasped about her waist, into the vacant
'parlors, saying — "What sweet have yon in
Store to-night, my blossom?" her thought
came back to her, and she answered: —

:'It is you who must furnish the sweet,
John. I want you to tell me all about the
twenty-sixth year of your life, A. D. eighteen
hundred and fifty-nine.''

She had slipped from his arm as she spoke,
Und stie.,1 before him. directly under the chan-
lelier. her fair, laughing face lifted to his,
with the expectation of his surprise.
And truly he was surprised. A flush shot
Ber his face, succeeded by paleness. His
ryes met hers, more, it seemed, because he
;ould nut move them than because he wished
ler to see the strange expression which hail
ome into them. Was it an expression of
juilt? The young wife was not an expert in
raiding faces ; but she was troubled by that
.ook ; if she had seen it on any other man's
:onntenanee, she would have thought badly
)f him. Now she hastened to relieve herself

26*

of the slight embarrassment she felt by con-
tinuing : —

" I never thought of it till this afternoon.
Isn't it singular > We have known each other
but two years, yet I fancied I could follow
your life back, step by step, to your cradle,
we have talked it over so much ; and here I
discover a whole year a blank. Sit here in
this window, John, and fill it up for me."
She drew him towards a casement in whose
embrasure some cushions were placed, and
which opened into a garden wide and deep
with bloom and shadow.

" You are too commercial ; you talk like a
clerk," he answered, rapidly regaining his
shaken composure. " I don't feel in the mood
for filling blanks to-nigh(, Lilia, but I do feel
ravenous for some music. The new song you
sang last evening has been ebbing and flowing
all day through my being, like an ethereal
sea. It spoiled me for business. Burton said
if the honeymoon lasted much longer, he
should have to get another partner."

"A^iartner for life, I suppose he means,
lie envies us, John — that 's all. Tell him
that our honeymoon will never, never, never
cease to shine, so long as there 's a heaven in
which to revolve — neither in this world nor
the next."

lb' kissed the earnest lips, drew her hand
in his arm, and walked up ami down the noble
length of the two rooms twice or thrice,
finally seating her at the piano, where she
sang the new song and many others for him.

For once he had averted the question which
he had perhaps hoped would never be asked.
The subject was not referred to ; it passed
from the bride's mind until she found herself
alone on the following day. In the midst of
her dreams came back a vivid wonder at the
emotion which her question had excited. The
year 1859 had been the one preceding their
own acquaintance. Mr. Gilbraith had talked
to her freely, during the months of their en-
gagement and the few swift weeks of their
marriage, of his past life, seeming to wish to
make her as familiar with it as was his own
memory. He had been an orphan from an
early age, and now that he had found her

323

324

GODEY S LADYS BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

whom lie loved so absolutely, he had never
tired of pouring forth the hoarded confidence
and tenderness of a lifetime. It was as if all
that a mother and sister would have shared in
the past was given to her, in addition to his
love as her husband. Many a time he had said
to her — "Lilia, you are the only woman I ever
loved ;" and she believed him.

There had been nothing novel or romantic
in the circumstances of their acquaintance,
courtship, aud marriage, except what their
own hearts had made." Lilia, too, was an
orphan, the ward of a bachelor uncle, who
had approved of the marriage and given her
the beautiful home in which they were passing
the honeymoon. Deep as death, high as im-
mortal life was the love they bore each other;
it was intimately blent with the very springs
of being. The absence of family ties drew
them into each other's arms with a passion of
devotion which made of their marriage an
august ceremony which swung open for them
the gates of a new world, clashing together
behind them with a golden resonance, and
leaving them isolated in these realms of joy.

When the manner of passing the first weeks
of their union was under discussion, Mr. Gil-
braith had said: ''Let us stay in town, and
begin housekeeping immediately; then the
superb home with which you have been dow-
ered will always be endeared to us by the
associations of this time ; and, what is better,
it is positively the most secluded little Eden
in the land. Our friends, at this season, are
away ; the city is deserted. As for watering-
places, they are the last resource of the dis-
contented; in the fulness of our content, we
will stay away from them. Nest winter, if
my Lilia pines for the gay world, she shall
iave it ; but now, for a few brief weeks, let
me have her to myself. This era of our life
will be a compression of all light into a dia-
mond ; a concentration of all sweets into one
flower ; or no — an expansion of a bit of finite
into the infinite." And of course the bride
had approved of the plan.

Their house was high up in the city, where
the air from the river swept over the spacious
garden which girdled it with bloom ; it was
furnished, previous to the wedding-day, in
such a manner that, while the expenditure
was lavish, it was a fine discrimination which
was apparent, not money. A detachment of
the uncle's tried and trusty corps of servants
.kept the machinery of this "bit of infinite

finite" running like clockwork, and here was
the young couple with nothing to do but be
happy; and, as we have said, for three weeks
the bride's heaven had been absolutely cloud-
less. Three weeks out of a lifetime ! Well,
that is three weeks more than a vast majority
of people ever knew of perfect content.

Doubtless, if Mrs. Gilbraith bad had any
more serious trouble to ponder, she would not
have pondered this. Three or four times her
husband had ridden down to the office, more
from habit than from any necessity for attend-
ing to duties which liis partner had remained
in town to discharge. It was during one of
these absences that she had, in dreaming over
her engagement and marriage, made the dis-
covery. Mr. Gilbraith's history, as she knew
it, had nothing peculiar in it. He was bom
in London, where his parents, although Ame-
ricans, were temporarily residing, for the
benefit of his mother's health, who died while
he was still an infant. His father was a
merchant, of liberal means and education,
whose vessels traded to many ports, and who
finally died on the island of Madeira, where
he went to recover from the shock of hL>
wife's death. The devotion of his parents to
each other, as it had been told to him, and as
he had read it in their letters, was tenderly
dwelt upon by the son, who had formed from
it an exalted estimate of the relations of the
sexes. The orphaned babe had been sent
home, in the care of its nurse, to the grand-
parents, who resided in a New England city.
Here he had been reared and educated. Lilia
could see, in her mind's eye, the broad lawn
of the old Gilbraith mansion, the grove of
chestnuts in which the boy used to wander
with his books, the stream in which he fished
for silvery trout ; she. knew by heart the
history of his boyish perils and miraculous
escapes, and passing troubles ; from what
college he had graduated, how he had stood
among others there, on the playground and in
the classes (except that she was certain John
never rated himself as high as the facts war-
ranted); she had sailed with him, in fancy, on
his voyage to Madeira, in the care of an old
friend of his father's, and ranged with hini
the countries which he visited before returning
home ; she could tell his favorite poets and
his favorite flowers, bis favorite philosophies,
and that, of the sciences, he had pursued
chemistry far beyond the text-books. He had
decided to study the law, not from any ueces-

TUB YE.VT. EIGHTEEN" HUNDRED AND FIFTV-NIXE.

sity as a means of support, but because he
I been tol 1 that he was too much of a
dreamer, and was wasting his talents in v. |
indolence. When he was ready to settle down
t" the practice of it, he had come on to New
;, to go into partnership with a friend of
liis. who had graduated with him from Har-
'.. and who had established himself a cou-
ple of years previous in a well-to-do office in
the vicinity of the City Hall. Among others,
he had letters of introduction to her uncle ; he
■ her ; and from that moment their lives had
been blending into one, inevitably. She had
his history, every page and line of it, by heart ;
she thought it a perfect record, noble, honor-
able, transfused with the music of genius.
When she found these pages torn out, she felt,
at first, girlish curiosity; the pleasure of
something new and pleasant to happen. It
was only by degrees that this curiosity deep-
| ened into apprehension ; still later, into wear-
. ing anxiety, into doubt and terror.

While Mr. Gilbraith was making his call
1 at the office the second day, his wife was
I making her toilet for the evening, and won-
dering why he had appeared so disconcerted
at her simple question. John iusisted upon
her wearing white roses through the bridal
month, and she had just fastened one in the
lace and bow over her bosom, and another in
) the ringlets of her golden hair, that they

m:_-Ut he fresh and sweet for his com:
| when a card was sent up, which bore a name
nnknown to her. They had received so few
calls in the present deserted state of the city
that the trifling •■vent had an air of singularity.
The name — Victor Gazavondi — must be French
or Italian ; word accompanied it that the caller
■was in the city for a day only, and had there-
fore presented himself without the delay of
Bending first his address from his hotel. Pre-
suming him to be some friend of her husband's,
perhaps from Boston. Mrs. Gilbraith descended
to the reception-room, where she met an el-
derly gentleman, a foreigner, of polished
manners, who bowed over her hand with
French impressiveness, and who continued to
regard her. after she was seated, with admira-
tion.

''I sail, indeed, have much to congratulate
I my friend upon his marriage," he said, with
a slight a<c.-nt. " Ze lilies of France are not
, so much fair. I have ze great hope zat Mr.
jGilbraith will now be so happy as he deserves.
JHe had great trouble, but it is all over now, I

<ee. He has told his bride about me, his
friend. Uousieur Gazavondi '"

She blushed slightly, and hesitated before
framing her answer: he Beamed so confident
that Bhe knew all about him, and would give
him a warm welcome, that she did not wish
to wound him by confessing her entir.
ranee.

•'He has talked to me much about his
friends," she said. "I seem to know them
well, though I have met so few of them.''

"It was in the year 1^59 we was most
acquaint. I was his friend in his trouble. It
i- bad to have great trouble, in a strange
countree. as Monsieur Gilbraith, he had."

A strange sensation smote the bride ; she
would have asked, in her first surprise, if
Mr. Gilbraith had been in Europe in 1859;
but swiftly after the surprise came the n flec-
tion that if he really had been abroad at that
time, and had never mentioned it to her, her
ignorance of the fact might compromise her
husband in some manner, and the instinct to
protect his dignity was uppermost. She was
glad to hear the hall door close, and his foot
in the passage ; the ^ervant must ha-.
him about the visitor, for he came directly
into the room, and as he saw his wife convers-
ing with the stranger, for a moment he was
blind and dumb.

"Ah, you have much surprise," said the
Frenchman, laughing at his discomfiture.
With a piercing glance at his wife, as if ho
would read her soul, Mr. Gilbraith summoned
back his self-possession to a certain d<
he embraced his guest after the French fash-
ion of friends, bidding him welcome to his
house.

" I can only stay one little hour, my friend.
I must be to the steamer for New Orleans by
eight o'clock."

Lilia was certain her husband look
lieved at this announcement ; but then he
had felt loth to entertaiu company when they
were so happy alone.

"Will you tell your butler that tea must
be served half an hour earlier than Uouul,
Mr-. Gilbraith?"

Now- there was B little bell at her hand, and
she was not accustomed to be sent out of the
room on errands like this, with a servant in
the hall, but she comprehended that this was
a request for her to leave the apartment ; so
she conveyed the message, and was seen no
more by the gentlemen until they took the:r

326

godet's lady's book and magazine.

places at the tea-table. By that time her
husband was in gay spirits, entertaining his
guest with brilliant success, who regretted
that his visit was so brief, but who made no
farther allusion to the past. Of this Lilia took
note ; for her attention, having been so fully
aroused, was on the alert for the explanations
which would be made, or at least for the
casual remarks which would be interchanged.

But when Monsieur Gazavondi departed
she knew no more of the place and circum-
stances of his friendship with Mr. Gilbraith
than when he came ; And they were not de-
tailed to her. The bridegroom absorbed her
soul — he was fascinating beyond precedent —
but he said nothing of their recent visitor.

Twice that night she awoke suddenly ; the
full moon was shining into the chamber ; a
molten, motionless zone of light lay across the
carpet and the bed, and upon the face of the
bridegroom. Stirring softly on her pillow she
looked into the dear countenance ; it wore a
troubled, restless expression which she had
never seen in his waking hours ; the lips com-
pressed themselves, the brows settled into a
frown. On the second occasion, while she
gazed, he murmured fiercely, like a breath of
fire — "Get me out of this ! Oh, get me out !"
while over her mind kept rolling, like a cold
wave, the sentence of her visitor — " It is bad
to have great trouble in a strange countree,
as Monsieur Gilbraith, he had."

"It is strange that tohatever it was, he does
not confide it to me," she thought, and then
arose the little "cloud no bigger than a man's
hand," which floated thereafter in her hori-
zon, and which slowly gathered volume until
it hung like a pall over the Gilbraith home —
over the flowers and fountains, the music and
books, the lofty rooms, the luxurious plenish-
ings, and, darkest of all, over the heart of its
mistress. It hung there, like a spirit, unseen
by any eye save hers ; to the world this
mansion was the most graciously lighted of
all in the wide bounds of the metropolis ; it
was steeped in the sunshine of prosperity ;
such youth, beauty, and love, with such
wealth as befitted it, made it a pleasant thing
to contemplate ; the master, himself, reigned
there, as in the kingdom of Felicity, for ex-
cept an occasional cold breeze out of the
unseen cloud, he was unconscious of its exist-
ence.

Had Mrs. Gilbraith been guiltless of the
accusation which her heart brought against

her husband, this matter would never have
culminated in a tragic storm ; had she told
him her feelings with regard to the year 1859,
he, whatever sorrow, shame, or sin he had to
confess, would have confessed it, rather than
have any barrier to the completeness of their
union ; but she, with a delicacy which would
have been noble in a better cause, carefully
hid from him that she had ever thought a
second time of the request she had once
made. This same delicacy prevented her from
seeking, from outside sources, information
with regard to what he did not choose to tell.
If any one, except he, had come to her, offer-
ing her the solution of the mystery, she would
not have accepted it.

It was only by slow degrees that she brought
herself to believe that her husband had any
guilt to conceal. He may have had adversity,
or been implicated in the trouble of some
friend whose losses or crimes his generosity
concealed — but that he should have done
something which it was necessary to hide from
her contempt, at first did not occur to her.
This conviction came gradually, she fighting
it back all the time. It was like a creeping
wave, forever returning, breaking upon the
shore of faith, and retreating discomfited,
only to slide up again with endless persistence.
She resisted it courageously. The fear which
beset her made her all the more devoted >
when he came into her presence she would
fly to him, shelter herself in his arms, cling
to his eyes with her own soft looks, to assure
herself that this was the man she had trusted
so entirely. Her love had been so proud of
the nobility of its object ; his truth and honor
had been such assurance of real and lasting
happiness, she felt that should any sudden
shock of betrayal come, it would kill her.
She should love him, always, under all cir-
cumstances, but she should sink under the
very misery of such a love. Hers was one
of those passionate and sensitive natures, so
keenly alive to both pleasure and pain that it
would be hard to tell whether the exquisite
delight which all fair and harmonious things
gave her was compensation for the equally
sharp distress which their opposites inflicted.

We must give her excuse for not being able
to repel the doubt which beset her. The
frosts of autumn had brought the migratory
birds of fashion back to their home bowers.
Parties were given for the bridal pair, who
returned these courtesies with a sumptuous

THE TEAH EIGHTEEN' nUXDUEn AND FIFTY-NINE.

327

festival, distinguished, like their hoase, dress,
and manners, by the stamp of their own
minds. In some kind of a H hite robe, lustrous
yet translucent, crowned with the golden
regality of her splendid hair, Mrs. Gilbraith
moved ami. 1st her guests, without ornaments
or jewels of any kind.

" What is she ?" said one gentleman, speak-
iug with another.

"Ah, ceil! I hare no imagination ! I shall
hare to fall hack upon stereotypes and call
her a lily."

" Well, there is nothing better of its kind
than a lily. Heaven gives us a few perfect
types. For flavor we have the peach, for
perfume the rose, for purity the lily, and —
for women we have Mrs. Gilbraith."

"I believe you intended her to overhear
that flowery flourish," said the other, in a
lower tone; "she is standing just behind
you. I Baw a faint bloom break out ou her
you concluded your assertion, though
she has not looked this way."

•• You don't think me guilty of such a com-
mon-place expedient? Has she gone?"

'• She has moved on a step, and is busy with
that stupid yellow tl ihlia."

1;Mrs. Van Zand; .' Then she will not hear
us. Did you know anything about Gilbraith
Before he cam.- to New York?"

" Not much. He is of the Gilhraiths of
Massachusetts. I have beard them spoken of
as rather proud and exclusive — or, rather,
■plusive. I believe the match gave full satis-
faction to the bride's uncle."

" I will wager that he never heard of a cir-
nce which took place in Paris, three
bars

"What was it?"

" I wouldn't speak of it whore it would
reach his wife any sooner than 1 would thrust
a knife into her heart. If I tell you, remem-
ber, it is between us two. I hail a friend in
Paris at the time, who told me, in his letters,
all about an affair which was causing some
excitement there. I am certain now that the
John Gilbraith who was the actor in the affair
is this same Gilbraith who is our host to-
■jht."

" I hope there was nothing wrong."

"He was arrested for robbing a diamond
merchant. I believe the charge was never
proved ; but the shock of the arrest and dis-
abuse broke the heart of his first wife, who
died in less than two mouths."

" His first wife ! I never suspected that he
had been married before."

"If this is the same person, he has been.
I distinctly remember the allusion to his wife,
it was said that they were' on their bridal
tour ; that she was a delicate person, con-
sumptive, and sank under the shame and
terror of their situation."

"I do not believe it can be the same per-
son. Mr. Gilbraith has impressed n
man every way worthy of the love of tin- wo-
man he has won. Is it likely that Lilia's
uncle would permit her marriage, unless he
knew the person thoroughly? For Heaven's
sake, don't repeat the story, eveu if you were
certain I"

"I shall not repeat it. He may have been
falsely accused ; such things occur. I like
him as much as you do; and for his wife's
sake I should say nothing."

The two friends glanced around to convince
themselves that their low-toned conversation
had not been overheard. Mrs. Gilbraith was
still chatting with tin; dowager in yellow
satin as the gentlemen passed her on their
way to another apartment ; they did not see
the pallor of her face, but the elderly lady
did, and rose, urging her hostess to take the
seat.

" We old married ladies know how to pity
you," she said ; "the warmth of the room aud
standing so long to receive us have been too
much for you, Mrs. Gilbraith. You are as
white as your dress. My dear, are you going
to faint?"

"No, no; do not alarm any one. Just
screen me a moment, until I recover. I feel
better already." The bride sank down in the
arm-chair, while the broad matron stood be-
fore her, compassionating the supposed cause
of her sudden illness.

"Here," she said, drawing a vinaigrette
from the folds of her robe; "use this. You
will get over it soon."

She inhaled the piercing vapor of tin- vin-
aigrette, gave it back with a word of thanks
and a glittering smile, arose, and floated out
into the sea of pleasure with no greater visi-
ble change than a fixed paleness in place of her
usual delicately fluctuating color. Every word
of the communication between the gentlemen
had been overheard by her. When the com-
pliment of one of them fell upon her ear she had
moved away and tried to hear uo more ; but a
draught of air from the conservatory near which

328

godey's lady's book and magazine.

they were standing had brought the dialogue
directly to her, and she was compelled to listen
against her will. She continued to talk and
smile with her lips, until the speakers were
beyond her observation, not knowing how her
face was "hanging, until the matron r.ose up
alarmed.

"They like him, and they think there may
be a mistake," was her thought the rest of
that brilliant evening; "I love him, and I
cannot hope there is any mistake" — for back
over her memory flashed the words of their
French visitor to which she had now the key.

The limits of a fashionable entertainment
were passed after a time' — she could never
recall just how they dragged themselves
away — and the guests were gone. Mr. Gil-
braith hastened to her, where she drooped
under the waning light of the argent chan-
delier.

"I have been uneasy about you for hours,
Lilia. I saw that you were not well. The
exertion of this party has been too much for
you. I am glad that it is over. We will give
no more — at present."

He clasped her hand so tenderly, he looked
at her so anxiously, his love would have
solaced any other trouble. But to suffer
from this deadly secret ; and the more she
suffered the less to share it with him was a
pain that in all her dread of future ills she
had never contemplated. She tried to raise
her eyes to his, to say something to divert his
attention from herself, but her gaze remained
fixed upon her wedding-ring, and she could
find nothing to say.

"Some of our most intimate friends lin-
gered to tell me what a success the evening
had been. Burton said it surpassed every-
thing— that he should go right away and get
married and have a house the fac-simile of
this, only he didn't know where on earth to
look for the lady — there were not two Lilias
in one world. Wasn't that flattering to us ?
Just Burton's mind, too, a fac-simile house
and a fac-simile wife ! talented and sound,
but not original. Now, if I had a house with
only three rooms, they shouldn't be the copy
of somebody else's. I don't give my orders
as Mrs. Van Zandt gives hers — ' There 's the
parlors, Mr. Upholsterer; I don't care what it
costs, only so you fix 'em like the other houses
in this row.' I want what other people have
not got, and that 's the reason I was bound to
have my wife so much better than other

men's. But you are so tired you will not
even thank me for that. I saw just how ill
you were, hours ago. I was watching you
from afar. That pert Miss Valentine said I
was a perfect sun-dial. And now, to pay for
keeping you here two minutes longer, I 'm
going to carry you up-stairs. You are not fit
to walk." He lifted her in his firm arms and
only set her down when he reached her dress-
ing-room, when he confided her to the care of
the maid, while he gave the servants direc-
tions about securing the mansion for the
night.

For the first time Lilia wished that his love
was not so observant ; she longed to escape
from his tender surveillance ; she was afraid
that his penetrating eye would read her
thoughts. As soon as possible she slipped
into bed, pressed her face down into her pil-
low, and lay still, affecting sleep.

Her husband, when he came in, was cautious
not to disturb her ; he was glad to find her
resting ; and in a few moments was himself
sunk in the slumber of health and peace. Her
brain spun round like a wheel of fire. "His
first wife" — "on their bridal tour" — these
were the words which rung in her ears. He
had told her so often, in their most rapt find
solemn moments, that he had never loved any
but her — taken pains, as it were, to iterate
and reiterate the assertion, as if otherwise
she might doubt it — she who had never
doubted it nor him till now. The robbery of
a handful of diamonds was not so base a crime
as a systematic, life-long lie ; he who could
be guilty of the deception John Gilbraith had
practised, could easily be guilty of theft.
This, then, was the kind of man she had
sworn to honor ! The haughty blood surged
to and fro through a frame too delicate for
such vicissitudes of feeling.

"Yet I do honor him! 0 God, I do love
and honor him ! If I must cease to do that,
let me die."

After this silent cry, she went more calmly
through a review of the testimony. She
looked sharply for a chance to falsify it. The
gentleman had said that the charge of robbery
was not proven. To her mind there was little
comfort in that, for the charge itself was one
of the lightest counts in her indictment. It
was his embarrassment when she chanced to
ask him the history of that year ; the trepida-
tion he had shown at the call of the French
gentleman, whom he had evidently requested

THE YEAR EIGHTEEN* HUNDRED AXD FIFTY-NINE.

320

to keep silence with regard to thai time ; the

■ ut that he was on his weddin
phen the a . ir occurred, and that his bride
had faded into the grave from its blighting

Was this studied concealment like

■ n confession of innocence? She felt
that, in itself, this silence of his was the
darkest proof against him. If, when he sought
her hand iu marriage, lie had told her of this
unfortunate event in his history; if he had
spoken of his first love and the early death of
the beloved ; had confided to her things which
it was so probable she might some time learn
in some less fortunate way, then she should
have trusted, have forgiven — had there bei D
Birthing to forgive — and have accepted him.

Tin- more she studied the obscure case, the
worse it appeared for her husband. This
year, in which he had been wed. led and
widowed, was the one previous to her own
acquaintance with him. Be had quickly cast
off the claims of the past ; he was too eager
i again the carnival of joy. If he had
■deed deceived her so much as to the fidelity
and crystal truth of his nature, he might have
fully counterfeited other characteris-
tics. Deep pity for the forgotten, the n
Bel mote through her. "It may

hav..- been somo sudden discovery like mine
which broke her heart. If she had thought
him what I have believed him to be, and then
Bund him wanting, she could not live under
tin- change. It shows that she loved him.
His every word, his every kiss for me is a
; to her."

In many feminine natures there is a blind
clinging to the object beloved ; it accepts it,
impurities and all ; all it asks is something to
idolize. But iu the high.-; natures there is
discrimination in love. Those women who
able of that order of love for which it
is worth a man's while to exalt himself are
not guilty of a base fondness. They have a
sense of justice which is too keen to pervert ;
a clear understanding of right and wrong, as
the angels have ; and their hearts refuse to
subvert their reasons.

This was what made the wretchedness of
Mrs. Gilbraith. She could not live without
love, and she could not fail to condemn what
was unworthy, so that a perpetual struggle
exhausted her. Her health failed perceptibly
Bier that evening. It was natural that her
physician should attribute her state to another
cause, and encourage her husband to think

that, when this temporary excitement was

over, her system would regain its natural tone.
"Gilbraith makes a fool of himself," said
his good-natured neighbors. "He's at home
three-quarters of the time, petting that dainty
wife of his, as if no woman ever 1
sick."

On the anniversary of their wedding-day
the wife of Mr. Gilbraith lay at the point of
death. A steady, dismal rain, more lit for
November than June, poured down upon the
roses and shrubbery of the garden ; within
the mansion a gloom and silence, as of mid-
night, rested oppressively. In a room remote
from the mother's a nurse walked to and fro
with a boy of two weeks in her arms. For
hours no relative had come to inquire after the
little stranger ; itwas the mother who absorbed
all feeling now.

In his library, his head bowed on his arms,
over her writing-desk, the master of the house
was sitting Motionless, wrestling with inward
terror and suspense, when the voice of the
physician startled him to his feet.

"Don't look so utterly despairing, Gilbraith;
there is hope yet — just a little. I came in
here to talk with you about a matter which
has been on my mind for some time. I may
be mistaken, but it seems to me that it is
mental trouble and not physical disease which
is killing your wife."

"Mental trouble!" was the bewildered re-
sponse.

"Yes. You appear surprised. Itwas be-
cause, from my knowledge of her family, her
happy girlish life, and her still happier mar-
ried relations, I had so little reason to think
this supposition possible, that I have not
mentioned it before. Now, however, my min I
is made up. It is some disease of the mind
which is consuming her, and I tell you plainly
I can do nothing unless the root of the matter
is come at. If you value her life, and know
anything which might produce this mental
condition, I charge you to consult with mo
immediately."

" I know nothing."

"You would not let pride — ?" suggested
the physician, doubtfully.

" Do you think there is anything, Dr. Va-
lentine, that I would allow to stand between
Lilia and life ? N'ot my own, not this world,
almost, I feel like saying, the promise of the
future. We love each other. We have been

330

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

immeasurably happy — at least, I know that I
have. The only shadow has been her delicate
health, and that I hoped was hut temporary.
Lilia's soul is as translucent as pure water ;
1 have looked through its inmost depths.
What you suggest cannot he."

Yet, even as he made this assertion, a sud-
den doubt caused his voice to waver. Once
he had looked into his wife's soul as into a
calm lake ; but had he recently been sure of
her thoughts and feelings ? Was not the lake
now always flurried and rippled, so that he
could only guess that its depths were as be-
fore ? Her ill-health had so occupied him, he
had so taken every phase of her actions and
feelings as a consequence of this, that he had
never looked at the last few months in the
light which now flooded over him. He sank
back in his chair again, remaining lost for a
time in troubled thought.

" Since you have suggested so inucli, Dr.
Valentine, it has made me recall our manner
of living, and it may be — I say it may be,
though God knows I have no clue, and cannot
bring myself to believe it— that some secret
trouble has weighed upon Lilia's thoughts,
and aggravated her illness. It is impossible,
as yet, to my belief. If I were of yoiir
opinion, I should be eager to search for the
cause."

"She is of a nervous temperament, highly
excitable, with a delicate organization, such
as the heart (which means the brain) acts
easily upon. I see all the symptoms of mental
malady. Since you left her bedside, she has
become delirious. She talks a good deal, and
from the tenor of her ravings, which seem to
have more consistency than, usual in delirium,
I perceive the action of some exciting eause
upon her mind. Perhaps if you were to hear
her, you would immediately detect the influ-
ence at work. By the by, Mr. Gilbraith —
excuse me, but you know I have been Lilia's
doctor and friend from infancy — is she your
second wife ?"

"What do you mean?" queried Mr. Gil-
braith, in amazement.

" I did not know but it might be that you
had been married before. You are several
years older than she, and I am ignorant of
your history previous to your residence in our
city. It just occurred to me to ask you."
This was what the doctor said, but what he
thought was more after this fashion: "He does
not answer me directly — he prevaricates. The

scoundrel ! If I find that Lilia has made a
mistake in her choice, I shall just let her die.
Better so than to drag along a disappointed
life. The child was not made for that."

"This seems to me very irrelevant, and
Lilia dying," said Mr. Gilbraith. sternly.
"Can I not go to her, doctor? It cannot
harm her to see me. I must be with her."

"I wish you to go while the delirium is
upon her. Perhaps you will make up your
mind what is the matter, after you have heard
her talk. She will not know you nor any
one else now. I am going off on my round,
and will be back here in a couple of hours."

The doctor went out, and the husband stole
up to the sick chamber. As he stood by the
bed Lilia looked up at him, with such bloom-
ing checks and such bright eyes that he could
not realize the perils of her condition. Her
glance was so quiet and natural that he spoke
to her as if she might understand him: "Alas,
my darling, what has brought this upon us ?"

A little laugh broke over Lilia's parched
lips. '°' The year 1859," she said.

It was a vague answer, and a queer one.
He did not know whether it was a chance out-
burst of feverish fancy or a deliberate reply to
his question. Por some moments he remained
lost in reflection, then, as it were by accident,
the smiling request of his bride to tell her the
history of that year, made so long ago, came
back to him. So successfully had she con-
cealed the "canker i' the rose" from him,
that until this instant he had never been re-
minded of that request, nor given reason to
suspect that she remembered it with intereS
enough to repeat it. As something of thil
truth flashed over him, he groaned. The
startled attendants flew softly to the bed;
they thought the lady must be dead, so woful
was that groan. _

It was not remorse for past deeds of his own :
it was not grief for the imminent danger of
her whom he loved better than life which
wrung it from him; it was the effect of his
discovery ; the instantaneous, irrefutable con-
viction of the perishable, the mutable, the
imperfect character of earthly things. An
hour before he would have staked his soul on
Lilia's faith in him. If she could have asso-
ciated with him by day, have lain in his
bosom at night for a year, and have given no
sign of the doubt within her, of what worth
was human love ?

He could not bear the weight which dc-

THE YEAR EIGHTEEN' HUNDRED AND FIFTY-NINE.

331

tossed him. Even his wife's death was to
him a lesser matter, compared with this un-
certainty of earthly relations, lie tuned,
Balked heavily out of the room, down into
the garden, where the rain heat upon his
unprotected head. Nature, in her cold and
Hsmal mood, .seemed to him then a truer
Bend than man or woman.

Three more weeks passed away, and again
it-., i- an anniversary — that of the luckless
day upon which Mrs. (i ill .rait lilia-1 ti is t thought
of the sealed pages in her husband's history.
In a deep bay window of her chamber, over-
looking the garden, the very spot in which
the unhappy discovery first floated before her,
lined in her husband's arms. She had
asked to be carried to this window, where she
had spent so many delightful hours of the
preceding summer. It was the first time since
her illness that she had looked abroad on the
outer world, and it appeared very lovely to
her, as sho rested quietly on his bosom, with
the perfume of flowers rising from beneath,
and the warm tints of sunset making every
object blush. After almost feeling the coffin
(closing about her, it was like being resur-
rected to a new life, and she felt, with that
added susceptibility which is the effect of
Bekness, as if she had arisen to a new being
anil purpose. The darkness which had ob-
scur.-d her heaven for so long had passed.
[Sin.' felt the divine meaning and worth of
charity, which is love. Looking up into his
Roe who held her, her eyes were clear and
hopeful ; he searched them through their
; depths, and found nothing hidden. If he had
ever wronged others or herself, she had for-
jgiven him all; love that accepted only the
best, and despised a fault, was not Christ's
love. Whatever was inscribed on that page
which Mr. Gilbraith had turned down, let it
remain as it was ; it should no longer have
j power to ruin their happiness.

By the key which her delirium had given
him, he deciphered her thoughts. "Shall I
tell you a story to while away the hour, my
dear wife?"

••As it pleases you, John; lam perfectly
happy, silent or speaking."

" Ferfectly happy, my Lilia ? It is pleasant
to hear you say that ! One year ago this
night, you uttered a little assertion which
remained long a sweet chord vibrating through
me. You said — 'Tell him that our honey-
lnoon will never, never, never cease to shine,

VOL. LX1S. 27

so long as there 's ,1 heaven in which to re-
volve— neither in this world nor the next ["'.
Her eye fell beneath his steady look, which
accused her of the emptiness of this wordy
assertion. She blushed, but presently said,
firmly: "Neither will it, John. It may be
obscured by transient clouds, but it shines
among the spheres yet, as brightly as at first."
" I remember, too, that you asked me for a
Story on that evening. I did not give it then.
Had I thought twice, I should have done so ;
but the world was so beautiful to me just
then I was loth to recall less happy hours.
You asked me for some of the events of my
life for the year 1859. In May of that year,
my beloved friend and cousin, John Gilbraith,
sailed for Europe on his bridal tour. His wife
was a sweet, dainty creature, almost the equal
of my Lilia. Everything promised for them a
rare happiness, and they deserved it, for they
were as good in heart as they were accom-
plished in mind. The first tidings which I
received of them, after their arrival in Paris,
were of a strange and terrible character. My
cousin had been arrested for robbery, thrown
into prison, and his poor, helpless wife it was
who wrote, imploring me to come to their
assistance. I went in the first steamer which
sailed. Upon reaching Paris I found Mrs.
Gilbraith in her rooms at their hotel, ill from
mental distress, and with only hired attend-
ance. Cousin John was confined in prison,
almost insane with anxiety about his wife,
and the disgrace and danger of his position.
He had been, with his wife, in one of the prin-
cipal jewelry establishments of the city,
where he had purchased a bracelet for her — a
simple gold and coral thing, costing but a few
pounds. After leaving the store, and going
to one or two other shops, upon returning to
their hotel, he was arrested for theft. The
diamond merchant had discovered the loss of
some very valuable jewels, and had reason to-
suspect the American strangers. At first my
cousin laughed ; then grew indignant ; but
his feelings, whatever their character, were of
no avail. He was torn from his weeping
bride, and borne to prison, while a guard was
placed over her apartments. They happened
to have no friends abroad at the time. His
representations produced no effect ; he was
condemned, at the very least, to await the
investigation of the case. He understood
from the lawyer whom he employed that
■•matters looked dark; there was considerable-

832

godey's lady's book and magazine.

evidence implicating him, though it was not
decisive. Thus affairs rested when I reached
them. I will not pain your gentle heart,
Lilia — you could not bear the excitement in
your debilitated state — by dwelling upon all
the details of the ensuing weeks and months.
All I could do was to cheer the drooping wife,
the despairing husband, and to accumulate
negative testimony as to the honorable and
irreproachable standing of the accused in his
own country. The case was tried ; my cousin,
though innocent, was the victim of a relentless
chain of circumstantial evidence ; but, on
account of his character, as represented by
myself, and the absence of absolute proof, his
sentence was light, so the court said — 'three
years' imprisonment.' When the fatal deci-
sion was . known, he rallied his courage to
meet it, but his wife drooped like a flower
torn up by the roots. She had inherited a
consumptive tendency, and in less than two
months her sufferings were ended ; she lies
buried in a foreign laud. This it was, and
not his own fate, which murdered lny cousin.
The thought of her cruel death wore upon
him. All this time I was fighting for his
release. The lawyer, whom you one day saw
at this house. Monsieur Gazavondi, was one
of our most steadfast friends. At last, after
six months of untiring exertion, I procured
the wished-for release ; his prison doors were
opened, but they were opened too late. Liberty
or life were of no worth to him. He refused
to be comforted, to make an effort to regain
the tone of his health or spirits, and in a few
weeks I buried him beside his bride. This is
the history of the year 1S59, Lilia. I loved
that cousin like a brother. Is it strange that
I shrank from this story as one shrinks from
the touch of fire ?"

She looked up into his face, which was
white with pain ; his lips were quivering.
With a passion of remorse and regret, she
clasped him, kissing away the two hot tears
which dripped over his cheeks, and then lay
her head upon his shoulder and sobbed until
he was alarmed into making an effort to solace
her.

Innocent Pleasures. — Sydney Smith, in ar-
guing against the horror of some Christians at
the thought of indulging even in innocent
pleasures, speaks of them as always trembling
at the idea of being entertained, and thinking
no Christian safe who is not dull.

THE FAMILY DRAWING MASTER.

IN A SERIES OF FAMILIAR CONVERSATIONS.

QUADRILATERAL FIGURES.
P. Will you let me hear the names of the
triangles you have heard of, once more, Ion ?
Ion. Yes, papa. We have learned about an .
Equilateral Triangle,
Isosceles Triangle,
Scalene Triangle, and a
Right-Angled Triangle.
P. To-day, we will learn of figures with
four angles. Here are two different ones.
Who can describe them ?

W. I can, papa. Let me see ! The first
is — a square.

P. True, Willie ; but then you are not de
scribing it. If a blind man were to bring you
an animal to describe, and you were to say to
him, "It is a dog" —

W. Then he wouldn't be any wiser. He
would say: "You are only telling me it.-
name. Tell me all about it — what sort of a
thing it is."

P. Then, suppose I am blind ! Now, I want
you to tell me what the Square is, uot what it
is called.

W. Well, then, the square is a thing —

P. It is not exactly a real thing : it is a
shape, a figure.

W. Then the square is a figure with four
sides, all of the same size — all equal, 1 should
say. It has four equal sides, and four right
angles.

P. Now, what is the next figure ?

W. What is it called, papa ?

P. Never mind its name. What is it ?

W. It is a figure with four equal sides. 1
can tell that without measuring.

P. And so is a square.

THE FAMILY DRAWING-MASTER.

O O rt

ooo

H*. Bat I have not finished yet, papa. It
has two acute and two obtuse angles. That
is it. It is a figure with four equal sides, and
two acute and two obtuse angles.

P. Very good ; but are you sure now that
!you have described it ciactty t Have you
given me such a description that I cannot
'mistake it for any other figure ?

W. I think so, papa.

P. Perhaps I might think that you vrere
'describing this one : —

Bee! It has two acute and two obtuse angles.

1(". Ah, papa, but it has not four equal 8
[think that, if you make a figure with four
'eqnal sides, and two acute and two obtuse
angles, it must be like this one. What is its
jaaine, please ?

P. It is called a rhomb.

IT*. Now, I will give its description once
more. A figure with /our equal sides, and two
md two obtuse angles is called a Ruomb.

Ion. Or, if you like, you may say with
aarallel horizontal sides and parallel oblique
lides.

P. To-day, you may sit down and copy the
fquare and the rhomb. When you have done
his with exactness, you can point out the

Inn. Is not this drawing rather difficult,
papa ?

P. No. . If yon will first take pains to draw
the square and rhomb properly, you will then
find it very easy to join them together, and
to make the drawing.

qnares and rhombs in this drawing ;
hen you may copy it.

and

GOOD MANNERS.

BT KEV. F. S. CASSADT.

A^p cannut wither her. nor enstom s'alo
Her iufloite variety. — Shakspcakb.

Certain- well-defined traits of character
mark the true lady or gentleman the world
over ; and among these good manners are
never wanting in due prominence. One's
bearing in society involves his or her happi-
ness too much, not to speak of the happiness
of others, ever to be a matter of indifference.
The relations and dependencies of Iff.- are
such as to demand those courtesies and ame-
nities which give to the social circle its attrac-
tion and charm. In fact, society depends for
its enjoyment, if not for its existence, largely
on the genial affections of the heart. "There
is no society to be kept up in the world,"
observes Addison, "without good nature, or
something which must bear its appearance
and supply its place. For this reason man-
kind have been forced to invent a kind of
artificial humanity, which is what we express
by the word good-breeding."

Good manners imply more than mere cere-
mony, mere attention to established forms.
The habitual observance of certain conven-
tional rules and usages does not make a lady
or gentleman. Some degree of formality is
necessary in conducting our relations and
intercourse one with another, but there must
be with it some heart, some
genuine, felt love for our
kind ; otherwise we can
neither he the instruments
or recipients of enjoyment in
the social circle. To impart
or receive pleasure in society
there must be at least "the
flow of soul," if not "the
feast of reason." We may
admire this or that person
for special accomplishments
of manner, style, and conver-
sation ; but if these are seen
and felt to be merely artificial, not at all in-
volving the affections, we can never love the

334

M.DY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

same. No gifts of mind, nor elegance of per-
son, nor propriety of personal bearing, can
compensate for the want of heart in company.
It is only the heart, that can touch and im-
press the heart. A warm, confiding soul is
the element of all enjoyment and pleasure in
the social world ; and where this is there can
he no stiffness, no studied formalism of man-
ner or language. In his intense loathing of
empty, heartless forms in society, the great
hard has not untruthfully said —

"Ceremony
Was devised at first to set a gloss
Ou faint deeds, hollow welcomes,
But where there is true friendship, there needs none."

Good manners originate in good sense and
good nature. The one perceives the obliga-
tions we owe to society, while the other
heartily accords and enforces them. Formed
for society by the very conditions of our na-
ture, our interests and happiness in life are
necessarily in what we contribute to its aggre-
gate good ; hence it is our interest, as it
should be our pleasure, to do all in our power
to promote the social well-being of our fellows.
No one is independent of society in the matter
of his happiness and comfort. All rational
enjoyment is contingent on the observance of
the social law of our being ; for

"Man in society is like a flower
Blown in its native bed. 'Tis there alono
His faculties, expanded in full bloom,
Shine out, there only reach their proper use."

Those who shun society, or who fail to bear
themselves in it with reference to its enter-
tainment and pleasure, do so by default of
either good sense or good nature, or both,
because they thus cut themselves off from the
chief source of humau enjoyment, not to
speak of the wrong they thereby do to others.
The soul that feels the genial touch of nature,
the stirring of noble sentiments and feelings
within, acts in the social world for the joy
and comfort of its fellow souls, as well as for
its own ; hence the true lady or gentleman is
always courteous and pleasant, affable and
kind. Good sense and good nature both unite
to make them so. "Good manners," says
Swift, "is the art of making those people
easy with whom we converse. Whoever
makes the fewest persons uueasy is the best
bred in company." "Hail, ye small sweet
courtesies of life!" exclaims Sterne, "for
smooth do ye make the road of it, like grace
and beauty, which beget inclinations to love

at first sight ; 'tis ye who open the door and
let the stranger in." Thompson, in speaking
of social obligations and the bearing of their
observance on our happiness, sums up nearly
all the philosophy of life in the following
beautiful, touching lines : — -

" Hail, social life! into thy pleasing bounds
Again I come, to pay the common stock
My share of service, and, in glad return,
To taste thy comforts, thy protected joys."

Good manners constitute the most valuable
of earthly possessions. All may have them
by the cultivation of the affections, and none
without it. Only for the few are learning
and genius, wit and beauty, wealth and fame;
but good manners, with their dowry of happi-
ness, are for all who are willing to pay the
price of self-culture. That lady lives not,
whatever her station in life, but who by
amiable temper, pleasant words, and kind
acts, may shed light and comfort on the hearts
and homes of earth. That man is yet to be
born who may not possess those elements of
power, if true to the obligations of his being,
which brighten and bless human society.
There is a wealth of affection and kindness i
every human heart, if properly developed ;
and the development and expenditure of the
same in social life is a duty we, at once, owe
to ourselves and the world.

"For the sake of those who love us.
For the sake of God above us.
Each and all should do their best
To make music for the rest."

THE DEW-DROP.

BY CORA.

I come with the dawn of the morning,
A gem from the bosom of night ;

And those who would see my adorning;,
Must rise with the morning's first light.

I come — would you sip of the honey?

'Tis freely and cheerfully given ;
Like the pearl of great price, without money,

Like that — a pure gift of kind Heaven.

I come — would you drink at the fountain
Of innocence, pleasure, and health?

I am found in the vale, on the mountain.
The first step in the sure road to wealth.

I come — would you share with the roses
The nectar spread freely for all?

(Save the sluggard who idly reposes,)
Then come with the lark at his call.

Thus seek, early seek for this treasure —
The dew-drops of freshness and truth ;

It will furnish through life double pleasure,
ADd shield from the follies of youth.

A FEW FRIENDS.

i Y K e r. M A H

SIXTH EVENING.

" Frtexd Anna," as we have called her in
these chapters, had stated quietly to the
guests assembled at Mrs. Adams's on the
'•fifth evening," that she had no fine house
in which to receive her friends, hut if they
would come to her little "snuggery," which
was nothing hut a front room on somebody-
Bse's third floor, she would be delighted to
welcome them. " You, gentlemen," she add-
ed, pleasantly, will have to hide your hats
away under the sofa, for I can offer only one
tig-room- — -though if you will all promise
to be very agreeable during the evening, we
ladies will not be critical should you take a
sly peep now and then iu my little convex
mirror."

"Wouldn't that make us feel rather small?"
asked Mr. Stykes, wittily.

"It will make you look small, I promise
yon," laughed Anna; "as for your feelings,
they will probably be like those alluded to in
the last novel, ' more easily imagined than
described.' "

The result of this little dialogue was appa-
rent in the ease and good humor which per-
vaded the company assembled a fortnight
afterward in friend Anna's "snuggery."

Ben had escorted Mary Gliddon to the scene
of action, and was ecstatically happy in con-
sequence. Not that any peculiarly interesting
conversation between them had taken place.
On the contrary, they had been contented
with simply remarking upon the night, the
last new book, and, finally (probably because
Ben had so very much on his mind), they
expatiated upon the neatness and uniformity
of the houses as they passed along. Still, I
repeat, Ben was ecstatic— for he looked for-
ward to that long walk home, and there was
no end to the possibilities of the occasion.
Mr. Pipes was ecstatic, too, for reasons which
will appear in time, and all the rest seemed
determined to enjoy themselves heartily. To
toe sure, after the sofa was filled, and the
three chairs, and the trunk-lounge covered
with striped chintz, there were a few guests
left standing ; but Anna had hung so many
fine engravings and photographs upon her

walls, and there was such a store of pretty
knick-knacks scattered about that no one was
at a loss. If not talking, the by-stander could
at least fasten his eyes intelligently upon
something, which is more than guests cm do
in many fashionably furnished apartments.

There was, in fact, so much gazing, and
chatting, and laughing that we would have
had no game to record had not the man,
whose sole importance consisted in his being
able to convert the astounding Mrs. Simmons
into "a relict," ventured to make an asser-
tion. This assertion was nothing more nor
less than the startling and original remark
that a story "never lost anything in the
telling."

"That is true," cried Ben, rushing to the
rescue just in time to save poor Simmons from
an expressive connubial 'Ahem!' — "very
true. I want no better proof of that than the
modern game called Scaxdal. Did you ever
play it t" raising his voice and lookiug around
at the company.

As some answered "Yes," and the rest
either looked blank or said "No," Ben pro-
posed that he should putfthem all on an equal
footing in the matter.

" You may play the game of Scandal in two
ways," he remarked, oratorically. "In one
way it is a mere childish farce, amounting to
nothing but din and chatter ; but when played
in the right manner it becomes a deep moral
study, calculated, I tell you, to make a man
hold his breath."

"I move," exclaimed the lieutenant, "that
the honored member be requested to 'hurry
up' and explain the process."

Ben regarded him, for an instant, with ex-
pressive scorn, and resumed : —

"The first named method is this: A num-
ber of people sit in semicircle, and No. 1
whispers any vagary that enters his head to
No. 2. This, No. 2 repeats carelessly, the
more so the better, to No. 3, and No. 3 does
the same, in turn to No. 4 — so on until the
last person is reached, when he or she is ex-
pected to announce aloud the sentence which
has just been communicated. Of course, be-
tween carelessness and indistinctness, the

335

336

GODEY'S LADY S BOOK AXD MAGAZINE.

original sentence lias passed through twenty
transformations, and when compared with the
final one is sure to raise a laugh. But with
my method the result is more apt to raise
sighs than laughter — for it proves what poor,
unreliable creatures we all are."

"Well, sir?" suggested the lieutenant,
expressively.

"Be patient," responded the speaker, wav-
ing his hand. " The Vere de Veres are never
in a hurry. One of the company invents and
writes down a short, striking narrative, say
in about one dozen lines. This he reads to
himself carefully and folds away out of sight.
He then calls No. 2 to him, and repeats the
story to him as accurately as he can. No. 2
then takes No. 3 aside, and with great caution
communicates the news. No. 3 does the same
with No. 4, and so on until all are possessed
of the story— given as accurately as practi-
cable, though no person has been permitted
to repeat it twice to his listener. The last
person then recites the story, and it is subse-
quently compared with the original record.
Ladies and gentlemen, it is never the same!
Played in any company, and with whatever
degree of care, the story, as our dear friend
Simmons would say, always either loses or
gains in the telling, proving thereby" —

' ' Proving thereby, ' ' interrupted the engaged
young man indignantly, " that all mankind
twist and falsify. Lwill never admit it !"

"Nor I" — "nor I," insisted several voices.
"Let us give the thing a trial."

"Certainly," said Benjamin, gravely.
"There are just twenty of us present. The
lieutenant will please concoct some news ;
write it down, and you will find that it cannot
be carried correctly throughout the circle. As
I may fall slightly under suspicion," lie added,
magnanimously, "I will myself stand No. 20."

Thereupon the lieutenant solemnly took
pencil and paper from his pocket, and after
looking reflectively at the ceiling for a mo-
ment wrote a paragraph or so. He then read
it over two or three times, and, folding the
paper, called Teresa to learn its contents. As
the game went on everybody felt and looked
like a Spartan. They were not playing a
childish game — no, indeed, the problem of
human nature was being tested ; therefore
each man and woman grew erect with a sense
of responsibility. Even Mr. Simmons looked
inspired as he walked up to learn the story
exactly from Mr. Pipes. At last Ben was

reached. He looked disappointed, as he heard
the last word.

"I am afraid, or rather I hope (ahem!)
that this time a tale has been carried cor-
rectly ; it is certainly very strait, though not
very sensible or probable."

Of course it is strait !" cried everybody. /
made no mistake!"

"Well, Chairman Stykes," said the lieu-
tenant, smiling hopefully, as he deliberately
unfolded his paper, "will you please recite
the news as you heard it V

"I was told," replied Ben, "that

' All over Dublin Homes it is written elo-
quently— cross the Atlantic because a suffer-
ing soldier is about to take the life of Snobbs,
who has given permission, and a fortune of
fifty thousand dollars.' "

"Shameful!" cried the lieutenant. "Now
hear the original document" — and he read
aloud : —

" 'Oliver W. Holmes, who has written so
eloquently in the Atlantic for the cause of the
suffering soldier, is about to relate the life of
Snobbs, who has a commission and a fortune
of fifteen thousand dollars."

"I told you so!" was Ben's triumphant
rejoinder. " And now who is the guilty par-
ty ? Where did the narrative get its first
twist?"

Of course any attempt to elucidate the
mystery only served to make it worse, until
Anna suggested that by reversing the process,
and causing the entire party, from No. 20 back
to No. 1, to repeat what they did say, the
thing might be arrived at.

Alas for human nature ! this scheme, too,
failed, though it threw some little light upon
the difficulty, especially when Mr. Simmons
declared that he, for one, had not been told
anything about Oliver W. Holmes, and Mr.
Pipes insisted that, as fo"r saying "Dublin,''
such a thing had never entered his head.

Two or three times new sentences were
passed around the company, and each time
the fatal "human nature twist," as Ben called
it, was apparent. Even when the players
were allowed to hear the same scandal twice,
so as to avoid all chance of ear-mistakes, the
result was but little better.

The "Few Friends" became so thoughtful
and so profound, after these experiments, and
a few of them entered into such solemn dis-
quisitions on the occasion, that the chairman
felt called upon to cheer them up a little.

"My friends," he cried, taking the floor,

A FEW FRIEXP3.

337

"this will never do! 'The Child-again So-
ciety. ' in its by-laws and regulations, espeeially
forbids this sort of thing. Will no member
come to the rescue?"

Mr. Hedges, a pale young man from Liver-
pool, here suggested that they should "take
a turn" at " Catch-ine-quick Proverbs. They
made some fun for us on ship-board," he
added, as he sat down again, with an apolo-
getic air.

"Good!" cried Ben. '"Catch-me-qnick

Proverbs' let it be. Philosophers, sages,

moralists, anil disappointed philanthropists,

unbend awhile. Brother Hedges has

the floor."

Brother Hedges briefly stated that one of the
party would be compelled, by the requirement
,of the game, to leave the room ; then the rest
would please select any familiar proverb, and
apportion it, word by word, in regular order,
among themselves. Should the last word of the
proverb fall on No. 6, for instance, they would
loommence the proverb again, giving first word
to No. 7, and so on. This done, the banished
•member must be called in, and upon dropping
his or her handkerchief as asignal, require each
Ore to say his or her particular word instantly.
Prom the medley of sounds thus called forth,
the gnesser must detect the proverb selected ;
and when successful, may designate the nest
person to go out.

Ben was exiled first. When he was sum-
moned to the room, he looked knowingly
about him, and dropped his handkerchief.
Instantly a fearful din fell upon the ears of
(the devoted young man, followed by a silence
as sudden.

'Have mercy!" he cried. "I can make
jnothing out of that but ' fire.' Somebody
isai.l ' fire :' that is all I know."

Each one declared that the words were all
Uttered with startling distinctness. But Ben
was given two more chances. The last time
he gave the signal he fancied that he could
detect a faint "cat," and a "singed," and
(something like "dread" floating on the tor-
rent of sound.

'• Aha!" he cried, joyfully, "I have it. 'A
singed cat dreads the fire.' Lieutenant Hun-
ter, since your very distinct ' fire' let the ' cat'
out of the bag, I sentence you to temporary
banishment."

They gave him " Xone but the brave de-
serves the fair:" and, after four trials, he
guessed it by Mr. Simmons fairly screaming

" brave" into his ear. Mr. Simmons' punish-
ment was deferred because Teresa's "fair"
bad been nearly as distinct. She guessed
"All is not gold that glitters." at the first
ronnd. But poor Simmons failed utterly to
discover his proverb, though he appeared
rather flattered when told it was "A lulling
stone gathers no moss."

The "Child-again" had had its way; the
members were not in the mood for any more
games. Somebody had found Anna's port-
folio, and this was sufficient to draw a crowd
into one corner ; another was busy admiring
the Palmer photographs; another called two
or three to examine Anna's "Fern Book," in
which no less than forty exquisite varieties
were neatly arranged ; and the rest were
looking at her skeleton flowers.

"Oh, how beautiful they are !" cried one of
the ladies. "I wish I could do them as well;
but it is such very disagreeable work that I
cannot possibly persevere in it as you do."

" Perhaps you could, if you did it as I do,"
answered Anna, smiling. "I do not steep
the leaves and seed-pods for weeks, as was
formerly the only known plan, nor do I use
powerful acids ; I simply boil them gently for
a few hours, and then can remove the tissue
without any difficulty whatever. In this way
I have gathered my specimens, desiccated,
bleached, and mounted them all in a day ; so
of course there are no disagreeable effects to
encounter." ,

"Is it possible! I shall certainly try it.
And, Miss Anna, yoti must excuse my curio-
sity, but I really would like to know how this
lovely work-basket is made."

"That is crochet work," replied Anna.

"But it is stiff, and such a lovely color!"
exclaimed her guest, almost incredulf

Anna explained: "That is because it is
starched and varnished. First you crochet,
with coarse tidy-cotton, a piece that can be
drawn over a basket-shaped block (I used the
under side of a vegetable dish) : and then,
after stretching it tightly over the form, you
starch it well, and when thoroughly dried,
varnish it with gum-shellac dissolved in alco-
hol. In a day or two it can be easily taken
from the form, and will then be a stiff basket,
as you see. This one looks well because it is
lined with such a pretty contrasting color to
the brown outside. The flat lace-like border
around the top is an improvement, too. Jtary
Gliddon made it. She is quite a genius, I

338

godey's lady's book and magazine.

assure you. She has contrived some beautiful
watch-cases in the same way, and last summer
she made some very pretty table mats."

" I should think mats made like this would
be very suitable indeed for placing under
dishes. They would certainly look better
than oil-cloth or straw," remarked Mrs. Sim-
mons. "Have you made any, Miss Anna?"

"Not exactly made them," was the reply;
" But I had a pair of discolored white crochet
mats, and I starched them very stiffly and
varnished them with shellac. You have no
idea how exceedingly pretty they look — so
durable, too."

At this point, Mary approached to bid Anna
"good-evening;" and soon all the Few Friends
were quietly wending their way homeward.
Mary and Mr. Stykes were talking softly to-
gether upon photographs, and fern leaves, and
such matters, in the moonlight that lit the
Second Avenue ; but Mr. Pipes, figuratively
in Paradise and literally in Fourteenth Street,
was whispering "a lovely thing" in "be
natural" to his affianced bride, Miss Punda-
way.

THE WAY TO WEALTH.

The way to wealth, observes an old author,
is open to all who are industrious and frugal,
both with respect to their money and time ;
for time well employed is certain to bring
money, as money well spent is certain of gain-
ing more. Lay down a regular estimate of
your time, and what you must do in every
particular hour and every particular day, and
you will in one month acquire habits of punc-
tuality which will be astonishing even to
yourself, and which will gain for you a cha-
racter for accuracy that cannot fail to raise
your credit, the prize that all aim at, though
but few obtain. A punctual man is sure to
be respected, and he is almost sure of thriving
and becoming rich, for punctuality compre-
hends industry and foresight, two of the most
powerful instruments of procuring wealth.

On the same subject, Dr. Franklin says :
Remember this — " the good paymaster is lord
of another man's purse;" he that is known
to pay punctually, and exactly to the time he
promises, may at any time and on any occa-
sion raise all the money his friends can spare.
This is sometimes of great use. After indus-
try and frugality, nothing contributes more

to the raising of a young man in the world
than punctuality and justice in all his deal-
ings ; therefore never keep borrowed money
an hour beyond the time you promised, lest a
disappointment shut up your friend's purse
forever.

Beware of thinking all your own that you
possess, and living accordingly. It is a mis-
take that many people who have credit fall
into. To prevent this, keep an exact account,
for some time, both of your expenses and your
income. If you take the pains at first to
mention particulars, it will have this good
effect — you will discover how wonderfully
small trifling expenses mount up to large
sums, and will discern what might have been
and may for the future be saved, without
occasioning any great inconvenience.

In short, the way to wealth, if you desire
it, is as plain as the way to market. It de-
pends chiefly on two words — industry and fru-
gality; that is, waste neither time nor money,
but make the best use of both. Without
industry and frugality nothing will do, and
with them everything. He that gets all he
can honestly, and saves all he gets (necessary
expenses excepted) will certainly become rich,
if that Being who governs the world, to whom
all should look for a blessing on their honest
endeavors, doth not, in His wise providence,
otherwise determine.

MINNIE.

BY MRS. CLARA B. HEATH.

"Tw As when the early violets bloom'd,

And when within the dell
We found the tiny strawberry flow'r

We always loved so well ;
'Twas at the quiet evening hour

I walked by Minnie's side ;
She said, when autunrn came again,

She should be Percy's bride.

And autumn came with crimson leaves

And gorgeous, bright-hned flow'rs —
F.arth never dons a lovelier robe

Than in the autumn hours.
I walked again within the dell ;

There was a new-made mound ;
And, searching on the marble stone,

'Twas Percy's name I found.

And Minnie's face grew very white,

Her eyes with tears were dim.
She never said the world was dark ;

She never spoke of bim ;
She only breathed more mournfully

The songs she once had sung.
We novel" beard her gushing lauyh

As once that laugh had rung.

NOVELTIES FOR OCTOBER.

BOXXETS, COLLAB8, CBFF, COIFFUEE, WALKING SUIT, ETC. ETC.

Fig. 1. — A -white silk bonnet, with soft
Irown of plaid velvet, On the front is apiece*
'■f plaid velvet and a tuft of white feathers.

Inside is a white tulle cap and scarlet velvet
flowers.

Fig. 2. — The front is composed of black silk.

Fig. 3.

based. The crown is soft, and made of plaid I trimming is a niching of white tulle, bright

[ilk. bo also is the cape. A bunch of varie-
at^d flowers is on the left side. The inside

flowers, and grasses.

Fig. 3. — Bonnet suitable for very light

Fig. 6.

nonrning. It is of eased black silk, with a
'ull piece of white silk, edged with lace, laid
>n the bonnet from the crown to the front. A
dack feather is fastened at the side of the

crown with a bow of white ribbon. The cape
is of white silk, edged with black lace. The
inside trimming is formed of violet and white
Velvet.

339

340

gopey's lady's

BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Fig. 4. — Cuir-colored silk bonnet, with a
cape of white crepe covered with a rich blonde.
The trimming is placed on top of the bonnet,
and is formed of bands of Solferino velvet and
feathers. The inside trimming is tulle and
Solferino flowers.

Fig. 7.

Fig. 5. — Bonnet for light mourning. The
front is of black silk, with a fall of chenille
fringe drooping over the front. The crown
and cape are of white silk, trimmed with n
chenille fanchon. The inside trimming is
white roses, black grass, and white tulle.

Tig. 8.

Fig. 6. — Bonnet of white silk, with puffed
front and cap crown. The cape is very short,
and raised on the right side to display a rose
and bud. A bunch of roses with leaves is
placed over the crown. Roses and black
velvet with blonde are arranged as an inside
trimming.

Tig. 9.

Fig. 7. — Curtainless bonnet. Gray chip
bonnet, trimmed with scarlet daisies. A fall
of black lace is arranged for the crown, over
which is a bow of scarlet velvet. Scarlet dai-
sies and black lace form the inside trimming.

Fig. 8. — Fancy gray straw bonnet, having
the crown covered with blue hanging flowers.

Fig. 10.

The cape is of blue silk, trimmed with orna-
ments of gray straw. Strings of blue ribbon.
Inside trimming of gray grass and blue flowers.

Fig. 9. — White linen collar, dotted with
black, and a fancy border chain-stitched with
black silk. White cambric neck-tie.

NOVELTIES FOR OCTOBER.

341

Pig. in.— Muslin sleeve, with deep linen
ieoffto match the collar.

Pig. 11. — Cuilfure for second mourning.

Hg. ll.

The coronet is formed of three large loops of
black velvet and a lavender flowar with leaves.

From the coronet are sprays of lavender How-
Fig. 12. .

ars, which extend to the back and just reach ■ Fifr. 12. — Polish jacket, made of black cloth
tlia large loops of lavender ribbon. The hair braided with white silk braid, and trimmed

U waved in front, and arranged en Grecque at

the luck.

with swan's-down.

Fig. 13. — Walking suit for a little girl. The

342

GODEY S IiADTS EOOK AXD JIAGAZIXE.

Fig. It

Fig. U.

luaterinl is logwood-colored poplin, trimmed Fig. 15.— Le Mutelot. This is one of the

with black velvet and steel buttons. This is prettiest and most fashionable styles for morn-

a good comfortable style of dress, intended to
be worn over an ordinary borne dress.

Fig. 14.— Half wreath, composed of black
Velvet, roses, and white flowers.

ing collars. It is of linen, richly embroidered
either with white or colored cotton.
Fig. lti. — Corner for a handkerchief.

EMBROIDERY.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

343

KNITTED JACKET FOR WEARING UNDER
MANTLES OR DRESSES.

XattriaU. — Twelre ounces of single white, pink, or
•carlet wool ; thick steel knitting needles.

This bodice or jacket can be worn either
or -r the stays or as an out-door wrap, and is
warm and elastic. It is begun at the
w.ii<t.

Cast on 10^ stitches, and knit the first two
rows plain, backwards and farwards. Zd row.
. Slip the first stitch, * throw the wool forward.
. -oge'her; repeat from * to the end of
; the row. Coming back, knit one row plain.
■ then knit 9 rows, working alternately one
I stitch plain and one purled, so as to form

the 3d row of the waistband ; in the nest
row knit 12 stitches, the 12th in the same 3d
hole of the open row, and come back ; in the
nest, knit 15 stitches, the 15th in the 4th
hole of the open row, and come back. In-
crease once more in the 4th hole of the open
row, then work one row all round the waist-
band, and form a similar pointed piece or gore
on the opposite side, coming as far as the 4th
hole in the open row of the waistband. Go
on with the jacket in plain knitting, always
increasing slantways. After having thus
knitted 4 plain rows, begin the increasings
for the back. For this count 23 stitches on
each side, beginning from the centre, and in-

narrow ribs, work another plain row, then
[repeat the third row, and, coming back, knit
*>ne row plain. Over this waistband continue
.to knit in the following manner : Knit only
•the three first stitches of last row, increasing
one stitch betwe-n the 2d and 3d, then in
•eturning knit plain. Begin again and knit
■five stitches, increasing between the 4th and
6th, an! return in plain knitting : in coming
back knit 7 stitches, increasing between the
18th and 7th. Now begin the increasings for
Itlie chest by making 2 stitches in the 4th
[stitch ; repeat this increasing in every fourth
Tow. l.i ut one stitch further each time, so as to
form a slanting line, the same as a dress-pleat.
iTo prevent repetition we shall no longer men-
tion this increasing. In the next row knit 10
-. working the 10th in the 3d hole of

VOL. LXIX. 2i

crease on each side of these 46 stitches, in
every 2d row, placing the increasings each
time two stitches further on each side. In
the 56th row you will reach the armhole. To
form this armhole count 47 stitches on each
side for the fronts, and 74 in the middle for
the back : cast off the stitches between the
back and fronts. First work the fronts, knit-
ting 64 rows plain, then knit on the side of
the shoulders the 2 stitches together before
the last, in every 2d row, at the same time,
on the side near the neck ; knit 7 times, once
in every row, and afterwards in every second
row, the two stitches before the last together,
until no stitches are left. At the shoulders
form a point, by increasing 15 stitches from
- Ivage ; begin at the armhole with the
two stitches of the selvage, just under the

344

godet's lady's book and magazine.

decreasings for the shoulders. Over these 15
stitches knit plain along the armhole, but
knitting together the two stitches before the
last at the other end of each row, until the
pointed piece is finished. When the two
fronts are completed, work 44 plain rows on
the back, in the 32 next rows, decrease two
stitches at the end of each row, then sew the
pieces together at the shoulders. After this,
beginning at the waist, and going up to the
neck, along the front, work first one plain
row, and then one row of open knitting (the
same as that round the waist), then two more
plain rows, and cast off the stitches. The
sleeves are also knitted plain. They are begun
at the top. Cast on 32 stitches, and increase
in each row one stitch till you have 68 stitches.
Knit 9 plain rows, in the 10th knit the two
last together, and repeat this decreasing 9
times, knitting 9 plain rows between each
decreasing. Then work 2 plain rows, then 9
rows, working alternately 2 plain stitches and
2 purled, so as to form ribs. Work one plain
row, one row of open knitting, three more

plain rows, and cast off the stitches. Sew up
the sleeve and sew it into the armhole ; finish
the jacket by sewing on buttons and making
loops. The difference in figures will render
several changes necessary in the number of
stitches, but these can very easily be made.

NAME FOR MARKING.

EMBROIDERY.

BED QUILT PATTERN.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

345

, BK.UIiED PATTERN FOR SEAT OF CHAIR.

We give a pattern for the seat of a chair
iu braiding, which is both simple and effective.

say, for instance, a rich deep brown. All the
wider lines, marked A on the engraving,
should be either scarlet or yellow : and for
the finer lines, marked B, a rich green would

The colors, both of the cushion and the braid-
ing, must correspond with the general colors
of the furniture of the room, and must har-
imonize with each other. The cushion may
be made of good kerseymere of any color —

look remarkably well. The braid must be
laid very evenly and regular in its curves,
and stitched down firmly, with all the ends
fastened off at the under side of the cloth.

FANCY LETTERS FOR MARKING.

346

GODEV'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

FLOWERS IN WOOL.

THE CONVOLVULUS, MADS ON WIRE.
Materials— White, yellow, and greeu Berlin wool;
wire, covered with white cotton, etc.

Cut nine pieces of wire, each three inches
long ; bend them in the shape of hair-pins
(see our second illustration) ; prepare a stem

with yellow stamens ; round these stamens
arrange the folded pieces of wire in a circle,

bending them slightly backwards : this forms
a sort of mould, which has to be covered over,

beginning at the bottom, and therefore the
narrower part of the flower. Fasten the white
wool to the stem of the flower, and pass the
wool alternately in and out the wire shapes,
and in the next row turn the wool in the con-
trary direction. The wire shapes are of an
unequal number, and thus the work appears
the same on both sides. The wool should
never be strained, but the rows must be placed
closely together, so that the mould of the
flower is well covered. When about three-
quarters of an inch of wire is covered, take
the yellow wool and finish the convolvulus
with it, that is to say, after the last row, pass
the wool four or five times in each opening,
wrapping up the rounded edge entirely. Roll
green wool round the stem.

DARNrNG PATTERN FOR NETTING WORK, SUITABLE
FOR TIDIES, BEDSPREADS, OR TABLE COVERS.

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VTOV.K DEPARTMENT.

S47

EMBEOiDEF.Y PATTEENS.

v^€^M^%°#0#0*0#2^

BRAIDING PATTERN FOR CLOAK? AND MANTLES.

This pattern should be drawn on thin paper
and tacked to the article requiring braiding,
and then the braid laid upon the drawing and
stitched through both the paper and the

28*

'illdffllMil!!!.'1: f.:3Y ,l!l
work ; afterwards the paper must be torn
away very carefully, so as not to detach the
braid in the least from the work. This pat-
tern can be used for other purpos-s.

348

godey's lady's book and magazine.

HALF OF A LINEN CUFF, OF THE MOST APPROVED STYLE.

FANCY LETTERS FOR MARKING PILLOW-CASES.

■O

RECEIPTS.

349

IWteipts, {ct.

MISCELLANEOrS COOKING.

Cold Meat Broiled, wtth Poached Eggs. — The inside
of a sirl"in of beef Lfl bftfll fOK this di>h, 01 a leg of mutton.
Cat the slices of eveo end eqaal thickness, and broil and
brown them carefully nod slightly over a clear smart fire,
or in a Dutch oven ; give those slices most fire that are
least done ; lay- them in a dish before the fire to keep hot,
while yon poach the eggs and mashed potatoes.

To Make as excellent Ragout of Cold Veal. — Either
ft neck, loin, or fillet of veal will furnish this excellent
fogtmt with a very little expense or trouble. Cut the
veal into handsome cutlets ; put a piece of hotter or clean
dripping into a clean frying-pan ; as soon as it is hot flour
and fry the veal of a light brawn ; take it out, and if yon
have no gravy ready, make 6ome ; or put a pi nt of boiling
water into the frying-pan, give it a boil up for a minute,
and strain it into a basin, while you make some thicken-
ing in the following manner: Put about au ounce of butter
Into a stewpan ; as soon as it melts, mix with it as much
floor a$ will dry it up ; stir it over the fire for a few min-
utes, and gradually add to it the gravy you made in the
pen; let them simmer together for ten minutes
(till thoroughly incorporated) ; season it with pepper, salt,
ft little mace, and a wiu.-glassful of mushroom catsup, or
wine ; strain it through a tamis to the meat, and stew very
gently till the meat is thoroughly warmed. If you have
any ready-boiled bacon, cut it in slices, and put it in to
Warm with the meat.

Relishing Rashers of Bacon. — If you have any cold
bacon, you may make a very nice dish of it by cutting it
Into slices about a quarter of an inch thick ; grate some
crust of bread, and powder them well with it on both
sides; lay the rashers in a cheese-toaster; they will be
Drowned on one side in about three minutes ; turn them,
and do the other.

06*. — These area delicious accompaniment to poached
or fried eggs The bacon having been boiled first, is ten-
der and mellow. They are an excellent garnish round
veal cutlets, or sweet-breads, or calfs-head hash, or green
peas, or beans, etc.

Toast and Cheese. — Cut a slice of bread about half an
Inch thick : pare off the crust, and toast it very -
on one Bide, bo as ju~t to ltown it, withomt making it
hard, or burning it Cut a slice of cheese (good, fat, mel-
low Cheshire cheese, or double Gloster, is better than poor,
thin, single Gloster) a quarter of an inch thick, not so
big as the bread by half an inch on each side ; pare off the
rind, cut off all the specks and rotten parts, and lay it on
■ d bread in a cheese-toaster: carefully watch it
that it does not burn, and stir it with a spoon to prevent
a pellicle forming on the surface. Have ready good mus-
tard, pepper, and salt. If you observe the directions here
given, the cheese will eat mellow, and will be uniformly
done, and the bread crisp and soft, and will well deserve
Its ancient appellation of a "rare bit."

Irish Stew. — Take a piece of loin or back-ribs of mut-
ton, and cut it into chops. Pnt it in a stewpan with pared
raw potatoes, sliced onions to taste, pepper, salt, and a
little water. Put this on to stew slowly for an hour,
covered very close; and shake it occasionally, to prevent
it from sticking to the bottom.

Reltsh for Chops, etc.— Pound fine an ounce of black
pepper and half an ounce of allspice, with an ounce of

salt, and half an ounce of scraped horse-radish, and the
samo of eschallots, peeled and quartered. Put these
ingredients into a pint of mushroom catsup, or walnut
pickle, and let them steep for a fortnight, and then strain
it. A teaspoonful or two of this is generally an acceptable
addition, mixed with the gravy usually sent up for chops
and steaks, or added to thick melted butter.

English Stew» — English stew is the name given to the
following excellent preparation of cold meat: Cut the
meat in slices ; pepper, salt, and flour them, and lay them
in a dish. Take a few pickles of any kind, or a small
quantity of pickled cabbage, and sprinkle them over the
meat. Then take a teacup half full of water ; add to it a
small quantity of the vinegar belonging to the pickles, a
small quantity of catsup, if approved of, and any gravy
that may be set by for use. Stir all together, and pour it
over the meat. Set the meat before the fire with a tin
behind it, or put it in a Dutch oven, or in the oven of the
kitchen range, as may be most convenient, for about half
an hour before dinner-time. This is a cheap and simple
way of dressing cold meat, which is well deserving of
attention.

Dressing for Cabbage. — Cut your cabbage fine in a
dish, and sprinkle salt and pepper over it , take one egg,
a teaspoonful of sugar, one-half spoonful of flour, one-
half teacup of sweet cream, the same of vinegar, a very
small piece of butter. Beat all together, and let it boil ;
then pour over the cabbage while hot.

A good wat of Cooking Eggs. — Boil say six eggs quite
hard, peel, and cut in two lengthways ; put two ouu.
good butter in a saucepan (enamelled the best), boil till
of a rich brown ; have ready to hand a tablespoouful of
vinegar mixed with a teaspoonful of made mustard, salt
and pepper to taste, and pour this mixture into the boiling
butter, mix well and pour over the eggs (which must be
kept hot) so that each portion of egg receives its share of
sauce; the eggs should be placed on the dish with the
yelk part upwards, and served up immediately, as hot as
possible; the sauce must be well blended, and for this
purpose use a small pastebrush ; a teaspoonful of water
will often facilitate the blending. The same sauce is
excellent with boiled fish.

CAKES, PUDDINGS, ETC.

Buttermilk. Cake.— Where buttermilk can be easily
procured, try the following receipt, which makes a very
good light cake: Into two pounds of flour rub one pound
of butter; add three-quarters of a pound of currants, two
ounces of candied peel, one pint of buttermilk, and half
an ounce of carbonate of soda. Mix and beat them well
together, and bake in a tin.

Amber Pudding. — Line a pudding-dish with good puff
paste. Take half a pound of fresh butter, half a pound of
loaf-sngar, and eight eggs. Take the yelks of the eggs,
mix with the sugar and the butter on the fire till it becomes
thick, but not boiling, whip the whites of the eggs to a
froth, and mix with the other when cold. Put any sort
of jam on the bottom of the dish, according to taste, and
then pour the mixture of eggs, etc. over it, and bake it
half an hour.

Cornucopias.-— I presume that most of your lady readers
will have seen a pretty dish for the sweet course composed
of small cornucopias, filled with whipped cream: bat as
all may not know how these are made, I hope the receipt
for them may not be un welcome. Mix in a basin one-
quarter of a pound of fine white silted sugar and two
ounces of flour; break two perfectly fresh eggs into this,

350

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

and beat it well. Rub a little white wax on your baking
sheet, tako about a dessert-spoonful of the mixture and
spread it in a round on your tin. Bake these three
minutes, take each off with a knife, and, as you do ao,
carefully roll each, at the oven's mouth, into a jelly bag
or cornucopia shape. Dry them a little before the fire
after they are rolled, fill them with pink or white whipped
cream, and send them to table on a nicely-folded napkin.
They will keep for some little time, if placed in a tin box
in a dry place, without the cream, which, must be put in
fresh when they are to be served up.

Farmer's Pudding.— Put the yelks of four and the whites
of two eggs, with one-quarter of a pound of fine sifted
Bugar, into a basin ; beat them a little together ; add one-
quarter of a pound of butter, melted ; beat this all together
till it is quite thick. Line a dish with light puff paste,
spreading on it a thick covering of preserve ; pour on the
above mixture, and bake it iu a moderate oven.

Toe following is a convenient and simple dish, and can
be made at any time in the year when fruit is scarce. The
French give it the poetical name of fairy bread: Put two
ounces of loaf-sugar into half a pint of milk, with a little
powdered cinnamon or nutmeg ; a little cream added is a
great improvement. Cut two French rolls into slices, and
cover them with the milk ; let them soak for one hour;
beat up three eggs, and carefully pass the slices of soaked
bread through the egg with a fish slice, so as not to break
them. Fry these in butter to a delicate brown, and sprin-
kle powdered loaf-sugar over them before serving up.

Apple Fancy. — Pare some good apples, and take out
the cores: stew them with sugar and lemon-peel ; beat up
four eggs into a froth, add to them a cupful of grated bread
cruras, with a little sugar and nutmeg. Lay the stewed
apples in the bottom of a dish, and cover with the bread
cruras, laying a few pieces of butter over the top. Bake
it in a brisk oven, and turu it, when done, upside down
on a flat dish ; before serving up, scatter powdered loaf-
sugar over the apple, which will be uppermost.

Kent Pudding. — One quart of milk, six ounces of ground
rice, three eggs, currants, sugar, and spice to taste. The
milk aud rice should be boiled over night, and the other
ingredients mixed in the next morning Stir the mixture
well before putting it into the oven.

Icing for Rich Cakes, etc. — Put the whites of three or
four eggs into a deep glazed pan, quite free from the least
grease, aud mix in gradually one pound of good loaf-
sugar that has been powdered and sifted through a lawn
sieve, till it is as thick as good rich cream ; then beat it
up with a wooden spoon until it becomes thick ; add the
juice of a lemon, strained, and beat it agaiu till it hangs
to the spoon ; then, with the spoon, drop some on the top
of the cake, and with a clean knife smooth it well over
the top aud sides, about an eighth of an inch thick ; then
put it in a dry place, and it will be dry in a few hours.
Ornament it while wet, if it is required to be ornamented,
by sticking figures of sugar or plaster on it, or candied
peel, or angelica.

Geuman Cakes.— Beat up four eggs, beat into them half
a pound of butter, melted until it becomes liquid, a pint
and a half of warm milk, and a teacupful of yeast. Stir
in as much flour as will make the mixture stiff; then tie
it loosely in a cloth, put it into a pail of water, and leave
it there until it rises to the top. Take the dough out of
the cloth, mix with it three-quarters of a pouud of sugar,
the same of raisins (stoned), chopped lemon-peel, citron,
and almonds, and divide it into cakes two inches across.
Place these cakes on tins, and bake them.

Fruit Biscuit. — Any fruit will do. Scald the fruit, and
rub it through a sieve; to every pound of fruit put a
pound of loaf-sugar, sifted very fine, and the white of one
o^g ; beat it a long time, until it is of a proper stiffness to
drop ou to a wafer-paper, and bake them in a slow oven.
The oven must be so 6low as to dry rather than bake them.

Portugal Cakes. — The necessary ingredients are one
pound of flour, half a pound of butter, three eggs, a little
cream, three-quarters of a pouud of fine sugar, some cur-
rants, and the peel of three lemons. Mix the flour, half
the butter, the yelks of three eggs, and the white of one.
Add sufficient cream to make it into a soft paste, and then
add the sugar and the currants, and grate in the lemon-
peel, roll out the paste, putting in the remainder of the
butter. Divide it into little cakes, and bake them upon
tins.

DRINKS AND BEVERAGES FOR THE SICK.

A soft and fine draught for those who are weak and
have a cough may be made thus : Beat a fresh-laid egg,
and mix with it a quarter of a pint of new milk warmed,
a large spoonful of capillaire, the same of rose-water, and
a little nutmeg, scraped. Do not warm it after the egg is
put in. Take it the first and last thing.

A very agreeable draught is made by putting into a
tumbler of fresh c>ld water a tablespoonful of capillaire,
and the same of good vinegar.

Tamarinds, currants, fresh or in jelly, or scalded cur-
rants or cranberries, make excellent drinks, with a little
sugar or not, as may be agreeable.

Toast Water. — Toast slowly a thin piece of bread till
extremely brown and hard, but not the least black ; then
pluuge it into a jug of cold water, and cover it over an
hour before used. This is of particular use in weak
bowels. It should be of a fine brown color.

Barley Water. — One ounce of pearl barley, half an
ounce of white sugar, and the rind of a lemon, put into
jug. Pour upon it one quart of boiling water, and let it
stand for eight or ten hours; then strain off the liquor,
adding a slice of lemon, if desirable. This infusion
makes a most delicious and nutritious beverage, and will
be grateful to persons who cannot drink the horrid decoc-
tion usually given. It is an admirable basis for lemonade,
negus, or weak punch, a glass of rum bung the propor-
tion for a quart.

Apple Water is very delicate. Cut two large apples in
slices, and pour one quart of boiling water on them ; or
on roasted apples; strain in two or three hours, and
sweeten lightly. ^

Or: Peel and quarter four large acid apples ; put them
in one quart of water, with the peel of half a lemon, and
a haudful of washed currants ; let all boil for one hour,
then strain and add sugar to taste. Let it remain till cold.
A little wine may be added to it when about to be drunk.

Orgeat. — Beat two ounces of almonds with a teaspoon-
ful of orange-flower water, and a bitter almond or two;
then pour one quart of milk and water to the paste.
Sweeten with sugar or capillaire. This is a fine drink
for those who have a tender chest ; in the gout it is highly
useful, and with the addition of half an ounce of gum
Arabic has been found to allay the painfulness of the at-
tendant heat. Half a glass of brandy may be added, if
thought too cooling in the latter complaints, aud the glass
of orgeat may be put into a basin of warm water.

Orangeade or Lemonade.— Squeeze out the juice, pour
boiling water on a little of the peel, and cover close.

RECEIPTS.

351

Boil water and sugar to a thin syrup, aud skim it. When
nil an- cold, mix the juice, the infusion, and the syrup
with U much more water as will make a rich sherbet;
strain through a jelly-bag.

Or: Squeeze out the juice and strain it, and add water
and rapillaire. It Is still better when made with the juice
of unripe grapes.

Tin- usual mode, however, of making Lemonade is to
ipour one quart of boiling water on the rinds of six lemons,
,and let it stand for three or four hours ; add the juice of
'the Lemons with three-quarters of a pound of sugar ; sim-
mer well and skim; then add another quart of boiling
water. Either run it through a jelly-bag, or mix a glass
of calfs-foot jelly, which will make it rich.

RECEIPTS FOR POMATUM.
A good pomade for general use : One pound of beef suet
'to two pounds of lard. Care must be taken to procure
them u fresh as possible. And, after being separated
from all skin and fibre, they must be pounded in a mortar,
.And then placed in a covered pau of earthenware or metal.
.This moat Btud in a vessel of hot water until the fat
'slowly becomes liquid. It will be found that all the re-
fuse will then be separated, and will sink to the bottom
j©f the pan. The fat in its liquid state is then passed
(through a filter (clean flannel is the best). The perfume
■must now be added, and may be either essence of lemon,
jbergamot, or any other scent preferred ; about three
Will suffico for the quantity of fat warmed. After
this, with a wooden spoon, or knife, the mixture should
jbe continually stirred or beaten until it be thoroughly
(tool.

One pint of olive oil, two ounces of white wax, one
drachm of tincture of cantharides ; oil of roses, two drops
(or any other scent if preferred). Put the oil in a jug, on
a hob, and dissolve the wax in it, and then mix in the
other ingredients ; to be poured into the pots while hot.

The following receipt will furnish an excellent pomade
at a moderate cost : Two ounces of castor-oil, three ounces
of best olive-oil, one ounce of spermaceti. Dissolve the
lapermaceti in an earthen jar or pipkin over a slow fire;
ithen add the castor and olive oils. When nearly cold,
fstir in a small quantity of bergamot, with a few drops of
iOll of cloves, cinnamon, and almond mixed.

Six ounces of castor-oil, six ounces of olive-oil, four
jonnces of spermaceti, two drachms of oil of lavender, ten
drops of oil of cinnamon, two drachms of essence of ber-
gamot, two drachms of essence of lemon. Melt the oils
and sperm together, gradually warming them on the
'etove and keep stirring ; when nearly cold add the scent.

MISCELLANEOUS.
Uses op the Potato. — In France the farina is largely
[used for culinary purposes. The famed gravies, sauces,
[and soups of France are generally indebted for their ex-
cellence to that source, and its bread and pastry equally
1 ao ; while a great deal of the so-called Cognac imported
from France is the produce of the potato. Throughout
Germany, the same uses are common ; and in Poland the
manufacture of spirits from the potato is a most extensive
trade. "Stettin brandy," well known in commerce, is
largely imported into England, and is sent thence into
many foreign countries as the produce of the grape, and
is pkio-d on many a table as the same; while the fair
ladl> te of our country perfume themselves with the spirit
Kpotaio, under the designation of Enti de Cologne. But
there are other uses to which this esculent is turned abroad.

After extracting the farina, the pulp is manufactured into
ornamental articles, such as picture-frames, snuff -DOX1 .-,
and several descriptions of toys; and the water which
runs from it in the process of manufacture is a most valu-
able scourer. For perfectly cleansing woollens, and such
like articles, it is the housewife's panacea ; and if the
washerwoman happens to have chilblains she becomes
perfectly cured by the operation.

Coloring Photographs. — Wash the photographs over
with a coating of parchment size mado as follows: Shred
some clean parchment fine, put about a teacupful down
to boil in about a quart of water, boil to a pint, add
a pinch of alum ; strain. To be heated as often as re-
quired to be used. The photograph may be washed over
with the solution, and loft to dry till next day, when it
will be ready to receive water-colors. A weak solution
of gum tragacanth, melted in boiling water, would be
found more agreeable to paint with than gum Arabic ;
the latter cracks and shines, which is objectionable.

To Clean Bronze. — Let the ornaments be gently washed
with soap and water, applied with a sponge, then rinse
them in beer. Bo not wipe it off, or rub the ornaments at
all, but place them in a warm room at a little distance
from the fire, until they are quite dry. Use very little
soap.

Broken China. — Should, the china be of a dark color, or
any color but white, it can easily be repaired by placing
a little shellac on the joint, and holding it to a lighted
candle. The flame melts the shellac, and forms a strong
cement. The detached portions of the china must be kept
close together for a few minutes until tho joint becomes
hard.

How to Make Clear Sugar. — Break three pounds of fine
white sugar — the hardest and closest grained is the best-
put it into a sugar-pan, with three pints of clear water,
sot over a sharp fire, and when beginning to boil place it
at the corner to simmer, and squeeze in the juice of half a
lemon; skim well, and reduce to two-thirds. It is then
ready to use for jellies.

To Remove Grease from Cloth. — Soft 6oap and fuller's
earth, of each half a pound ; beat them well together in a
mortar, and form into cakes. The spot, first moistened
with water, is rubbed with a cake, and allowed to dry,
when it is well rubbed with a little warm water, and
afterwards rinsed, or rubbed off clean.

Substitute for a Copying-Machine. — In the common
ink used, dissolve lump sugar (one drachm to an ounce of
ink). Moisten the copying-paper, and then put it in soft
paper to absorb the superfluous moisture. Put the moist-
ened paper on the writing, place both between some soft
paper, and roll upon a ruler three or four times.

To Remove a Screw Rusted in the Wood. — Heat a
poker in the fire red-hot, and put it on the top of the screw
for a minute or two ; then take the screw-driver, and yon
will easily get it out if you do it whilst it is warm.

Crystallized Chimney Ornaments. — Select a crooked
twig of white or black thorn : wrap some loose wool or
cotton round the branches, and tie it on with worsted.
Suspend this in a basin, ordeep jar. Dissolve two pounds
of alum in a quart of boiling rain water, and pour it over
the twig. Allow it to stand twelve hours. Wire baskets
may be covered in the same way.

To Clean Silver Articles. — The best way to clean sil-
ver articles is to wash them first with warm water and
soap, and afterwards polish them with pure whiting and
a piece of leather.

Pilot's' Cstlt.

OUR DWELLINGS.

The plans and descriptions of dwelling-houses which
have appeared in the Lady's Book have been, as we have
reason to know, an acceptable feature of our magazine to
a large number of its roaders. There is a good reason
why this should be so. Almost every young American
expects, at some time or other, to have to undertake the
devising of a house, or, as a well-known author has
happi y expressed it, "the sharing of a home." The
difference between our country and those of the old world
is peculiarly striking in this respect. Iu Europe people
dwell for the most part in houses built by past generations.
Especially is this the case in rural places. What Increase
of population occurs in those countries flows to the cities,
where houses are usually built in masses, according to
uniform plans, with which those who inhabit them have
little to do. In the country, a youthful couple who do
not inherit a dwelling from their parents expect to obtain
one by purchase or lease, and rarely think of building for
themselves.

In our land, as every one knows, the case is very dif-
ferent. It is true that in our cities houses are usually
built in blocks, as in Europe, according to systems de-
vised by architects, without regard to the special wishes
and tastes of those who are afterwards to reside in them.
But the great mass of our people fortunately dwell in the
country, on scattered farms, or in rural towns or villages.
In the newer States the farms have for the most part been
laid out and the towns and villages built by the present
inhabitants; and in older places the dwellings erected by
the past generation are often so unsuited to the present
times, or of such perishable materials, that young persons,
beginning the world, soon find themselves, like the young
birds, engaged in the pleasing trouble of fashioning a new
habitation for themselves.

A great many useful books have been published, of late
years, by experienced architects, to afford information as
to the best designs and modes of building. Several of
these have been noticed in our pages, and we hope that
every one who proposes to erect a dwelling for himself
will, before commencing, procure and study some ap-
proved work of the kind. He will be sure to find his
account in doing so. Our present object, however, is to
make a few suggestions which may be of more especial
value to lady readers in regard to the fashioning and
improving of their homes.

Before and above all, we would urge that no man should
choose or plan a residence without first consulting his
wife or his " intended" in regard to it, and every woman
should study the plan of her future home with care before
adopting it. The province of the man is in the outer
world ; the dwelling is the wife's peculiar realm, where
alone she must reign, and where nearly ail the days of
her life must be spent. If the house is ill-arranged, un-
comfortable, or unhealthy, she must he the chief sufferer,
either in herself or in the little ones whom she loves better
than herself. There is, therefore, every reason why she
should carefully examine the plan of the proposed dwell-
ing before it is too late to make any alterations. A stair-
way badly placed or too steep and narrow, a cellar ill
352

ventilated, a window opening in a chamber upon the spot
where a bed must stand, may cause lifelong discomfort
and ill-health.

The mere situation and aspect of the house are highly
important. The rooms which are most used should be s*r
placed as to receive as much of the sunlight as possible.
Few persons, except physicians, are aware how much the
health and vigor of all living things are derived from th*1
direct rays of the sun. In our own experience, we have
known several instances of sickly persons restored to
health and strength merely by removing from a shaded i
room to one facing the south, or by making a new win-
dow to admit the sunbeams. The usual sitting-room I
and the nursery should always front iu such a direction"!
as to receive as much of the sun as possible.

As to ventilation, it mi„'ht really seem that at this day (
it could not be necessary to urge the importance of attend-
ing to this requisite upon any person of ordinary intelli-
gence ; yet it is surprising how many, even among the
well-educated classes, disregard a matter so essential to
the health and comfort of all the inmates of a dwelling.
Bedrooms with low ceilings, not provided with any aper-
ture for the escape of foul air, are as common as they are
pernicious. Even the ordiuary precaution of having the
windows so coustructed that the upper sash can be low-
ered and kept open at least an inch or two (as it should
always be in a sleeping apartment not provided with other
means of ventilation) is too often neglected. We hope
that every lady reader of our Book will see that at least
this simple remedy for a serious evil is provided forthwith
for every room occupied by herself and her family.

Ill-ventilated cellars are certain to become reservoirs of
noxious gases, which ascend, and are diffused through
the house; and much disease, of which the origin is not
suspected, is due to this cause. Some writers on archi-
tecture have been so much impressed with a knowledge
of this evil that they have advised us to dispense with
the underground cellar altogether, and to erect, in lieu of
it, a small building, with frost-proof walls, adjacent to
the house. Where this is not done, care should at least
be taken that the cellar is not under any sleeping room,
that it is kept well ventilated and free from all decaying
vegetables, and a close double floor should be laid between
it and the apartments immediately above it.

Storerooms, closets, and cupboards are among the most
useful requisites of a comfortable dwelling. Every house-
keeper is aware of their convenience and economy; yet
we have known many houses of some pretensions built
without these useful adjuncts, and iu most houses they
are apt to be too few and too small. Every dining-room
should have its large aud well arranged china cupboard,
every kitchen its roomy and convenient pantry, and every
bedroom its neat clothes-closet. The additional expense
which these may cause in building will soon be repaid
in the saving which in many ways will result from them.
The external appearance of our houses should be at-
tended to, not only for our own pleasure and advantage,
but for the sake of our neighbors. An unsightly building
is a public nuisance; an elegant one not only delight^
the eye, but improves the taste of all who see it, aud is a

EDITORS TABLE.

303

the locality in which it is placed. Beaut; oasts
anything, more than deformity. By some care
h to symmetry and Daatneas, and
iy a few loaches of external adorn meut — a porch, a trel-
is, a bracketed cornice, or an ornamental Targe-board—
be bum bleat cottage may ho made a pleasing picture,
.""he children reared in such a dwelling will grow up with
Bfl ol taste and refinement, for which in after life they
'rill have much reason to be grateful.

In eoDclnsioo, we would strongly impress upon every
,-ae who c mtemplates building a residence the advantage
•t having recourse to the aid of a good architect for pre-
Klng the "plan and specifications," wherever this in
Bollcable. it is often the ease, In ooontry places, thai
iio only person consulted is the carpenter, whose solo
Hans) is In doing the work in as easy and profitable a
finner for himself as possible. An experienced architect
vould undoubtedly be able to furnish many suggestions
isefulness and value, as regards plan, materials,
.nd manner of building. And his charges will probably bo
npaid many times over by the saving and improvements
vhich his advice will enact, The classical maxim which
■a us " trust every one in his own art" will he found to
lO of specially sound application in this case. Our couu-

1, owes not a little to the labor of many archi-
ut for skill and taste, to whose exertions' and
■nonce it is chiefly duo that many of the towns, and
Sages, and country houses scattered through our land
Ire of late years becoming more attractive and delightful
bodes thau auy other part of the world can display.

VASSAR COLLEGE.

We have before us the Circular of the Trustees, issued
: the Third Annual Meeting, January 26, 1864, it begins
iy stating that, owing to the present derangement in
■fin 88 affairs, and the magnitude of the object, it has
teen found best to postpone the opening of this College
ntil the autumn of 1SG5. The Trustees remark : —

"The erection of a college edifice of such vast dimen-

ton- — Ave hundred feet in length and oue hundred and
iTenty in depth, f.mr stories high — embraciug five inde-
mdenl hvelliug-houses for resident officers, besides ac-
Bunodatious for the board, lodging, and study of tbreo
nudred young Iad;es, and their teachers, with full suites
Kill mi lecture, music, and drawing-rooms, chapel and
jfectory. ami suitable apartments for library, art-gallery,

filosi pbical apparatus, chemical laboratory, cabinets of
Mural history, ami all the other appurtenauces of a Col-
fjge, the whole pervaded by a perfect system of arrange-
lents f .r heating by steam, lighting by gas, and supplying
(ith water on the most liberal scale aud by the most
*cent and approved methods: this, of itself, and under
!e most favorable circumstances, was an immense task,
[quiring not energy and vigor alone, hut extreme vigi-
.nce and caution, and a liberal allowance of time, to

sure thoroughness m the work, and to avoid needless
(id wasteful expenditure."

/We think all who seriously consider the subject will
lei that the delay was indispensable, and, as the Ke-
flrt suggests, may be made of much advantage to those
rang ladies who are hoping to enjoy the privileges of
Is noble institution. We will give the closing pages of
e Report, as we think the suggestions of the Trustees are
iae, aod their arrangements very liberal :—

In prospect of a temporary delay which promises so
■Rly to augment the permanent attractions of the Col-
ge. and so essentially to subserve the interests of its
Mre members, the Trustees can have but one regret. It
for the many young ladies who desire immediately to
joy the promised advantages of the institution, and to
me of whom, possibly, the postponement of their hope
volves the necessity of its relinquishment. To such the
■ustees can ouly offer the assurance of their sympathy.
"Of the great majority, however, it may alleviate the

ntment to learu that they will probably ne>*d all
the intervening time, or more, to prepan themselves for
admission to the College when It shall be opened. Among
the multitude who have forwarded applications for admis-
sion, or inquiries looking t-> that result, it is apparent that
a large pi 'portion may, for some time t" come, continue
t.- pursue their studies with advantage :ft the Schools and
ladies' Seminaries already In successful operation in all
pan^ "f tiie land. It was not the Founder's design, in the
establishment of this College^ to come into competition
witli these excellent Institutions, bnt to make an honest

and earnest effort to carry thr t'hn-ation of women one
ttep higher — receiving those of their graduates whose
thirst for Improvement is still uusati-ikd. and furnishing
them with liberal facilities (or Hie oarryfng out and r<>m-

pletii-n of their culture. In this idea the Trustees heartily
concur, and by it their polity will luuealter bo sedulously
shaped.

•' It will, of course, bo impossible to make a defatted
statement of tin' ' pre-requisites for admission' until the
34 m of instruction as a whole is matured. Suffice it in
general to say that the institution will be what its name
import) — of OolltffiaU rank ; and that the young ladies
who enter its lowest classes must, as to the studies they
are going to pursue, have attain''! a grade of proficiency

corresponding la the main to that required for admission
to the existing Colleges for young men. This will suffice
for the immediate guidance of those who come to the Col-
lege for the purposes of a genuine education, expecting to
pursue its regular course. The Circular which will be
issued in the course of the winter will give particulars,
and also state ou what principles students will be received,
for special objects, into particular departments of instruc-
tion.

•• Finally, inquiries are frequently made as to the pro-
bable "rates of tuition,' aud an impression would seem
to have obtained some currency that the funds of the
College are to be made available for gratuitous instruction.
There is no foundation for such an impression. Vassar
College is iu no respect a charity School ; nor is it designed
ever to become one. Its funds will be largely absorbed
in the extensive material arrangements — the expensive
fixtures and machinery of instruction, which such an
establishment demands at the very outset, and for whose
subsequent growth and improvement liberal calculations
must 1"' made.

"Precisely what the terms will be, it would be pre-
mature, as yet, t" attempt to determine. In the present
uncertain aud fluctuating condition of all values no one
can predict what changes might be rendered necessary by
the events of the year, in any scale of prices that could be
fixed. So much as this, however, may safely be asserted,
that it Is the desire of the Founder, aud will ho the policy
of the Trustees, to bring tho advautages of the College
within the reach of the largest possible number, by mak-
ing the tuition fees as low in every respect as will consist
with the maintenance of a complete and efficient system
of Collegiate instruction, and also that the resources at
their command will enable them to reduce the rates to a
reasonable sum, as compared with the average cost of
advanced female education in this or any other country.

"With this exhibit of the sound condition and cheering
prospects of the enterprise, its managers commend it anew
to the confidence of its friends and the public, feeling sura
of their Willingness to await patiently the progress of a
development which, in order to be healthy, must he do-
liberate, and to the inexperienced and uureflecting will
appear slow. By order of the Trustees,

M. Vassar, .

M. Vassar, Jr.,

C Swift. \-Ez. Committee.

Cysts Swa.v,

Cor. Dubois, J
" Pocghkeep-sie, N. T., June 29, 1S64."

As soon as the Circular announcing " the full requisites
for admission'" appears, a summary of its contents will be
given in the Lady's Book, for the benefit of our many
readers, parents as well as young ladies, who are anx-
iou-ly looking towards Vassar College as the star of hope
for the daughters of America.

Meanwhile, the general nature of the requirements may
be gathered with sufficient clearness from what is now
published. It seems certain that the yonng ladies to be
admitted into this College will require to be tolerably well
grounded in the elements of English grammar and com-
position, of arithmetic and geography, and, in short, of

354

godey's lady's book and magazine.

what are usually considered the branches of a good com-
mon school education. We should not think it necessary
to suggest in particular that they will doubtless be re-
quired to write a good hand and to spell correctly, if we
did not know that candidates for admission into our Col-
leges for young men are sometimes found to be sadly
deficient even in these humble requisites.

We seriously advise every young lady who intends to
become a candidate for Vassar College to prepare herself
as thoroughly as possible. The Christian Founder has
proved himself, in his munificent donations and just views,
the true friend of woman. Every feminine heart should
bless him, and every young lady who enjoys the oppor-
tunities of improvement Vassar College will bestow should
endeavor to do him honor.

DROUGHT,
i.
The fields have a faded face,

Pinched, and withered, and wan,
As though the life of the dying grass
Had been sucked by the vampire sun !

ii.
The flower may close its eye,

And shut out the blood-red glare ;
The breathing leaves must shrivel and die

In the blast of the scorching air.

in.
The corn is sere and old —

A dwarf with half a life ;
The perishing fruitage falls, untold,

Like the dead in battle strife.

IV.

Oh, Lord of the world and its light !

Smile Thou on our thirsting earth,
And bid Thy clouds of dew-laden night

Tarry till morning's birth ;

v.
And cover the blood-red son,

And shake out their laughing showers,
Till the leaves flash oat and brooklets run,
And our land is alive with fruits and flowers!
July 29, 1864. Sarah Josepha Hale.

EXCERPTA.

A Breakfast in the Olden Times. — In a record of the
old Earl of Northumberland it is written: "My lord and
lady have for breakfast, at 7 o'clock, a quart of beer, as
much wine, two pieces of salt fish, six red herrings, four
white ones, and a dish of sprats."

Early Marriages. — "The large majority of marriages
are made too early, A young lady is thought to be getting
rather old at twenty-five ; yet before that age the character
is not sufficiently formed, nor the experience of society
wide enough to render the young lady capable of selecting
her true partner. The first attraction of the young heart
may be lasting, but the probabilities are against it, and in
so momentous an action as the choice of a husband a
girlish fancy should never be yielded to till the judgment
of the womanly mind confirms tho attraction."

"A knowledge of art tends to self-knowledge, inasmuch
as an analysis of the laws of beauty and taste promotes an
understanding of the powers and purpose of the soul."

"Beauty, in its highest significance, and goodness are
synonymous."

The Bridegroom's Soliloquy.

"The richest of treasures, the brightest of gems

Are found in the depths of her heart.

"Moreover, I perfectly agree in the proposition that,

though marriage be a lottery in which there are wondrous

many blanks, yet there is one inestimable lot in which

the only heaven on earth is written."

Indian Superstition. — A beautiful superstition prevails;
among the Seneca tribe of Indians. When an Indian,
maiden dies, they imprison a young bird until it first be-
gins to try its power of song, and then loading it with,
kisses and caresses, they loose its bonds over the grave,,
in the belief that it will not fold its wings, nor close \\.%\
eyes, until it has flown to the spirit-land and delivered
its precious burden of affection to the loved and lost. It|
is not unfrequent to gee twenty or thirty birds let l0(
over one grave.

A FEW WORDS WITH OUR CORRESPONDENTS.

1st. To the lady who requests us to take a chance in a.
raffle. We have no doubt of your good intentions, nor
would we judge yonr actions ; but we do not approve the
practice of raffling, and cannot take a chance even in youri
plan.

2d! A lady writes us concerning the " health of her hair,"
and to whom she shall apply for advice respecting soma
disease of her head. As we have had several letters of
the same import, and have not time to reply, we will here
insert a portion of the circular of the most accomplished
hairdresser in this city, Mrs. M. L. Baker, to whom we
refer our subscribers who desire such services. Applica-
tions to Mrs. Baker, stamp inclosed, would secure her
advice and a complete circular.

" Mrs. M. L. Baker, thankful for the liberal patronage!
heretofore extended from the ladies of Philadelphia and
the travelling community, would call their attention tu
the effective style of shampooing ladies' heads; it in-
vigorates the scalp, it causes the hair to grow, it cures
dandruff. It is the only establishment in this city where
shampooing is done in the English mode. It is unsur-
passed as to cleanliness and comfort.

"Ladies who may wish to avail themselves of this
luxury will be waited upon by experienced lady artists.

"Attached to this establishment are Private Rooms for
ladies' hair-dyeing. A beautiful black or brown dye
applied without the least injury to the hair or skin. La-i
dies in attendance." 909 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia.

3d. The mother of an invalid child writes, requesting
some receipts may be given in the Lady's Book for diet,
and drinks of the sick and convalescent. We have had,
such receipts under the heading of " Receipts, etc.," and;
also in our " Health Department. " We will here give two, |
which have competent authority —

Sice and Gravy. — Let the rich gravy from a leg of
roasted mutton or sirloin of beef stand till the fat forms a
cake on the surface ; then remove it, and heat the gravy
with as much well-boiled rice as will make it thick. A
teacupful of this is very strengthening in the early con-
valescence of delicate children. — Dr. A. T. Thompson.

Suet Drink. — Sheep snet, two ounces; milk, one pint;
starch, half an ounce. Boil slowly for half an hour. An
excellent drink in dysentery. — American Medical Formtf
lary, by Dr. J. J. Seese.

Ocr Contributors. — We must beg their patience till i
next month.

"Alma's Vow," respectfully declined. Please say how I
it shall be returned. Very good ; but we have so much
MS. on hand.

"The Two Brides," respectfully declined for the above
reason.

Is "Our Dew Drop" sent as a contribution? No letter
accompanied the article.

LITERARY NOTICES.

355

Jitem]) Itotttts.

10TRKK3, Philadelphia: —
Tnr. COWARD. A Novel of Society a>

Henry Morford, author "f "Shoulder Straps,*'
etc. Mr. Morford has a read? pen, and knows well how
*to please the public. The story of this book begins at the
*Umo of Leo's i >f Pennsylvania in Jane, 1863, and

its full of graphic description! and i1 ices \

■well devised plot, aud numerous and varied incidents
'make it very readitble.

' From M. A. Root, Philadelphia:—

Tin. CAMERA AND THE PENCIL; or, theffeltoffrapkic
'Art : it.* T

JBy M. A. Root, Professional HeUographic Artist. During
/the score or more of years of the existence of heliography
aaon;' as, it has never, among the common people, been
unong the thousands of opera-
1 m 1. the country few have excelled in xnechan-

tlcal skill, while -till fewer have boon worthy to bo called
■tstB, How iver there ia a growing appreciation of the
beautiful among ns, and the artistic exoelleDce of a pho-
Bkraphic picture is already beginning to be considered.
The day is ool t'.ir distant when a heliographic artist, to
Bain eminence in his profession, will And it n sec

Its exercise with the same care, and
with a like course of study, as if he were to become a
'rtaimor. As this art becomes more and more perfected,
■re will be required more and more a perfect kn 1
)f the principles of perspective, of fhinr oscitro, of grace-
■ grouping, and a pleasing and judicious arrangement
nceessorles. The most thorough and correct treatise of
his art, in all its branches, historical^ descriptive, and
iaorerjcal, has been written, and is being published by
I practical hi f tins city, and

>ne of the oldest aud most competent operators in the
"nitod 5b as a text-book and a

fcand-book; and while it will give a more thorough and
Extended knowledge of their profession, and render them
operators, it will also prove Interesting
0 and enlighten1 and perhaps make them more

iesirable and tractable sitters. The first volume has al-
ready appear. id, beautifully printed, elegantly bound, and
jlnely illustrated. The second is in press. Each volume
s complete in itself.

i From Frederick Letpoldt, Philadelphia:—

\ POEM- German of QeWel

-.<?. By Lucy Hamilton ITooper. A neat and
Rsteful lit' ime, >fnearlyone hundred pages, eviirc-

ng, in its or ents, ic talent of more than

amnion excellence ; and in its translations, a rare union
if fldelitv and h

From the Presbyterian Board of Ptelicatiox, Phila-
lelphia : —

THE C0I5S OF TnE BIBLE, AND ITS MOSEY
TERMS. By James Ross Snowden, A. M. We are in-

lebted to the author for a copy of this little work. It will
>rove exceedingly valuable to one who wishes to read
nany portions of the Bible understandingly. The dena-
•ius, or ''penny,'' the silver stater, the shekel, the widow's
nite, the talent, and all money terms and coins referred
o or used in the Bible, are described, and their probable
•'aloe given. The hook is embellished with illustrations
VOL. LXIX. — 29

of coins, and of ancient and modern coining pressi s, Ap-
pended a ad of
Jewish, Greek, and Roman coins and money terms*

From P. F. CuznfTXGHAH, Philadelphia: —

LA MERE I)E DIEU. From the Italian of Father Al-
phonse 1 ■■■' tht Oratory of Naples. This is a

small trork, published to "contribute towards keeping
alive, and fostering devotion to the mother of God."

GRACE MORTON; or, The Inheritance, A Catholic
Tale. By M. L. M. An attractive story !'"r the young,
designed to improve and strengthen sentiments of fidelity
to religion.

COUNT LESLIE; or. The Triumph 0/ Filial Piety.
A Catholic Tale. Our Catholic readers will find this tittle
hook a valuable addition to their library. It is an interest-
ing story, with an excellent moral.

From nARPER & Brothers, New York, through Peter-
son & Brothers, and Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia: —

RELIGIOUS TRAINING OF CHILDREN, in the School,
the !-'<'<, ,ih/. and V-- I hurch* By Catharine E. Beecher,
author of "Common Sense applied to Religion," etc. Miss
Beecher is one of the most vigorous thinkers of our day.
- "■ is ..mo wlin dor- not fi.'Lir to speak her honest convic-
tions, even when they conflict with long held opinions.
Her book is strongly and clearly written, entering deeply
and earnestly into the subject of religious training ; offer-
ing rules aud suggestions, aud correcting errors : instruct-
ing, encouraging, and reproving, according as there is
need.

CAPTAIN BRAND, of the "Centipede." A Pirate ol
eminence in the West Indies: his Loves and Exploits.
Together with some Account of the singular Manner by
which he departed this Life. By Harry Gringo (II. A.
Wise, C. S. N.).. author of "Los Gringos," etc. With Il-
lustrations. The title of this novel savors strongly of the
yellow cover, and its illustrations are somewhat flashy in
stylo. But tho persevering reader will be agreeably dis-
appointed in finding the story far better than it promises
to be. It is a genuine sea story, by one who knows how
to use sea terms without confounding them. We are no
great admirer of pirate stories, but if one must read them,
let them read good ones. And this is one of the best,
whose leading character is not represented as an interest-
ing, persecuted hero, but as the cruel, black-hearted vil-
lain he is.

THE LADDER OF LIFE. A Heart History '. By Amelia
B. Edwards, author of "Barbara's History," etc. The
readers of "Barbara's History" will be prepared to find,
in the present work, a finely written and entertaining art
novel. Nor will they be disappointed. It is equal, if not
superior to that romance, and treats of music and art with
all the ease of one intimately acquainted with what she
describes. There is a pretty little love story, interwoven
with the other matters, ending happily of course.

BfATJKICB BERING; or, The Quadrilateral. By the
author of "Guy Livingstone." A brilliant novel, doing
credit to its talented author. The four friends, so totally
different in character, will find numerous admirers in-
terested in their doings.

From D. Afpleton & Co., New York, through Ashmead
& Evans, Philadelphia: —

OVERLAND EXPLORATIONS IN SIBERIA, NORTH-
ERN ASIA, AND THE GREAT AMOOH RIVER COUW-
TRT. By Major Perry McD. Collins, Commercial Agent
of the United States of America f>r tho Amoor River,

356

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZIXE.

Asiatic Russia. This is a revised edition of a work which
lias already received the meed of popular approval. It is
a mos^instructive and entertaining volume, relating as it
does to a portion of the globe concerning which we have
comparatively little information. There are incidental no-
tices of Mantchooria, Mongolia, Kamchatka, and Japan,
with a map and plan of an overland telegraph round the
globe.

THE NEW INTERNAL REVENUE LAW, Approved
June 30, 1864, with Copious Marginal References, a
Complete Analytical Index, with Tables of Taxation.
Compiled by Horace E. Dresser.

From Tick nor & Fields, Boston, through Peterson &
Brothers, Philadelphia: —

AZARIAN: An Episode. By Harriet Elizabeth Pres-
cott, author of "The Amber Gods," etc. Miss Prescott
writes only for poets and painters. Her story overflows
with rich imagery, and Hashes with all the gorgeous color-
ing of a Turuerian landscape. One who has a cultivated
aud refined taste, capable of a subtle appreciation of high
artistic beauty and finish, will find a choice literary feast
in " Azarian."

From T. O. H. P. Bcrnham, Boston, through Peterson
&. Brothers, Philadelphia: —

RETA: A Novel. By Hamilton Aide, author of "Con-
fidences," etc. This is the autobiography of a young girl
whose lot is cast among most malign influences. The
detail of the temptations met on every hand, and the
struggles by which they were overcome, is lively and full
of interest. It has received, as it deserves, the approval
of the English reading public; and it cannot fail to be
equally popular in America.

THE FOREST ARCADIA OF NORTHERN NEW YORK.
Embracing a view of its Mineral, Agricultural, and
Timber resources. This is a small book, elegantly pre-
p ired, both as regards its contents and its style of publi-
cation.

From Lee & Shepard, Boston, through Peterson &
Brothers, Philadelphia: —

JENNIE JUNEIANA: Talks on Women's Topics. We
have long regarded Jennie June as one of the liveliest,
most piquant, and sensible of lady writers. She always
writes something worth reading, and with a manifest
point to it, whether she discourses of politics, morals, or
fashions. As sprightly and original as Fanny Fern, she
is, unlike the latter, invariably ladylike. "Jennie June-
iana," — the promise of a most absurd title to the contrary
notwithstanding — is really a sensible and readable book.

From Dick & Fitzgerald, New York, through Lippin-
COTT & Co., Philadelphia: —

THE FINGER-POST TO PUBLIC BUSINESS. Con-
taining the Mode of Forming and Conducting Societies,
Clubs, and other Organized Associations ; Full Rules of
Order for the Government of their Debates and Business ;
Complete Directions how to Compose Resolutions, Re-
ports, and Petitions; Manner of Managing Conventions,
Public Meetings, etc. By an ex-member of the Philadel-
phia Bar. This, we arc assured, will be found to be one
of the most complete and valuable compilations ever yet
presented to the active business men of this country. The
catalogue of its contents is a long one, and, we believe,
embraces every branch of public duty, or field of private
enterprise a man of knowledge and spirit is likely at all
times aud under all circumstances to become engaged iu.

From a careful examination of the table of contents, we
have no doubt of the importance of the information given
the general reader, and at the same time those who seek
for specialities will scarcely have to say their search was
in vain in "The Finger-Post."

BRISBANE'S GOLDEN READY CALCULATOR. Cal-
culated in Dollars and Cents, for the use of Trader*, Whole-
sale or Retail ; with Interest Tables, etc. By William
D. Brisbane, A. M. Unlike many works of its class this
little book possesses great simplicity of arrangement, and
will be a useful companion to both buyer and seller.

From Hurd & Houghton, New York, through Peter-
son & Brothers, Philadelphia:—

PERSONAL AND POLITICAL BALLADS. Arranged
and edited by Frank Moore. This book presents us with
selections from the best political and personal baUads that
have appeared since the rebellion.

From P. C. Brown, Cincinnati: —

ORA, THE LOST WIFE. This is a very extraordinary
novel for its power and its pathos. Thero are some scenes
in it that we think cannot be excelled. The character of
the heroine is well drawn, and apparently from life. The
scene of the death of little Ada is perfectly beautiful, and
the characters stand out in the book like living person-
ages. Wo cannot call it a sensation novel, although it is
as full of incidents as any of the works of Miss Braddon or
Mrs. Wood — quite as interesting, but far more natural.
Altogether it is one of tho most readable and interesting
novels that has been presented to the public for years.
Tho authoress of "Ora" has made her mark ; let her fol-
low it up, and we will hear of her as one of the most
popular novel writers of our countM-.

A FEW REASONS FOR ADVANCE IN PRICE.;

Please Read this Attentively.

Although we are not getting fur the Lady's Book from
our subscribers hardly the amount that the blank paper
costs us*upon which the Book is printed, yet we think
our subscribers cannot perceive any difference in the at-
tractions and merits of " the Book." We madea contract
with them to furnish the Lady's Book at a certain price,
based upon a specimen furnished them. We have adhered
to that specimen and that price, although the cost and loss
to us have been enormous. We can no longer take club
subscribers at the present rates. They were always too
low, and now we are obliged to raise them — to what price
will be found in our November number. A publication
of a high character like the Lady's Book ought to afford a
profit to a publisher not founded on an enormous edition.
The profit is infinitesimal. It takes a very large edition
to pay a very small profit, and, caught as we have been
this year, we are not willing to undertake another such
responsibility. Paper and everythiug connected with our
business have advanced at the most unprecedented rate.
Here are the terms of Harper "sand the Atlantic Monthly,
both $3 magazines: —

Terms for Harper: Every club of 10 subscribers, amount-
ing to $30, an extra copy will be sent. This is about
$2 75 for the lowest club subscriber for oue year. The
Atlantic, fur every club of 10 subscribers amounting to
$27 50, furnish a copy gratis. This is at the rate of aboot
$2 55 for every one of the lowest club subscribers. Now,

GODEY S ARM-CHAIR.

the Lad} a great deal more to manufacture

than either of the above magazines, and yet we propose to
•ell it lower.
The dallj press throughout the country has advanced
astances more than 100 per cent., owing
to the increased cost of paper and workmanship.

In our November number our new terms will be an-
nounced, but we give this timely caution that all money
Wut to «s for clubs on the old terms will be returned at
•the ri»k oi the person vending it.

OCTOBER, 1SC4-

The Young Draught Player,*1 a pleasing line engrav-
LHng, and a superb Fashion-plate of seven figures. Look
a* the engraving of Leap Year, and read the illustrative
matter in our editorial department.

Brodic has again favored us with one of his beautiful
"illu-trations. Success to Brodie, he is one of the institu-
tions of N'ew York.

tmenee in this number our illustrations for fall

;1oaks. We shall continue to give tho most fashionable

doaks through the months of December and January. In

mber number we shall also publish articles for

Winter wear that ladies themselves may work.

OrB SrpEBioR Needles. -*-We havo made arrangements

try which we ran continue to furnish the ladies' favorite

r 100 and a 3 cent stamp to pay re-

ur:i postage. This is much cheaper than they can be

1 elsewhere, and the needles are of a much finer

piality. The demand is so great for them that it is the

ncss of one person in our office to attend to the orders.

v. ) again a*, tjttle profit to ourselves, bat we aw

Titers should be supplied with a

Eerior article.

lrrER\nv Associations — We now commence in time to
rarn onr subscribers against sending their money to any
Usociation purporting to furnish the Lady's Bo-'k
f the inducement to subscribe, and promising them great
some future drawing of a lottery. We will not
nsible in any way. We will also add that we
»ve no agents for whose acts we are responsible. We
nly send the Lady's Book when the money is sent direct
t us.

■anion TT.iRLAyn's Stortes.— We again state that we
in to copy her stories. They are
. tod by the author. We do not wonder at the
Jjquest, as the stories are admirable.

i •

J Authors must not be disappointed if we do not answer

leir letters as regards poetry. We could not do it unless
ie day possessed three time? the number of hours it does.
■*e neyer snswer any letters of the kind. Mrs. Bale
tad- all p ""try, and if it is accepted or rejected, she an-
ivers it in her " Notices to Correspondents.'

pRr-:r>r*r LcrcoLY. — We have received from the pub-
*her, J. C. Bnttre, 4S Fr.inkliu Btreet, »w York, a most
Imirab1.;.- engraved and perfect likeness of this distin-
rson. It is Mirrounded by appropriateemblems.
■graved on steeL Size of plate, 19 by 24 inches, and the
■ice only $1.

Also a portrait of General McClellan, which is equally
■?!l engraved, and furnished at the same price. Address
above.

We take the following from the AU&nanin : —
EnQrETTE is Mrxirn — What can be more troublesome
than the rigor with which every one who goes into a shop
in Munich is expected to bake "tr his hat, and hold it in
bifl hand till his purrlia- - ted? I do not ob-

ject to the Parisian custom of prefacing business demands
with some sort of salutation, of raising your hat to the
lady at the comptoir when yon go into a restaurant. Fat
there are limits to politeness, and I think the holding
one's hat exceeds those limits. It deprives you of the use
of one hand, which you may want, and are very certain
to want in examining what you buy; if the shop i*
small, as are the majority of shops in Munich, it is in
your way and in that of your neighbor; and the amount
of politeness conveyed to the shopman is so scanty as not
to outweigh these inconveniences. In like manner, all
who visit the Kunst-Yereiu have to keep their hats off;
not because it enables others to see better— for though
bats are often in the way in picture-galleries, they are
more awkward in the hand than on the head — but be-
caase the Kunst-Yerein, being supported by subscriptions,
is a private institution. That is, because you pay a pound
a year to have the right of seeing pictures, you must do
your pound the honor of taking off your hat to it, though
when you are admitted free to the Royal or National Gal-
leries, you may keep yourself covered. This is a distinc-
tion indeed! Another form which is equally strange,
though it is not enforced on every one, is the habit of
knocking at open doors. You are going through your
house with a workman or tradesman, and yon open the
door of some room in which repairs are wanted. You
precede him into the room, of course, otherwise he would
stand waiting forever. But even then he cannot follow
you in without a ceremonious knock at the door, though
you may be talking to him all the time, and though yon
may be almost abreast of him as you both enter.

Change of Address. — Very often we receive a notice,
my address to such a place." This would be
very well if we had only one subscriber, bnt as we have
nearly 160,000, it would be as well if that self-compla-
cent person would say where the Book bad been pre-
viously sent; or, in other words, this would be the
form : —

Please send the Lady's Book, formerly addressed 1 1

me at city, county, State of - — — , to city,

connty, State of .

A ladt "moving in the first circles" having received a
present of a pair of terracotta vases, was asked what
kind of vases they were, when she answered with much
pomp, "Terre-Haute, of course, madam." The same lady
bearing a conversation about the just published attfo-
bioirraphy of a poet, asked if it was anything like the
otto of roses, saying that if it was, she was sure eh'e
should like it, for that was her "favorite fragrance.
was assured that, although not quite like it, it was equally
scents-ible.

Poetry and AckostTCS addressed to par:
i are only of interest \-> those to whom they may 1

dressed, and had better be sent to those persons, and not
to us. I

There is an editorwho duns his delinquent subscribers
by sending their paper* in an envelope embellished with
a cut of a circus pony which has just accomplished the

ftt uf climbing a ladder — pony up.

358

godky's lady's book and magazine.

OUR MUSICAL COLUMN.

Holloway's Musical Monthly, for October, is now ready,
containing, first, Oesten's last new melody, The Brooklet's
Lullaby (Bachleia's Weigenlied), a delicate and pleasing
composition, as beautiful as anything this graceful com-
poser ever wrote ; second, the Autumn Eve Polka ; third,
Trnst not all who Whisper Thee, a sweet song by the
author of We Met and Talked of Other Days, and O Say
that you Ne'er will Forget Me, two songs that have given
the highest satisfaction in former numbers of the Monthly.
Since all other sheet music has advanced so considerably
in price, and since we announced our determination not
to advance the price of the Monthly until absolutely com-
pelled to do so, the musical public has more than ever
showed its appreciation of the work in large and constant
orders. We give the same quantity of music as when
other sheet music sold at five cents per page which now
sells a't seven, while the Monthly sells at one and a half,
or less I It cannot bo expected that we can hold to our
present rates much longer. In another mouth, perhaps,
as white paper is increasing in price every day, we may
be compelled to put up our terms, and wo therefore urge
upon our friends once more to send in their subscriptions
without delay. Terms $3 per annum. Four months'
numbers, or more, will be pent for 25 conts per number,
three cents to be added to each number for postage. The
Monthly is not for sale at the music stores. All orders
and correspondence must bo addressed to J. Starr Hollo-
way, Publisher Musical Monthly, Box Post-office, Phila-
delphia.

Jffeio Sheet Music. — The following list is in continuation of
that in the August number, and, like that, is offered at the
old prio s. This isthecheape it music now in this country.
Price of each song 25 cents only : Norak Mavourneen,
new Irish ballad. Forget Thee, beautiful song by Balfe.
What Joy to Listen, by Balfe.- Among tho Roses. At
the Gate. O ye Tears, by Franz Abt. Home of my Youth,
by Glover. Night on the Rippling River. All Day Long,
beautiful song, by Foster. Poor Ben the Piper, thirteenth
edition. Do not Forget Me, same author. Beautiful Valley,
same. Around the Fire, song and chorus, by the same.

In the Starlight is a beautiful duet by Glover, 40 cents.
When wo are Married is a capital comic duet by Glover,
40 cents.

Come Again, yo Noble Freemen, grand Republican
rallying song and chorus for the campaign of 1S04, by
George E. Fawcette, price 30 cents, or five copies for $1.
This is a fine song for the army, and for political societies,
clubs, etc. It is already in large demand.

Polkas* Marclies, Transcriptions, etc. at the old prices:
The celebrated Shadow Air, from Le Pardon de Ploermel,
30 cents. Magdalena, fantaisie, by the author of the
Maiden's Prayer, 40. Evangeline, one of Baumbach's
most exquisite transcriptions, 35. A Night on the Ocean,
mjcturue brillante, 30. On the Rialto, barcarole, by
Oesten, 30. Gov. Stone's Grand March, with fine portrait,
50. Marche Militaire, by Glover, 30. Cavalry Quickstep,
by Glover, 35. Volunteer's Quickstep, easy, 25. Our
Governor's Schottische, easy, 2.3. Moss Basket Waltz, 25.
Iminortellen Waltz, 15. The Listening Mother, by Brinley
Richards, 35. Maiden's Prayer, 25. Prayer Answered, 35.

Easy pieces, 10 cents each: Celebrated Marguerite
Waltz, from Gounod's Faust. Lily Leaf Polka Schottische.
Windsor Forest Galop. Gilt Edge Polka. Unadi 11a Island
Waltz. Ingleside Mazonrka. Silver Lake Waltz. Union
Brigade Quickstep. Starry Night Galop. Winter Green
Polka. Not less than five ten cent pieces cau be sent.

Address all orders as above to J. Starr Hollow ay.

From a Correspondent ; —

'All Hallow E'en is the last day

) of All Saints' Da v. and one sui"-

All Hallow E'en.-
of October, and the evo of All Saints' Day. and one sup-
posed particularly efficacious for tlie practice of all kind-:
of charms relating to love and marr age. 1 have myj i .
seen aud participated in many scenes of innocent mirth
on the occasion. Three is the magic number; but what-
ever the number, it must always be an odd one when
engaged on these same charms. One peculiar to the day
is the placing of three basins on a table, one of which
must be filled with clean water, one with dirty, and one
left empty. The inquirers enter the room successively, '
blindfolded, and three times, and according to the dish
into which they thrust their hand, their fate is to be.
Clean water indicates a good husband, dirty water a
bad «me. whilst the empty basin threatens the dreaded life
of celibacy. I have also heard of melting lead on this
occasion, and pouring it through the handle of the door-
key into cold water — a rather dangerous experiment.
According to the shapes it assumes in the pure element,
such is to be the trade, profession, or occupation of the
fair one's husband. But some, learned in the mysteries
of so-called charms, say that this is only appropriate on
midsummer day in the sun, and as the clock strikes
twelve. The custom of sowing hempseed, mentioned as a
superstition, is, 1 think, equally well known. I have heard
of many of my mother's juvenile friends trying the experi-
ment, aud have performed my own part, years ago, in
such a ceremony, as the clock tolled the midnight hour,
pale with fear and trembling. No spectre came mowing
after me, and the only result was an extraordinary crop
of thistles in our garden, and many ejaculations on the
part of paterfamilias, to the effect that he could not thine
where so many thistles sprung from. Little did he know
that we had been laying charms for spectral bridegrooms,
really half hoping to see the shadowy figure with the
scythe, or black coffin for the old maid of the party.
There is another traditional spell for evoking the insignia
of tho future husband's social position. Itss dangerous
than lead ; it is breaking an egg into cold water in the
sun, as the clock strikes twelve on Midsummer Bay, and
deciphering the shapes formed by it. But whatever
claims Midsummer Bay may have upon tradition, All
Hallow E'eu is the day of days, or rather night of nights,
for every species of witchcraft and devilry, for the work-
ing- of spells, and for the appears nee of uneasy ghosts and
souls located iu purgatory. Shrove Tuesday, also, has a
harmless custom, which consists in putting a wedding-
ring in the batter from which the pancakes are made, and
whoever gets this ring is to be married before the year i-*
out. The dumb-cake, the binding of bread and salt, the
burning of dragon's blood, the shoulder of mutton bone,
the crossing of shoes, the key in the Bible, the casting of
apple rind, and the sleeping on wedding-cake, are all
relics of heathenish and dark times, to find traces of which
we need not travel out of our own country."

Chestnut Street Female Seminary, Philadelphia.—
The twenty-ninth semi-auuual session of this boarding
and day school will opeu at 1615 Chestnut Street, Wed-
nesday, September 14. Principals, Miss Bouncy and Miss
Billayo. Particulars from circulars.

Music Received. — We have received the following from
Horace Waters, 4S1 Broadway, New York, and O. Ditson
& Co., 277 Washington Street, Boston, Mass. : —

Let me Pie with my Face to the Foe. The last word>
of General Rice.

The Sunny Side Set, for Piano. Nornh, Dearest !

When Dear Friends are Gone. By Stephen G. Foster.

Give this to Mother. By Stephen G. Foster.

Friends of the Union. A rallying sung.

The Dying Soldier Boy. A ballad.

My Jamie is a Soldier brave. Song and chorus.

I 'm Willing to Wait. A song.

The Sigh in the Heart. Waltz sentimental.

How goes the Money ? Words by John G. Saxe.

My Little Angel. A song.

From Bleloch & Co., 110 William Street, New York:—

After the War ; or, Won't we all be happy then .'

The Hemlock Tree. Words by H. W. Longfellow.

Alert. Polka brilliant.

Motto for the head of a proposed paper: —

"An independent paper, devoted to the benefit of its
patrons aud the pecuniary profit of its publishers."

godey's Ar.M-cii.vin.

ix.— This amusing puzzle, in which
y ruas up an iaclincd piano, U not,

very generally known, though it may bo con-
tracted at a trifling > ■■-t.
Get a turner to make a d-ublo cone of any hard wood:
| thai i* to say, .t shw p

• joined base

- uuim-

1 port an I . four inches long by

■tor will

do very well. Then procure

p* of wood abont half

.' an inch square and eight

i inches long, join them at one

i and, and let the other ex-

■arly four

■ pnrt. To keep [hem

I at the proper distance glue a

1 slip acr<-s_« at the wide end

- ttaderneath ; this piece may-

\ be three-quarters of an inch

.•qur.ro, and will form, with

rs, a triangle. When

ed upon the table, the

cc makos the wide

sidcrably higher than

r ; nevertheless, tho

i being placed

ton the l^wer end of the tri-

■Bgle, immediately travels

towards the higher extremi-

ngly in defiance of

the law - of gravitation. In

troth, however, it strictly

obeys them, as the centre of

gravity of the cone is situated in its axis; and owing to

the divergent character of the railway, it sinks more and

m.f o between the rail* as it proceeds, and therefore, in

•Us downwards. This will readily be perceived

i ;>ex of the cone is carefully observed during its

"A Cold*1 r»p trf. Imagination-.— Oncp, at a large dinner

iking of an inconvenience arising

rom tho custom, then commencing, of having windows

one large sheet of plate-glass. He said that a

•-hurt time I at dinner with his bark to one of

jrlass; it appeared to bin that

jhe win-l >w was wide open, and each was the force of

: m, that he actually caught cold. Itso happened

kW 1 was sitting just opposite to the poet. Hearing this

■JBnrk, i immediately said, "Dour me, how odd it is

rs, that you aud I should make such a very dif-

,«Teut Qse of the faculty of imagination. When 1 go Ij

■ fa friend in the country, and unexpectedly

r the night, having no nightcap, I should uatu-

ch cold. But by tying a bit of packthread tightly

ound my head, I go to sloop imagining that I have a

on; consequently I catch no cold at all." This

] need much amusement in all around, who sup-

•ed 1 had improY a d it ; but, odd as it may appear, it

I* a practice I have often resorted to. Mr. Rogers, who

; new full well tho respect and regard I had for him, saw

it ; was relating a simple fact, and joined cor-

lally iu the merriment it excited. — BabUige,

, Is a description of a late raid the following passage
■Bars: 'Taderueath a majestic oak lay a number of
, od y's I. '<■ - Book for June, 1S62! the leaf turned down
: tho fashions for that month."

Pnso5s must not, in future, send us money for snb-
ntptions at the old club rates. The prices will be an-
in the November number, and on no account
an the rates thca anaoanced be received.

30*

WHEN THIS OLD HAT WAS NEW.

I 'm sitting down to muse ftwhlli

I v.-iy often do.
And memory brings back the time

When this old hat was new.

Kind loving friends with cordial

Come crowding on my view,
For fortune beamed on me the while

When this old hat was new.

And are they not as loving yet.

Those whom of yore I knew T
Misfortune, trno, his seal bath set

Since this, old hat was new.

Ah no! the hat has rusty grown,

And friends no longer true ;
My /" '/. no! me, they sought, 'tis sh ;vrn,

"When this old hat was new.

But cold neglect nor bitter scorn

This heart can e'er subdue ;
It beats as proudly now as when

This good old hat was new.

Pass on — laugh on — your silly pride

Perchance you yet may rue;
A battered hat some brains may bide,

An. empty pate the new.

Bear Sir: You ask for anecdotes of servants. I hav»
one that is original. At a time '* Aunt Reoa," a colored
servant, lived with tis, my young brother and I talked of
having a library. She said she did not know what wo
wanted one for, when there was one libara (meaning Li-
beria) where poor niggers was sent. B. D.

Comet-Glasses. — Two modes of constructing cheap tele-
scopes are given by a contemporary. Fix in a tin or paper
tube, which has been blackened inside, a spectacle g\am
of thirty-six inch focus, with a small double convex glass
of one inch focus. This instrument will magnify thirty-
six times, and Jupiter's satellites can be seen by it. But
a better one can be made with an achromatic gla-
thirty-five or thirty inches focus and two inches diameter :
a first-rate comet eye-piece for this is made by getting two
plain convex glasses of three inches focus each, and one
and three-eighths inch diameter, fixing them together
with the convex surfaces next each other, about half an
inch apart, leaving as largo an aperture of glass o,s pos-
sible. Such a telescope as this will bear a magnifying
power of from eighty to one hundred times. With the
comet eye-piece, n most beautiful view of the groiy>s and
clusters in the milky way can be obtained.

Tjie following was taken verbatim from a tombstone at
Williamsport, Pa., last summer, by a son of Rev. Dr.
U s, of 2ii*ew York: —

Sacred to the

memory of

HENRY H ASBIS,

Born June 27. 1721.

of Henry Harris and Jane

His wife, died on the -1th of

U (y, i::;:.i,y the ki< b ofa

Colt in bis bowels,

And quiet, a fr.end to hifl

Father and Mother, and r-'

By all who knew him

And went to that world

where horses can't kick, and

where sorrow uud weeping

is no more.

3(30

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND JIAGAZINE.

LEAP YEAH.

{See engraving, x>age 2S3.)

Girls, old and young, maids and widows, this is Leap
Year! Leap Year, when it is your inestimable privilege
to bring all the bashful men to the proposing point, or,
failing that, to do your own proposing, and learn by great
experience how a "feller'' feels when refused or accepted.
You may storm bachelor apartments, aud carry the owners
to the altar; you may besiege students' dens, and victo-
riously dislodge the occupants; you may broadly hint
that "Barkis is willing," and suggest that "pa" sets
aside one business hour per day for the consideration of
advantageous offers. Remember it will be four years
before this delightful chance will come again, and do not
neglect your opportunities. And, as a certain distin-
guished person would remark, "this puts me in mind of
a little story."

The heroine thereof was Miss Pattie Hobson, of the
classical town of Pryordale, which town* was the centre
of the county for fashion and literary standing, by virtue
of its containing the college and conrt house. Now,
Pattic's papa was the president of the college, and, having
lost his wife years before he attained that honor, Pattie
became at seventeen the hostess uf the presidential mansion.
No lady iu the White House ever received more respectful
homage than was laid by square-capped professors and
students at Pattic's little feet ; but she was a coquette by
nature, and dispensed her smiles liberally but capriciously,
driving all the students to writing miserable verses, and
the unmarried professors to "marrying somebody else."
There was one exception, however, to the last rule, in
the person of one Sylvanus Carson, the professor of dead
languages, who had emerged, to everybody's unutterable
amazement, from his scholastic dreams to flutter in the
light of Miss Pattie's smiles for a month, lay his honest
heart at her feet, pick it up when spurned, and retire back
to the company of Homer and Virgil, a shade graver and
more dreamy, but otherwise unaltered.

Now, Pattie, spite of her coquetries, had s.omewhere in
her light heart a streak of womanly tenderness, and
something in this quiet, humble, yet dignified acceptance
of her caprice touched the woman in her nature. More
than ever she dared public opinion by her flirtations ; she
became fast, rode horses that many a man would have
hesitated to manage, walked incredible distances to wit-
ness college races and contests, discarded her guitar, and
learned the violin from a love-stricken musician, and, in
short, set the Pryordale Mrs. Grundies nearly frantic by
her eccentricities. Of course the professor of dead lan-
guages had his sharo of her oddities. He would meet one
day, injiis passage across the hall, a smile of sweetness
or a word of cordial greeting, and the next get a chilling
salutation or a half laughing snubbing for his awkward
gait and long nose. But nothing moved him from his
quiet reserve. In vain Miss Pattie lavished courtesies to
win him back to his allegiance; in vain she tried to
ronse his anger by saucy threats; he moved along the
"even tenor of his way" as if her imago had never ruf-
fled the calm serenity of his heart.

Affairs began to look desperate when 1860 opened upon
the world. It was a superb day, this January 1, 1S60,
and Pattie greeted the bright winter sun with her brightest
eyes and richest color. Pattie had resolved to do a deed far
surpassing all her former daring efforts. It was a holiday.
Students were scattered broadcast over the whole State,
professors were at home or away for a holiday, and but
one "den" in the whole college building was occupied.

Here, happy in a day of leisure, the professor of dead
languages was writing Latin verse — to Pattie? No; to
a stiil stronger minded woman — Minerva. He had risen
to fiud a passage iu his beloved authorities, and, reaching
hook after book from the shelves, was returning to the
table with both arms full, when the door snapped open,
and Pattie Hobson, followed by Spot and Hector, the
college watch-dogs, burst in upon him. The rich brown
hair of Miss Pattie swept down in a graceful fall from a
most masculine hat, her habit, held in one gloved hand,
revealed a dainty boot and most unmistakably "never
mention 'ems;" and the apparition so suddenly appearing
gave the heavy books an impctns that earned them from
the professor's hands on the floor.

"Miss Pattie!" cried the astonished man.

"Happy New Year I" said Pattie, cheerfully, extending
her hand.

"Thank you. I — same to you," stammered the pro-
fessor.

"I called in upon a little matter of business," said
Pattie.

"Business?" The professor was getting dreamy.

"Yes — I — this is Leap Y" ear, Sylvanus, aud" — and here
Womanly modesty began to get the better of bloomerisu
daring, and the rich blood mantled up in my heroine's,
checks, and her large eyes fell to the floor.

"Miss Pattie! Miss Pattie! don't play with me again.
Two years ago I offered you my hand, and you refused it."

"Now," she said, softly, encouraged by his tone, "I
offer you mine. Will you retaliate?"

"Thus!" cried the enraptured professor, catching the
little hand in his, and pressing his lips upon it.

Huw the professor was won from his dreamy life to ono
of active intercourse with society, and what a domestii
cheerful little housekeeper his wife became, is recorded
in the history of Pryordale gossip; but I very much
doubt whether auy but Pattie, the professor, you, and I
know what happened in the college last Leap Year. .

Star Citt, Humboldt Co., Nebraska Territory.

Mr. L. A. Godly: Thinking a little sketch of this wild
country might not prove uninteresting to you, sitting so j
cosily iu your luxurious easy-chair there in the old Quaker
City, whilst many of your friends, that is, the ladies, for
they are all your friends, are disputing with oid Bore.ts j
for possession of foothold in this stormy land. But wo
anticipate a good time hence, though things are not very i
flattering at present. We expect this territory to occupy
a proud placein the array of States. Theclimateis rathe!
mild, considering the altitude, which is near 1400 feet
above the level of the sea. The mountains are destitute
of trees or vegetation to any extent, and water, during
the long dry summers, becomes very scarce. The mines,
however, are our grand redeeming feature, aud there is
certainly untold wealth yet to be developed from those
rugged mountain sides. I will send you some specimens
of ore taken from Shoba Mine, Star District, aud Gem
Mine, Sierra District. Humboldt County is where tin se
mines are situated. Yours, etc. E. E. L.

Specimens received. Accept our thanks.

Street Literature. — A vender of hot roast chestnuts in
our city has the following chalked on his stand: "Hat
Yoast Cesnots."

Why is a drunkard hesitating to sign the pledge like
sceptical Hindoo? Ans. — Because he is in doubt whether!
to give up the worship of Jug or not (Juggernaut).

GODEY S AUM-CIIAIR.

301

Puce - not known in England t-i i l towards

middle or the latter ei ign of Henry VIII. ;

the ladios ontl] then using ribbons, loops, skewers made

- r. ox gold. At first the pin was so

111 made that In the 34th year of the king parliament

< enact. -.1 that none should he sold unless they be "doublc-
led, and have the headdes Boudered mate to the shauke

| of til'- pynne," etc, Bnl this Interference had such au
Influent ■ • n the manufacture that the public could obtain

| no supply until lis act was repealed. Oa

referring to the Btatute*book, the act of repeal, which
passed in tho 37th year of the Baste reign, contains the
following clauses, which tend to show how cautious the
: hi to be not to interfere with any manu-

factory which they do not perfectly underhand. The act

| Of repeal, having recited the former act, it then goes on to

t say: "At which tyme the pynners playnly promised to

I serve the kyuge'a liege people wel and sufficiently, and
;.: ;l reasonable price. Aud forasmuch sens the makyng
of the saide ai t. there hath been searcitee of pynnes within
the kynge'a liego people have not ben
wel nor completely served of snch pynnea nor ar like to
be served, n<ir the pynners of this rcalmc (as it doeth
nowe manifestly appere) he liable to serve the people of
this rcalmc accordyug to their saied promise. In con-
flideraclon whiTi»*f it maie please the kynge, etc. that it
■Okie be adjudged and denied from heusforth frustrated
and nlhilitated and to be repealed forever." — Sfnt. Henrict
I Octact, xxxvii., <■*•],. 13. The consumption of tho whole

nation was, in 1803, estimated alticenty million* of pins
per day.

"We give the following because it is pimple, but take tho
advice of a physician first ; don't depend upon any pub-
lished receipt : —

"In New Fork a young lady ran a rusty nail into her
hot recently. The injury produced a lockjaw of such a
malignant character that her physic nnced her

recov Id nurse then took her in hand,

and applied pounded beet mots to her foot, removing them
as often as they became dry. The result was a most
complete aud astonishing cure."

Experifsci: of a celebrated artist with the Editorial
Corps in Australia. An independent editor: —

"A few days after my arrival, I pud my visits to tho
different editors of Sydney. At my first call I came to a
palace-like house, the ground floor occupied by the print-
ing office. On the first floor, among other advertisements,
I found a tablet informing visitors that the editor cannot
be spoken with unless paid for his valuable time: accord-
ingly everybody, without exception, is advised to buy a
ticket of ad mis -ion ai t lie door of the waiting-room — one
hour, costing 10*. ; half an hour, &_«. ; fifteen minutes, 3©.
Such were the contents of this singular price-current uf
time.

"I went Into the waitintr-room, and buying from the
Australian negro, in red livery, an hour of his master's
time, I entered the parlor with a strong feeling of curi-
osity. The editor received me in a very uupreposses-ir ,-
and sluggish manner. 'You are an artist, and come from
Europe to make money?' said he, in a not very friendly
tone. But when he understood that I had come from
South America aud California, his face lighted up. ami
voice became less abrupt. He asked me, without longer
preface, what pecuniary sacrifice I was ready to make in
order to be puffed by 'his paper. I was startled by his
blun[ness, and replied that, in case of success, I would
id material proofs of my gratitude ; but he
did not find my answer precise enough, aud requested me
to come at once r a definite understanding, and to pay a
certain aura, without which, according to him. it Would
be impossible for me to succeed. Telling him that I
Wished to adjourn the conference, as I could not at ouce
come to a decision, I left the temple of editorial integrity
and public spirit. The other editors were less rapacious
and more friendly : they gave me, indeed, the best advice
about ii .;.

Medical Items. — The hours most fatal to life are thus
determined by a writer in the Li>n<l>>>t (l»<ni>rhj lievitic,
from tho examination of the beta In 2,680 cases: —

" If the death- of the 2,880 persons had occurred indif-
ferently at any hour during the twenty-four hours, 1:10
wouid have occurred at each hour. But this was by no

means the cuse. Their are two bOUTS In winch the pro-
portion was remarkably below this, two minima, in fact—
namely, from midnight to 1 o'clock, when the deaths aro
r cent, below the average, and from noun to l o'clock,
when they were 20 \ percent, below, From :t to 6 o'clock

A. M. inclusive, aud from :l to 7 O'clock 1*. M. there is a

gradual Increase, In the former of 23] . per rent above the
average, in the latter of 6 jj percent, The maximum of
death is from D t" 6 o'clock a, M.. when it is 40 per cent,
above the average ; the next) during the hour before mid-
night, when ii is 25 percent, In excess; a third hour of
excess is that from 9 to 1" o'clock In the morning, being
it1 _. percent above. Prom 10 a. M. to ;i p. M. the deaths
are less numerous, being l'i ',, percent below the average,
the hour 1" fore u...u !"■; n_ the most fatal.

"Prom 3 o'clock 1*. M. the deaths rise t-> -V,' per cent.
above the average, and then fall from that hour to 11 P. M.,
averaging I ■', per cent, below the mean. During tho
hours from B to U o'clock in the evening there is a mini-
mum of tj'.j percent, below the average. Thus the Least
mortality is during the mid-day hours — namely, from 10
to 3 o'e1 ick; the greatest during early morning hours,
from 3 to 6 o'clock. About oue-thlrd of the total deaths
Were ehildreu under five years uf age, and they show their
influence on the latter more strikingly, At all hours,
from 10 o'clock in the morning until midnight, the deaths
are at or below the mean ; the hours from 4 to 5 1J. M.
and from !» to It' 1*. U. being minima, but the hour after
midnight being the lowest maximum ; at all the hours
from 2 i" 10 A. M the tenths are above the meau. attain-
ing then* maximum at from o to 0' o'clock A. AI., when it
is 40,'i pec cent, above."'

Consumption of Paper dvtbb Baxk of Exolaxd. — In
the Bank of England no fewer than sixty folio volumes
or ledgers are daily filled with writing in keeping the
accounts! To produce these sixty volumes, the paper
having been previously manufactured elsewhere, eight
men, three steam presses, and two hand presses are con-
tinually going within the bank! In the copperplate
printing department twenty-eight thousand bank notes
are thrown off daily, and so accurately is the number
indicated by the machinery, thai to purloin a single note
without detection is an impossibility.

As Editorial Brctcs. — An editor ont west thus talks
to his non-paying subscribers and patrons : "Hear us for
our debts, and get ready thai yon may pay ; tru.-t us, v, e
aro in need, aud have regard for our need, as you have
been long trusted ; acknowledge your indebtedness, and
divo into your pockets that you may promptly fork over.
If there be any among you — one single patron — that don't
owe us something, then to him we say, step aside ; con-
sider yourself a gentleman. If the rest wish to know why
we dun them, this is our answer: not that wo care about
ourselves, but our creditors do. "Would you rather that
we went to jail, and you go free, than you pay your debts
to keep us moving? As wo agreed, we have worked for
you; a- we contracted, we have furnished our paper to
you ; but as you don"t pay, we don you. Here are agree-
ments for job work, contracts f>>r subscriptions, promia -
for long credit, and duns for deferred payment. Who is
there so green that he don't take a paper? If any, he
need not speak, for we don't mean him. Who is there so
green that he don't advertise ? If any, let him slide ; he
ain't the chap neither. Who is there so mean that he
don't pay the printer? If any. let him shout, for he's
the man we're after. His name is Legion, and he's
owing ns for one, two, three, four, five, six years — long
enough to make us poor, and him rich at our expense."

362

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Confession's of a Spirit-rapping Medium.— "It was
about the middle of September, when I bad paid no rent
fur nine mouths, no taxes for six, and no tradesmen for
three, that I Grst began to hear a scries of rappings of a
most persevering1 character. To account for those rappings
was extremely difficult, and I made no attempt to answer
them, for I knew it would be quite useless, as I had not a
rap in the house. At length it occurred to me that though
I could not answer the rappings, they might in some way
be got to answer me ; and, as my whole life had been of a
rather questionable nature, I reserved on trying the
experiment,

I was sitting alone about the middle of March, when
I thought I heard a rapping, which soon became very
Violent, at the ottter door. Haviug heard some talk of the
spirit rappers, I determined to try and find out whether
the rappings which were so frequent at my house could
hare anything to do with the phenomena alluded to.
Having lighted my pipe, I began to ask myself the ques-
tion, " Can that be a creditor ?" when there immediately
came a very loud "rap." As the spirits, I am told, an-
swer by a "rap" when they intend to express an affirma-
tive, and give no sign when they mean to apply a nega-
tive, I made sure there was a creditor at the door. " Is he
alone?" I asked. No answer! "Were they all creditors
who have been rapping during the last few weeks?" I
inquired, calmly ; but there was such a thunder of " raps,"
lasting for several minntes, that I could not ask myself
another question immediately, as I knew I could not have
heard myself speak. " Has the butcher been here?" was
my next inquiry, which was answered by several "raps"
in quick succession; hut when I hastily added, "And
will he trust me any longer?" the rapping suddenly but
most decidedly ceased.

I had read in some books on the subject that the
spirits frequently moved furniture in the most eccentric
manner. I determined, therefore, to choose the darkest
hour of the night to see whether it would he possible to
get my furniture moved by the aid of such spirits as I
might be able to command. I got a poor fellow who kept
a truck to come to me, and intending to make him a " me-
dium," I brought him into communication with all the
"spirits" I could get together; but the "medium" I had
chosen was quite unable to preserve a happy " medium,"
and the " spirits," having taken complete possession of
him, began to throw him about in the most mischievous
manner that can be conceived. They bumped him up
against the wall, and when he tried to lift a table under
their influence, tfcey threw him down on the top of it.
While this was going on, the rappings became so violent
that I, who was pretty well used to them, became alarmed,
and especially when I heard something like the forcing
open of a door, which made me apprehend that there was
some frightful "process," perhaps a writ or a summons,
with which the rappers intended to serve me out— or
rather at home — if they could get hold of me. Seizing the
first friendly wrapper — a Macintosh — that I could lay my
bands upon, I made my way out by the back door, and
did not return till the day following. When I came back
to my dwelling, I became convinced in the most unplea-
sant manner that the "rappers" can really do what we
attribute to them. 1 had been told that there are " rap-
pers" who have positively written with pen and ink, as
well as moved furniture; and I could not doubt either
fact when I found all my Furniture had been carried away,
and an inventory regularly written out lying on the floor.
It was clear that not only was the house haunted by
" rappers," but the furniture had become "possessed" by

some evil spirit in the shape of a "man in possession,"
who had carried it away. From this time forth the house
had become a source of such alarm to me that I left it;
but I have been told that the "rappings" still continue as
vehement as ever, and some of the " rappers" who possess
the power of writing have placed a written notice on the
door, which I have not ventured near enough to read, but
which, I have been told, conveys an intimation that they
are acting as the "medium" of the landlord, in whose
name they will go upon the premises to take possession
of them in a few days."

A gentleman sends us the following: A few years ago,
having received an accident which injured my foot, so
that I was obliged to use a crutch and a cane temporarily,
I was on my way home, on one of our fine lake steamer*,
having been east for medical treatment. On the boat was
a Frenchman, fresh from the Revolution of '4S, who took
a great interest in me. We were promenading the for-
ward deck, when a sudden lurch of the boat threw mo
with such force against the door of a state-room as to
burst it open, and I was plunged headlong almost into
the arms of a lady, sitting up in her berth in a condition
scarcely fitted for receiving calls from strangers. My cano
flew one way and my crutch another. The lady set up a
succession of piercing screams, which brought the whole
cabin about her doors, and foremost among others her
husband, who, seizing poor me by the collar, dragged me
to my feet much sooner than I could have otherwise .got
there. Wrath paled his countenance ; his wife continued
to shriek ; his arm was uplifted, threatening vengeance,
when the Frenchman, rushing forward, understood at a
glauce the whole catastrophe. Planting his hand against
the bosom of my antagonist — "Stop!" he says; "my
friend have ze accident ! two legs veree good on ze water,
but three legs not worth one sou !" — pointing to my fallen
crutch and cane. The indignant husband looked, com-
prehended, and burst into a roar of laughter, in which
he was joined by everybody but the unfortunate lady.

Smith's American Organs. — We ask attention to the
advertisement of Mr. S. Ott on the cover of this number.
We have known Mr. Ott well and long, and he is a man
of his word. If he pronounces an article good, his word
may bo taken.

Mrs. Hale is not the Fashion Editress. Will our sub-
scribers please remember that? Address your letters
"Fashion Editress, care of L. A, Godey, Philadelphia,
Pa."

Gorgeous Apparel. — The Duke of Buckingham, says
Oldys, in the reign of Elizabeth, would have his diamonds
so loosely set on that when he chose to shake a few off on
the ground, he obtained all the fame he desired from the
pickers up, who were generally les dames de la. eowr, of
whom he never accepted them again. For ordinal y
dunces (this historian adds) his cloak was trimmed with
great diamond buttons. He had twenty-seven full suits,
made of lace, silk, velvet, trimmed with silver, gold, and
gems. The queen herself left three thousand changes of
dress in the royal wardrobe.

The Best Partners.— For whist the cleverest and most
indulgent; for dancing the handsomest and most amus-
ing ; for business the steadiest, the wealthiest, and the
most attentive ; and for marriage— one who combines the
qualities of ull the throo.

OODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

S68

Juvenile department.

Wb give, lias month, some Instructions to our young

make nccdle-1 ks. They will be found

vry simple iu their charac

NEEDLB-BOOKB.

Many useful and very pretty things may be formed
Kh i";m. ) oka can be made with very

jtlle trouble, and are highly ornamental. The following

irectio;. as 0 beginning: —

6BELL SEEDLE-BOOK.

'Procure two shells of the same kind and size ; perforate

11 holes round the front of the top one, ai equal

s, about half an inch from the front, and two more

p part of both shells. Take a narrow piece of

Jirceut't ribbon, put one end Into the left band hole and

. ■ r the front of the shell, under, and

nd hole, bo "ii to the last, and fasten it

ff. Cut out two pieces of fine white flannel a little less,

lnd also the form of tho shell, bind it round with the

fcme blue ribbon; put •!. ' with another

■m tie them together throngh tho four holes at the top

neat little bow. For the strings in the front, take

re of the Fame blue ribbon, and after fastening to

(tch shell tie together iu a little larger bow.

CARVED NEEDLE- BOnK.

'Take a pieeo of nice white card-board, and cut out two

n 0 boles in the

front for the tin. Draw out

nattern of the dowers very slightly In pencil, and with

r wry sh penknife cut out the figure, using

|he knife Rideways ; to do this cleverly it requires a little

tad it will be necessary to make a few experi-

ojnnts before attempting a : gnj when you

iavc cut out the pattern, biud the outaides all round with

. bin Btrip of gold paper. For the inside, take a piece of

,, a little less than the size of the card, pinked

then, with a piece of narrow green

Sun ribbon, begin and tie a little bow at the top ; carry

his down the inside to the lower holes, and fasten in

.notber small b w to match, the ribbon inside securing

he flannel ; make another larger tie for the front to com-

The out-ides may be both the same, or the designs may
«e varied according of the Buutipulat »r.

MISTELLANKi (US AMUSEMENTS.

THE PAINTEII AND THE COLORS.

Oxk of the party assumec or of a painted

other players adopt the names oi the 1 ajri as colon. Tho

painter pretends that he is employed to paint a ptctfl

and when he mentions the word palett* . all the n il of tho
players cry t% colore ." it he mentions the wt
they all cry, f" [f he says penci I, they an-

swer trbrueh." if he asks for I

If the painter nun. ilor by name, tho person

who represents that col >r cries out the name uf another
color, and then the player representing tho last-named
color says, "There you an , Mr, Painter/"

Any deviation from these rules incurs a forfeit, and tho
principal fun of tho garao is in the color cited by tho
painter, naming a color ridiculously unfit for the purpose
required. For example ;—

Painter. At last my talents have been recognized, and
I may now consider my fortune made, when a nobleman
of great ta*te lias commissioned mo to paint him a picture
representing Antony aud the beauteous Cleopatra. I now
proceed to charge my pa!*'

All the Colors. Colors! color*!

Painter. The most beautiful colors.

All. Here we are!

Painter. I can't use you all at once: my pencil.

All. Brush ! brush !

Painter. True, I will givo you the brush.

ail Easel)

Painter. Silence, or I will not employ any of yen. Row
I commenco the hair of my Cleopatra, which must be
black.

Blank. Rod! red!

Bed, There yon are, Mr. Painter)
Painter, The eyes most b<

r,hi. . y<j low ' yellow I

Yellow. There you are, Mr, Painter.

Painter. For the cheeks I will have a superb ver-
milion.

■ reen : green I

1 ire, Mr. Painter.

Pointer. All the colore

All. Here we are! herewi

Painter. Will find their place, thanks to the delicacy
of my p,

All. Brush! brush! (Great confusion.)

METALLIC Turns.

Tin- Lead Trre is produced as follows: Put Into a glass
bottle about half an ounce of sugar of lead, and fill up to
the neck with distilled or rain water; then
fasten to the cork, or stopper, a piece of
zinc wire, so that it may bang in the cen-
tre: then place the bottle where it may
remain undisturbed. The wire will soon
be covered with crystals Of lead, precipi-
tated from the solution, and assuming a
tree-like form, very pleasing to the eye.
For the Tin Tree, proceed as before, and
put in three drachms of muriate of tin. and
about ten drops uf nitric arid. The tin tree
has a more lustrons appearance than the lead tree. The
Silver Tree is prepared by a solution >>f four drachms of
nitrate of silver, in distilled or rain water, as befi-r
which add about an ounce of quicksilver. These experi-
ments are very easy, and highly interesting.

364

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND SIAGAZIXE.

Yorxa Ladies1 Seminary for Boarding and Bay
Pdtils.— Mrs. Gertrude J. Gary, Principal, Soutb-east
corner Sixteenth and Spruce Streets, Philadelphia, Pa.
The twentieth session of this school will commence in
September, 1S64.

The course of study pursued embraces the fundamen-
taland higherbrauchesof a thoruugh 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 persoual 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, miud, and heart, and the formation of babits 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. K. Candee, D. D.,
Galesburg, III. ; Louis H. Jenkins, Jacksonville, 111, ;
Rev. George Duflleld, Jr., Adrian, Mich.

Circulars sent on application.

Two elegant little volumes for ladies are just published
by Messrs. J. E. Tilton & Co., Boston. Price $2 00 each.
Illustrated in the style of their " Art Recreations."

Wax Flo^vers: How to Make Them. With new meth-
ods of Sheeting Wax, Modelling Fruit, etc.

Skeleton Leaves and Phantom Flowers. A complete
and Practical Treatise on the Production of these beautiful
Transformations. Also, Directions for Preserving Natural
Flowers in their fresh beauty.

Cartes de Visite. — Our subscribers had better send for
a catalogue. We have already supplied our friends with
nmuy thousands of the cartes, and in all cases they have
given great satisfaction. Our list embraces nearly 600
subjects.

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 bo sent to p^y return postage.

Be particular, when writing, to mention the town,
county, and State you reside in. Nothing can be made
out of post-marks.

S. R. M. — Seut hair ring July 20th.

S. B. Mc. — Sent pattern 23d.

E. A. S.— Sent pattern 23d.

G. W. W.-=-Sent pattern 23d.

V. W. — Sent articles by express 27th.

Mrs. G. D. J. — Sent hair by express 27th.

Miss II. W— Sent ring 27th.

Miss K. C. H.— Sent dress shields 23th.

Mrs. E. R. L.— Sent pattern 3Sth.

C. II. II.— Sent lead comb 28th.

R. S. B.— Sent lead combs 28th.

Mrs. R. L. G.— Sent articles by express August 2d.

Mrs. M. B.— Sent articles 2d.

Mrs. G. C. E.— Sent canvass 22d.

Mrs. M. W.— Sent pattern 2d.

S. S. C. — Sent pattern ISth.

Mrs. J. A. S.— Sent pattern 2d.

Mrs. A. S. J.— Sent pattern 2d.

J. R. — Sent hair rings 3d.

S. J. S —Sent pattern 3d.

H. P. K.— Sent rubber gloves 3d.

N. G. McH.— Sent articles (box) 2d.

Mrs. E. W. T.— Sent gloves 3d.

R. B. B. — Sent morning cap by express 3d.

Miss C. T. — Sent India-rubber gloves Gtb.

L. B. — Sent hair ring by express 6th.

Mrs. A. B. — Sent box by express Gth.

Miss C. H.— Sent tassels 6th.

Mrs. A. M. — Sent articles by express Sth.

Mrs. M. B. B.— Sent pattern 11th.

L. J. S.— Sent pattern 11th.

Mrs. E. T. K.— Sent pattern 11th.

L. K.— Sent pattern 13th.

Miss S. H.— Sent pattern 13th,

Mrs. W. W. W.— Sent marking cotton 15th.

Mrs. F. C. D.— Sent nets 15th.

Mrs. W. H. — Sent dress shields loth.

Miss E. T. W.— Sent net loth.

A. M. E.— Sent zephyr 15th.

Mrs. A. B. B. — Sent lead comb 15th.

F. J.— Sent lead comb 15th.

L. B. — Sent hair pin by express 16th.

Mrs. S. E. L.— Sent pattern 16th!

Miss H.— Sent articles 16th.

E. S. P. — We do not send the Book gratis for poetry •
we have too much now on hand.

M. N. E. — Much obliged for the patterns.

O. P. Q — Lead combs are used for darkening the hair.
Price $1 50.

L. E. R. — To prevent unnecessary repetition, stars art
placed between certain paragraphs which have to be r>
peated. In the directions for working crochet dVyley
the stars are always followed by repeat from *, meaniii
that from one star to the other the work must be done
over again.

A Mother. — Write to the Fashion editress, and inclose a
stamp to pay for answer.

Mrs. J. H. G. — The delay was caused by your writiii
to Mrs. Hale. We have stated twenty times that Mrs.
Hale is not the Fashion editress.

Mrs. L. V. B. — It is a fact that any soap into which
sulphur enters as an ingredient will spoil the color oj
jewelry, or sulphur taken internally will spoil the cob r
of jewelry worn on the person ; but the jewelry can easily
be cleaned and polished again when the use of sulphur is
discontinued.

Kiddeminster, England. — The work was paid for by tho
American News Company of New York, for six month",
and the subscription expired with the September number,

J. W. Monteliue. — A presentation copy of your poems
received for Miss Caroline May. We do not know her
address. ^

S. H. H. — Very much obliged ; but we do not publish,
children's sayings when the name of God is irreverently
used.

Jf as {lions.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Having bad frequent applications for the purchase ■ f
jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, V ■-'
J5dttre$8ofthe Fashion Department will hereafter execute
commissions for any who may desire it, with the charge nf
a small percentage for the time and research required.
Sprint: and autumn bonnets, material- for dresses, jewelry,
envelops, hair-work, worsteds, children's wardrobes, man*
tillas, and mantelets, will be chosen with a view to eon"-
my, as well as taste: and boxes or packages forwarded
by express to any part of the country. For the hist,
distinct directions must be given.

FASHIONS.

865

I ■

Orders, ..../, ., r, ,,.

/. .1 Gotii //, Esq.
flb order will be. tdtentUd to »>>i as th€ money is first
tititr nor Publisher will be account*
■■' ling,
She Publisher of the Lady 'a Book 1ms no interest In
■ [meat, anU knows nothing of the transact ions ,
■id whether the person sending the order is oi is nol a
>r to tho Lady's Book, the Fashion editor dues
>t know.

Obstructions to he as minute as is possible, accompanied
r» note of the height, complexion, and general Btyleof
- person, .'ii which mucfi depentls in choice, Dresa

obda from Evans & Co.'s ; mourning goods I Besson

\ Sou ; <)ry goods of, any kind from Messrs. A. 'J'. Stewart
| Bo., New York; cloaks, mantillas, or talmaB, from
indie's, 51 Canal Street, New York; bonnets from the
b rated establishments; jewelry from Wriggens
'* Wardeu, <>r Caldwell's, Philadelphia.

WL.-i! goods are ordered, the fashions that prevail here
totem the purchase; therefore, no articles will be taken
■ack. When the goods are seat, the transaction must be
unaidered final.

DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR
OCTOBER.

, Fig. 1. — Dress of black silk, with Zouave body brimmed
.villi bands of green silk, braided with black braid, and
!. guipure lace. The skirt is also trimmed with
re. u silk to match tho body. A flounco a quarter of a
fard deep edges the skirt. White muslin shirt withstand-
ing collar. The hair is rolled off the face, and arranged
'a a waterfall style at the back. The waterfall is cuvered
villi a chenille net, and above it is placed a scarlet rose.
2.— Wrapper of ubite cashmere, trimmed with
tands of parpie silk and a purple cord and tassels. Tho
■ftjeoat is trimmed with ruffles arranged in the apron
tyle. Hair waved In front, and arranged in a Grecian at
he back. White; muslin cap, trimmed with roses.

Fig. 3. — Bine cloth habit, made with a very short point
!u fronl and a jockey at the back. Pelt hat, bound with
Mark velvet. Mask veil of white lace, spotted with black
|.iul trimmed with a black and white lace.
I Fig. 4. — Browu silk poplin dress, trimmed with velvet
ribbon arranged in points up each side of the skirt. Tas-
tels ornament the front of the skirt and also trim tho
Velvet points. The corsage is made with points in front
knd a coat tail at the back trimmed with velvet and tas-
lols. The hair is arranged in the Russian style in front,
aid in a bow at the back.

. Fig. 5. — Dress of black and white silk, trimmed with
luted Solferino ribbon. The body is a tight Zouave, worn
>ver a Garibaldi shirt of white cashmere. White straw
mt, bound with black velvet, and trimmed with peacock
ips and flowers.

Fhj. 6, — Purple silk dress, trimmed with a chenille
Bge and caught up in festoons with cords and tassels.
Jlack velvet wrap, trimmed in the coat style with chenille
,ge. White silk bonnet, trimmed with scarlet roses.

rb.

CHILDREN'S DRESSES.
(See engravings, page 2S9.)

Fig. 1.— Gray poplin dress, trimmed with a fluted rib-
>onof Tartan colors. Gray straw hat, trimmed with plaid
•elvet and gray feathers.

Fig. 2. — Solferino merino dress, trimmed with black
ilk and Solferino braid.

Fig. 3. — Napoleon blue cashmere dress, trimmed with
•ows of black velvet. White muslin gnimpe, finished at
he throat with a worked edge. White muslin do laiue
witticoat, trimmed on the edge with a fluting of tho mate-
ial. Above this'are three rows of black silk braid.

Fig. 4. — Gray cashmere skirt, trimmed with B bias baud
of white cashmere, edged and braided with scarlet velvet.
Garibaldi and sash of white cashmere, bound and braided
with scarlet velvet. Scarlet cloth jacket, braided with
white and trimmed with black drop buttons.

Fig, 5, — Blouse, pants, and gaiters of gray cloth. Blue
neck-t;o and black velvet cap.

FASHIONABLE BONNETS.

(Hi; . ugra rings; i«-<j<- 1M.)

Fig. 1. — White silk bonnet, with a double cape of Eu-
genie blue silk. The bonnet is bound with blue silk, and
the puffings are also of blue silk. Black and white grasses
with a few scarlet berries are arranged on the outside of
the bonnet, and also form part of tho inside trimming.

Fig. '2. — A white silk drawn bonnet, edged with black
velvet and white drop buttons. The trimming is com-
posed of crimson tulips and white feathers.

Fig. 3. — A black Neapolitan bonnet, with a white cr'pe
cape covered with white blonde. The trimming of tho
bonnet is black lace, black ribbon, aud salmon-colored
flowers.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA
FASHIONS FOR OCTOBER.

The trees, hitherto decked in the garb of spring, are
now changing to the gorgeous colors of autumn, and hill-
side and forest are bright with their exquisite hues. As
in nature, so also in fashion. The store windows, which
have so long been filled with the quiet, delicate shades
and light, gauzy materials of spring and summer wear,
are now filled with goods of the richest dyes.

Plaids of the most brilliant and decided combinations ;
stripes of the plaid colors, sobered down by others of the
soft mode shades; alpacas, merinos, and poplins of tho
new and always pretty self colors ; ribbons of the richest
aud most striking styles, from the beautiful sash width to
the neck-tie. All these, with the delicate embroideries
and lace, combine to render the shop windows so attractive
that to pass them without examining the beautiful goods
is almost impossible.

For travelling or promenade suits the newest material
is granit de laiiie. It is a soft gray wool material, speck-
led with tiny silk spots of a lighter or darker shade.

Milliners are now very busy, but are principally strip-
ping the bonnets of their spring attire, and dressing them
with the bright ribbons and flowers of autumn.

Most of the bonnets have soft cap-like crowns, though
not hanging. The capes are small, so also are the bon-
nets. The ribbons are very bright, and yellow and scarlet
much used, particularly on black bonnets.

Among the new flowers are tufts uf brown, feathery
grasses, through which are spears of grass funned uf some
brilliant metal, changing color continually as the light
plays orx it.

A very elegant trimming for a black Neapolitan bonnet
would be a narrow binding of cherry velvet on the edge
of the front and a cherry cap crown. A bow of black
ribbon or lace, with a tuft of these metallic grasses,
should be placed on one side of the crown. The cape
should he of black lace, over a thin capo bound with
cherry velvet.

Bias velvet, made into pipings, and formed into a very
large rosette, placed over the crown, is a pretty style for
a miss. Bows of the velvet pipings can be arranged on a
silk cape, which Bhould be ofa contrasting color. Have,
for instance, a white Btraw bonnet, trimmed with a rich

366

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Eugenie blue velvet, and the cape of white silk. The
inside trimming can be of rosebuds and bine velvet.

We give these hints for the benefit of amateur milliners
who wish to exercise their skill in trimming" summer
bonnets suitably for autumn.

Mantles are still made of broad checks of various colors,
trimmed with woollen chenille fringe and chenille cords
and tassels. Plain shades, however, will be the most
popular, and buttons will play an important part in the
trimmings of both cloaks and dresses this winter.

The latest style of button is square, and makes a very
effective garniture. They are also very pretty for the
trimming of little boys' dresses and blouses.

Crochet trimming still continues to be fashionable, and
Is now manufactured in the most exquisite designs, which
eland out on velvet in bold relief.

Ball and chenille fringes, with a profusion of jet and
steel, with lace, are the chief ornaments for velvet wraps.

Paletots with hoods will be worn. These are trimmed
with ribbon or velvet arranged in loops like a fringe,
eadi loop being fastened with a large button. Others are
trimmed with bands of velvet studded with jet or steel
buttons, arranged to simulate a coat.

The latest style of belt is quite wide, and shaped to the
figure. These are worn with collossal buckles of mother-
of-pearl, enamel, steel, jet, or gilt. Some have the initials,
interlaced with bars and scrolls.

Fancy jewelry is very much worn, such as a pansy
formed of enamel the exact colors of the flower, bees,
butterflies, grasshoppers, all true to nature. The latest
novelty, however, for pins and earrings, is a small prome-
nade hat, with a plume on one side.

The newest comb has a gilt network attached, trimmed
with small pendants. This hangs over the waterfall, and
has a charming effect. For the bow coiffure the combs
are formed with either a band or ornament, which seems
to clasp the bow in the centre. The newest nets are
covered with tiny gilt or steel spangles, and are very
brilliant and pretty for evening wear.

Ivory earrings and pins arc still worn, also crescent
shaped earrings, studded with stones, or having a quantity
of small pendants attached.

Thanks to those great resources, trimmings, rarely do
we see two dresses alike. Most all, however, are made
with a coatee, but trimmed differently. Buttons arranged
in patterns on dresses are very effective. The best plan is
to cover moulds of different sizes with velvet of silk to
contrast or match with the dress.

Rows of narrow velvet, placed slanting on the body and
fastened at each end with a loop and button, is one of the
fall styles. A rosette of lace is sometimes substituted
for the loop, and the effect is more dressy.

White waists will be very much worn during the win-
ter. Alpaca, mohair, aud cashmere will take the place of
white muslin. They will be braided and trimmed with
bands of bright-colored silk or velvet. Buttons will also
trim them very effectively.

As some of our readers may have a dress soiled round
the edge, which they would like to trim up for the fall,
we will give them an idea. Cut the skirt a quarter of a
yard shorter than required, then cut each breadth in the
form of a deep scallop. Complete the length of the dress
by adding a flounce of a contrasting color, which should
be eveu at the bottom, but must follow the undulations of
the scallops on the upper edge. If the flounce is of a con-
trasting color, of course the body must be trimmed to
match. This can be done by adding cuffs and epaulettes
to the sleeves and a fancy point or revers to the body.

Jackets will be much worn, and steel buttons arranged)
in the pyramidal style on black cloth, silk, or velvet will
be a favorite style of trimming.

Many dresses are trimmed in the sash style ; that is, the
trimming is sewn on the breadths to simulate a sash. It
is an economical arrangement, and quite pretty, though,
of course, not so dressy as a regular sash, and we would
not advise it for a very handsome dress.

Most all skirts are cut in deep scallops round the edgo.
These scallops are trimmed with fluting* of ribbon, velvet,
or braid. If the dress is plaid, the scallops should 1*
bound with a plaid braid, or else they are bound with,
different colors matching the colors of the dress.

Lace sashes or scarfs are frequently arranged on the
dress as a b'rthe at the back ; they are then earned over
the shoulder like an epaulette, pass under the arm, audi
fall in long ends at the back. This is a pretty style foil
an evening dress. Other sashes are of silk or velvety
matching the dress ; they are cut quite wide, form a poiulj
at the back, cross in front, aud fall at each side in long
ends.

Another pretty style of sash, suitable, however, only for
evening — commences on each side under the arm, drapes
the hips, and is fastened half way down the skirt — is a
large bow with ends.

For evening dresses, the nuage or cloudlike style pre-1
vails. These dresses are generally of pulled tulle ot
tarlatane. Over these skirts is another plain skirt o(
illusion ; this is termed a veil, and is frequently looped!
up with flowers.

A pretty style for a tarlatane is to cover it entirely with
bows of the same, caught on to the dress with a flower,:
such as a rosebud, violet, daisy, or a spray of lilies of the
valley.

Another style, suitable for tarlatane, but prettier fop
illusion, is capitrmnd, or tufted. The illusion skirt, which
should be of enormous length and width, is caught into
tufts on a gored skirt of stiff net. In the centre of each tuft
is a flower. This is a charming style for a wedding-dress.

The newest collars are the Garde Franpaise and the
Cardinal. The former is made of muslin trimmed with
lace, and terminates in two long ends trimmed with lace,
which tie in a bow after the collar is on. The Cardinal
has at either end a pleated piece of muslin, trimmed with
lace. These ends close together, and fall straight in front,
like a minister's hands.

We copy a description of a very elaborate christeaing
costume, worn by the infant daughter of the Countess de
Beaumont: "The baby, who is two months and a half
old, and who was carried by a Normandy nurse, wore an
Indian muslin robe over a white taffetas skirt. The robe
was opened in front en tablier, and described at each side;
two scalloped rows of Valenciennes lace. The tablUr
was covered with rows of Valenciennes insertion, alter-
nating with rows of insertion embroidered in satin-stitch,
both bearing the same design. The low bodice was
trimmed with a btrttie, upon which the same ornaments
were repeated ; a wide sash of white taffetas was tied at.
the back with a large bow and three hanging loops. Tlte
small cap was composed of a large star of very fine gui-
pure, lined with white silk ; it was trimmed with a coronet
of Valenciennes lace, and with small rosettes of white
ribbon. These rosettes were not of equal size all round
the face, as they diminished at the sides. The long white
muslin cloak was embroidered with a garland of rosebuds
and grapes, and was edged with Valenciennes lace eight
inches wide. It was lined throughout with white taffetas.'*

F ASH 10ft.

G<n>HBET& EMffldJMS TOM OTM1E1 Cod 'I .

HOUSEWIFE FOR A GENTLEMAN*.

THE METTENBICH.

t nY,el^t mantle' t™™™* '■oaaA with a wide gnipure lace, which is also cris-crossed up the hack, and carried down the
Iront ot the wrap. Jet and crochet ornaments are arranged in with the lace

376

THE ELIANE.

Black cloth wrap, trimmed with a flat black braid, lar^e jet buttons, and finished oa the edge of the basque with a
pointed black gimp.

30*

377

378

CLOAK FOR A MISS.

(Front view.)

Tt is made of pearl-colored cloth, finished all ronnd with two rows of very narrow Mack velvet. A band of bias
plaid velvet of bright colors is shaped round the neck, and is continued down the back', where ii is finished with a
rich chenille fringe. The right shoulder is also covered with a baud of fringed velvet.

379

THE ESTRAMALURA.

[From the establishment of G. Brodie, 51 Canal Street, New York. Drawn by L. T. Voigt, from actual articles

of costume.]

This is made of cloth. It fits neatly to the figure, with half tight sleeves. The ornament constitutes its most novel
feature. This is a trimming composed of shells of Bilk and beads, and a braidwork, with beads also, of coral
branches. This new design will be much esteemed.

380

WINTER JACKET, IN DOUBLE CROCHET.

(See Description, Work Department.)

381

<
fit

w
PI

§ to.

382

EMBROIDERY.

INITIAL LETTERS, FOE MARKING PILLOW-CASES.

383

EMBROIDERY.

db Q&> c£b cv

^7V_^V — -^ — ^

BRAIDING FOR A SKIRT.

384

GODEY'S

faim's $ooIi anil ||Iitgir2iitt

PHILADELPHIA, NOVEMBER, 1S64.

. "TAKIXO BOARDERS FOR COMPANY."

A STORY OF THE '-HEATED TERM." AND fOXTAIXIXG MORE TRUTH THAN ROMANCE.
ST MARION ITARLA-VD.

[Jgntered, according to Act of Congress, In the year 1864, by Louis A. Ooppt, In the clerk's offico of the District CoMrt
of the United States, In and for the Eastern District of Pennsytvauia.]

(Concluded from page 805.)

CHAPTER VI.

It was a warm afternoon about a week after
Harry had performed the threefold part of
tOOOSer, witness, and lawyer, ami which, by
the by, acquired additional ami alarming
strength from the pregnant fact that the
supposititious "old Whitey" was the sole
representative of the feathered race that
graced the Ketehum board while our party re-
mained as lodgers iu the farm-house. Georgie
Rose stood behind the curtains of the parlor
Window, watehing the movements of a couple
of equestrians just setting off for an excursion.
They were Miss Hortensia, looking really
quite pretty and graceful iu her hat and
riding-habit, mounted upon her pony, and
Mr. Norris, who had brought his horse into
the country with him.

Georgie regarded them with interest, that
had in it no shade of envy. True, Hortensia
was acknowledged by all of the boarders to
he the least objectionable of the sisters,
having less affeotation than Sacoharissa, more
amiability than Jemima, and better manners
than either. It was true, furthermore, that
she invited Mr. Norris's attentions and sought
his society, and that he was too thorough a
gentbman to treat her otherwise than with
courtesy ; but the idea that their frequent
rides and not so frequent strolls together
meant anything serious would have provoked
VOL. LXI3C. — 31

the Hell clique to contemptuous merriment.
Georgie was not a practised horsewoman ;
therefore, could not venture to mount Mr.
Norris's spirited bay, and there was no other
animal available for a lady's use on the place,
with the exception of Miss Hortensia's pony,
and this, it was understood, she suffered no
one besides herself to ride. Moreover, Georgie
bad enjoyed a long sail, followed by a walk,
with Mr. Norris, that forenoon, and could
afford to be generous, particularly as she had
heard Miss Hortensia dexterously bant, i hi c
cavalier to accompany her in this expedition.
The looker-on smiled, in quiet amusenn nt, at
the well-contrived start of the pony, wh
his mistress was, in the act of mounting,
thrown fairly into the gentleman's arms, and
at the beautiful confusion that covered her at
this accident. Then, there was some trouble
in adjusting the foot in the stirrup, and Norris
was compelled to draw aside the long skirt,
take firm hold of the tidy gaiter and settle it
in its place.

Beneath the window, partly screened from
the spectators within, by a climbing rose
which grew over that end of the building, sat
Mr. and Mrs. Bonner and Mr. Boulby, a cousin
of the latter. They, too, were observing the
riders, and when they had bidden them
i afternoon" and wished them a pleasant
jaunt, as they cantered away, the conversa-

385

386

godey's lady's book and magazine.

tion, as was natural, turned upon the depart-
ing couple. Not knowing that they were
ignorant of her proximity, Georgie retained
her position, and thus became an innocent
eavesdropper to the family group.

"Ah, well, they will do it!" sighed Mr.
Boulhy, tilting his chair back against the
nearest cherry-tree. "But that Norris is a
fine, sensible young man — altogether too good
to be sacrificed to that girl !"

"What girl?" Mrs. Bonner looked up
quickly from her sewing.

" Hortensia Ketclmm, to be sure! Whom
else could I mean ?"

"Nonsense! lie has no more idea of mar-
rying her than I have of drowning myself in
that muddy river yonder!" returned his cou-
sin. " He had better drown himself than to
do such a mad thing. What do you take
him to be ?"

"Just what I said awhile ago — a sensible
man in the main, who has, like many others
as wise, made a fool of himself in one respect.
She has as much ' idea of marrying' him, as
you had of becoming Mrs. Bonner, after your
wedding-dress was ordered. You surely know
that they have been engaged for this year and
more. They are to be married in the fall, at
the same time with the second sister and her
molly-coddle." (Everybody dealt Burley a
blow in passing.) "The brother from abroad
i3 coming home to be present at- the occasion."

"Are you certain?" asked Mr. Bonner,
uneasily. " You speak very confidently, yet
it seems incredible."

" I wish I were as certain of finding a suit-
able partner some day for your humble ser-
vant, as I am that Norris has selected a very
unsuitable one," returned Mr. Boulby. "I
did not suppose that the arrangement was
any secret up here. I had the tale from the
other brother. He is, by all odds, the best
of the lot ; a quiet, unassuming, gentlemanly
fellow, with a creditable supply of common
sense. In fact, he enjoys a monopoly of the
article in his family. I often meet him in
town, and know him to be perfectly truthful
and trustworthy. He has never seen Burley,
but is pleased at his sister Hortensia's en-
gagement to Norris, of whom he has the
highest opinion."

Mr. Bonner shook his head — but now in
amazement, not doubt.

" I have heard hints dropped by the other
sisters about . : Hortensia's beau' and such

stuff, but paid no attention to the foolish
twaddle," Mrs. Bonner observed slowly, as if
reluctant to admit the possibility of truth in
what she had just learned. "And they are
really engaged ! What a pity !"

"You may well say so!" replied her hus-
band. " How did it happen, Dick ?"

"He sprained his ancle, here, last season. •
He came to this grief by leaping a fence to
stop Miss Hortensia's runaway pony, and
probably saved her life thereby. Of course,
her gratitude was boundless ; equally, of
course, she made love to him, and being too
lame to save his liberty by flight, he had to
submit to the soft thraldom."

"That accounts for his visit to this place,
this year," said Mr. Bonner. "I have not,
until now, been able to comprehend how,
having been here once, he could be so ver-
dant as to come again."

"I intimated my surprise at this to him
once," answered Mrs. Bonner, "and he re-
plied that he had an interest in the iron works
over the mountain, and visited this region
every summer to look after his affairs in that
direction. But since Richard's disclosure has
opened my eyes, I recollect many little inci-
dents that confirm his story. Don't you re-
member, William, how grave Mr. Norris
looked the other day, when I was laughing
at some of Jemima's fanfaronades ? and his
saying, ' It is a great pity that her youngest
sister was not removed from her influence
years ago. She has many excellent traits of
character.' And the night I found them
walking on the piazza, and talking so confi-
dentially ? She wears a diamond ring, too,
that may be a pledge of the engagement. I
am afraid it is too true — sadly afraid !"

" She is decidedly the best of the bunch,"
mused Mr. Bonner, desirous to put the best
face possible upon the matter.

" That may be, and she yet be a most un-
congenial mate for him," returned the lady,
severely. "He has made a most disastrous
choice. I can never respect him, as I have
done, after hearing all this."

It was well that Georgie could not listen
longer; that her throbbing heart and dizzy
brain warned her to make good her retreat
while she had strength to fly. Mrs. Bonner's
next words would have nearly killed the sen-
sitive child.

"He has been trifling in abase, unmanly
way with our sweet little friend, Georgie Rose.

TAKING BOARDERS FOR COMPANY.

387

I feel as if I never wanted to speak to hiui
again I"

By tli is time Qeorgie was lying upon her
hard couch up-stairs ; the door locked, and
her face trarii il in the pillow, lest the tearless
sobs she eould nut suppress should penetrate
the thin partition to her sister's room. It
was her first trial, and it had fallen with the
suddenness ami force of an avalanche. " Per-
haps I may meet my fate, this Bummer," she-
had said, in talking of their coming to this
hateful id it in the lightness of girl-

ish gayety, such joyous hearted speech as
she could never use again — never !

Mrs. Bell knocked at the door, an hour
afterwards, to remind her that the tea-bell
had rung.

"Come in I" called a weak voice.

1 ■ 01 _ie had not loosened her dress, but she
was on the bed still, a Wet handkerchief laid
over her brow and eyes.

"Ihave a bad headache. Annie. I don't
want any tea I" she said, huskily.

"My dear child I a headache en this hot
day. and in this close room! Why did you
shut the door? Wouldn't you feel better if
you were to come down and get a little fresh
air .'"

•' No, no ! please don't ask mo !"

"There! I don't mean to tease you!"
soothed the Bister, moved by the distressed
tone, yet attributing it to physical pain.
" But let me undress you, and send you up a
cup of tea."

Georgie submitted, as the easiest way of
purchasing solitude and freedom from ques-
tioning. While Mrs. Bell was at supper,
there arose to the chamber of the sufferer the
sound of trampling hoofs and merry voices.
The affianced pair had returned.

•'Had you a pleasant ride?" called Miss
Jemima, from the dining-room door.

Oh glorious ! sweet! splendid !" cried Ilor-
tensia ; then, Saccharissa came in with some
Silly remark, and the three gabbled loudly
and unintelligibly, as was their wont.

" And that is the woman he prefers to" —
Georgie checked herself in the half-uttered
exclamation, and, although she was alone, a
turning blush mounted to her temples. "I
ought to deSpise him — and I mean to!" burst
from her, in an indignant whisper, by and by.
I If- i- not worthy of a single regret I"

Mis. Bell brought up the tea, herself, a
Weak, smoky beverage, the effect of which

upon the racked nerves could net be potent
for good or evil. In her other hand she bore
a. bouquet of wild flowers.

"With Mr. Norris's compliments and sym-
pathy!" she said, laying it upon Geo
pillow, where the cool blossoms touched the
Hushed cheek.

She pushed it away — pettishly, as it seemed
to her sister.

"I can't bear them, Annie !"

"Why, the perfume is not powerful !" re-
marked the other, surprised. "At least, look
at them and sec how lovely they are, and
how tastefully arranged !"

She held them before the swollen, languid
eyes ; butterfly-flowers, orange and pink ;
odorous white clematis ; life-everlasting, with
its white tufts and frosted foliage ; blue-eyed
forget-me-nots, smiling up in clusters between
their spear-like leaves ; wild roses from the
river's brink — all surrounding the brilliant
cardinal-flower, that held regal state in the
centre of the bouquet ; wdiile delicate ferns
and, here and there, a gorgeous sumach leaf —
the trial piece of autumn — lent grace and
piquancy to the collection.

"They are very pretty — very sweet; but
isn't it a pity, sister, that they will fade so
soon?" said Georgie, not offering, still, to
take them. " And withered blossoms are not
lovely, Annie !"

There was something desolate in the faint
smile with which she said this, that aroused
Mrs. Bell's fears, not for her young sister's
happineSB, but her health. She carried the
flowers into the other room — then, returning,
recommended and administered a simple me-
dicine ; Sent Mary to the well for cool water,
with which to bathe the sufferer's hands an I
head, and wdiilo awaiting the girl's return
sat at the bedside, fanning Georgie, and talk-
ing cheerfully to divert her thoughts from the
pain.

"What an absurd set these Kotehums
are!" she said, laughing. "I passed llor-
tensia in the hall, on my way from supper.
She was chattering to Mr. Norris, who was
making up this bouquet on the hall-table.
Her bat was olf, and her hair had tumbled
upon her shoulders, in what she doubtless
considered charming disorder. He stopped
me and asked if I would undertake the de-
livery of this to you, with his regards and
condolences. Really, one might have sup-
posed, from her look of disappointment and

338

godey's lady's book and magazine.

pique, that he was her declared lover, and
had no right to show any other lady even
this slight proof of preference. That would
be too preposterous !"

" I see nothing preposterous in the idea,"
returned Georgie, curtly. "One hears of
stranger matches every day."

"Georgie Eose ! I shall begin to think that
you are delirious, if you indulge iu such
fancies!" said Mrs. Bell. "I will not have
you slander an agreeable and estimable gen-
tleman by suggesting the possibility of an
alliance so monstrous ! A little more talk of
that sort, and I shall advise a mustard foot-
bath and blisters."

"A foot-bath, did ye say, mem?" asked
Mary, entering with the cold water. " Sorra
a spark of fire is there in the kitchen range
at this minnit, tc hate a dhrop of wather. I
ask meself ivery night, And what will we do
if one of the children was to wake up wid the
convulsions, or maybe the croup?"

"We hope none of them will do such an
inconvenient thing, Mary," responded her
mistress. "Now, bring up Annie, and put
her to bed, that Miss Georgie may not be dis-
turbed after she falls asleep. A good night's
rest will quite cure you, I hope, dear."

Whether the deficiency were in the quantity
or quality of the prescribed specific, or that
Mrs. Bell had mistaken the case in hand for a
less serious malady, could not then be known,
but it was certain that the cure was not com-
plete by morning. Georgie arose, indeed, and
came down to the table with the rest, but
breakfasting was an impossibility, try as she
might to swallow a morsel of bread and drink
a few spoonfuls of the ambiguous fluid poured
from the teapot. Her eyes were sunken and
glassy, her lips parched, and her pulse de-
noted fever. The Misses Ketchum were pro-
fuse in their observations upon her appear-
ance, each declaring loudly that she had
never seen any one look worse, and Miss
Jemima gloomily confident in her prophecy of
an impending spell of illness.

"But you couldn't be in a better place, if
you are going to be sick. Three years ago
we had, oh, such an ill young lady here ! She
was taken very suddenly with typhoid fever.
Her symptoms were just the same as yours,
Miss Rose ; I was saying so to Saccharissa last
night, when I heard of your headache. Your
complexion has been bad for a week and more,
just as hers was. Oh, oh, oh! how she suf-

fered, and how anxious her friends were ! It
all came back so vividly to me last evening,
when Mrs. Bell came in to supper, looking
worried about you. At the end of two weeks
they got so fidgetty — they were that kind of
people, you know — that nothing would do but
they must have their own doctor, all the way
from the city. Country doctors were not good
enough for them. Some persons think that
such and such a physician holds the keys of
life and death. It 's downright impious ! So,
up he came, a pompous old fellow, full of airs
and whims, and he blew them all sky-high
about not taking her home at the beginning
of the attack. As if anybody, with half an
eye, couldn't see that all he wanted was the
chance to make a plenty of visits, and pocket
a big fee ! But — did you ever hear of any-
thing so barbarous, Mrs. Earle ? — they had
their carriage sent up from town, packed it
with cushions, and put the absolutely dying
girl in it, and took her back to the horrid,
unhealthy low country ! I said to her bro-
ther, as they were starting, ' I shall expect to
hear of her death in a week.' And I did —
that is, iu little more than a fortnight. It
was out and out murder, and I shall always
be glad that I told them so, when I found they
had determined upon moving her. At any
rate, I rejoiced that she didn't die here '."

Georgie was walking, with slow and heavy
steps, upon the piazza, vainly seeking cooling
air for her oppressed lungs, trying bravely to
keep up, and conceal the signs of the sickness
she yet felt was gaining upon her, when Norris
joined her.

"I am afraid that you are still suffering,"
he said, in sympathy that was both respectful
and affectionate. "Do you attribute your
headache to our long walk yesterday ? I was
troubled much, last night, by fears that this
might have been the case. I ought not to
have let you go so far in such extremely hot
weather."

"I am subject to severe headaches," Geor-
gie commanded her voice to say steadily, but
more distantly than she designed to speak.
An unskilled actor, she overdid her part. "I
never trouble myself with conjectures as to
the cause of these attacks."

Noma looked down quickly at her counte-
nance— the corrugated brow and pale, set
lips. His own face was expressive of lively
solicitude as he rejoined: "Can we — can
your friends do nothing to alleviate your

'TAKING BOARDERS FOR COMPANY,

389

paiu ? It is sad to witness Buffering which one
Bnnot relieve. Believe me," he added, yet
y, "I find the thought of yours
vrrv hard to endure. We bave had many
joyous hours together. I wish — you cannot
know how fervently — that 1 could bear every
pang that would otherwise fall to your lot."

G orgie put her hand hurriedly to her
head. In her distress and confusion, she
really reared that he would hear the heating
in her temples, so fast and loud was it to her
ears. How dared he, the betrothed of an-
other, address such language to her? Yet
there was a convincing earnestness in his tone
she could scarcely withstand.

" You are very kind," she said, stiffly. "I
thank yon for your good wishes, chimerical
though they are. Excuse me, but I must
go in. The light here is too strong for my
eye-."

Norris gazed after her as sdie turned into
the house and ascended the staircase. His
look betokened surprise, doubt, and concern.
"Can I have offended her? or is the change
I in her demeanor entirely the effect of physical
pain?" The inquiry cost him much perturbed
meditation for the next hour or two. At ten
o'clock he ordered his horse, and was absent
until dinner-time.

ie kept her room closely after that
one unsuccessful attempt to appear well. It
was not altogether the fear of encountering
Norris's scrutiny and attentions, or dread of
the impertinent comments of the sisters Ket-
chum that held her prisoner. She was forced
to acknowledge secretly that mental anguish
had produced or aggravated the malady of the
rbody. She had a chill at noon — not a heavy
lone, so she concealed the circumstance from
jher sister, imputing the ague, in her ignorance
of the disease, to nervous excitement, which
she was ashamed to betray. She could not so.
easily hide the fact of the return of fever in
ithe afternoon. Mrs. Earle was a homceopa-
thist, and, like most other disciples of that
school, never stirred from home without her
(pretty medicine chest. She prescribed aconite,
alternating with belladonna, and to this regi-
men Mrs. Bell adhered faithfully all that night.
Finding, at her early morning visit, that her
patient continued very feverish, asking fre-
quently for water, and complaining, when
questioned, of headache, Mrs. Earle advised
cautharis and hryonia, substituting for the
latter, towards evening, chamomilla, and re-

31*

turning to the grand specific, aconite, in place
former. The febrile symptoms were
not. violent, but the sick girl was consumed
by a slow fire that took from hersleep, strength,
and appetite.

By the evening of the third day of her ill-
ness, a fresh cause of anxiety appeared. Lit-
tle Annie was seized with a chill, succeeded,

as ii 'gie's had been, by fever. Miss Jemima,

"hoped," at supper, "that the sweet, angel
had not caught her aunt's complaint. My
own hypothesis is, Mrs. Bell, that all fevers
are contagious, or, I would say, infectious, to
persons who spend much time in the sick-
room, especially to those who sleep in the
same chamber. Every treatise upon hygiene
will tell you how deleterious it is to a child
to sleep with an elderly person. Oh, oh, oh!
I have heard of some cases of that kind that
I would so like to tell you. They would make
your hair stand on end and your blood run
cold, they are so frightful! It always seems
to me like signing a child's death-warrant to
allow it oocupy the same sleeping apartment
with a person at all advanced in years."

"Miss Rose is very young," interposed
Mrs. Bonner, nerved by the insulting thrust at
her favorite.

Miss Jemima's nose turned up with infinite
expression. "You misunderstood me, Mrs.
Bonner, if you imagined that my observations
were impolitely personal. We were speaking,
in a general manner, of an interesting scien-
tific subject. I never hinted an inquiry as to
Miss Rose's age. I know that most ladies
dislike such investigations. I try to shun
delicate or tender points whenever I can.
Hortensia, you forget your position! Mr.
Boulby is waiting for a class of milk. Excuse
her, Mr. Boulby ; she is young and giddy 1"

"That shot was thrown away," whispered
Mrs. Bonner to her cousin, as they arose
from the table. "Mr. Norris should have
been present to appreciate the insinuated
comparison. Whenever I think of that affair,
I groan, with Miss Betsy Trotwood, 'Blind,
blind, blind!'"

The Bell party hardly heard this conversa-
tion, so absorbed were they in reflection upon
their real trouble. The ladies went back to
Oeorgie's room, at the conclusion of the meal;
the gentlemen lighted their cigars, and paced

the long piazza in serious discuss: if their

trying situation. The night was hot and
airless, yet damp, with a sort of depressing,

390

godey's lady's book and magazine.

clinging moisture, like most other nights in
that locality. The moon hung, a wan lantern,
in the midst of yellow vapors ; from the river
and low grounds came the piping of a multi-
tude of frogs. Miss Jemima facetiously called
them "American nightingales," and "liked
to hear them. They made the place quite
hilarious." The Bouners had gone down the
road to take the exercise they could not enjoy
during the day, by reason of the fierce heat
of the sun. The house was unusually still,
none of the family being out of doors or in
the parlor ; but there was a queer, muffled
noise in the cellar, like the grinding of a cof-
fee-mill.

"If the idea were Warranted by any pre-
cedent, I should say that that was the sound
of an ice-cream freezer," said Mr. Bell.

"You may well doubt the evidence of your
own ears, if it leads you to any such conclu-
sion," growled bis brother-in-law. "Ices of
all kinds come under the head of the wicked
institutions of that sink of depravity, the
great city. I am so abandoned to sin as to be
in favor of the like naughty indulgences. I
don't perceive that my morals or manners
have improved since I have been confined to
' simple, wholesome country fare, with the
three sisters' refining society thrown in to
boot.' " He puffed away savagely at his cigar.
They walked for awhile in silence, when a
horseman galloped sharply down the hill, rode
into the barn-yard, and called the hostler.

"There is Norris I" said Mr. Bell. "He
will get his supper, I suppose, rigid as are
Miss Jemima's rules of punctuality."

"She won't bring him up to the mark!"
returned the other. "She is straining every
nerve and sinew in her ancient anatomy to
catch him for her 'young, giddy' sister."

"Fiddlesticks!" began Mr. Bell, but Nor-
ris's nearer approach prevented further speech
on this point.

He saluted his fellow-boarders courteously,
but with a gravity that impressed them with
a sense of coming evil.

"Another warm, close night!" said Mr.
Bell.

" Very sultry ! " Norris had got thus far,
when a figure darted from around the end of
the house.

"O Mr. Norris! just step here for one
minute !"

It was Miss Hortensia, who, Norris having
very deliberately obeyed the summons, whis-

pered loudly and rapidly to him for, not only
one but several minutes.

"I can't promise!" replied he, carelessly,
making a movement to rejoin his friends.

"Don't wait too long, or you will repent
it!" she said, archly, and vanished.

"How is Miss Rose, to-night?" queried
Norris of Mr. Bell.

" Quite sick, I fear," was the reply. " And
our little Annie has sickened also, with similar
symptoms. We are fearful that the fever —
or whatever the disease may be — is conta-
gious."

"Has it not occurred to you that it may
r»ther be induced by local causes ?" asked
Norris, so pointedly that his auditors halted
in their walk, struck with consternation.

" No ! to what causes do you refer ?" asked
Mr. Earle.

" We were assured of the healtlifulness of
this region by a reputable medical man," re-
turned Mr. Bell. "One who had spent a
summer in this very house."

" Come with me, if you please !" requested
Norris.

They followed him to a point in the yard
from which the river was visible.

"Do you see the sheet of white fog rising
from that sluggish stream, and slowly unfold-
ing itself over the meadows ? Do you smell
the rank and decaying vegetable matter,
covering its banks ? Have you noticed that,
within the past week, every frog-pond in
those low grounds is clothed with green scum ?
I tell you, sir, that this August sun is breed-
ing malaria and death in those confounded
bogs, and I — like a blind fool — selfish in the
enjoyment of my own excellent health, never
gave these significant signs a thought until
within three days? I do not know the name
of the medical man who vouched for the salu-
,brity of this pestilential atmosphere, but I
happened to have heard of another — a com-
petent and worthy physician, living about
eight miles from this house — and, becoming
ill at ease after my attention was called to
this subject by your sister's sickness, I deter-
mined to see and consult him. I failed to
find him at home yesterday, and the day
before. This afternoon I was more fortunate,
and had a long talk with him. He tells me
that, in a hot, damp season like the present,
this place is notorious for ague and fever — to
say nothing of frequent cases of remittent and
even typhoid. My dear sir' ' — laying his hand

"taking boarders for company.

391

heavily upon Mr. Bell's shonlder — "I do not

repeat this to alarm you, but to urge you, by
every argument in my power, to lose no time
in removing your Family from these deadly
Influences. When 1 think of the mischief

that may already have occurred from my cul-
pable p 1 am driven almost to despe-
ration !"

Bhoi bed and alarmed as they were by this
unexpected revelation, his hearers pitied his
evident distress ; were impelled to soothe
■what appeared to them morbid and unwar-
rantable self-accusations.

"My dear fellow! the fault was ours, not
. if fault therehas been!" remonstrated
Mr. Earle. "You have but yourself to care
for. We ought to have kept a bright look-
bnt for anything and everything likely to
affect the wives and babies. The plain truth
is that, from beginning to end, this whole
business has been an outrageous sell — a pitia-
ble farce throughout."

"Pray Heaven the farce be not changed
into tragedy I" said Mr. Bell, earnestly. "I
thank you, from my soul, Norris, for your
warning. I meant to call in a physician to-
morrow. Your care and consideration for my
treasures have exceeded mine."

" Ronald !" called his wife's voice from the
house. "Is that you .'"

He approached her. The others, standing
in the shadow of the trees, remained unob-
served by her, but were within hearing of her
agitated address, as her husband reached the
porch where she stood.

" Ronald, dear ! cannot we leave this
wretched place to-morrow ? I want to go
home !"

" 'Why, Annie ! dear child ! what has hap-
pened .'"

•• What may seem a trifle to you, hut which
has aroused me beyond control. You know
that I have tried to make the best of this
miserable experiment in summer-boarding. I
was most to blame for our coining"^

" There was no blame in the case I" inter-
rupt.d her husband. "It was an error of
judgment in us all. But what is the latest
enormity .'"

".lust this. Georgie craves nothing but
ice, and yesterday I asked Miss Jemima if I
might send Harry to the ice-house now and
tie n for a little. She said ' Yes' not very
graciously, but I was not inclined to be over-

proud where (ioorgie's comfort was concerned.
So Harry went twice, yesterday, bringing up
each time a lump about double the si/.e of his
fist. This morning he got another, and one
again at noon, neither larger than the first
supply, fleorgie being very thirsty to-night,
I dispatched Harry, about ten minutes since,
with Mary to hold the light for him, to get
more. Would you believe it .' that Burley
and Saeoharissa came out of the cellar, as
they were passing on their way to the ice-
house, and called to them that they could not
go down. The ice was locked up, they said ;
that Mrs. Bell had already wasted several
pounds of it in two days, and if things went
on in this stylo there would be none left be-
fore long to keep the meat fresh. Harry
explained that it was wanted for his sick
aunt, but it was useless to plead with them.
But, now hear the rest ! As I came down
stairs just now, resolving to see to the matter
myself, the dining-room door was opened, and
Daffy came out. Miss Jemima ordered her to
shut it after her, and this attracting my atten-
tion, I glanced in. The three sisters were
there and Mr. Burley — he in the act of empty-
ing an ice-cream freezer into a dish! Tien,
Horteusia rushed forward and slammed the
dour, and I comprehended that it was a family-
feast, to which we were not to be admitted.
And this, while our poor girl is refused a bit
of ice to cool her parched tongue ! Dear
Ronald I if Georgie can travel, I will not sty .
here a day Longer !"

"Mr. Norris I where is Mr. Norris?" said
the weak pipe of the bound girl, as she shuf-
fled out upon the piazza.

"Here I am! what do you want?" in a
harsh, dry tone.

"Miss Horteusia says — 'Come right away,
sir, or your share will all be melted I'" drawled
Dally, wdio was either a great dunce, or a
knave, who affected stupidity.

"Say to Miss Horteusia — or, stay! I will
speak to the ladies myself."

He entered the house.

"Ahem! an invitation to the private ice-
cream saloon!" said Mr. Earle. "Ronald!
you don't ask my opinion of this house, bat
you are welcome to it. It is a diabolical hole,
and fitly tenanted. / migrate, to-morrow, if
there is a conveyance to be had within a cir-
cuit of thirty miles 1"

"We are agreed upon that!" responded
Mr. Bell, calmly. "Annie, Mr. Norris says" —

39:

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Then followed an abstract of their friend's
sanitary report.

The story made the mother wild with re-
morse, anxiety, and impatience to depart.
Tears flowed down her cheeks as she listened.

" If our darlings should fall victims to our
criminal want of foresight, I should never for-
give myself! Poor Georgie! I feel like a
murderess when I think of her !"

"Mrs. Bell!"

Norris accosted her with habitual polite-
ness, but there was a tremor in his voice that
told he had heard her last remark.

"I hope that your sister knows nothing of
the inhuman answer returned to your appli-
cation for ice."

" I could not bear to tell her I"

" I am thankful that you could not. Please
take this to her, without mentioning how you
obtained it."

He gave her a small basket, loaded with
the coveted luxury, and checking her ardent
thanks turned to the gentlemen to offer his
services in procuring vehicles for the transpor-
tation of the two families and their effects
homewards.

Mrs. Bell was prudently silent to Georgie
with respect to their anticipated flitting, but
in the other rooms, the work of preparation
went on vigorously as quietly. Before the
two matrons and their handmaidens lay down
to nominal repose upon their stony-hearted
mattresses, every trunk was packed and
strapped, and the children's travelling-gear
laid out ready for them to don early in the
morning.

"Willin' hands and glad hearts makes
quick work!" said Mary to Norah, when they
were shut in their hot closet under the roof.
" It 's meself that 's in that good humor, to-
night, that I hardly begrudge the mosquitoes
their last male off me."

"And it's not pity they want, the bloody
bastes !" replied her less benevolent comrade.
"Shure, and they're the only crayturs that
ever gits their full to ate in this house — bad
luck to it!"

Georgie slept better that night than did her
sister, who, the packing having been com-
pleted, relieved Mrs. Earle's watch in the
chamber ; throwing herself down beside her
sick child. The short summer night was long
to the mother's anxious heart, late as it was
when she sought her couch. Lying there,
filled with vain repentance for the mistake

that had entailed so much of annoyance, dis-
comfort, and positive suffering upon herself
and those she loved, she watched the gray
dawn grow into the clear day ; the pale morn's
blush at the coming of the bold bridegroom,
the sun ; listened to the sounds of awakening
life without and below — the twittering of birds,
the crowing of chickens, the hungry squeal
of the pigs, whose sty was unpleasantly near
the house, and between it and the river, ren-
dering the coolest breezes that visited the
heated inmates the most unfragrant.

Miss Jemima was early abroad, and in great
strength, even for her. Before the sun had
showed his uppermost rim above the hills,
she had, in Mrs. Bell's hearing, boxed Daffy
once, threatened her three times with a repe-
tition of the punishment, and enjoined each
of her sisters separately and venomously not
to forgot her position. Then came upon the
scene of matutinal industry the invaluable
Burley, to assume his share of house-wifely (?)
cares. It was whispered among the " guests"
of the surprising elder sister that she did a
little, or, to speak more truly, not a little
ogling of her right-hand man on her own pri-
vate account ; that should he be finally dis-
carded by the coquettish Saceharissa, he need
not go far to seek solace for his bruised heart
in another's favor. It was not to be disputed
that her nose regarded his approach with
signal amiability, and her wiry tones had a
certain sweetness in addressing him, meant
to be engaging, but reminding unprejudiced
hearers strongly of fermenting syrup. How
often had Georgie lain in the corner beneath
the square ventilator, opening upon the stair-
case, and laughed at the dialogues between
the precious pair, as they performed their
joint task of setting the house in order !

" If you could only hear her quote ' I never
loved a dear gazelle !' " Georgie had once said
to her sister. " It was too amusing, delivered
in her high key, and interpolated by directions
how to handle the dust-pan and broom !"

Mrs. Bell smiled sadly as this was recalled
by the spinster's greeting on this morning.

"Good morrow, Monsieur Burley ! Another
charming day, you see! as fair as the 'rose,
newly washed by the shower which Mary to
Anna conveyed!' You remember how 'the
plentiful moisture encumbered the flower, and
weighed down its beautiful head.' Oh, I
used to think Mrs. Barbauld heavenly when
I was more unsophisticated and more senti-

'TAKING BOARDERS FOR COMPANY.'

393

mental ; before I knew the world to be so hor-
ribly prosaic, so wretchedly deceitful, so like
!!•. unhappy poet's 'hollow tree, where
■16 blast it hollow blew, and lie thought of all
the hollow world, and all its hollow erew — all
hollow, hollow, hollow !' Dally ! what are you
istanding there gaping for? Get the brush and
pan for Mr. Hurley, right away! I have
s.vrpt the upper hall, Mr. Barley; you can
.take the stairs, while I get this table and hat-
stand into something like order. I do wish
illr. Norris would not leave, his boat-shawl
1;. iiig here, all of a heap! But he hasn't
behaved like a sane man for these four weeks !
'I never saw any one deteriorate as he has
done lately. It is absolutely disgusting!"

Mrs. Hell raised her head to look over to
.Georgie's bed. She lay perfectly quiet, her
,'faee turned to the wall, apparently in a peace-
ful Blumher, an 1 her sister, fearing to disturb
my change in her own position, could
ido nothing but lie still and listen to what
I followed. The colloquists had either forgotten
Ithat every word must be audible in Miss
i Rose's room, or, supposing her to be its only
Occupant beside the sleeping child, were ma-
liciously talking at her. Barley was on the
top step, brushing away at the faded stair-
carp, it. Mrs. Bell could hear the heavy
■reathing caused by his stooping posture.

i" He was off by three o'clock for a ride.
Where has ho gone ?" he asked.
" Mercy knows I /don't care! I had my
■ay out to him last night, and I promise you
(that he got a dose of tolerably plain English.
If my dear, spirited brother, who is now serv-
ing his country abroad, had been here, he
WOnld have had a horse-whipping as well. I
■imagine he has gone to Jones's" (a hotel ten
Imiles distant) " to hire a carriage for his new
'friends. You know that our house loses its
i -t treasures to-day?" — in fierce irony.

'■ Sacoharissa told me so, just now."
"And our gallant knight-errant has called
Ifor his bill, and is to act as outrider!" pur-
■Bed Miss Jemima, more sardonically. "A
food riddance, I say ! I told Hortensia just
how it would turn out, the very day I found
them billing and cooing up there in the woods !
1 said that she was a sly, designing piece the
first night I saw her. / don't pretend to be
so awfully modest and fastidious ; /am not a
shy mimosa or a shrinking dove, or any of
that sort of nonsense ! but I do thank my
stars that I have too nice a sense of propriety

to go boating, and rambling, and (lower ga-
thering, and Ilirting with a strange young
in in. oJ whose character I know nothing, upon
three days' acquaintance! I mayn't be SO
beautiful, or elegant, or accomplished as some
people think themselves, but I am too much
of a lady, not to say a decent Christian Hu-
man, to angle for another woman's beau.
1'or my part, I had rather bob for eels and
catch mud-turtles all my days, much as the
sight of the innocent things shocks fine ladies'
nerves, than be guilty of so unhandsome an
action, such a base violation of the reipeot
and gratitude due an unsuspecting, kin.l,
confiding, and generous hostess!"

This preposterous climax brought Mrs. Bell
to her feet. She could remain passive no
longer. Hurley's voice arrested her unwise
impulse to leave the room and face the slan-
derer of her pure, noble sister.

" How does Hortensia feel about the rup-
ture?" he inquired. "There, the stairs are
doue. Will that do?"

"Beautifully! How expeditious you are !
This hall, now. Look sharp to the corners,
and brush down the cobwebs ! I am proud to
say that Hortensia shows more pluck than
one would expect. She says it is no doubt a
happy escape for her; but it is easy to see
that the poor girl bleeds inwardly. Ah, Mr.
Barley, ' Light are the woes that to the eye-
lids spring !' Dear child I our babe and pet,
whom we have never let the winds of heaven
visit too roughly ! She is young to learn that
sad, sad and universal lesson of womanhood —

"To make us idols, aud to find them clay,
Aud then bewail their worship, therefore — '

Daffy ! if I have to hurry your lazy bones
again, I will shake the breath out of your
body ! ' '

CHAPTER VII.

"I have a plan to propose, Norris!'' ex-
claimed Tom Earle, entering Mrs. Bell's p tr-
ior, eight months after the hegira from Roar-
ing River; "one which I doubt not will meet
with your hearty approbation."

It was a lovely moonlight evening. Mr.
and Mrs. Hell were enjoying it at one window,
the gas being turned down to a spark, glim-
mering like a glow-worm through the porce-
lain shade of the drop-light. Within the
recess of another, a bay window at the oppo-

39-4

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

site end of the room, were two more figures,
seated as closely together as was the married
pair. One of these arose at the ahrupt ad-
dress of the visitor.

" I will give it a respectful hearing, at least.
What is it:'"

"My wife and I have been talking it over,
and we agree that nothing could be more
felicitous and appropriate," continued Mr.
Earle, helping himself to a chair.

"Speak for yourself, if you please," inter-
posed that lady. "Georgie, dear, don't mind
his nonsense !"

"My grand idea is this, good people ! An-
nie, are you listening ? I move that this
twain, to be one on the day after to-morrow,
shall perform a bridal pilgrimage to Roaring
River."

"Tom Earle ! if your wife doesn't feel it to
be her solemn duty to bos your ears, I do!"
cried Mrs. Bell, flying towards him.

In the bustle that ensued, Georgie slipped
from the room. Norris, seeking her presently,
found her over the piazza, leaning over the
railing in an attitude of thoughtfulness. Her
reverie was not so deep that she did not hear
his footsteps. Meeting her with a mute ca-
ress as she turned towards him, he drew her
hand within his own, and they began to walk
up and down the floor, checkered by the
shadows of the embowering creepers. Norris
broke the eloquent silence.

"You did not stay to vote upon Mr. Earle's
motion."

"I delegated that duty to you. Women
have not the right of suffrage."

"You had no fear, then, lest a lingering
tmdresse for Miss Hortensia should bias my
decision?"

She laughed gayly. " I did not think of
that. Perhaps my confidence was rash, after
all."

" Do you know, little one," Norris resumed
tenderly, while his words conveyed a rebuke,
"that the sole cause of complaint I have ever
had against you was your unjust judgment of
me in that affair? It is all a dark, sad dream
to me — looking back out of the sunshine of
perfect love and trust in which we now live — ■
your credence of that absurd and, to me, dis-
honoring report of my attachment to another,
and that other — Miss Jemima's sister ! Then
came the train of painful misunderstandings
broughton by that belief ; doubt, and estrange-
ment, and suffering. But for your sister, I

fear we would never have been reconciled. I
could not understand your freezing disdain
and enigmatical allusions to my fickleness,
and you refused to believe in the reality of
my devotion. She came to my relief with the
story of a conversation purposely held in your
hearing and hers, when it was positively
known that the game was lost, and I began to
suspect the iniquitous plot. You must pledge
undoubting faith in me from this time, hence-
forward and forever, my beauty, to make
amends for this tremendous mistake."

"I suffered, too, James," said Georgie, in a
low tone.

" As you never shall again, Heaven helping
me ! One thing I do owe Roaring River — I
there met you for the first time. As to tha
darker pages of our experience there, let thi»
be the token that they are sealed fast, never
more to be opened !" And, bending forward —
But, as this is not a sentimental story, we
will break off modestly just here, and return
to the quartette left within doors.

"Yes, we acted for once in our lives like
unmitigated donkeys !" Mr. Earle was saying,
with his usual candor. "Still, except for
Georgie' s spell of sickness and little Annie's
month of fever and ague, I would not regret
the lesson. It was pretty severe, but it will
stick by us for the rest of our lives. After
this, seeing is believing with me, and I will
know for myself, before I go rusticating, whe-
ther I am to be a bona fide boarder, who pays
a fair, liberal price for good fare, good beds,
and good air, to one who takes me with the
hope of making money honestly, and isn't
ashamed to own it, or whether I am to enter
a private family where they 'receive a few
friends, just for company,' and am to submit
in silence to detestable food, poisonous mala-
ria, musty towels and rancid napkins, and
beds that would disgrace a squatter's hovel,
besides being bored to death by a set of pre-
destined old maids, as full of cranks, and
notions, and affectations as an egg is of meat,
who treat me as their social equal, if not their
inferior, and pull caps with my sister for her
beau, and who, after cheating us for six weeks,
abuse us like pickpockets because we fly for
our lives from their odious den and more
odious society."

"Did Norris tell you that he had picked
up some ugly facts touching Burley's antece-
dents ?" asked Mr. Bell.
' ' No. What are they V '

rOETRY.

395

'•His real profession is, it appears, thai of
■DOnfideDce man ' combining the characters of
jockey, swindler, and black-leg generally,
upper -I his eyes upon the snug

KeU'hum farm, he concluded to make such

j arrangements as woald secure it as a perma-
nmt Bummer retreat, when business was slack,

i' or the public faith in him below par. Norris
Beard the tale from Mr. Boulby. He had
just seen his friend, the ' brother in the city.1

'This young man, who is, James says, really a

osible fellow, paid his sisters a visit

last fall, and was introduced to his prospective

."brother-in-law. He recognized him instantly

jAs the notorious scamp I have described, ex-
Uim on the spot, and ended his unflat-
tering remarks to him by kicking the gallant

(Scullion out of the house."

"Good!" Mr. Earle slapped his knee in
applause. "I always Said that he was an

■apostor; that his talk about his 'seaside
home,* his hints of high respectability in his
own neighborhood, and palaver about 'invest-

iinents' and 'handsome property,' while he
was dangling like alow-bred kitchen scrub at

Jth b heels of his dulcinea in curls and calico,
would prove to be, like the other pretensions
of the firm, nothing but bosh."

A DRfiAM OF LONG AGO.

BY J. L. K'CBEFRT.

Tite summer twilight hover* near,

The balmy air is sweetly still.
And from che neighboring grovo I

The prelude of the whippoorwill.

To garish day a glad adieu,
And welcome evening's tender light.

While star by st.tr steals into view,
Till glory crowns the brow of Night.

And memory o'erleapa the years —

Lorn: years, whose passing seemed so slow-
And throngh the mij>t, that might bo tew

Uprise the dreams of " long ago."

Rugged and thorny was the path

It was my early fate to tread,
While howling tempests poured their wrath

Upun my unprotected head.

Then, for an hour, the storm passed by ;

The heavens the bow of promise spanned;
Beneath a bine and olondlen sky

I caoght ■ glimpse of fairy-land.

And I might gaze, but might not tread,

Where storm and darkness were unknown,

Where thousand forms of beauty strayed —
And one, whose life-path crossed my own.

For one brief honr there flashed a gleam
Of day athwart the sheerless night;

I knew 'twas but a fleeting dr.am,

Yet who would wake from snob delight f

Fnll soon my dream had fled ; the form
Passed on, and all was dark again !

My heart sank down amid the storm,
Afaint with loneliness and pain.

And yet. ore long I seemed to know,
All things were not as they hi.d been :

Less rough my path began to grow,
And less of darkness veiled tho scene.

Throngh rifted clouds the starlight gleams,

And evermore encircles me,
A Presenco purely bright, which seems

Not thine, but yet which speaks of thee.

More tranquil now are heart and brain.
And life shall be, oh, nevermore,

So dark with gloom, so sad with pain,
As it had ever been before.

And as, to-night, I wander where
The flow 'rets kiss the rippling rill,

While floats upon the evening air
The music of the whippoorwill —

A spirit in the murmuring stream,
A glory in the moonlight's glow,

Brings br.ck the memory of the dream
That blessed my being " long ago."

LINES
ADDREs?r:r> to one wno believes not in love.

BT MBS. CAB OLIVE ST. CnAKI.ES,

you tell me, sweet Ella, that love is a myth,
A dream of a volatile brain :

A Action too bright for this workaday life,
And its Mendings of pleasure and pain.

V. d tell me that love is a stranger on earth.
Though its semblance is c 1 and:

A quest si> celestial, of birth so divine,
May not visit terrestrial ground.

Well, call it illusion, or say 'tis a dream,
For a time your own promises talc

'Tis a vision of heaven, by angels brought down
(Alas for the desolate waking !)

i the rose of the desert, the sunset's rich glovr,
Flinging radiance athwart the dark sky :
'Tis tho music of Eden, to the heart breathing low,
And exhaling from theno* in i. sigh.

Oh dark were the world if this heavenly dream.

Ne'er blest our wild jonrney of v
Oh sad is the heart in whose desolate d

No gem of affection can _

But heed thee, fair lady, lesl Capfd in wrath

Shonld aim his all oonqni
And marshal his forces in hostile array

To besiege that invincfbU heart.

How joyous his triumphs should victory wait,
To crown with new glory bis anna:

Whe: - of thy well guarded h^art.

And al! its rich treasure of charms.

MY SUMMER VISIT.

EY BELLE RFTLEDGB.

My visit to Aunt Esther Hartley's was a
matter of much comment in our family circle.
Mamma thought it was "time thrown away —
up there in the granite hills, where I should
meet no society!" papa smiled, but prudently
said nothing, when appealed to, save the in-
variable " Go where you can enjoy yourself
best, Esther!" — but my two sisters, Belle
and Kate, settled it that "it is only one of
Est's queer notions ! The oddest girl alive,
to prefer that out-of-the-way country place to
a visit to the springs with them and papa and
mamma !"

But, carry my point I did ; and one lovely
June morning found me en route for a visit to
the farm-house up among the New Hampshire
hills.

The facts were simply these : My Aunt
Esther, the eldest sister of my father, had
married a wealthy farmer settled amid the
hill country of the granite State, and I was
my worthy relative's namesake, no children
ever brightening her home. When a delicate,
fragile girl of ten, my father had taken me to
Aunt Esther's, where I passed a year, recover-
ing health and strength under the regimen of
a generous country diet and bracing mountain
air. Ever since that time, seven years before,
I had longed for another glimpse of the old-
fashioned farm-house ; but never until now
had I found the leisure to go thither again.
A boarding-school had claimed my attention
until the autumn of my seventeenth year;
then followed a winter of gayety at home.
But this had sufficed to give me a glimpse
into the hollowness of that so-called "fash-
ionable society" into which I had been en-
rolled by my ambitious mamma until what
time I should be fortunate enough to be pro-
moted to a post of honor in the ranks matri-
monial ; so I resolved to escape from the
projected party to the springs, and pass the
summer months instead at the well-remem-
bered old retreat among the hills.

" Well, Esther is young yet ; and there '11
be time enough for her by and by, I suppose!"
said my mother resignedly, at last ; and, the
matter thus settled, I packed my trunk and
Set out for Aunt Esther's, under the escort of
396

a friend of my father's, who, fortunately wasi
going nearly all my route on business.

The sun was near bis setting, flooding alii
the western sky with gold and fire, when Ij
arrived at the last railway station of myi
journey. The good gentleman who had acted'
as my escort left me a short time previous;!
and now I stepped from the car to the depot;
platform, expecting to take the stage-coach!
to my Uncle Hartley's house, about six miles \
distant. I had not looked to be met at the
station, for my letter, apprising Aunt Hartley;
of my visit, had only been dispatched twoj
days previous, and I doubted its reception;
many hours before my appearance ; what,
then, was my agreeable surprise, on stepping
from the car. to be met by a tall, liandsomo
gentleman of apparently some thirty years,
who accosted me with the inquiry —

" Is this Miss Esther Benton ?"

"Yes," I replied. "Did you come for
me?" for, at that moment, I noticed my uncle's
well-remembered family "carryall," though
now a span of handsome grays had taken tins
place of the steady old family horse of other
days. " I did not think they could have re-
ceived my letter so soon."

"Fortunately I had the pleasure of taking
it from the post-office this morning, Miss Ben-
ton— and am deputed by your aunt the honor
of taking you the remnant of your journey.
You will find the carriage easier than tha
lumbering stage-coach," he said, assisting
me into it ; and in a few minutes, my trunk,
securely strapped behiud the vehicle, we wera
riding along the smooth country turnpike,
my companion answering my eager inquiries
relative to the health of my good relatives.

"All are well at the Hartley farm; and
very impatient you will find your worthy
Aunt Esther to greet her niece. Such a flu?
ter of delight as your letter threw her in, Mi?3
Benton ! You have reason to feel flattered
that your advent can create such a furore of
pleasure. It proves that you must have left
most agreeable impressions after that girlhood
visit of which your aunt has never wearied
telling me," and the gentleman smiled as he
cast a glance upon me.

MY SUMMER VISIT.

39;

"I hope Aunt Esther did not forget to re-
count the marvellous effects of her indulgence
ou the girl who grew strong and wild under
her kind and wholesome treatment — also, the
forays committed on hay-mows, peach-trees,
pear-orchards, the horses I rode bare-backed,
and the sitting-hens I frightened from their
maternal resting-places ? I grew a sad romp

■ at that time, Mr." — but there I paused, sud-
denly, bethinking that I did not know the
name of my companion.

The same thiught evidently struck the
gentleman, too, for, banishing his trilling
embarrassment, he said, smilingly, and with
a dash of nonchalance, " I presume that, like
all young ladies, Mrs. Hartley's niece possesses
a share of the curiosity of her sex, and would
not object to knowing by what name to call
her companion — hence, waiving the etiquette
laid down in Chesterfield, I shall be forced to
perform the ceremony of self-introduction.

(Know, then, Miss Esther Benton, that I have
the honor to be a distant connection of yours,
byname Hugh Rockwell, Esq." — and he lifted
his hat gracefully — " nephew to your Uncle

; Hartley, at whose pleasant home I am now

• spending the summer."

"And I am exceedingly glad to make your
(acquaintance, sir," I replied. "And, since
|we are likely to be thrown Into each other's
(society, I hope we shall get on Smoothly toge-
ither, most worthy cousin, Esquire Rockwell 1"

Evidently my cool rejoinder, delivered in the
tsame nonchalant, laughing tone as his own,

non-plussed him a little, but he covered this,

and retorted —

" Well, / hope that, too, Miss Benton. But

let me warn you, en advance, that I cherish

• some peculiar notions at which a lively young
1 lady may run full tilt, the chief of which is,
'that, it being a delusion that happiness may
!be found at the crowded summer haunts of
1 fashion, said happiness may be gleaned from

the quiet of this country region, an idea
iwhich, I trust, your coming may not dispel,
1 Miss Esther."

"Surely not ! I beg of you do not trouble

I yourself in the least about imagining that I

I may wage war against any of your pet theo-

Iries, Mr. Rockwell!" I replied, with a little

i sarcastic laugh. "Ala some of the disturbers

I of our national peace, you only want to be

' let alone' in your notions, which privilege, I

assure you, I do not mean to intrude upon."

"Thanks! You are frank in the outset, I

rt>L. Lxrx. — 32

am glad to perceive, Miss Benton," rejoined
Mr. Rockwell. " But perhaps I ought to have
said that a mental review of the chief mo-
tives which influence the people one meets at
fashionable resorts — gayety, show, and the
opportunity to secure an eligible parti in the
matrimonial lists — has helped to strengthen
the decision that turned my feet thither this
summer, instead of to Newport, where a party
of my friends are staying. You perceive that
I 'm quite ascetic in my notions of enjoyment,
and, no doubt, will condemn me with the zest
of youth, Miss Benton."

"Of course! As if this country region
were to be compared with a season at the
springs or the seaside," I said, stoutly, though
secretly a little pleased at his words. " Why,
don't you know that mamma packed me off to
Aunt Esther's to get me out of the way while
sisters Belle and Kate secured their prizes at
Saratoga?"

"I should surely be forced to believe your
statement, Miss Benton, had I not happened
to have heard a sentence from a certain letter
which your good Aunt Esther read aloud to
me this morning," retorted Mr. Rockwell,
smiling. "Something to this effect — that, the
elder Misses Benton both being engaged, ' mo-
ther wonders why /don't want to go to Sara-
toga, and have a gay time, instead of coming
np to the dear old farm-house.' So 1 think I
may venture to ask Miss Esther what could
have inspired her decision to turn away from
the attractions of the springs, and honor us
in this quiet region."

Mr. Rockwell's meaning tone vexed me a
little, and I felt strangely annoyed that Aunt
Esther had read him my letter. "He takes
me for a little girl, and amuses himself at my
expense," I said, mentally. So I resolved to
show him that I was his match in coolness.

"Oh, because, with yourself, I am wearied
of life," I replied, demurely, and with a little
wicked sarcasm in my tone. "One winter of
dissipation, since I had the honor of being a
graduate at Madame Stanton's, has been quite
sufficient to cause a longing for quiet ; so I
turned my feet to the cool, green country to
find rest and solace from the great world's
hollowness."

"Ah!"— and I fancied that Mr. Rockwell
winced a little under his smiling rejoinder.
"How singular that we should have both
come to the same conclusion and place of
refuge ! I dare say we shall find balm for our

398

godey's lady's book and magazine.

wounded spirits. But what say you to the
proposition that, if we find solitude too mono-
tonous, we can, by way of variety, avail our-
selves of each other's society?"

"Oh, certainly! ' A7iy port in a storm,'
you know, Esquire Rockwell. If my poor
enmiied, blas( conversation can contribute in
any way toward inspiring you with fresh hope
to continue your earthly pilgrimage, pray
don't forget to mention it ! But is not that
Uncle Hartley's?" I asked, as, turning a bend
in the highway, I caught sight of the well-
remembered picture I had cherished for seven
years.

"Yes, we are nearly there; a quarter of a
mile by the road, and hardly an eighth across
the meadow. I never knew a more lovely
place than Hartley farm in summer time, and
I have enjoyed every moment of my stay,
thus far," said Mr. Rockwell, enthusiastically.

" And I only hope that the remainder may
be passed as agreeably, for /intend to enjoy
myself immensely, despite your presence!"
was the saucy retort that leaped to my lips ;
and then I averted his answer by hastily
exclaiming — "There! I can make out Uncle
John and Aunt Esther standing in the door !
How this summer twilight lingers, and what
a lovely drive it is up here at the sunset
hour ! The span came faster than old Billy
used to, when I often went to ride over to
market with Uncle John ; and you are an
excellent charioteer, Cousin Hugh Rockwell,
Esquire."

"Thanks, little Cousin Esther!" was my
companion's sole comment. And we rapidly
neared the terminus of our journey.

A pleasant picture was it, framed by the
circling belt of dark blue mountains that
closed in to form a background to the scene.
A large, substantial old country mansion,
situate on an eminence a short distance from
the main road, from whence it was approached
by a grassy lane, with a wide stretch of smooth
lawn in front, dotted by large lilac trees,
clustering snowballs, and fragrant blossom-
ing seringas. Seen now, in the clear summer
twilight, it looked a calm, quiet retreat, where
one could indeed find shelter, if wearied and
tempest-tossed by the vexing turmoils of the
world without.

A nearer inspection of the premises revealed
a long line of noble barns, granaries, and
stables, attesting the "fore-handed," com-
fortable circumstances of the proprietor of the

Hartley place, while the sweep of meadoit
and field, and the dark outline of fruit or
chards, bespoke the royal harvestings when
lusty autumn should perfect the promise o^
the matronly summer.

A few moments more brought us to the
door, where my aunt and uncle stood awaiting
us ; and a warm, cheery welcome bespoke tin
genuine pleasure my coming gave them. And
for me, I was like a bird who had been waB-
dering, come to fold its wings in the home-
nest again.

A half hour later, seated at the bountifully1
spread tea-table, laden with Aunt Esther'S|
sweet home-made bread, delicious cake andj
custards, I had opportunity to note my com-
panion of the drive more closely between the
answers conversation elicited. Mr. Rockwell
was not " handsome, ' ' as the phrase goes, but
undeniably fine-looking and intelMgent-faced,
and with that indisputable air of high breeding
which marks the true cultivated gentleman
and the polished man of society. Altogether,
I fancied that mamma and my fashionable
sisters would have been slightly surprised at
the "society" into which my lines had been
cast this first night of my appearance in this
" out-of-the-way country place." But I found
very little time to devote to this idea, for my
good Aunt Esther's conversational powers i1
were fully tested upon me that first evening
of my arrival.

"Why, child, how you have grown! II
never should have known you, so changed
from the little puidling girl who was here that
year!"

"But, Aunty, you forget that seven years
have had something to do with the matter,"
I replied, in order to dispel the illusion that
I was no longer a mere girl. "Don't you see
I 'm now a full-fledged young lady ?"

"Deary me! who'd ever dream it was so
long ago? Why, it seems but yesterday!
And you've always been writing that you
wanted to come every summer. I shall keep
you a long, long time, to repay for your
naughty neglect of us."

"Oh, I intend to make you glad twice, Aunt
Esther — once with my coming, and again with
my going," I rejoined.

Uncle Hartley laughed, but Aunt Esther
went on, in her quiet, practical way — •" Well,
I'm glad you can content yourself with old
folks, though, to be sure, here's Nephew
Hugh to keep you company.'

MY SUMMER VISIT.

399

I looked across the table to the gentleman
seated opposite me, and looking so provok-
iugly cool that I could not resist retorting,
with an equal air of indiilerence: "Oh, Mr.
Rockwell and I have already made a compact
of friendship, with the proviso that we are
only to bother each other with each other's
■ciety when we are at a loss for better em-
ployment Am I not right in my statement,
Mr. Rockwell*"

' Perfectly," was his rejoinder, with a
flash from his keen hazel eyes that said, plain
as language, "You are a very pert, saucy
girl, Miss Esther Benton!" For it was one
thing for a gentleman to assume airs of supe-
riority and indifference toward a young lady,
.and quite another to be met by said young
ia.ly on his own territory.

"Come, children, no quarrelling," said my
facie, .us we ruse from the table. "All who
ive under my roof must smoke the pipe of
jgeace together.''

i it Aunt Esther's honest blue eyes opened
(wide at this remark, for. to her placid, obtuse
jierceptives, no little barbed arrows of sar-
jsasui had been hurled across her tea-table
Jiat June night.

II ugh Rockwell sauntered out the front
loor, while uncle and I sat at the windows of

. :he west room, where the fragrant breath of
he roses and seringas came floating in, and
he tender young summer moon looked down
th loving gaze.

"A noble fellow, Nephew Hugh is, though
* little odd in some of his notions," said my
lincle. "Not a bit like your city chaps in
.general, though he 's spent most of his life
junongst 'em. But he 's going to settle down

j)ver at M , as Judge Leonard's partner. I

u and he 'II be great friends, Esther. I
fee you 're a match for him. You gave him a
pretty keen thrust about bothering him with
t?our society, for he 's a regular bachelor, and
jias always shunned the ladies." And uncle
jfcaghed heartily. "But I'm glad you've
igreed to be friends, for only this morning,
after your letter came, he spoke of taking his

eave, and going back to M ."

"I don't think my coming need drive away
Jr. Rockwell. It probably will not, uncle,"
j answered carelessly, mentally vexed, and
laying, "And so you were anxious to get
way from the city miss, who was coming to
1 your plans of qtiiet at Hartley farm,
Ir. R( ckwell?"

I saw no more of Hugh Rockwell that night,
and soon went to my room, wearied with the
long day's journey. Next morning I awoke
late, with the sun shining full into my face.

" Well, dear, how did you sleep .'" inquired
Aunt Esther, as I appeared below.

"Oh, very soundly, as the lateness of tho
hour testifies. But I do mean to be a very
early riser in future, aunty. Don't judge of
me by this morning's tardiness, pray !"

"Why, you were very tired, child, and
sleep was the restorative. In a week's time,
I'll venture, you '11 be up early as the birds.
Come, have breakfast now." And she led
the way to the dining-room.

"And afterwards we '11 take a look at the
premises," cried Uncle Hartley from the pi-
azza, where he sat smoking his pipe.

"La, John, there's another day coming!
Let Esther get rested first," said aunt, boun-
tifully filling my plate with cream toast.

"If Esther's like the girl she used to be,
she won't rest till she 's explored barn, stable,
and corn-house, and ridden old Billy to the
watering-trough," came in a laughing tone
from the piazza.

"Nephew Hugh's gone over to the village
for the mail, this morning. He takes his can-
ter every day regularly," said Aunt Esther.

Later, with Uncle Hartley, after visiting the
large, airy hams, I stood in the sweet- breathed
apple-orchards. Drifts of pink and white
blossoms lay beneath the trees, and the air
was rife with an aroma more fragrant than
frankincense and myrrh.

"Oh, how delicious this is, uncle! It is
like heaven, after the hot, stifling city ! I
could be content to live in the country for-
ever!" I cried, enthusiastically.

"Provided it were always summer, you
mean, Esther," replied Uncle Hartley, smiling,
though I could see that my delight pleased
him. "You would agree with Nephew Hugh,
for he maintains that a farmer's lifo is the
happiest in the world."

"Except a lawyer' t, you forgot to add,
Uncle John," exclaimed a deep voice close by,
and, turning, I met a courteous "Good-morn-
ing" from the gentleman referred to.

"You saddle every assertion with a pro-
viso,/]! seems, Mr. Rockwell?" rushed to my
lips ; and presently we had fallen into tha
relation of yesterday — two sparrers in a wordy
combat, which amused Uncle Hartley vastly,
judging by the frequency of his puffs at his

400

godet's lady's book axd magazine.

pipe and the keen twinkling of his blue
eyes.

By and by uncle sauntered away towards
the fields, to direct his farm-help, and, our
stroll over, Hugh and I neared the house.

"Do you ride horseback, Miss Esther?"
asked Rockwell, abruptly, as we were enter-
ing the back porch, all overrun with morning-
glories, open-eyed to the bright sun.

Now, if there was an exercise I revelled in,
it was equestrianism, and I had enjoyed the
advantages of the best riding-school my na-
tive city afforded ; but, very perversely, I did
not care to acquaint Hugh Rockwell, Esquire,
with that fact, so I replied, demurely: "I
used to ride old Billy a little, when I was
here long ago, and I think I could keep my
seat now, Mr. Rockwell. But old Billy jogged
his last years since, and there are no Rozi-
nantes in the stable now, except Fanny, the
colt, and the span."

"Well, if you can keep your seat, I think
you would not be frightened on one of the
grays. They are perfectly kind and steady.
I wanted to invite you over to Blue Hill some
morning. But we will take the carriage, in-
stead, if you say so, though there is no good
road up the hill, and if you could ride, it
would be better."

"Oh, I think I will venture to try one of
the carriage horses," I replied, as we parted
in the doorway. " And you will ride slowly
to accommodate me."

That afternoon I passed quietly and happily
with Aunt Esther. Next morning uncle and
Mr. Rockwell went over to the village for the
day, so we had another quiet time together ;
but sunset brought the two home with the
war news and the papers, which were duly
discussed at the supper-table.

Well, a month or two passed, and during
that time my acquaintance with Hugh Rock-
well had progressed, despite the constant war
of words and repartee, which had grown into
a fixed habit with us. Each night I re-
tired to my room saying mentally, "How
provokingly disagreeable he is!" and each
day I became more and more fascinated with
his society. "No wonder he is so successful
a pleader at the bar," I thought. " He would
talk conviction into any jury in the space of
one hour. I hate him, and yet I like him!"
(I suppose all young ladies reason and decide
something after this fashion, reader I)

Well, drives all around the country, in the

carryall behind the span, and in the old "one
hoss shay," had become a common experience
with me ; but as yet nothing had been said of
the contemplated excursion to the mountain
which reared its pine-crowned crest in the clear
summer sky some three miles distant. At
length, one evening, Mr. Rockwell said at the
tea-table, "To-morrow, if the morning is cool,
perhaps we had better attempt our horseback
over to Blue Hill. You think there would be
no danger of Kate's proving refractory under
the side-saddle, Uncle John?"

" Not the least. She's docile as a kitten,
either in the harness or saddle. Now, there's
Fanny — a dreadful frisky critter she is, and
I 'm afraid she '11 never get properly broken
in. A real beauty, that colt is, but, after all,
I 've about made up my mind to sell her to
somebody who wants to tame her."

"Uncle, don't you really think Fanny
would let me ride her?" I asked, demurely.
"She eats salt from my hand, and looks kind
as possible ; and a side-saddle would fit her
back so nicely !"

"If you knew anything about horseback
riding, perhaps you wouldn't want to risk your
neck on a four year old colt, Esther !" replied
my uncle. "Kate's as gentle as old Billy
used to be ; and Hugh's horse, though he is \
a purty smart traveller, must learn to slack
up to keep pace with yours."

Vastly amused at the inference drawn by
the dwellers at Hartley farm regarding my
equestrian abilities, I said nothing more ; but I
mapped out my plans, which were no other
than to bribe Sam, the farm boy, to shift tire
saddle from Kate's back to Fanny's while in the
stable, and then to sally forth to the surprise
of my escort. Nor must it be supposed that
I had come to this decision without the fullest
confidence in my own powers, and also with-
out cultivating the most friendly feelings from
Fanny, by frequent visits to her stall, and
offers of tempting wisps of hay, handfuls of
fresh clover, and pattings of her fine head
and sleek, glossy mane.

Well, the morning of our ride came round,
and, while Mr. Rockwell was busy with di-
recting the saddling of his own horse, a hand-
some, large, dark-red animal, I came out in
my riding-habit, slipped into the stable, and
superintended the plot I had formed concern-
ing my own bonny steed.

" If this 'ere Fan kicks up, and lands you
in a ditch, Miss Esther, you won't blame me?"

MY SUMMER VISIT.

401

said Sam, imploringly, when, his labors com-
pleted, a sense of his own connivance at trea-
chery rushed over him.

"Don't you fret, Sam. Fanny and I know
what we're about, don't we, Fan?" I an-
■rered, patting the colt's head and looking
into her bright, intelligent eyes, which, I
must confess, did roll and flash a little wick-
edly. "There! now it 's all right!" — and I
examined saddle-girth and stirrup-strap my-
self, to be sure all was secure. "Now I'll
mount from this block, and ride out into the
yard, where Mr. Rockwell's horse must be
ready."

With a quick bound, I was in my seat, my
hand firmly on the rein ; but no sooner had I
touched saddle than away sprang Fanny,
with a leap that would have done credit to a
Pegasus. Rearing and plunging, she sprang
about half way across the yard, shied, backed,
tossed her head, and endeavored to throw me
by every means known to a not thoroughly
broken colt of four years. Then, all at once,
she came to a dead halt, close by where Rock-
well was standing, near his own saddled
horse, pale with surprise and terror.,

"Good heavens, Esther Benton, you don't
intend riding that mad little beast!" he cried
out, with anger, fright, and command in his
tones. "How came you on Fanny? Sam,
you little villain, you 've saddled the wrong
horse!" — turning, full of wrath, to that per-
sonage. who was shrinking away behind the
pump in the yard, with eyes protuberant, and
fairly quivering with terror ; and at the same
Itime Mr. Rockwell stepped forward to lay his
hand on Fanny's bridle.

' I told her so I I knowed it ! She 's a
jdarned headstrong critter, any way, Mr.
■Rockwell!" said the boy, in quick, gasping
(tones, faintly emerging from behind his pump
tower of refuge.

, " Which remark, Mr. Rockwell. I beg you
if believe, applies to me, equally with Fanny.
Pray, don't hold her bridle rein so hard. You
frighten her a little. I think I can manage
Fanny, if you will let me have my way about
iding her!" I said, decidedly.

"And / am confident that you will be
thrown !" exclaimed Hugh Rockwell. " Why
vill you foolishly persist — " But at this
moment Miss Fanny managed, by much shak-
ing of her glossy head, to get free from his
restraining hand, and again commenced her
;apers about the yard.

32*

For full five minutes this went on — a series
of shyings, plungings, and rearings that
evinced a most refractory disposition ; but,
never losing my determination to conquer, I
put in practice the art of coaxing, until, my
patienco exhausted, I struck Miss Fanny a
smart blow with the whip, which sent her
down the lane at full speed, with the echo of
Hugh Rockwell's exclamations of alarm in
my ear, and the consciousness that several
pairs of anxious eyes were watching me.

" Is the girl crazy? She will be killed!"
cried Rockwell, the sound of his horse's hoofs
following on behind. Then I was out of hear-
ing, my long riding-habit accelerating the
speed of the colt, who flew like the wind.

A mile or more at this mad pace thoroughly
tested the quality of Fanny and my own
love of an exciting race ; then gradually she
relaxed her speed, and became so manageable
that I felt I had secured a victory. With a
little thrill of triumph and pride, I would not
turn, though I heard the sound of Rockwell's
horse behind, along the smooth, hard turn-
pike. Shortly he was beside me ; and, when
I stole a cautious glance at his face, I must
confess that I was not sorry to see him looking
very pale and agitated. At that moment the
consciousness that I must possess some power
over that strong man, else he had never
manifested this emotion, rushed through my
soul, and flooded my veins with liquid fire.

" Esther, you are wild, reckless, to tamper
thus with your life," said Rockwell, reining
in his horse, all covered with foam.

"Not in the least," I answered. "I am
sorry if I gave you alarm, but it was my only
way. I was determined to ride Fanny, and
found myself obliged to conquer her instead
of being conquered myself, after I was fairly
set out ; but I think we shall be the best of
friends in future. Sha'n't we, Fanny ?" And
I stroked her thick chestnut mane, a caress
which I think the animal understood, for she
tossed her head gently, and looked round with
a bright but subdued look in her expressive
eye. "I forgot to tell you, Cousin Hugh," I
could not help adding, wickedly, and smiling
a bit, "that I have taken riding lessons these
four years at Du Cheval's, and I don't think
my old master would have objected at all to
Fanny. I hope I did not frighten uncle and
Aunt Esther, though."

"And have you no compunctions for the
alarm you have caused dm, Esther?"

402

godey's lady's book and magazine.

I thought it entirely unnecessary, the tone
and emphasis with which Mr. Rockwell asked
this, leaning over close to my saddle-bow ;
and I never could account for the manner in
which my cheeks burned, as I felt a hand
laid for a moment upon my own ungauntleted
one resting on the pommel. Nor do I think
it at all necessary to record what was said
afterwards, for I thought then, and still main-
tain, though Hugh persists that it was the
right speech at the right time, I thought it
was the most mi-apropos occasion in the world
for a, — Don't you wish I'd written it, reader?

However, I never was good at keeping a
secret, and, somehow, that day my eyes and
cheeks seemed to betray what they should
have kept ; and before bed-time that night
Aunt Esther had found out what happened at
the horseback ride. And then Uncle Hartley
and Hugh held a sort of council next morn-
ing, smoking their pipes of peace together
out on the piazza ; and by and by a letter
was sent off to papa at the springs, and within
a week an answer came, in which Hugh was
taken into our family en prospective, as they
admit students to college; viz., on conditions.

For my own part, I didn't like to be hur-
ried so ; and I ventured to remind mamma
one day, when Hugh had accompanied me
home, after they had all returned from Sara-
toga, of her old speech, "Esther is young
enough yet ;" but somehow it failed of effect,
perhaps because it would give ecldt to the
approaching season to have a treble wedding
celebrated at our house.

And so it came to pass that sisters Belle
and Kate and I all wore white satin, point
lace, and orange blossoms together, on a clear,
cold Christmas night ; and everybody, includ-
ing Hugh and myself, seemed perfectly satis-
fied with the result of my summer visit.

BY M ALVA.

Yon say that yon love me, and can I believe,

Those low murmured words are but meant to deceive?

They come to my heart like the 6weet south wind's breath,

I cannot forget them until cold in death.

They rest on my spirit like dew on the flower;

Tiiey linger around me each day and each hour;

In sunlight I see them all beaming and bright,

I hear their low voice in the silence of night.

Dark woe's heavy mantle would shroud my cold heart,

Did I dream that your spirit could will us to part ;

The future would he one black gulf of despair,

And how soon death should call we I little would care.

THE CASKET OF TEMPERANCE.

BY WILLIE E. PABOE.

(Pearl the Eleventh.)
"COME BACK TO ME, DARLING."
Come back to me, darling ! be once more my boy !
Be once more my comfort, my pride, and my joy 1
As I grow the older
Ton seem to grow colder,
Forsaking the home I have kept for yonr sake,
And severing links that trne love would not break.

Come back to me, darling ! forsaking the wine!
Breathe once more the inceuse that floats round Hope's
shrine.

The love that life lengthens,

The ties that time strengthens
Are all in your clasp ! By your earlier years
I charge you to save them from doubts and from fears.

Come back to me, darling ! too far have you strayed !
Too long in the lap of Delilah delayed 1

There comes a to-morrow

From which yon can borrow
No comfort or grace if you kneel at the shrine
And worship the goddess that lives in the wine.

Come back to me, darling ! I need you just now !

My eyes grow more dim and white hairs line my brow!

Your mother is pleading !

Whose poor heart is bleeding
Because of the path that your footsteps are in !
Because of your error, yonr passion, your sin.

Come back to me, darling! be once more my boy]
The light of my life, and my comfort and joy!

Love me as I love thee,

And the blue sky above thee
Will bend with the weight of the angels, whose joy
Will mingle with mine, if my love saves my hoy.

Influence of a Smile. — A beautiful smile is
to the female countenance what the sunbeam
is to the landscape. It embellishes an inferior
face, and redeems an ugly one. A smile, how-
ever, should not become habitual, or insipidity
is the result ; nor should the mouth break
into a smile on one side, the other remaining
passive and unmoved, for this imparts an air
of deceit and grotesqueness to the face. A
disagreeable smile distorts the lines of beauty,
and is more repulsive than a frown. There are )
many kinds of smiles, each having a distinct
character. Some announce goodness and ;
sweetness — others betray sarcasm, bitterness,
and pride. Some soften the countenance by I
their languishing tenderness — others brighten
by their spiritual vivacity. Gazing and poring |
before a mirror cannot aid in acquiring beau- I
tiful smiles half so well as to turn the gaze j
inward, to watch that the heart keeps unsul- I
lied from the reflection of evil, and is illumi-
nated and beautiful by all sweet thoughts.

TOM SNUGGERY'S MARRIAGE;

A SEQUEL TO "TOM SXUGGEKY IX SEABCH OF A WIFE," IX THE Jl'XE XTJIBEU.
B T J . BUSTING.

If the diligent reader of the Lady's Book
. bare a very excellent memory, he may possi-
bly be reminded by the preceding caption of
certain adventures that befell the above-men-
tioned gentleman while endeavoring to ascer-
tain the causes and effects of the marriage
state. It will be remembered, too, how reso-
lute were his conclusions upon the subject,
after having given it a thorough and impartial
investigation. But, like many other deep-laid
schemes of single men, this was doomed to
disappointment, and our assiduous inquirer
into matrimonial affairs, and repudiator of the
connubial state, found himself, not long after
— how, he could scarcely describe — actually
"engaged."

The matter came about in this way : Chanc-
ing, one afternoon, to be rather unoccupied
with mercantile affairs, he strolled around the
corner and into the counting-room of a bro-
ther merchant, where he found seated in a
cozily indolent attitude, his senatorial friend,
Charley Osborne.

•Why, Tom," he cried, "is that yon?
Heard you 'd gone to Boston."

" Gone to Boston ! What for ?"

" Why, I heard you had gone there to get
married."

" Married ! Bless my soul, how ridiculous!
Why, who ever told such a confounded story
as that?"

"Well, that's the report. But tell me,
Tom, how did you succeed in that wife-hunting
expedition that I overhauled you in the other
day?"

• • What ! You mean my investigations into
the philosophy of marriage?" asked Tom,
concealing his customary bashfulness on this
6ubject behind a very unaccustomed grandilo-
quence. "Well, now, to tell the truth, I
have hardly thought of it since. It all went
into one ear and out at the other. Just an
episode, you know, in a day's ride, as one
may say."

Now, this was about as "confoundedly"
false on the part of our friend Tom as the
story which he had so recently censured in
another, for he had thought unusually much

about this subject of the philosophy of mar
riage ; not in a romantic way, of course, but
strictly in a scientific estimation of its com-
parative advantages and defects. He had, in
fact, reached that period of a man's life which
mostly comes sooner, but seldom or never
misses coming some time, when he finds his
bachelor comforts becoming monotonous, his
easy-chair uneasy, his loose slippers beginning
to pinch, his buttons to drop off with most
amazing frequency, and the whole outer and
inner man to feel in a dreadful state of dis-
comfort.

"Now, I tell you what, Tom," said Osborne,
breaking a momentary pause in the dialogue,
"you've^o< to be married, sooner or later;
you 're in for it ; it 's only a question of time,
and the sooner it's off your mind the better.
Come, now — I know the nicest girl, up at
Albany, that ever you saw. Suit you to a T.
Come over with me to dinner, and my wife
shall tell you all about her. And, by the
way" — looking at his watch — " it 's high time
now for us to start. Come along."

It was difficult for Tom, under any circum-
stances, to refuse a good dinner, and he found
it still more so on this occasion, when the zest
of the meal was to be enhanced by revelations
concerning a "nice girl." So off they both
went to Mr. Osborne's residence.

It was almost dark when Tom alighted with
his friend at the gate of the fine mansion
before which they had drawn up. And here
our hero met with an additional argument in
favor of Osborne's advice, for, standing at the
gateway as they entered, was a nnrse, bearing
the tiny infant heir of the Osborne heritage,
which Charley had no sooner seen than he
stooped to kiss, in so loving and paternal a
manner that Tom's eyes and mouth both
watered at the sight.

And indeed harder hearts than Tom's have
melted at sight of that purest of all domestia
exhibitions. Nothing so takes the stone out
of a man's heart. Here, in this working
world, you see the man of office busy with
his political schemes, or the man of merchan-
dise with his wares. You may look in vain,

403

404

godey's lady's book axd magazine.

from sunrise till sunset, on liis face, for that
look of tenderness, of pure emotion, honest
and unrestrained, which just now sparkled in
the face of Charley Osborne. You may fancy
that it is not there, that it never was there ;
but suddenly, at the threshold of his domestic
privacy, an affectionate wife, or a tiny atom
of humanity, with upturned face, beckons
him back from the outer storm to the inner
shelter. The stately form and the stern face,
even if they grow no less stately nor stern in
outward seeming, lose their character when
we see them lean to embrace or stoop to kiss.
And so our hero was softened in this pre-
paratory manner for the divulgence of those
matters which were to exercise so important
a bearing on his future life.

Mrs. Osborne, who from her heart commise-
rated poor Tom, as happily married women
are apt to do bachelors, espoused his cause in
the most winning way when the errand to
which Mr. Osborne had alluded was unfolded
to her. But she was much too romantic a
young woman to allow so fine an opportunity
for intrigue to pass by without enhancing the
interest of the affair by such devices of her
own as her superior tact might instance.

Her arrangement, therefore, was as follows :
Tom should not be introduced to the young
lady in question ; he should not even learn
her name ; but for a certain period should
content himself with an incognito correspond-
ence. Mrs. Osborne volunteered to open the
way for this, placing Tom, as she promised,
on the same footing as the lady ; and both
were to remain unknown to each other until
such time, if ever, as they might mutually
agree to an interview. This modus operandi
was peculiarly agreeable to Tom. because he
escaped thereby the terrors of an awkward
introduction to a strange girl, and he embraced
the plan with much alacrity.

It will not be needful to go into any histori-
cal details in regard to this correspondence.
Suffice it to say that Tom, on his part, from
first to last, had been so charmed with the
modesty, candor, and good sense of the un-
known correspondent that at the end of six
months he wrote to solicit an interview, as the
papers say, "with a view to matrimony ;" and
the reply being, according to his hopeful inter-
pretation, highly favorable, he at once fixed an
early day for visiting that respectable Teutonic
city of legislators which lies so far out of reach
of the fret and fume of the great metropolis.

First, however, he sought Mrs. Osborne,
and by every effort strove to win from her the
name of the fair one, or some more definite
description of her personal charms than the
"splendid eyes and graceful figure" with
which the diplomatic lady had regaled his
senses. But this errand was entirely unsuc-
cessful, the reply being peremptory and to the
point: " Go and see for yourself ; you '11 find'
the name on the door." So one fine May
morning at seven o'clock found Mr. Snuggery
at the Hudson Street depot, en route to Albany.
He had not allowed himself a holiday from
business for a long time ; and as the train
slid gracefully up the river he was soon
charmed with the beauty of all he saw. The
delicate haze, like a veil of translucent sun-
beams, drooped and rose over the water, over
the shipping, over the sombre faces of the
pallisades, and at length gathered into deeper
mistiness among the loftier passes of the
Highlands.

Mr. Snuggery enjoyed the varying landscape
with more of the artist's than the merchant'3
eye. In fact, the unaccustomed scenery
brought back to him those younger days of
aspiration and sentiment which for so many
years had been strangers to his life, but which
who of us ctoes not love to recall in all their
old" magical and lovely vesture ? Tom, in
short, forgot himself; his six-and-thirty years
were cleverly cloven in twain, and, for the
time, only the earlier half had existence and
interest for his thoughts.

Thus dreaming, and thus running back into
the past, our hero forgot to note his progress ;
and happening in a pause of the train to no-
tice an unusual bustle among the baggage and
passengers around him, he at once conjectured
that they had reached the Albany Ferry. To
make himself entirely s«re of the matter,
however, instead of using his eyes, and look-
ing for the goodly town, he started from his
dreaming posture with great precipitation,
and accosted the brakesman on the platform.

" Is this where you get off for Albany ?"

"Yes, sir; this is where you get on for
Albany," replied that official, too busy to pay
much attention either to questions or answers.

So Mr. Snuggery, without noticing the mis-
understanding, got off; but finding everything
strange and unaccustomed to his view — no
ferry visible, nor any huge depots, nor shops,
nor foundries, such as he had been wont to
see there — he at once conjectured that he had

TOM SNUGGERY'S MARRIAGE.

405

made a mistake, and started for the train
again. He was just too late, however, for
before ho could go half a dozen paces the
already moving train had steamed on out of
reach, leaving him, blank with disappoint-
ment, on the bank of the river.

" Where the deuce am I ?" said Mr. Snug-
gery to himself. He turned to the paltry way
station, which his confused state of mind had
magnified into the Albany depot, and read
'• RmsKiiKt k." On a mile-board near at hand
he read, "to Albany, 56 miles I"

" Now. isn't this a pretty piece of business?"
thought Mr. Suuggery, gazing after the train
now vanishing in the dim perspective. His
diagrin was still more heightened by remem-
bering that the train in which he was to ar-
rive, and the hour at which he was to pay his
respects, had been duly mentioned to the
expectant damsel, whom he now pictured
waiting in blissful impatience for the ap-
proaching train.

"And, after all, to disappoint her I Well,
it 's really too bad ! " said Mr. Snuggery, again
and again. "Too bad for anything !"

He walked impatiently into the station, and
referred to the time-table. Four hours before
the next train. Slow and dreary hours they
would be to him, that was certain, and hours
of cruel misapprehension on the part of that
star of all his hopes, whose orbit encircled
the domains of Albany.

He looked up at the sign-board again.
"Rhinebeck." There it was. It was no use
to look at it; it wouldn't read "Albany."
The telegraph was ticking in one corner of the
room ; but even that was of no use to him in
this dilemma, because the unaccountable per-
versity of Mrs. Osborne had concealed the
name of his correspondent. There was, in
short, nothing to be done but to pass the
next four hours in the most comfortable way
possible ; and as Mr. Snuggery was not a man
to indulge long in a surly mood, his counte-
nance presently resumed its wonted serenity,
and he resolved to sally forth and see what
there might be to see in the village, which cer-
tainly was not ninch.* Many a traveller has
passed over the iron road far oftener than Mr.
Snuggery, and yet been quite as unversed in
the locality here mentioned as he was himself.

Emerging from the railroad station, he first
came upon a hotel, where an English landlord

* Of course the " Landing," not the borough of Khine-
beck, is here de>cribed.

dispensed him some English ale out of a
pewter pitcher. Refreshed in this sumptuous
manner, he bent his steps inland, and in the.
course of a few hundred yards came suddenly
to the end of the town, by finding himself,
unannounced, in the middle of a barnyard.
The line of hills along the river here rose al-
most perpendicularly, and was covered with
loose stones. To the right hand there was a
hay-press at work baling hay, which engrossed
the interest of our cast-away traveller for
some time. To the left was a row of mean
houses, in front of which some very dirty
women were hanging up clothes from the wash.
But, tiring of both these interesting features
of village scenery, Mr. Snuggery took off his
coat, as the day commenced to grow warm,
and proceeded to climb the steep bill which I
havo already mentioned.

The view from this elevation was very
lovely. Looking over the hamlet and the river
to the opposite shore, the prospect was bound-
ed by a chain of beautiful rolling hills, with
chalky summits. On the Rhinebeck side the
early green of spring was here and there
peeping up among the dead grass and leaves
of winter. A few cattle were scattered on the
soft, undulating slope receding from the river,
and a ruined cattle-shed and stack added an
additional charm to the view. The whole
scene was so like Mr. Snuggery's old, faded
memories of the Rhineland in early days of
travel, that he saw at once the origin of the
name. Pious old German emigrants, perhaps,
with loving memories of the river of Fader-
land, had first settled in that quiet spot, and
given to it, reverently, that name, of all others
geographical, to the German mind most dear.

Mr. Snuggery walked some distance along
this high slope, overlooking the road to the
town farther on ; but at length, growing
weary, he spread his coat on the ground as a
cushion, and, leaning against a dilapidated
picket fence at the very brink of the abrupt
descent, gave way once more to those reflec-
tions which his railway mishap had so rudely
dispelled.

The hill below him was here steep btU
grassy and smooth, and at its foot looked into
the pleasant back yard of a neat house — the
neatest, indeed, that Mr. Snuggery had yet
seen in the place. By gazing through the
palings, a gentleman could be observed direct-
ing some gardening operations, a child or two
were playing in the yard, and in the low

406

godey's lady's book and magazine.

doorway sat a young girl, reading. This
latter item, of course, first arrested Tom's
attention ; but the paling being close and the
distance considerable, his researches were not
blessed with much success, and he soon tired
of twisting his neck to look at her.

It was one of those still, hazy days, in
which the sun does not shine, nor yet the
clouds gather. The murmur of the river
and the occasional lowing of cows, mingling
with the just audible sound of conversation
in the yard below, were singularly sudorific
upon Mr. Snuggery ; and his efforts to pass
away those much lamented four hours were
very materially aided by his falling asleep.
And passing from sleeping to dreaming was but
a short step. Mr. Snuggery thought he was
once more upon the escaped train, hastening
to the scene of his prospective conquest. But,
confused as was his mind when he had been,
awhile ago, dreaming awake, it was evidently
still more adrift now that he dreamed with
his eyes shut. Whether ale has intoxicating
qualities is still an open question ; but at all
events Tom thought there were two trains,
instead of one, flying beside each other with
the most reckless speed ; first one gaining in
the race, then the other, until the dizzy
sleeper saw ahead of him an inclined plane
down which the impetuous trains rushed side
by side, and the bottom of which seemed to
his affrighted gaze to converge into a single
track ! One moment of nightmare horror ;
the next a terrific crash, a chorus of screams
and struggles, and Mr. Snuggery awoke.

Awoke. But where and how ? Evidently
his slumber had been greatly prolonged. The
afternoon was far spent. The interesting
family, previously mentioned, had spread
their tea-table in the yard, to enjoy the fresh
spring air ; and here, prostrate amid broken
dishes, overturned table, and a wreck of
things generally, hatless and coatless, with a
countenance expressive of the blankest be-
wilderment, lay Mr. Thos. Snuggery, the cen-
tral figure in this narrative, and certainly also
in the horrified family circle which he had
entered with so little ceremony !

The cause of the mishap was easily ex-
plained. Looking to the summit of the steep
bank above, one might perceive the dismem-
bered fragments of a panel of picket, through
whose feeble barrier the stout form of Mr.
Snuggery had been treacherously permitted
to slide. Philosophers may calculate with

accuracy the momentum of a body of the size,
shape, and compactness of Mr. Snuggery,
rolling heels over head down a steep slope
upon a neatly spread tea-table ; but it Is
enough for our purpose to state that the fall
was quite sufficient to awaken him. It is true
that for a moment he looked around, with the
screams still in his ear, for some vestiges of
the two unfortunate railway trains ; but see-
ing a wreck of another character, and com-
passing in a reasonable time the ridiculous
nature of his accident, he resolved, as his
new companions were now doing, to put the
pleasantest face possible on the matter, and
closed up with a hearty laugh, which amply
sufficed to his amused host for all other apolo-
gies which he might have endeavored to make.

After a few minutes, indeed, with the broken
china gathered up and replaoed by a new ser-
vice, the cloth again spread, and the chairs
drawn around, Mr. S. found himself cosily
seated with the rest of the family, and in
most blissful tile-h-tUe with the young lady
who had already excited his admiration dur-
ing his recent elevated position.

Mr. Snuggery found his new acquaintances
the pleasantest possible people. He talked
with them as freely as if they had been old
friends, and was little disturbed to remember
that the much expected train had long since
hurried by, while he had been wrapped in
tranquil slumbers.

There was now no other prospect but pass-
ing the night at the Landing ; and Tom's
apprehensive memory of the poor accommo-
dations he had noticed while imbibing his ale,
were speedily removed by a most hospitable
and pressing invitation to remain the night
where he was.

Nothing but the most interesting manners
of the young lady, and the excessive open-
heartedness of his host, could have induced
Mr. Snuggery to presume so far on so brief an
acquaintance. But setting aside, for once,
those scruples of formality which had always
been a distinguishing trait of his character,
he soon decided to partake of the generous
kindness of his new friends.

Mr. Briggs, the proprietor, was a widower,
and lived for the most part a lonely life in ■
his pleasant cottage, with no other family than
his servants and two children. Miss Ella
Briggs was his niece, and, as Mr. Snuggery by
chance discovered, only visiting here from her
home higher up the river.

TOM SNUGGERY 5 MARRIAGE.

407

In their society the brief twilight passed
pleasantly, ami when the lamps were lit and
the ohildren were put to sleep, Miss Ella, in-
stead of hiding herself behind the piano with
that polished dignity customary to young
ladies after tea-time, at once came forward
with a proposal to mend Mr. Snuggery's coat
sleeve, which had been sadly rent in his fall,
notwithstanding it had been a cushion rather
than a covering at the time ; for being cleverly
tu. iked against the fence, and at the same
time caught by Mr. Snuggery in his half
awakened state of rapid descent, a seam or
two had been seriously injured.

This proposal warmed Tom's heart more
than anything else. Girls that look nice and
talk prettily, thought he, are plenty, but girls
who volunteer to work before strange faces
are rare, indeed.

[The erroneous philosophy of this remark
we are obliged to insert for the sake of the
fidelity of our narrative. But it is a sad com-
mentary on the ignorance of bachelors in
general in their estimate of the female charac-
ter, and we doubt not that if now referred to,
I Mr. S. would willingly retract a heresy so
monstrous.]

The coat was soon mended and on, and Mr.
Briggs then proposed that Ella should sing a
song, whereupon Miss Briggs sang "Rally
Round the Flag." Now, Tom was no judge
of music in general, but he was so thoroughly
moved by this little performance that the
ballad in question, up to this moment, re-
mains in his catalogue as the first and finest
of all musical compositions now extant.

As the hour grew late, Mr. Briggs grew
silent, and finally sleepy. Mr. Snuggery
I walked out upon the porch overlooking the
river, and sat down to contemplate the beau-
tiful scenery spread out under the light of a
full moon. The murmur of the river was like
a chorus of doves, and the ripple of its waters
under the moonbeams was like the flashing
of their wings. A scene so perfectly beauti-
ful Tom had perhaps not witnessed for many
long years. Immersed in the cares of busi-
ness, without any of the relaxation afforded
by nightly reunion with a happy domestic
circle, he had almost forgotten how full of
beauty was the. world around him. It was
natural that under such circumstances his
thoughts should ponder over the past and
form wishes for the future. One thing, how-
ever, sorely troubled him, and gave him se-

vere twinges whenever it came into his mind,
and that was the business of the morrow.
How could he have ever made a promise so
important on a foundation so slender ? How-
could he have hoped to ever form a happy
connection with a girl whom he had never
seen ? Was not this accidental detention a
providential circumstance ? Had he not bet-
ter, after all, decline or put off the proposed
interview with his epistolary charmer ? And
then how little it was probable that she could
equal in worth and accomplishments this
charming girl, in the light of whose eyes he
had lived now for the long space of four hours I
True, four hours were not so very much, but
then her superior merit was self-evident.
" Why, it would not require a half hour of
that girl's society," thought Mr. Snuggery,
looking at his neatly mended sleeve, " to con-
vince one of her high qualities." In fact,
Mr. Snuggery, like the famous Mrs. Bluebeard
in the fairy-book, was " in a quandary." Nor
was he likely to be much relieved from it by
finding, a moment later, the shadow of Miss
Ella falling across the moonlit piazza beside
him.

"I hope you don't feel any ill effects from
that dreadful fall, Mr. Snuggery," said the
soft voice behind him.

"On the contrary," was Tom's gallant re-
ply, "if I were not so total a stranger here, I
should ask you to walk out and enjoy this
lovely evening. But really I should not know
where to go to nor when to stop."

" The walks here are too rugged to be very
pleasant, but the boating is delightful. Do
you row, Mr. Snuggery?"

Tom was reluctantly obliged to say no to
this question, which, otherwise answered,
might have opened upon him a vista of de-
lightful circumstances yet unexperienced.
But, contenting himself with offering Miss
Briggs his arm for a promenade on the piazza,
he rapidly forgot in her society the puzzling
matters of the morrow, and the gloomy destiny
which it seemed to portend for him.

There is a bottom to every wineglass — alas
for it ! — and an end to all occasions of extra-
ordinary human happiness. It finally grew
so late that Tom was forced, for appearanoe
sake, to separate from this dangerous medium
of inthralment, and seek the repose of his
chamber. He went to sleep with the murmur
of the Hudson coming in at his window, and

408

godet's lady's book and magazine.

sounding to his drowsy senses like the music
of Ella Briggs' voice.

In the morning, refreshed and grimly reso-
lute, as one bent on a disagreeable but serious
duty, Mr. Snuggery started for the upward
""train. His new friends were earnest in their
solicitations that he should stop again on his
return. He even learned (by accident) that
the visit of Miss Ella would probably continue
at least a week, and Mr. Briggs said if he
would only stop as he went back, they would
all go out boating while the moonlight nights
lasted.

Tearing himself away from his friends at
length, Mr. Snuggery went down to the train.
Feeling in no mood for the sunny memories
that he had indulged in when previously
seated therein, he sought the smoking car,
and endeavored, in his cigar, to hide for a
time his gloomy doubts and troubles.

While searching in his pocket for his cigar-
case, he drew forth a folded letter. It had no
envelope, and he would have thrust it back
again unnoticed, only that something about it
happened to attract his attention at the mo-
ment, and he unfolded it and glanced over its
contents.

What was his perplexity to discover that it
was the very letter which he had lately writ-
ten, appointing the time for meeting his fair
correspondent at Albany ! Could it be possi-
ble that he had forgotten, after all, to send it ?
And was the fair letter-writer actually still
ignorant of his intended visit ? If that was
so, he had better get out at the very next
station, and escape back to New York (or
more probably to Rhinebeck) while he was
yet free. But Tom was certain he had sent
the letter ; in fact, on reflection, he remem-
bered to have mailed it, and he could only
account for its appearance in his pocket on
the ground that he had, in his trepidation at
the time of writing so important a document,
prepared a copy in order to make some altera-
tions. If so, the fact had entirely escaped
his memory ; but there was certainly no other
explanation possible, so Tom was forced to
accept it.

The matter which was so puzzling to Mr.
Snuggery can be more readily explained to
the reader. Miss Ella Briggs was a young lady
of Albany, and a former schoolmate of Mrs.
Osborne. This lady, knowing well her supe-
riority as a thorough and true woman, had,
after the little arrangement made with Mr.

Snuggery at the beginning of this story, gone
to great pains to induce her to take up with
the plan alluded to, and answer Tom's letters.
Her modesty and her love of fun had a con-
siderable struggle, but the diplomatic genius
of Mrs. Osborne overcame all scruples, and
so she was the identical girl with whom Tom
had been so long corresponding. But what
was commenced as a joke on her part she
found was appreciated in another light by
Mr. Snuggery ; and it must be confessed that
she was not entirely unmoved by the manly
strength of character and sincerity of heart
which she read in Tom's letters. In the
course of the several months' correspondence,
she had even so far compromised herself as to
accede to an interview with Tom, as we have
already seen. But scarcely had this import-
ant step been decided upon than her native
modesty and good sense took alarm at the
imprudence of her course, and she impera-
tively decided that the meeting ought not to
take place ; that it would be unladylike and
unbecoming in her to permit it.

But it was now too late to send word to Mr.
Snuggery, and prevent his coming. Nothing
but retreat would accomplish her purpose ; so,
much to the surprise of her father and mo-
ther, she informed them of her sudden inten-
tion to pay a visit to her Uncle Joe at Rhine-
beck, and forthwith took the train, the very
day before Tom was to start on his little
mission of love.

Now, when Mr. Snuggery, in his vexation
at having missed the train, wandered up
among the high hills of Rhinebeck, he was of
course in as happy a state of oblivion con-
cerning the close proximity of his unknown
friend as it is possible to conceive ; so he
folded up his coat into a convenient cushion
against the old fence, as we have already
narrated, and retired into his meditations.

The manner in which Tom folded his coat
happened to have a very important bearing
upon his interests at thjs conjuncture of his
fortunes. Careful man as he was, and anxious
to preserve the fair fabric of his goodly gar-
ment from contact with the soil, he had folded
it neatly inside out, exposing thereby the
inner breast pocket, in which was the last
letter he had received from Albany. In the
course of his slumbers, Miss Ella Briggs,
seated at her uncle's doorstep, reading as we
have already described, was not a little sur-
prised to see one of her own letters come skip-

TOM SNUGGERY S MARRIAGE.

409

jping down the Bteep elevation, and Bntter to

in a feet. She might almost have imagined

it came from tho clouds, had not her sharp

b sight detected through tho shrubbery the

i somnolent form of Mr. Snuggery far above her!

She was not a moment in determining the

I identity of the letter, but how it or its owner

I came there all the powers of her imagination

i could not explain. If this were her proposed

» lover, as the letter would certainly seem to

warrant, it became indeed a puzzle to discover

by whit strange course of events he had been

Ehung up over her head in that style. It must
•he confessed that the next hour or two of Miss
,1 Ella's existence were spent in the most bewil-
.'dered state that it is possible to describe. Of
I course her uncle knew nothing about her
•' ''affair," nor would she inform him ; indeed,
"there was something here now that she would
| have been glad herself to bo informed of.
■(This information was in time vouchsafed to
jher by the impetuous appearance of our hero
.'upon the scene, and the explanations which
followed. The accompanying crash and con-
losion contained so much of the ludicrous that
Jas soon as the explanation of her lover's un-
looked-for presence became clear to her mind,
it was not long before she found herself tho-
roughly acquainted with him.

Anxious, however, to get the letter back
nto his pocket without making him acquainted
iwith her personality, she had recourse to the
(little effort at tailoring which had so charmed
Tom, he, poor fellow ! being utterly ignorant
|of the diplomatic necessities which had pro-
duced a proposal that he considered so highly
meritorious. When she put back the letter

Einto the coat pocket, however, it must be
confessed that her love of fun, or possibly a
desire to make her real presence known to
Torn in a peculiarly delicate and womanly
Way, prompted her to place his epistle as well
|as her own in the pocket.

These explanations, so satisfactory to the
Reader, were of course still a hidden veil to
*Ir. Snuggery ; and, having arrived at that
;ood old city, chiefly remarkable for the dis-
lonesty of its cabmen, he strolled up State
Itreet in a singular mood of irresolution, and
it length, after wandering vacantly among
:he public buildings, and putting off the«evil
lament as long as possible, repaired to the

fiven number on C Street. Reaching the

loor, he read on a modest door-plate the
lame "Jeremiah Bricos."
vol. lxix. — 33

Mr. Snuggery to himself. "What a strange
coincidence !"

The servant answering his summons in-
formed him that Miss Briggs was not at home.

" And when will she return ?"

The servant did not know.

" Did she leave no message, in case inquiry
was made for her?"

The servant, lirst referring to Mrs. Briggs,
within, answered in the negative.

"Well, can you tell where she has gone?"

The servant evidently became suspicious of
such importunity from a strange gentleman;
but replied that she thought "Miss Briggs
had gone down the river."

A light was now dawning in Tom's mind,
not only upon the matter of the letter, but in
fact upon the whole condition of his affairs,
which seemed to be simplifying in a most
gratifying manner. One more question would
settle the matter ; but before asking it he
slipped a gratuity into the woman's hand, and
then inquired, in his most suave manner :
"Can you tell me if Miss Briggs is not at
Rhinebeck?"

"Yes ; Miss Briggs had gone to Rhinebeck
to her uncle."

The whole affair thus rendered beautifully
clear and satisfactory, Mr. Snuggery, with an
elasticity which astounded the servant, de-
parted from the door-step, and disappeared
behind the street corner. Reaching the Ferry
in time for a returning New York train, he
was speedily steaming down the Hudson.

It may be conjectured that he did not miss
his intentions this time, by either sleeping or
waking dreams, but descended from the plat-
form of the cars at the Landing with all his
faculties in the utmost state of activity, and
his whole outer man beaming with those su-
perior attractions and advantages for which
few indeed of our younger bachelors could
compare with him.

The remainder of this narrative can be much
more safely left to the reader's imagination
than to my descriptive powers. The boatings
on the Hudson, the long nights of ramble by
moonlight, the graceful manners of Miss Ella
Briggs, and the rapture of Mr. Snuggery ;
these were indeed sweet to behold; but, as
Byron has very wisely queried —

"Whu can describe the indescribablo?"

The matter was in due time happily arranged.
Mrs. Charley Osborne reflects much credit upon
herself for the success of the affair ; but Tom

410

godey's lady's book and magazine.

reverently ascribes the whole of it to a kind
interposition of the Fates in his favor ; while
Mrs. Snuggery, the light of a happy home,
often observes to her friends, in a quiet way,
that some receive offers in one way and some
in another, but she is the first woman who
ever had a husband served up on the tea-table
for her supper !

THE FAMILY DRAWING MASTER.

IN A SERIES OF FAMILIAR CONVERSATIONS.

QUADRILATERAL FIGURES— ( Concluded).

W. Please, papa, the last drawing was
rather difficult. We should like an easier
one to-day.

P. Ah, very well ! but we will first take
notice of these two figures.

Ion. One is a long Square — and the other is
a long Rhomb.

P. But there cannot be such a
thing as a long square. A square is a
square ; and if you increase its length,
it ceases to be a square. So if you
make a rhomb longer, it becomes
something else. Now, try and de-
scribe these figures, and then I will
give you their names.

L. I notice, papa, in the first one
that it has a pair of long
sides, which are of equal
length, and a pair of short
sides, which are alike in size.
So, instead of saying that it
has four equal sides, we must
say that it has two pairs of
equal sides.

Ion. Yes, and it has four
right angles — just as a square
has.

P. It is called a Rectangle.

L. Then I will say : A
figure with two pairs of equal

sides, and four right angles, is called a Rect-
angle.

W. Then the next figure has two pairs of
equal sides, but it has no right angles in it.
I '11 tell you what you may say. It has two
pairs of equal angles ; because, there is a
pair of acute angles, which are equal, and a
pair of obtuse angles, which are equal also.

P. This figure has a rather long name — it
is as long as its shape. It is called a Paral-
lelogram. Now, try and remember that 1

L. I '11 write it down, with its description.
A figure, with two pairs of equal sides, and
two pairs of equal angles, is called a Parallel-
ogram.

P. You may now draw the rectangle and
parallelogram ; and when you have done them
correctly, here are two drawings, very easy
ones, for you to copy. See how many four-

RECTANGLES.

RECTANGLES, PARALLELOGRAMS, SQCARES, AXD RHOMB.

THE FAMILY DKAWIXQ-MASTEK.

411

sided figures you can discover in the second
one.

L. I will examine it, papa. It has one
square, one rhomb, three rectangles, and two
parallelograms.

IT. And the side of the large shed makes
I another parallelogram.

L. I think not, Willie, because one pair of
its sides are not equal ; the top line is longer
than the bottom one.

Ion. And in a different direction ; so that it
is a — a something else.

P. Here are some more four-sided figures : —

IT. Please, papa, I would rather not under-
take to describe them. They have a very
awkward look.

P. Well, you need not do so. I will sim-
ply tell you their names. They are called
.'urns. Every quadrilateral figure, which
is not a square, or a rhomb, or a rectangle, is
called a Trapezium, no matter what may be
its shape.

L. What is meant by Quadrilateral figures,
papa?

P. You may almost perceive that it must
mean four-sided. The word "quadrilateral"
is made from two Latin words meaning four-
sided.

You may now sit down, and make a lesson
on all the quadrilateral figures you have been
learning about.

LESSON 6.

QfAriRILATEKAL F1GTBES.

A figure with four sides is called a Quadri-
lateral figure.

A quadrilateral figure with four equal sides,
and four right angles, is called a Square.

A quadrilateral figure with four equal sides,
and two acute and two obtuse angles, is called
a Ixhomb.

A quadrilateral figure with two pairs of
equal sides, and four right angles, is called a
Ri ctangle. ,

A quadrilateral figure with two pairs of

equal sides, and two pairs of equal angles, is

called a PiirnUi'hujrnm.

All other quadrilateral figures are called

Trapeziums.

TO MY MOTHER.

Mother, come back from the shadowy land,

Leave, for a moment, thy sister band ;

I know that (by dwelling there is fair,

Unshaded by sorrow, and dimmed not by care ;

Hut hast thon forgot that there still is one

To sit by the darkened hearth alone?

That the world is a dreary path to stray

When the loving and loved ones have passed away?

Oft they tell me of Lethe's stream,

That is quaffed by those on the far-off shore,

And they say that but as a passing dream
Seem the things of earth for evermore:

It may be that others, all others, forget ;

But I feel in my soul that thou lovest me yet.

And yet I know thou canst miss not me,

Never, oh never, as I miss thee.

I miss thee at morning when snnbeams wake

The lights and shades on the dear old lake ;

All through the long hours of the Bommot day

I miss the voice that has passed away ;

But most of all in the evening hour

When I sit alone in our favorite bower,

Hound which the roses loving twine,

True to my hand as once to thine.

And the faint, sweet fragrance that floateth there,

The stars that float through the heavenly air,

The river that murmurs the same refrain,

All, all seem to woo thee back again.

To others the world is the same as of yore ;
But to me it can be the same no more:
A shadow is resting on vale and hill,
The sad night-voices are sadder still,
The wood-paths' green is a sadder hue,
The summer sky not so bright a blue.
The lay of the song-birds too soon is past,
And the flowers I cherish Cade too fa>t.

Mother, come back from the shadowy land.
Leave, for a moment, thy sister band ;
Take me forever with thee to dwell
Where they know not the parting word '
Death's river is dark, but I fear it not,
For love can lighten the darkest spot —
Oh for the love of the far-offshore!
With thine arm around me for evermore.

Farewell !'*

The faults that are committed through ex-
cess of kindness, it requires small kindness
to excuse.

BLANCHE DANA'S SEASON.

BY VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND.

"Tiie hotel's full to runnin' over, Mr. Sage,"
said that somewhat dark, and considerably
spare and angular housewife, as she dexter-
ously whisked off from the old-fashioned grid-
dle a final reinforcement of cakes for her
husband's breakfast.

He sat at the table, in his shirt sleeves and
gray trousers, sunburned, coarse, lymphatic,
not without a certain practical foresight and
steady, plodding energy, whose results had
manifested themselves, during a couple of
score of years, in sundry flourishing wheat
fields, and orchards, and pasture lands ; in
short, Ichabod Sage had steadily advanced
from a common "chore boy" to a prosperous
farmer in an agricultural town which ram-
bled, disjointed and picturesque, over its hills
and valleys, that leaned dreamily towards
Long Island Sound.

My story has not chiefly to do with these
people ; and they are a type of so large a
class that you will easily recognize them.
Narrow people these were, limited in mind
and heart, in aspiration and purpose, concen-
trating all their forces, both mental and exe-
cutive, in acquisition — acquisition that ended
in itself, and in reality benefited themselves
little, and nobody else at all — living for the
sole purpose of counting, year by year, their
slow, steady accretion of acres.

They were childless, and no fountains of
tenderness or self-sacrifice had ever unsealed
themselves in the hard, barren natures of
this man and woman. The marked differences
in their characters produced only a perpetual
harmony. Mrs. Sage was of a rapid, nervous
habit, curious and loquacious ; her husband
was stolid, slow, reticent.

"Likely enough," answered the farmer,
heaping his plate with a fresh instalment of
griddle cakes. "Folks that has no end to
money, and nothin' to do, may as well throw
it away there as anywheres."

Mr. Sage was somewhat in the habit of
dealing out general principles, of which his
wife frequently made some unexpected prac-
tical application.

"Wall, Ichabod, if folks will throw away
their money, I can't see why we ain't got as
412

good right as others to try for otir share of
it" — wiping the perspiration from her face,
and taking her seat at the table. " There 's
our south and west chambers, now, big, cool,
pleasant rooms ; we could let 'em for a good
round price, the next two months, and the
ride is a cool, shady one down to the hotel,
where they '11 have to go for meals. What do
you say to my lettin' 'em ?"

"It'll put us out a good d-eal, havin' that '
sort of folks round our house," answered
Ichabod, who was of the naturally conserva-
tive temperament in all things.

" Wall, we can't make money in this world
without bein' put out in more ways than
one" — which statement Mrs. Sage's husband
was in no wise inclined to dispute. " If you
have good luck with your harvests, and I
could let the rooms, you might ventur' on
takin' them salt medders down to the neck.
I 'm bent on your havin' 'em afore the land's
riz."

Ichabod Sage lifted his hurley figure from
the chair, and looked at his wife with a deep-
ening sense of her administrative and financial
abilities. "Wall, Jerushy, do jest as you
like in this matter" — the low meadows spread-
ing a tempting perspective before his mental
vision.

And so in this way it came to pass that the
Sages took their first lodgers. Sooner or later,
all houses gather into them some of the ro-
mance and mystery of human life ; sooner or
later, some drama goes on under the old roof,
which thereafter hallows and consecrates it,
and the dark, silent timbers witness the birth
or death, the joy or sorrow which repeat the
great tragedies of every generation, and the
still old house has its memories and its his-
tory. And the homestead of Farmer Sage
had its turn at last. No one would have sus-
pected that the large old yellow house, which
for so many years had slept on in its atmo-
sphere of dead domestic and social calm,
would be awakened at last ; that golden
threads would flash and burn through the
sombre gray of its life, and that its gloomy,
impoverished silence should thrill at last
with tremulous hopes and fears — with those

BLAXCITE

SEASON-.

413

■ghtiest joys and griefs, which strike their
OOt far down in our common humanity.

" Oh, Caroline, this is charming I What a
■ppy exchange this wide, pleasant, old-fash-
uii.il chamber is for those little hoxes of
looms at the hotel 1 The dear Bunshine finds
10 hindrance here. And what a landscape
torn these windows, too ! There are the hills
ifar off, in perpetual worship, and the river
silver chorus at their feet. Then that
lark grove of pines on the left are a. picture
hemselves : and beyond there is a bit of sea
nr, not so much in itself, you know, as in
■hat it suggests. You must take a full
fcaught of all this before you realize what
fe have gained in our exchange of rooms."

A clear, sweet voice, along which thrilled
Whatsoever feeling held for the moment its
Bastery in the soul of the speaker. And
;here she stood by the window, in the bloom
of her early twenties, not beautiful, nor hand-
Line, and less than either pretty, and yet
with such a subtle, nameless attraction that,
once you had grown to love it, her face must
seem to you almost the sweetest, fairest face
in the world; a fine, clear complexion, with
bright, dark eyes, features prominent and
hardly regular, with a mouth somewhat large,
and gifted with the secret of all sweet and
tender meanings, but that could suddenly
start out from these into a fine scorn, or settle
down into grave and earnest purpose. With
a soul which controlled and harmonized a face
dike this, Blanche Dana could well afford to
dispense with any further beauty. She stood
there in her simple dress of some faintly
Bushed lawn, the white folds of the muslin
curtain crushed in her hand, and her face
thrilled with recognition and joy of the land-
scape before her.

In truth, it was one to stir an enthusiastic
nature. The old town, that leaned to the
Connecticut shore, was famous for its wild,
picturesque scenery, and the house of Farmer
Sage stood on a height which commanded one
of the finest views for miles around. White
houses gleamed in clusters over hill and val-
ley, and the wide, homely farm-houses, in the
pnidsi of fields and orchards, gave that pecu-
liar domestic feature which they always do to
the landscapes of New England. There were
the meadows, through whose dead green plush
wound, like a delicate silver overshot, the
small brooks, and the fall on the right tossing

33*

out in snowy folds its transfigured garment of
waters, and on the left was tho "bit of sound
view," with its mists that cauie and went liko
spectres, its sails that rose out of them liko
vast white blossoms: all these and much
more were in that illuminated pioture which
spread itself before Farmer Sage's front cham-
ber window.

Inside, the old-fashioned furniture had been
supplemented by various modern and luxu-
rious articles, imported from the hotel. It
was curious to see the high-post cherry bed-
stead, with its curtains of snowy dimity, in
close proximity with a rosewood dressing
cabinet, each representing such different
phases of social life.

Caroline Jeffreys was absorbed in carefully
bestowing in her drawers the rich laces which
she had just removed from her trunk. She
was a pretty girl, with blue eyes and fair hair,
and tolerably regular features. There were
no very salient points in her character. She
was usually amiable, although a little vein of
petulance disclosed itself when she was
crossed, which certainly was not remarkable,
considering her whole life and culture had for
its basis self-indulgence. Without any espe-
cial brilliancy, the girl was yet a favorite in
society, with her pretty face, her bright ways
and talk, which latter held usually a little
effervescence of wit and mirth. Blanche and
she had always been to each other what sisters
usually are who have no deep sympathy of
tastes, but whom relationship still holds with
its strong, if not vital bonds. Blanche's fa-
ther was president of a bank. She was his
only daughter, and had been his idol ever
since the death of his wife, which transpired
half a dozen years before the time that my
story commences. The cousins resided near
each other, had attended the same schools, and
occupied much the same social positions, but
the likeness ends here.

They had resorted to the sound shore be-
cause of the fine facilities for bathing which
it afforded; but the hotel had an unusual
plethora of guests this season, and some of
the townspeople opened their houses for
lodgers, amongst whom, as we have seen, was
Mrs. Sage ; and, as the young ladies were late
in engaging their rooms, and were bestowed
in very small quarters, they promptly availed
themselves of an opportunity of changing
them.

"I know, Blanche, the scenery is very

414

godey's lady's book and magazine.

pleasant," answered Caroline Jeffreys, with a
singular lack of animation in her voice; "but
I 'in doubtful whether we shall find the change
in all respects as delightful as you anticipated.
It's comfortable, of course, to have room to
turn round in, but how we shall crush our
dresses, going over to the evening parties at
the hotel ! And there, too, are the long rides
to the meals. Besides, I 'in afraid we shall
find it intolerably dull here!"

" Dull, Carrie, with the beauty and inspira-
tion of such a landscape before us ! And for
the rides morning and evening, they will
only sharpen our appetites, or we can have
our meals sent over."

"And transform ourselves at once into two
old maids I" — with a little shudder. "If
there was only a large party in this dismal
old farm-house!"

"We shouldn't be half so independent,
Carrie. We 're not quite deserted, however ;
Mrs. Sage told me that she had taken a lodger
for the opposite chamber — a gentleman with
a little girl: his daughter, probably."

"Oh, he is a married man, then!" — in a
tone touched with disgust.

At this moment the door of the opposite
chamber, which had stood ajar during the
conversation, was closed, so softly that nei-
ther of the young ladies became aware of it.
The occupant of the room had overheard the
conversation betwixt the cousins, and awaked
to the consciousness that he was occupying
the attitude of a listener by the allusion to
himself. There was a half articulated smile
on the gentleman's lips as he returned to his
book, saying, in an undertone: "You are
slightly mistaken in your deductions, which
are the result of two days' watching and
prying, 0 my hostess!" A moment later, he
continued his monologue. "I like one of
those voices ; sweet, flexible, fervent, as
though it was the fitting chord for a fine soul
to play on. I must see the face of its owner."

" What are you saying, uncle ?" a childish
voice called from the next room ; and in a
moment a small, bright little creature, her
hair falling in a golden foam of curls over
neck and shoulders, danced across the cham-
ber, and leaned on the young man's knee,
with all the pretty freedom of a child against
its mother.

"Nothing that very small girls would be
likely to understand" — patting the bright
head.

"Very small girls can understand a good
many large things," lisped the child, with a
sudden gravity, singularly at variance wit'
her face and voice.

"That is a general fact, which I am quite
ready to admit."

"And I shall not always be a very small'
girl" — coming now to that personal applica-|
tion of her uncle's remark in which she alone
felt any interest.

" Probably not. Are you anxious for the
time when you shall be something else, 0 little
Trot?"

"Trot." She had a statelier name at the
christening font, but this one had about it
some pleasant savors and associations that the
other had not. Trot's face settled into a sud-
den gravity which was amusing ; then she
lifted it suddenly, steadying her voice with a
certain emphasis along the words, as though
her decision needed to fortify itself in this
way. "Yes, Uncle Robert, I shall be very
glad when I get big, and can take your arm
like a lady every time we go out together."

"Little Trot, you know not what you ask!"
And here the gentleman bent down and lifted
the small figure on his knee, and hugged it
to him like a mother in some overstrain of
feeling. " She was all that he had to love in
the world," he thought, this man, Robert
Humphreys, with a sense of unfullilment or
loss which did not quite articulate itself into
pain.

He was not much given to sentimentalizing
over what was inevitable ; he was of too
strong and healthful a nature for such unpro-
fitable labor. There he sat, somewhere about
his thirtieth year, with a good, thoughtful,
manly face, and dark eyes which had many
things in them — fire and earnestness, smiles
and tenderness, as circumstances might de-
velop them, but eyes which usually carried
themselves with a grave steadfastness, having
some outward reticence, like their owner.
His complexion was sunburned, as of one who
had travelled ; and this man had, seeing much
of the world, and learning somewhat of its
good and evil side ; and the best thing— and
that is a great deal — to be said of him is that
he had held himself loyal to the old faith and
purities of his boyhood, through thick tempta-
tions.

He came of a broken-down family. He had
had some stout wrestling with honesty, at
least during the time when he was getting,

BLANCHE DANA S SEASON.

415

single-handed, through hia education and
profession. Afterwards lie euibraoed a favor-
able opportunity tor going abroad, and at the
end of three years lie returned home, and
found that a relative of his, a childless oni le,
had died, treating him better in death than in
life, for he left him a fortune — not large, but
comfortable.

Robert Humphreys had had one sister, the
dearest thing to him on earth ; but she came
near breaking his heart Ollce, and his wrath
had been fierce as his love was deep. Poor
Laura! Fatherless and motherless as she
was. lie had made every sacrifice to shelter
her girlhood from want or care, and she had
bloomed into her sweet womanhood with at-
tractions of person and character of which her
brother was justly proud, not dreaming, alas !
what a snare these should yet be unto her.

Laura Humphreys was just out of her teens
when she was thrown into the society of a
young Englishman of ancient but decayed
family, n kind of adventurer, who had come
to America seeking for some kind of fortune
to "turn up." Robert Humphreys distrusted
him from the first. His instincts concerning
men were keen, and he was not long in pene-
trating the superficial qualities of the hand-
some young Englishman, and finding the ar-
rogance, indolence, and habits of dissipation
whioh were a part of his essential character,
while his marked attentions to Laura Hum-
phreys awakened the solicitude of her brother.
The young foreigner had, however, all those
graces of speech and manner which are so
apt to charm the fancy of an inexperienced
woman. He won Laura's heart, and then it
was easy to convince her that her brother's
repugnance was simply the result of cruel and
unfounded prejudice.

The marriage was suddenly and surrepti-
tiously consummated, and in less than two
hours afterward the young pair were on their
way to Europe.

The girl-wife was not long in discovering
her fatal mistake. .She could have neither
confidence in nor respect for the man for
whose sake she had forsaken country and
friends. Whatsoever were the trials of Laura
Humphreys, she bore them silently, as the
penalty of her own sorely repented rashness.
Her brother had reason to suspect that she
had suffered keenly from unkindness and
neglect at the hands of her husband.

At last, more than five years after her mar-

riage, Robert Humphreys received a letter
from his sister. Her husband had deserted
her ; she was ill, it might be dying, among
strangers. She passionately entreated him to
come to her. in the name of the little daugh-
ter she must leave worse than fatherless in
the world.

The heart of Robert Humphreys was not
one to resist an appeal like this. All resent-
ment, died out of it, and in less than a week
be was on his way to his sister. But he
reached the old English town to find the haw-
thorn blooms making a white surf over ber
grave, and her young child retained in the
family of the humble but kindly-hearted peo-
ple among whom she had died.

It was a comfort to him then that the little
girl had her mother's face, and brought out
from the past, over which the years had ga-
thered their slow mists, in fresh, living pic-
tures, their lost boy and girlhood.

The Doctor returned with his niece to Ame-
rica, solemnly covenanting to be to her in
place of the dead mother and the father who
had deserted her.

The fortune into which the young physician
had recently come afforded him ample leisure,
and so, for his own sake and his niece's, he
was taking a quiet summer vacation at the
shore, and had engaged lodgings at Mrs.
Sage's. " I shall be saved all bores there,''
he said to himself; "whether they come in
the shape of tedious ceremonies or silly peo-
ple, and I can live my own life unobserved
and independent." And this, in brief, is the
history of the lodger who occupied Mrs. Sage's
south chamber.

Favorable opportunities for developing an
acquaintance betwixt the lodgers soon pre-
Bented themselves. Indeed, it was impossible,
without a persistent effort on their part to the
contrary, to avoid being frequently thrown
together. They encountered each other con-
stantly in walks, or rides to the hotel, down
among the rocks, or on the sandy beach that
stretched its tawny length at their feet ; or
off among the old turnpikes, and shady lanes,
which were always beguiling their feet away
from the house, and then, in the wide hall and
the cool old parlor, the Doctor and the young
ladies were sure to come suddenly upon each
other.

So the acquaintance grew, taking its texture
and coloring, as all acquaintance must, from
the characters of those who bring tribute to

416

godet's lady's book and magazine.

it, whatsoever gifts their hearts and minds
possess.

This one had some peculiar character and
stimulation, which even Caroline Jeffreys
vaguely felt and enjoyed, although she some-
times affirmed, as though half indignant with
herself for yielding to its charm, that the
Doctor "was not at all her style of man."
She was accustomed to that sort of flattery
which men are apt to find acceptable .with
women of her style. Doctor Humphreys was
too thoroughly in earnest, too honest, too, to
indulge in pretty speeches and gracefully
turned compliments ; and social as he was, a
slight gravity tinctured speech and manner ;
but, after all, "there was something wonder-
fully agreeable about him." So, Caroline
Jeffreys usually concluded her very superficial
analysis of the Doctor's character.

Blanche Dana had much less to say about
him, although she had a nature which reached
much more nearly to the height of the Doc-
tor's than that of her cousin's. There was no
doubt but she enjoyed his society. She was
too true and unaffected to disguise this, and
she would oftener sit still, her face in a bright,
half reverent silence, drinking in the over-
flow of the Doctor's thoughts and feeding her
soul — her soul that, abundant as her life
seemed, went a hungry sometimes.

For her life of luxury, of pleasure seeking,
her life, which was full of all exterior color
and grace, did not satisfy the nature of this
girl. Each year that ripened in it brought
some added sense of incompleteness, barren-
ness, unfulfilmeiit. She carried with her a
vague sense of want and repression, which
hardly concentrated itself in pain, and yet
left her unsatisfied. The deepest, truest part
of her nature stirred itself sometimes, and
half uttered a protest against an existence
that had no work nor purpose beyond itself.
Still, Blanche Dana could but half interpret
the voice of her better self. It confused and
bewildered her, and she was half afraid that
it indicated something wrong or morbid in
herself. Generous high-souled impulses,
which fell short of true purposes, .thrilled
through the soul of this girl. She little sus-
pected that these fleeting inspirations, which
she hardly dared entertain hospitably, might
ripen into heroisms, and self-sacrifice, and
faithful service. Generous instinct and deli-
cate intuition might crystallize into sound
principles and earnest action, or they might

waste away and lose themselves in the barren
soil of the years, as brooks do sometimes and
never reach the rivers.

But Doctor Robert Humphreys brought a
new power and force into this summer of the
life of Blanche Dana. There was some strong
magnetism about the man. She came into
another mental atmosphere. Her heroism
widened. The dumb pain and yearning in
her soul articulated itself. Her resolutions
and purposes took the place of longings and
yearnings. Blanche Dana was not conscious
that her life was shaping itself toward new
ends ; neither was the young Doctor aware
what an influence he was exerting on this
fresh young soul with all its sweet and lofty
possibilities.

Blanche discerned him : the faith, the truth,
the solid principle that was in this man, with
his wiser, better instructed soul : instructed
both by lessons of adversity and prosperity,
and the life which he now lived, "as uuto
God."

And the Doctor was not aware how the great
purpose, underlying all others in his soul, con-
stantly manifests itself, how the one love and
faith which possessed him shed unconsciously
their fine savor about his thoughts and his
acts. His interest in the sweet, enthusiastic
face, which Blanche upturned to his talk,
deepened daily. He penetrated to the more
reverent womanhood that lay beneath ; he
comprehended its restless aspirations, its
higher instincts, and he knew, too, the only
rock of refuge for Blanche Dana.

Not that their talk was most frequently
grave, or solemn, though its highest season
had some basis of earnestness. But both this
man and woman were in their youth still, and
had a keen relish of humor, and Blanche's
laugh was always slipping'like a fine joy out
of her red lips. So their talk went every-
where. Much of it was suggested by the
scenery which made the background of their
life ; it touched on the people about them ;
on the weak and ludicrous side of human
nature ; but never bitterly ; and sooner or
later went deeper than this, into books, and
art, and philosophies, and sometimes the
Doctor led it into the one thing, greater than
all these. He had a wonderful power of word
painting, and along his speech would burn in
living beauty pictures of the countries which
he had visited.

Blanche Dana, holding her breath, would

BLANCHE DANA 3 SEASON.

417

ake suddenly from visions of tho distant
Beta to which the Doctor's speech had car-
i.l her, from the life of bustling picture-, roe
>rts, from the awful shadows of th.> gray,
lent pyramids, from old brown ruins of
•at li.'ii temples or Druid groves, about which
le English ivy hung in tender care its green
ptlands — from all these visions and pictures
which her soul took delight would Blanche
ana seem suddenly to open her eyes and
,id herself on the lounge in the low, wain-
loted parlor with Doctor Humphreys sitting
■av.lv by her side, and for the moment she
ould almost wonder whether she too had not
ien across the long path of the ocean, and
mie back, as the Doctor, from all those
range lands, and people, and tongues, to
ve the quiet, old-fashioned life under the
(Of of the yellow farm-house.

Farmer Sage had a nephew, a tall, awkward,
rergrown youth, somewhere in his middle
'ens. This youth had no living relatives,
;ving the uncle with whom he did not re-
de, but was a sort of "chore boy" on an
■joining farm, and came over in the "heft of
e harvest" to assist his uncle. He had
rge, homely features, a complexion browned
id freckled, but the bright, keen eyes re-
lemed, in a great measure, whatsoever was
arse and heavy about the face. There was
| growing look of discontent there, which
nasionaUy seemed to harden into reckless-
j-ss and desperation, and the keen dark eyes
ould Gash out a kind of murky defiance, as
,ough the soul underneath, hunted, baffled,
Irned fiercely, and set itself against all the
orld.

j Blanche frequently came across this youth,
|r he was now assisting his uncle in the
nu. is work. She might usually have
issed by the awkward, silent, moody boy
ithout a thought, but this time her sympa-
ies were awake ; there were new and goodly
umbers open to kindness and pity in the
(art of Blanche Dana, for whosoever should
ek lodgings there. So she always had a
easant word or smile when she encountered
,e chore boy in the garden, or about the
rase ; and once or twice she had stopped to
iat with him a moment, and was touched
ith the look of surprise and shy pleasure
at stole up to her face from the bright but
oomy eyes of Richard Sexton.
One evening, about a month after the cou-

sins had taken their lodgings at the farm-
house, Blanche Dana sat reading by the table.
She had had a slight headache, which un-
fitted her for an unusually gay evening at the
hotel, and had persuaded her cousin to go
without her. The wind from the sea came
through the window, seasoned by the pities
over which its path lay. and soothed the dull
pain in the girl's forehead. Up, in the still
dark sky, the stars hung in their eternal glory,
and amongst them was the new moon, like a
golden, slow-blossoming lily.

And this evening seemed to take Blanche
Dana into its great heart of rest and peace.
She was glad that she was so much alone as to
turn from her book when she pleased, to look
out of the window and read the illuminated
missal which earth and sky spread before her.
Maude — the niece of Doctor Humphreys — lay
sleeping on the bed, the fine gold of her hair
scattered about the pillow, for her uncle had
gone to the city for a few days, and the child
had taken a strong liking to Blanche, and to-
nighl the young lady had invited her to sleep
in her room, as Caroline Jeffreys would re-
main with some friends at the hotel. But as
Blanche sat there in a silence that was un-
broken save by the occasional tumble of the
distant waves on the sands, a sudden chill of
terror crept over her ; her heart seemed to
stand still, her limbs stiffened, for she could
not move them, although she saw creeping
slowly along the opposite wall to the dressing
cabinet behind her the large dark shadow of
a man, and in an instant there flashed across
her recollection the old-fashioned amethyst
brooch, inlaid with diamonds, which had been
her mother's, and which, to please her cousin,
she had worn that day, and fastened on a
cushion which lay on the cabinet. She saw
the shadow pause, in a moment a long arm
reached itself out, then the fingers closed
greedily, and were drawn back; the shadow
retreated swiftly along the wall7>and the girl's
sharpened senses caught the smothered creak
of the old stairs, as stealthy footsteps hurried
over them. Blanche was naturally courage-
ous, and the sight of that moving shadow,
although it might have thrilled a stouter
heart, would not have so thoroughly van-
quished her, if her nerves had not been in a
peculiarly susceptible state, owing to her
indisposition of the day. In a moment the
fear passed off sufficiently to allow her to
spring to the window and peer down into the

418

godey's lady's book and magazine.

darkness. The moon was waning, and the
light was very faint, hut she saw a dark,
swift figure hurrying over the grass. She
could not discern the outlines, hut something
in the swift movements satisfied her that this
'figure was Richard's, the nephew of Farmer
Sage.

Her first instinct was to turn to the dressing
cabinet. The cushion lay there, but the
brooch, whose bloom of diamonds flashed out
the light, as though some cluster of lost sun-
beams had been caught and prisoned there,
and burned and tossed restlessly for their
native soil of the skies — the brooch was gone !
Blanche Dana sat down, her face white with
excitement, grief, indignation. Then the
impulse seized her to call Mr. Sage without
delay, and acquaint him with the robbery
which had just transpired under his roof.
The girl hurried down stairs, and actually
had her hand on the kitchen latch, when some-
thing drew her back. The boy's face, baffled,
gloomy, desperate, rose up before her. This
was the first crime he had ever committed ;
she felt assured of this, and if she disclosed it to
his uncle, there was an end of the boy's future.
She understood Mr. Sage thoroughly — narrow,
prejudiced, avaricious, he was in a certain
sense strictly honest, and he would be so
shocked and exasperated at the knowledge
that a relative of his had stolen into his
lodger's room, and committed such a crime,
that he would show the youth no mercy, and
probably be loudest in demanding his com-
mittal to jail.

Blanche turned and went up stairs, slowly
pondering these things. A year before, she
would not probably have done this ; but, as I
said, her best, highest nature had been quick-
ened of late.

When she reached her room, the excite-
ment, together with the pain of the loss,
quite overcame her. She sat down and wept
passionately for the next half hour ; afterward
her thoughts cleared themselves. " It might
be very foolish, very weak ; it probably was,
but," she resolved, "she would wait, until
to-morrow, at least." She could not give up
her dead mother's brooch — the very thought
caused her a bitter pang ; but she could not
bring herself at that moment to discover
Richard Sexton's guilt to the world, and so
ruin him forever. She reasoned that if she
kept that dreadful secret betwixt them, cir-
cumstances might soon afford her an oppor-

■;.

(

ndi ""

tunity to reach him and do him good, and tliel
knowledge of her silence would surely give)
her a strong moral power over him. So Blanche!
reasoned, and so she waited. How many wo-
men would have done like her ?

Three days passed away. Blanche did not
meet the " chore boy" in all this time, neither
did Dr. Humphreys return, and it seemed to
the young lady that the days had suffered!
some loss, some strong life and color had gone
out of them. So, one morning, because she
was a little lonely and restless, Blanche took- »
Maude and Mrs. Browning's last volume, andi
sauntered down through the meadows to the
old turnpike. It was a morning full of the
pomp and glory of the late summer. The
still luscious air was spiced with odors from
the woods. The sunshine drenched the earth
in its gold. The day seemed to have met and
kissed its sister in the tropics.

On the left of the turnpike Blanche am
Maude turned into a grassy lane, where a small
spring shot up, and poured a tiny vein of
water through the grass, while about it ran a
dark green frill of mint. An immense oak
had fallen near, and the massive trunk offered
a tempting seat under the cool shade of the
birches and maples.

"What a nice seat, Miss Blanche! Do let
us sit down here," pleaded the sweet, childish
voice of Maude, who had been brimming over)
with delight during the whole walk.

"Yes, darling. And what a low, pleasant
song of happy content the water is singing on
its way through the grass to the river!" an'
swered Blanche, taking her seat by the little
girl, who had already climbed up on the fallen
trunk.

The two sat here a few minutes in a glad
silence, receiving into their souls the spirit of
praise and beauty which inspired that morn-
ing, and then suddenly they heard the sound
of feet hurrying along the hot sand of the
turnpike, and caught sight simultaneously of
Richard Sexton, in his coarse straw hat and
shirt sleeves. His face was white and agi-
tated ; one hand was clasped tightly around
the wrist of the other, while a dark crimson
stream poured over the fingers.

Blanche sprang down in a quick terror, and
rushed forward. "Oh, Richard, what is the
matter?" she cried.

He stopped at the sound of her voice, and
it seemed that a shudder thrilled through him
as he confronted the fair, anxious face with

:■

BDANCIIK DANAS SEASON.

419

he straw hat railing away from it. "1 've cut
bjp hand with the scythe, ma'am. I 'm goin'
ome to have it done up." And he made
hasty movement forward; thai sweet, pitiful

- more than he could bear just then.
'— p, Richard!" — and, impetuous as

er words, she was at his side. " Let me see
I can i - inch the wound, and bind it up
''ith my handkerchief. It will at least help
ou until you get more skilful hands to dress
;." Her eyes went from the wound to his,
oft an 1 pleading, and Riohard Sexton stood
till, with some uneasiness and paiu at work
I his heavy, sullen face, whioh had their
puree deeper than any physical anguish.

He muttered some half-coherent answer
bout "not wantiu' to give the lady any
rouble ;" but before he was through Blanche
>as wiping away the blood from the wound.
.n 1 he did not speak again, only he watched
.er with some thought struggling iu his keen
'yes while she bound up the gash with her
oft tin.

There. That will do until you reach
Lome, I think. Doesn't it feel easier, now ?"
md, having accomplished her work, she
Joked up iu his face with a smile.

A dark flush spread up to his bristly hair.
'It feels better, thank you, ma'am," he said,
jut the words seemed to struggle convulsively
n his throat ; and then he turned and hurried
way, as though some terrible temptation or
anger awaited him there.
Blanche returned slowly to Maude. "Poor
■shard ! No wonder he finds it hard, with
jhat sin on his soul !" she sighed.

But she had scarcely established herself
nice more on the oak trunk when, looking up,
'he saw Richard had turned, and was hurrying
UK. This time, as he approached her, he
vas fairly breathless. Some inward emotion
lonvulsed the awkward figure, as the half-
(Oherent words struggled out on what seemed
lalf a spasm and half a sob. " I can't keep
I any longer ; I did it. ma'am ; I took it the
kher night. There it is !" And he held out
o her the ancient brooch which had been her
nothcr's.

Blanche took it with a little low cry of de-
ight. Then she looked up in Richard's face
hrough her tears, as she said in soft, steadfast
ones : " I knew that you had it, all the time,
lichard 1"

Her words transfixed him ; his face grew
vhiter under its deep tan. "You did — you

did .' How did you know it .'" he stammered,
as though bis mind was hardly able to grasp
this new fact.

"Because I saw you go out of the gate
that eight, and I knew then who had stolen
softly in, when I was reading by the table,
and taken away my mother's brooch.''

lie was shaking uow from head to foot, but
amazement held for a moment the mastery of
all other emotions in the soul of Richard
Sexton.

•• Didn't you tell anybody, Miss Dana?" he
gasped.

"Not a living soul, Richard. I started
down stairs to inform your uncle, hut before
I reached him a second thought stayed me ;
I believed that this was your first sin of the
kind, and I knew if I disclosed it that all your
future would be ruined. I was sorry for you
in my heart, and believed that when you
came to reflect on your deed, that the better
side of you — the side that I knew would ut-
terly condemn and scorn such an act, would
give you no peace until you had repented of
it. I prayed God that it might be so ; and I
waited, and I have not been disappointed."

Down, down on the grass at the girl's feet,
because he could not stand for weakness, sank
Richard Sexton. Great sobs shook him back
and forth, as a little later the autumn winds
would shake the leaves in the branches over
him, and between the sobs came the words,
"I shouldn't have done it, but I was so mise-
rable ! I thought I would run away and take
that and sell it, and the money would keep
me until I could find something to do. I saw-
it that morning you had it on for the first
time, and it seemed to stand a shiuin' and a
glitterin' before my eyes all day, and I knew
you was all alone that night. But I 've been
miserable every minute since, and I'm glad
enough you 've got it back now, Miss Dana."
Great tears were in Blanche's eyes, as she
stood and listened to this confession. Out of
her vast pity her hand stole softly ou the
head of Richard Sexton. " If you had come
to mo frankly, Richard, and told me all your
trouble, I would have been your friend, and
tried to help you."

He looked up at her, now, with a look that
struggled betwixt wonder and admiration,
and that transfigured the brown, homely
face, and made it beautiful for a moment in
the eyes of the fair and delicate girl. " I
didn't s'pose you'd care for me," he said.

420

godey's lady's book and magazine.

"I didn't know that you was an angel, Miss
Dana!"

And never in her whole life had a compli-
ment so absolutely sincere, so full of delicate
and touching significance, been offered to
Blanche Dana as this one which came straight
out from the heart of poor Richard Sexton.

Each moment disclosed to her more of this
stifled, cramped, baffled nature, which had
beaten and bruised itself against the iron wall
of circumstances. Her feelings kindled them-
selves into a fervent glow of pity for the
miserable neglected youth, as she watched
him sitting there with the blood oozing out
from his wound and staining the delicate
linen bandage.

"Richard, yon must go home at once, and
• have that wound dressed," she said. "And
remember, now, that you have a friend who
will not rest until something is done in your
behalf. I see what you want. You must go
away from here as soon as possible. You
must find some new work, and have an entire
change of scene and circumstances. You are
not afraid to trust me with the management
of all this?"

He had proved her too well to have any
doubts now, and his smile said this, fairly
transfiguring the face that he lifted with reve-
rent adoration to hers.

Blanche gave a little start as she stood, ab-
sorbed, where the boy had left her, for a soft
hand stole up timidly to her arm, and Maude
was at her side, and she saw with a glance
that the child had witnessed and appreciated
all which had just transpired.

"You must be very quiet, dear, and not
mention one word of what has occurred,"
cautioned Blanche Dana, bending her face
tenderly over the lily which blossomed in
diamonds in the amethyst bed of her ancient
brooch.

And Maude resolved that she would be
faithfully reticent, and that, in all the world,
there should be but a solitary person into
whose ear she would confide all which she
had witnessed, and that should be her uncle,
Robert Humphreys.

That evening the young physician returned,
and, sitting on his knee while the golden
twilight made its slow voyage into darkness,
the child related all which had transpired in
the interview that morning betwixt Blanche
Dana and Richard Sexton, and she did this
with a vividness and faithfulness to the facts

which showed how deep an impression tin-
had made on her, while her artless relatio
gave a peculiar pathos to the story.

The Doctor drank in every word, speakin
few in return. When ^he had finished h
kissed his small niece and placed her in th
green lap of the easy chair, and, walking uj
and dowu the room, he took counsel witl
his own thoughts after this wise : " Here is i
woman after my own heart. How manj
would have acted as she has done? I.kneu
it was in her though, that fine, deep, tendei
high-souled nature, with all its sweet poss
bilities of development and maturity. Jus;
such a womanly nature, with its reverence;
purity, truth, has my heart gone seekin
and lo ! here it is." This was not all — onljj
the key note of the Doctor's thoughts thi^ '
evening, as he paced up and down the rooni
until Maude's head dropped, heavy with
slumber, on the easy chair.

Next morning, riding out, the young phy-j
sician came suddenly on Richard Sex-ton, who
was slowly walking up the lane, with a seri-
ous, absorbed face, his arm in a sling.

"Well, Richard," said the Doctor, plea
santly, reining up his horse. "Anythin
serious the matter?"

"I cut my arm, sir, with the scythe, and
can't use it for work to-day."

"I must examine the wound when I get
home," answered Dr. Humphreys. "By the
by, Richard, I was just thinking of you in
connection with my office boy, who, I found,
had taken the California fever during my ab-
sence. I shall want another on my return to
the city. The duties are not arduous ; I can
instruct you in them myself, and you will
have plenty of time for them and some hours
for school beside. What do you say to taking
the place within three <Jr four weeks ?"

"Oh, sir," began Richard. But he broke
down here, and did not suspect how amply
his face, in its radiant joy and gratitude, had
answered for him.

Three weeks more went by like a pleasant
song, and now the season at the Stoneham
hotel was closing, and Caroline Jeffreys was
impatient to take her flight back to the city,
having exhausted the pleasures of the water-
ing place, and Blanche had promised her
father, with a little indrawn sigh, to be ready
in a couple of days.

It happened that on the evening preceding
their departure the Doctor and the young

PHOTOGRAllIS .— IIKAYF.X.

421

ady met alone in Mrs. Sage's old wainscoted

trior. They hod been thrown ranch together

luring the last weak*, ami had come to un-

krstand eaoh other in some finer, deeper

bse than people usually do on so short an

.cquaintance. Somewhere, in the deep silence

f their natures, the souls of this man and

Bman answered to each other. And here,

I this low, old-fashioned parlor, whose life

ad been one dead calm for half a century,

id Blanch.' Dana listen to the story which

as told first amid the cool shadows of the

arden of Eden ; and as that first woman

atened, hanging on Adam's lips, so listened

ln's one to the old, new story. What answer

he made Dr. Robert Humphreys can tell you.

But a little while afterward Blanche Dana

£kcd, with a blush .Hid a little flutter of

oice, after the manner of her sex: "How

>ng have I been- — what you say I am now to

i.n r"

Dr. Humphreys' smile was luminous in its
nderness. "Somewhat of all that you are
jow, Blanche, from the time that I first heard
our voice and looked in your face. But I was
(fcrdly conscious of the truth beforo I learned
' the noble part which you had acted towards
ichard Sexton. That boy will owe all his
iture, under God, to you, and there is the
aterial of a strong, true man under that
■ugh outside."

"flow did you know — ?" her face blank
iith wonder.
I " Oh, a little bird brought me the tidings."

i -— -

PHOTOGRAPHS.

TnE circle of their usefulness seems to be

ntinually enlarging in various ways. In

fering houses to proposed occupants, it is

l>w quite a customary plan to forward pho-

Kraphs of the building, garden, and sur-

junding grounds ; but it is only lately that

lies seeking engagements, either as govern-

ses or companions, have adopted the fashion

introducing themselves to those with whom

By are negotiating by means of forwarding

cir carte <Ie visite. In by-gone times it was

custom, when royal marriages were in
urse of arrangement, that the portrait of

lady should be sent to the intended bride-
oom ; but here the flattery of the painter,
sirnus of propitiating the favor of princely
rsonages. stepped in, and the resemblances

vol. lxix. — 34

wore often more ideal than actual, much to
the disappointment of the contracting parties.
When the mother of a family finds it neces-
sary to select a governess to whom she may
intrust the sacred charge of her children, and
distance prevents her from forming her own
opinion by means of a personal interview, no
matter how highly the lady in question may
have been recommended, the first glimpse of
the newly arrived is all important, either to
dispel the fears of a discouraging, or to eon-
firm the hope of a favorable impression. We
all know the influence of physiognomy, even
those who disdain it being perhaps equally
subject to those electric currents, either of
attraction or repulsion, which are not to be
classed and subdued under the title of preju-
dices ; and many of the connections of which
we are speaking would never have been
formed, and therefore disappointments would
not have ensued, had the truth-painted like-
ness been made the means of introduction in
the first instance. In meeting the respective
parties seem to be already acquainted, for
ladies of kind and amiable dispositions will
often send their own carte de visite in return,
and thus the two are enabled to meet, not
with the uncomfortable awkwardness of stran-
gers, but with feelings familiarized by the
mutual knowledge and study of each other's
personal appearance. This fashion needs no
recommending, its many advantages being so
thoroughly and plainly apparent.

HEAVEN.

BI EVA EVANS.

IIeaves! how thrills my heart the sound!

Heaven ! and shall it be
That I shall dwell in endless bliss,
There, where ray blest Kedeemer is,

In joyous ecstasy?

Those thrones of peace and pure delight —

Those beauteous harps of cold —
Those shining robes of spotless white —
Th'.se themes of rapture and delight —
Wilt ne'er, like earth's grow old.

But ever hallow'd, ever blest,

With newer scenes of grace ;
The joys of heaven crow brighter still.
And through eternal ages fill

Their mouths with songs of praise.

Thnu humble, suffering child of God,

Though downcast now and grieved :
Those woes aud trials which you Tear,
Mu-t w"rk for good t" bring you near
The God thou hast believed.

A FEW FRIENDS.

P T K O R M A IT I, Y X X .

SEVENTH EVENING.
"lightning poetry" — "century COURT. "

The Scinwig mansion was not spacious, nor
was it situated in a very fashionable part of
the city. Still, it wore a certain air of com-
fort and elegance, and its inmates were of the
kind that one learns to love more and more at
every interview, though love and admiration
are not awakened «t first sight.

Old Mr. Scinwig had long since gone to a
land where merit is not weighed in the scales
of wealth or fashion ; and his wife, grown
deaf and feeble, sat in her shaded bedroom,
patiently biding her time to follow him. Miss
Scinwig, however, was all life and animation.
With a wonderful brain, as all averred, and
a heart brim full of kindly feeling, she found
the world to be a very busy place indeed.

"As for marrying," she sometimes said,
"why, I really have never had time to think
of such a thing I" Consequently, at the ripe
age of forty, though neither "fat nor fair,"
she enjoyed her independent life to the ut-
most, and never sighed for matrimonial joys,
or envied her corpulent sister the possession
of her meek-looking husband and six un-
manageable children.

John Scinwig, the only brother still under
the maternal roof, was called "a most excel-
lent young man" by the old ladies, and a
"horrid old bachelor" by the young girls.
But one and all liked him, and wondered, in
various degrees of interest, why he never
bestowed his euphonious name upon some
blushing damsel. Meanwhile, John kept his
own counsel, and complacently wore out the
slippers presented by his young lady friends.
' Just now the Scinwig establishment was
illuminated by a bright-eyed niece, who was
on from the West, and this perhaps was the
reason why the "Few Friends" were invited
to hold their sixth evening in the old-fashioned
parlors.

The evening prdVed very stormy : not more
than half the members attended ; but of course,
as Mr. Hedges remarked, they were the flower
of the society. All the strong and conscien-
tious ones came; while the effort-fearing and
the really feeble did not dare to venture forth
422

on such a night. Mr. and Mrs. Simmons, thnf
Dresswells, the Timeeds, and the two engaged;
couple3 {too engaged, as Ben afterward called
them) were absent. But was not Mary Glid
don there ? and Lieutenant Hunter, and Teresa,,
and Anna, and Messieurs Hedges and Stykes J
What more could be needed to make a brillianti
evening out of a stormy one ?

Before half an hour had passed the party!
found themselves seated cosily around the
great crimson-covered table that stood in thd
centre of the apartment. Ben had proposed
that they should trj| to manufacture som
"Lightning Poetry," and the movement hat
been unanimously carried. Miss Scinwig ha'
accordingly collected from her " Faber" bo^|
nine pencils, ranging from H. H. H. to B. B. B.
which cabalistic letters meant anything fro:
"awfully hard" to "wretchedly soft," ac
cording to the verdict of the niece from Oh:
Paper ad infinitum had also been produced £
and the guests, each arming him or hersell
with a pencil, had looked to Ben for furtheil
orders.

"Have none of you ever tried it?" askew
Ben, turning beamingly upon the company, u

"I have," answered the exuberant niece!
who was "talented," and had contribute!
many a column to the Western Star. "Iti
quite a new pastime, though, and I have neve
seen it described in print."

"Oh, if it's writing poetry, I'm sure I cai
never do it," said one.

And "I shall be audience on this occasion,
announced another.

No. 4, taking fright, declared that if it wa
going to he a " strain-on-the-brain affair," h
would "back out" at once.

"Oh, nothing of the kind!" was Ben
laughing response. ." The whole thing, I as
sure you, is psychological, and requires m
individual effort worth mentioning."

"Well, what wit?" inquired the lieutenant
rather impatiently.

"You shall soon learn." And Ben proceedei
to tear a sheet of paper into a few dozen tin;
pieces, and divide them among the company
" Now you will please each write upon youti
papers anything that will answer for the sub-fl"
ject of a poem."

A VKW FRIENDS.

423

"Null a? — t" asked Mr. Soinwig, looking

»P-

••oli, 'Waterloo,' 'Pride,' or any watch-
word, such as 'Strike Deeply,' 'Live and
Barn ;' anything, In short, that you choose."
When all had written their subjects, they
were directed to fold their papers and place
Lhem in Benjamin's hat.

1 "Now," said lien, "give each member a
meet of paper ; let one of the company hold
i watch, and be 'time-keeper.' He is then
TO draw one of the papers from the hat, read
•ts contents aloud, and call 'Time.' Bach
Bomber must immediately commence writing
n verse on the subject announced, and con-
linue the performance until fifteen minutes
ia\-'' expired, when the time-keeper must call
'Time' again. He must then read the pro-
uctions aloud, without giving the authors'
)ames. ' '

Instantly the dismayed guests made a rush
Dr the office of time-keeper, that post seeni-
,og to be a comparative sinecure. It was at
»st decided by lot, and fell to the delighted
Ir. Hedges. Thereupon all the rest threw
own their pencils and leaned back in their
hairs disconsolately.

"Now, I assure you," coaxed Ben, "there
; no occasion for over-modesty. Every man
nd woman here can do it creditably when
nee the psychological circle is established.''
"And how can We invoke this peculiar
jndition ?" faltered Anna.

" Simply, by all concentrating on the same
abject at the same time," answered Ben,
mtentiously, at the same time casting an ex-
ressive glance at Mr. Hedges.
Taking the hint, the time-keeper placed
is watch on the table before him, plunged
is hand into Ben's hat and drew out a paper.
Attention!" cried he, unfolding it — "Old
bobs — Timet"

tin very desperation each snatched a pencil
ml prepared to receive the benefit of the
logic circle.
1 S-h-o-e-8," groaned Mr. Sciuwig,
imploringly at the time-keeper.
"Old Shoes," echoed that functionary,
•lemnly, without removing his gaze from
• ■ « itch.

Soon the lieutenant buried his face in his
ms and sat a mate image of despair. Then
ana raised her eyes humbly, and watched
■ - company as she nibbled her pencil,
it all the rest were writing violently.

"Stretch," moaned Ben, after a moment;
"do, somebody, give me a rhyme for stretch."

" Wretch," was Mary Gliddon'a ready sug-
gestion. "There, you 've put me out !"

After what seemed, to the lieutenant and
Anna, to be an interminable time, Mr. Hedgi -
called "Time '."

"Oh," implored Mary, writing vehemently,
"just one minute more, do!"

Mr. Soinwig folded his paper proudly.
'"Pon my soul," said he, "never tried my
hand at this kind of thing before ; couldn't
rhyme for the life of ine, without this si — si —
what do you call it ?"

" Psychology." And Ben, collecting the
papers, delivered them en masse to the time-
keeper.

The reading, as may be imagined, created a
deal of merriment.

The firs! poem was all about leather and
upper, and "Farqnhar Tapper," who, poor
man, was cobbled in rudely enough, for
rhyme's sake. The next was by the niece ;
and very deep and metaphysical it was, con-
sidering the subject. But where all were
passable, and a few almost clever, Mary Glid-
don's production carried off the palm.

" Really, now, for a lightning poem," said
Mr. Hedges, "this one is not so bad. Allow me
to read it again, now that (begging some-
body's pardon) I can decipher it."

"Oh no !" cried Mary Gliddon, blushing.

"Oh yes!" cried everybody else, delighted
at discovering the author.

And the time-keeper read—

OLD SHOES.*

Some old shoes are patent squeakers,
For testing lungs of public speakers;
Other old shoes tell a pitiful story
Of stumblings up the steeps of glory.
Some old shoes, with a song mo>t sweet,
Tell us of pattering little feet,
Feet whose tread "n tin- nnneiy tloor
Shall echo to loving hearts no m

S ::ii nl.i -V., -. like t h >-■ ■■ ,.n h ii -e shay,"
Have lasted forever to go in a day.
Others are patched from the very tirst.
And echo each step with a smothered hurst.
Some, lik>' their wearers, have s]
Look well to the last, though full of hi
Some are high-heeled, and make us tall;
Some are one-sided, and make ns rail.
Some are for Indolence, down at the heel ;
Some for Activity, pegged np with steel;

* My apology fur printing - that the

reader will better understand the spirit and fun of this
amusement, if I otfer some bonajW*! specimens of "lighl-
etiy," just as they were written on the occ

424

godey's lady's book and magazine.

Some for the lazy, and some for the brisk,

Some for the shamble, and some for the frisk,

Some of morocco, of kid, or of leather,

Some for the hall-room, some for bad weather ;

Some cast scornfully into the street.

And picked up gladly lor beggar-feet.

In fact, so prolific a theme for my muse,

Is this topic you 've chosen, this song of old shoes,

That the present century scarce could begin it,

Were I not checked by that " fifteen minute."

Old Shoes, farewell ! one thought is clear,

To comfort thee in thy ploddings here ;

Thy worn-out soles are not eternal,

And cannot be sent to regions infernal.

Hut the very worst of thy final fate,

When, cast on the highway, thou liest in state,

Is to be gathered, and spread o'er tho field,

Which straightway, to pay for thy bounty, will yield

A Shoe* for the French, who cabbage adore,

Doubled and doubled a hundred times o'er.

Perhaps toe-martyrs for thy dear sake ;

Or corns, humanity's heart to break ;

Or onions, each with a bee of its own,

To make old gents and ladies groan.

And if flowers are allowed, full well I know,

Bright lady's slippers will bloom and grow,

By pairs and by dozens for fairie's feet

Who love 'neath the moonlit sky to meet.

Hold! if this be true — and you 've said it, my muse —

Then you are immortal, my darling old shoes!

At the next round, the lieutenant became
time-keeper. This time Anna promised that
she would "try, though she knew she
couldn't."

"More paper," said Ben, distributing a
fresh supply ; " now, lieutenant !"

In weut the hand. "Time!" cried the
lieutenant. "Too Late."

"Oh! atrocious!" exclaimed the niece,
"what a subject!" but she fell to writing
immediately.

Anna behaved better, this time, and re-
deemed herself — but, naughty girl, she will
not let me print her "pome."

Here is the doleful ditty that I know pro-
ceeded from the unconscious-looking John
Scinwig, though half the members attributed
it to Ben.

TOO LATE.

"Too late," said a youth, as he went to school,

And found that the hour was past;
And he sadly thought he would feel the rule,

So he " sloped" as the lightning fast.
" Too late," said the bachelor, toasting his feet,

As, in slippers, he sat by the fire ;
"The years have been so wondrously fleet,

The girls no longer admire."

"Too late," said the maiden of fifty years,

" No longer tne lovers come ;
And I must wander alone in tears,

With never a husband or home."

* Choux.

T'other night /called on a lovely young girl,

Determined to make my proposal,
I gave my moustache its loveliest curl,

And never surmised a refusal.

"Old fellow," said she, " you 've come too late,

I have j ust accepted an offer ;
If ten minutes sooner you 'd entered my gate,

Of your heart I'd have taken the proffer."

Forever we find, when good fortune we seek,

She has left us far in the course,
And only with grief "Too late" can we speak,

And fall into bitter remorse.

At the last round the crowning effort of th
evening was brought to light, and Ben could;
not, for the life of him, help blushing when
Mary cried : "Oh, that is by you. Mr. Stykes ;
I'm sure it is." But the reader must judge: —

OLD WAGONS.

There are vehicles wanted for all sorts of lumber.

Bring on your old wagons to carry the plunder ;

I 've been all around to collect it this day,

And I want lots of carts to take it away.

Here is kingly misrule ; take it off, take it off!

Here are lead-colored pictures from dull Dusseldorf.

Here are old fogy notions of ladies' decorum,

And fashions of dress, with the people who wore 'em.

Here's a notion that ease is of life the true end,

And that happiness wealth will surely attend;

Aristocracy's claim, feudal rights, and oppression,

The abuses of churches, and priestly confession.

And here is a pile of cast-away stuff

Of which all mankind have had quite enough:

Of manacles, whips, and slave-traders' ships —

Pray, carry them off with the tyrants' old chips.

Old wagons are wanted in plenty, I say,

To take off the rubbish we gather to-day.

Bid the jolly reformers bring all their fast steeds,

Called hobbies by some, but they '11 answer our needs.

Call draymen, like Carlyle, who drive learned asKes ;

Let Tennyson come from the heights of Parnassus ;

Call brave Mrs. Browning to bring on her tandem ;

And fellows like Saxe, still careering at random.

Let all of 'em come, for there 's much to be earned,

And more, too, since talent and folly have married.

Don't haggle for tackling, but make due concession ;

We '11 need all there is for the endless procession.

Hurrah ! there are teams here in plenty, I see;

But, such is the difference between you and me,

Who's to load them, I pray? who to halloa out Gee!

After the " Lightning Poetry" was over, oui|
Few Friends attempted to amuse themselv.
with a new game, called "Century Court;
but soon abandoned it, on account of an ej
demic which broke out among the com pan;. J
This was no less alarming a malady thaij
exhaustion of the brain. The game was ma
liciously proposed by the lieutenant, in rtj
venge for his sufferings during the "Lightning
Poetry" experiment.

It is played by one of the company leavjjiJ
the room, and having a century assigned td

POWER OF EXAMPLE.

425

lim in his absence, such as 6th, 12th, 19th,
He. I'pon entering, In' is immediately charged
.villi the crimes aud abuses of his century,
Btich he must explain or extenuate if lie can,
■OOrding to his wit; or he is praised for its
■Deeming events ami line characters, all of
Blich he must gracefully acknowledge, at the
'same time endeavoring to discover what cen-
tury he represents. When he succeeds, he
innounces : " Ladies and gentlemen, the 15th
•eiitury (or whatever it may bo) leaves the

Hart, and begs to introduce Mr. (or Miss

I ) to its consideration." The new victim

must go successfully through a similar process
or pay a forfeit.

Not long after Benjamin, as the 11th cen-
:ury, had borne all the guilt ami glory of the
Crusaders cm his devoted shoulders, and grace-
fully acknowledged the greatness of his all-
fcnquering Norman, he discovered with de-
Light that the stars were out, and that the
patter, patter at the window-pane had ceased.
While he was wishing that the lieutenant —
'bother take him!" — would go back to the
army, and give him a chance to enjoy a soli-
tary interview with Mary, that dashing young
jfficer drew hint aside to say: "StykeS, my
joy, won't you do me the kindness to ride
aome in the carriage with uiy sister?" Ben

■VI- 8] -bless with joy ; and the lieutenant

Rntinned: "I must go home with Hedges, as
r.ve have some matters to talk over before I
(return to the Potomac. I 've had" enough of
recruiting service, you see, aud want to do a
tittle more fighting. Say, will you go ? It :s
loot a very long ride."

Long ride, indeed! Had it been twice
iioiin 1 the globe, Benjamin would have been
only too delighted to take it with Mary, and
|in his joy he almost said as much.

| "A good, obliging fellow, that Stykea,"
remarked the unsuspecting lieutenant to his
friend, as they walked arm in arm down the

jitreet.

| •■ Yes, \-i-ry." answered poor Hedges, dryly.
He too, liked Mary, but felt that Ben was
entitled to the first cbance.

POWER OF EXAMPLE.

BV BF.V. P. s. CAS8ADT.

Example is power. It is alike so in the
circles of wealth and refinement and in the

34*

haunts of poverty and ignorance. It tells
everywhere, and makes its mark for good or
evil all over the world of men and thought.
All history is but a reiteration of the power
of example — power to bless and refiue or to
blight aud ruin humanity. Unless its teach-
ings impress us with this truth, we are indeed
poor students of human history. One has
well said that " history is philosophy teaching
by example."

Example is power for good. Every man has
influence, more or less, in his sphere of life,
and that influence, in the very nature of the
case, must tell on his fellows. If he be a
good man, his example must and will do good.
It cannot be otherwise. A pure and virtuous
life, like the sun in the heavens, must shine
and bless, brighten and warm in the moral
world. So it has ever been, and so it ever
will be. Truth and purity, like so many gems
in the life and example of the good man, can-
not but shame and condemn error and vice in
others.

"A fault doth never with remorse
Our mi ml BO deeply move
As «hen another's guileless life
Our error dolu reprove." a

Example is also power for evil. There is no
estimating the extent of a bad man's influence
in the world ; its moral reach is indeed fear-
ful. "One sinner destroyeth much good,"
is the testimony of the wise man, as well as
the practical teaching of all experience. An
instrument of incalculable harm in any com-
munity is the man who arrays his life and
example against virtue and religion ; and yet
thousands of our fellow beings seem only to live
that they may blight humanity with the in-
fluence of their wicked lives aud evil example.
Their work in the world is that of destruction,
for they literally "destroy much good."

Cicero gave his followers the best of coun-
sel when he said to them: "Be a pattern to
others, and then all will go well ; for as a
whole city is infected by the licentious pas-
sions and vices of men, so it is likewise re-
formed by their moderation." And a great' r
than Cicero has said: "Let your light so
shine before men that they may see your good
works, and glorify your Father which is in
heaven."

" Onr lives,

In acts exemplary, not only win
Ourselves good name, but do to others give
Matter for virtuous deeds, by which we live."

NOVELTIES FOR NOVEMBER.

BONNETS, rELEHIXE, SLEEVES, COAT, JACKET, AFKON, SASH, ETC.

Fig. 1. — Bonnet for light mourning. The
front is of black velvet. The crown is soft,
and formed of white tulle, which is covered
with a fanchon of black and white plaid silk,
edged with bugle fringe. On the left side of

Fig. 1. Fig.

the crown is a spray of white flowers. The
cape is of black velvet, trimmed with a bias
band of plaid silk. The inside trimming t\
of pearl color, and white flowers, and white
tulle.

Fig. 3.

Fig. 2. — Black velvet bonnet, trimmed with
white silk edged with black lace. On the
front is a large white flower, surrounded with
scarlet velvet leaves. The inside trimming is
of scarlet velvet and black lace.

Fig. 1.

Fig. 3. — Violet purple silk bonnet, trimmed II
with white lace, black feathers, and pink I
roses.

Fig. 4. -^Bonnet for light mourning. The
front is of black silk. The crown and cape of

white silk covered with black lace. The
flowers, both outside and in. are of violet
velvet. %

Fig. 5. — Bonnet of white pressed silk,
426

trimmed with a scarf of black lace and a tuft ]
of scarlet feathers and black grasses. The
inside trimming is of black lace and scarlet
roses. The strings are of scarlet ribbon.

NOVELTIES FOR XOVEM11ER.

42 7

Fig. 6.

^' S

Fig. <>. — Pelerine, trimmed with Bwans'-
down. No style of pelerine or cape is more
suitable than this for wearing on leaving the
hall-mora or theatre ; it is as warm and com-

Hg. 7.

fort able as it is elegant. Our pattern is in
white quilted satin, but can also be made in
pink, blue, maize-colored, crimson, or light-
green satin. The satin of which the outside

Fig. 8.

is covered is quilted ; the lining, in some thin
silk, is plain. The pelerine is trimmed all
round with a border of swans'-down.

Kg- 7. — Sleeve to wear with the Pelerine.

This sleeve is intended to keep the arm?
warm, ami is male, like the pelerine, in
quilted satin, and trimmed with swans'-down
round the bottom, where the opening is large

428

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

enough for the hand to pass through. A
piece of elastic is run in at the top, to keep
the sleeve from slipping down.

Fig. 8. — Dark blue cloth or merino coat,
braided with white silk braid. The cape and
sleeves are trimmed with a white fluted rib-
bon. This coat is suitable for a little girl
from two to sis years old.

Fig. 9.

thiug handsome is desired, Valenciennes lace
can be substituted for the ruffle.

Fig. 10.

Fig. 10. — Muslin undersleeve, with deep
Fig. 9. — Muslin sleeve, with a deep linen j cuff embroidered with red cotton,
cuff trimmed with a fluted ruffle. If some- | Fig. 11. — Quilted house jacket. This ele-

Fig. 11.

NOVELTIES FOR NOVEMBER.

429

gr\nt in-door jacket is especially suitable for
the cold weather. Our pattern is in black
silk slightly wadded, and liued with violet
silk, every part of which is quilted inside and
out. The collar, the sleeves, and the edge
round the bottom are ornamented with a pat-
tern in stitching of white silk, which may be
done very expeditiously and effectively by
tho sewing-machine. The seam down the

Fig. 12.

Fig. 13.

1 . M

Fig. U.

430

godey's lady's book and magazine.

middle of the back is shaped slightly to the
figure.

Fig. 12.— Infant's short dress. The skirt is
tucked, and the waist is formed of alternate
rows of Valenciennes and muslin insertion.

Fig. 13. — Ventilated night-cap, with star-
shaped crown.

Fig. 14. — -A black silk apron, trimmed with
a fluted black ribbon set on in points. The
space inside the points is filled with rows of
white-edged black velvet ribbon.

Fig. 15.

must add that it is more elegant when of the
same material as the dress. The basque is
cut out separately, like that of a body for a
dress, and is lined with stiff net. A pattern
is worked over it, either in silk braid or che-
nille. The small loops are filled either with
small jet beads or dots in chenille. The edge
is trimmed with a row of silk fringe, each
composed of eight bits of silk, passed through
the stuff with a stiletto, and tied twice. The
top of the basque is folded into two double
pleats. The long ends of the sash are hemmed
on each side, trimmed with em-
broidery and fringe at the bottom,
the same as the basque. The fringe
is tied four times, so as to form at
the top a sort of network. These
long ends of the sash are pleated
at the top, and sewn on to a nar-
row silk band, put double and
lined ; the basque is sewn over
them ; the band is embroidered
with silk dots, and fastens, under
the basque, with hooks and eyes.

Fig. 15. — Sash, with Postilion basque. This
sash is made in thick black silk, when in-
tended to be worn with any dress ; but we

HOUSEWIFE EMBROIDERED ON
TICKING.

(See Plate printed in Colors, in front.)
Tue material recommended for
this useful little article will make
it very strong and durable ; and
as any odd pieces of colored silks
can be used for the embroidery, it
will not be expensive to complete.
Linen bed-ticking is the best for the
purpose, and it will require a strip
24 inches in length and 5 inches
wide — that is, J5 white stripes.
This will allow 2 for the turnings,
the housewife being 13 stripes
wide when finished. For the lining,
a yard and a quarter of cerise or
blue sarcenet ribbon 4^ inches '
wide, or a piece of silk wide enough
to allow for turnings may be used
instead ; 12 yards of narrow gold
braid, and coarse netting-silk of
various colors.

The embroidery is worked on the
white stripes of the ticking, one end
of which should be cut to a point in the
centre to form the extreme outside of the
case ; the Other end is left square, and when

WORK DEPARTMENT.

431

made up this is turned over two inches to
1 form the first pocket.

1st strijir. The little leaves are worked in
hfoe silk, and formed by three. long stitches
taken from the centre of the white stripe to
the edge Of it, and then three stitches taken
the reverse way : the straight line down the
centre is of gold-colored silk.

'It!. Make the cross lines which form a dia-
mond with light green silk, ami then work
the straight lines with crimson silk.

3d. Work the long diamonds alternately
with hlack and green, and form the cross in
1I1 ntre of the black diamond by two
straight stitches each way, worked in green;
the cross in the centre of the green diamond
should be of crimson.

4th. Make the short cross in black, of a
single stitch each way ; bnt the long crosses
should have two stitches close together, and
be worked in cerise silk.

5th. The three little leaves are composed of
three stitches taken straight, and then three
stitches worked in a slanting direction on each
side. Three sets of these leaves should be
worked in green, and the three next in pale
gold-color, alternately.

6th. The stars are composed of eight stitches,
each taken from the centre to the edge, and
they should be alternately crimson and violet,
the diamonds between the stars are of violet
edged with crimson, or crimson edged with
violet.

"iili. The slanting lines are formed of five
Stitches worked across the white stripe with
green silk, and the small stitches between,
alternately cerise and pale gold-color.

Sth. The long stitches are to be black and
the short ones crimson.

9th. Is formed of two stitches each way
from the centre to the edge, and the first three
sets of them should be worked with gold-
color; the next three sets with crimson ; then
three with violet, and three with green.

10th. Same as the third stripe, working the
long crosses with green, and the smaller in
black.

11th. The diamonds of violet, and the four
straight stitches in crimson.

13th and 13th. The same as the 1st and 2<l
stripes.

The gold braid is run on the black lines of
ing. working with fine gold-rolor sew-
ing-silk. At the end of each line the braid
should be carried across to the next, and not

cut off. The braid at each edge should not be
sewn on until alter it is lined, as it then con-
ceals the stitches.

To make up the case, it must be first lined
throughout, stitching the ticking neatly to
the ribbon ; then make the pocket at the
straight end, and for the second pocket em-
broider two inches of the ticking as before,
line it, and sew one edge to the case, two and
a half inches from the other pocket. Between
the pockets a band should be made for the
scissors, etc.

The leaves for needles are of white cash-
mere, and the edges overcast with cerise silk
with a row of chain-stitches under it.

The pincushion is formed of two oval pieces
of card, covered with silk, and stitched to-
gether.

The casings for skeins of cotton and silk
are made by placing twelve inches of the rib-
bon over the first lining, and working the
runnings along it a little less than an inch
apart, being careful not to take the stitches
through the ticking.

A loop of braid should be sewed to the
pointed end, and a button on the outside six
inches from that end.

KNITTED SLEEVE.

rsrrrjAL mosogram.

432

GODEY'S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

HANGING PORTFOLIO ON STAND.

It is now the fashion when an evening en-
tertainment is given, to provide as many dif-
ferent amusements as possible, so that the
tastes of all the guests may be in some degree
' gratified. The interest felt in works of art is
becoming more extended, as the productions

designs in colors for Berlin wool work ; many
of these would form beautiful covers for this
article worked on canvas. Another more
simple style is to braid a rich pattern on cloth
or merino. Any one of these ways is appro-
priate for covering these large cases, and
making them sufficiently ornamental to take
their place in any drawing-room, and worthy

of the finest artists are now brought within
the reach of all classes. A collection of pho-
tographs is generally found in every drawing-
room, embracing many sizes ; these ought, of
course, to be carefully preserved in cases, and
the portfolio on a stand is one of the most
convenient arrangements. Our illustration
shows the shape of the stand. It is the orna-
mental covering of the case which brings it
among our work-table descriptions. These
cases may be made very elegant in many
ways. When large, they look handsome by
being worked in silk applique surrounded
with an outline in gold thread, choosing a
handsome pattern for the purpose. This jour-
nal has given to its subscribers many beautiful

the honor of being the receptacles of these
marvels of modern art.

WINTER JACKET IN DOUBLE CROCHET.
(See engraving, page 381.)

Materials.— For the jacket, one and half pound four-
ply fleecy ; and for the border one-quarter of a pound of a
color to contrast. The most durable colors ore claret,
dark green, or violet : with black, scarlet, or gray for the
border. The needle should be No. 000, being the largest
size made In steel. In the border given in our illustration
each point is fastened with a small steel or jet button.

In arranging this useful article, care lias
been taken to Buit the form to the present
style of dreas, especially in the shape of the
sleeve, so few warm coverings being now made

\TORK DEPARTMENT.

483

to protect the upper part of the arm. The
jacket is of one color, and, if preferred, a

plajn bonier maybe substituted for the orna-
mental one given in our illustration.

THE JACKET.

Commence by working 72 chain, which is
for the length of the front.

1st rote. Miss the 1st stitch, and work a row
of plain crochet along the foundation chain
to the last stitch, in which work 2 stitches
both in the last chain, which will increase a
stitch ; turn back. >

The whole is now made in double crochet,
* that is, putting the needle in both edges of
the stitches of the previous row, still working
a plain stitch. The chain-stitch worked at
the beginning of every row is for the selvage,
but it is omitted when single stitches are
worked for the shaping.

2d. Make 1 chain, then in the 1st stitch
. work 2 plain both in one to increase ; work
1 the rest of the row plain.

3d. 1 chain, the rest plain to the last stitch,
. then work 2 plain in one.

Repeat the 2d and 3d rows alternately 6
times more, the last row being Sl> stitches.
The straight Bide of the rows is for the edge
of the jacket, and the slanting side for the
neck. As a guide for the size of the stitch,
the work should now measure 22 inches in
length.

Now, to form the shoulder, decrease at the
neck, thus : — ■

16M row. 1 chain, miss the 1st stitch of the
row, and work the rest plain.

17th. 1 chain, then work the row plain to
the last 2 stitches, then miss 1, 1 plain.

Repeat the last 2 rows 9 times more, when
it will be decreased to 66 stitches, the wool
being at the slanting side.

36M. Miss 1, 14 plain, 2 single stitches, turn
back, leaving the rest of the row unfinished.

37/A. 2 single, 14 plain, turn back.

38M. Miss 1, 15 plain, then work the plain
stitches of the 35th row, which will bring the
wool to the straight edge. The gore at the
hip is now to be formed.

39M. 1 chain, 43 plain, 2 single, turn hack.

40th. 2 single on the last, 2 single, 43 plain.

41st. 1 chain, 40 plain, 2 single, turn back,
leaving Li stitches of the last row.

42./. 2 single, 40 plain.

Repeat the last 2 rows 11 times more, work-
ing 3 stitches less each repeat.

VOL. LXIX. — 35

6oth. 1 chain, 9 plain ; then work 3 plain
stitches on each of the 3 stitches left at the
previous rows, making in all 45 stitches.

66th. 1 chain, 45 plain.

61th. 1 chain, 7 plain, 2 single, turn back.

6Sth. 2 single, 7 plain.

69th. 1 chain, 9 p>ain ; then on the 86th
row work 1 plain and 2 single, turn back.

10th. 2 single, the rest plain.

Repeat the last 2 rows 9 times more, work-
ing 3 stitches more on the 66th row each repeat.

89th. 1 chain, 39 plain, and on the Gtith row
4 plain, 2 plain in one, turn back.

90(A. 1 chain, and work the row plain.

91st. 1 chain, the rest plain to the last
stitch, then work 2 plain in one to increase.

92i/. 1 chain, 2 plain in one, the rest plain.

Repeat the last two rows 3 times more ; the
increase stitches being for the armhole.

99/A. 1 chain, the rest plain. At the end
of this row make sis chain.

100th. Miss 1, and work 5 plain on the 6
chain, then work the stitches of the last row
all plain.

Repeat the last 2 rows twice more.

105th. 1 chain, the rest plain ; at the end
work 13 chain.

106th. Miss 1, and on the chain work 11
plain, then 2 single on the last row, turn back.

107th. 2 single, 11 plain.

108(A. 1 chain, miss 1, 12 plain, then on
the lower row work all the stitches plain.

109M. 1 chain, the rest plain.

110M. 1 chain. 2 plain both in the first
stitch, the rest plain.

Repeat the last two rows 9 times more, the
increased end being for the shoulder.

Then, for the back, work 10 rows plain,
which finishes one-half the jacket.

Commence again with 72 chain for the other
front, and repeat the whole of the direction
exactly the same ; when finished, place the
last row of each piece together, and join them
with a row of single crochet, putting the nee-
dle into a stitch of each side, and working
them as one stitch.

Sew the slanting sides of the shoulders
together.

THE SIEEVE.

Commence with a chain of 51 stitches.

1st row. Miss the 1st Stitch, and work the
rest plain.

2d. 1 chain, the rest plain ; working in
double cro : same as the jacket.

434

GOPEY S LAPY S BOOK AXP MAGAZINE.

3d. 1 chain, 2 plain both in one stitch, then
P plain ; repeat to the end, increasing in every
10th stitch.

4th. 1 chain, the rest plain.

5th. 1 chain, 2 plain in one, then 4 plain ;
repeat, increasing in every 5th stitch.

Work 7 rows plain, without shaping.

13th. 1 chain, 2 plain in one, 10 plain ; re-
peat, increasing in every 11th stitch.

Work 11 rows plain, without shaping.

'Ihtli. 1 chain, 2 plain in one, 9 plain ; re-
peat, increasing in every 10th stitch.

26th. 1 chain, the rest plain.

21th. 1 chain, the rest plain to within 6
stitches of the end of the row, then turn
hack ; these stitches left are at the straight
edge of the sleeve.

2SM. 6 single, the rest plain.

Repeat the last 2 rows 5 times more, leav-
ing 6 stitches more each repeat. This finishes
one side of the sleeve.

Commence again with 51 chain, and work
another piece the same, then join the two
edges together with a row of single crochet.

Sew this sleeve to the armhole of the jacket,
placing the shortest seam to the plain stitches
at the front.

The other sleeve is to be made the same.

THE BORDER.

1st roic. With the wool selected for the bor-
der, commence at the back of the neck, and
work a row of single crochet down to the left
front, along the edge, and up the other front
to the commencement of the row ; the stitches
.should be rather loose, so as not to tighten
the work.

2d. Work a plain row along the single
stitches, putting the needle into the upper

edge of the single stitch, which will leave the
lower edge in front ; the corners should be
Increased to make them lie flat ; at the end
turn back.

3d. Work a plain row in double crochet,
the same as the jacket. In working up the
right front the button-holes should be formed
by working 1 chain stitch, missing 1, and
working 12 plain.

4th. Plain all round in double crochet.
Fasten off.

The Points. — Commence at the shoulder
seam of the right side, and work on the edge
of the single stitches left at the 1st row, then
2 single on 2 of the stitches ; and to form a
point work 15 chain, miss" the last 5 chain,
and on the remaining 10 chain work 2 single,
2 plain, 3 treble, 3 long ; then on the single
stitches of the border miss 3, 3 single (3 chain
and 3 single 4 times) ; repeat from the com-
mencement of the points all round, taking
care to make a point at each comer, and that
they correspond up the fronts. The points
are to be attached to the jacket with a button.

BORDER FOR THE SLEEVES.

1st row. With the colored wool work a row
of single crochet on the single row which
joins the back of the sleeve, and continue the
same stitch round the cuff, then turn back.

2d. Work the points to correspond with the
jacket, but making them smaller ; thus, 10
chain, turn, and down the chain, miss 5, 1
single, 1 plain, 2 treble, 1 long ; then on the
single row miss 3, 2 single (3 chain and 3 sin-
gle 3 times). Repeat up the side of the sleeve
to the top ; then down the other side of the
single row, work 3 chain and 3 single, repeat-
ins to the cuff. Fasten off.

INITIAL LETTERS FOE MARKING.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

435

LEAF PENWIPER.

riL- — Tbree pieces of black cloth; one piece of

■ ■I..- i .1 l:. u'u silk — all but tho size of our il-

lu-iratiiMi ; ru<> yards of alliance sllfe braid, scarlet and
black; half a bunch of small gold beads: :l handle.

haudle may be made of wire, covered with
goM beads twisted round, with a rosett.- of
the beads for a button. The green cloth, of
course, makes the top of the penwiper; this
should lie braided all round the shape of our il-
lustration, and then cut out.
For the veinings the braid
must lie drawn through the
cloth and hack again, and
fastened down on the wrong
side. Nine little stars of
gold beads are arranged
round the leaf at regular
intervals, and a fringe of
l»ads is threaded round the
edge in tiny loops. The
green cloth is lined with a

piei f card-hoard, shaped,

and covered with a piece of
black silk. The three pieces
of black cloth, which should
be OTit a trifle smaller than
the green piece, should now
be secured to the top, and
the whole fastened by means
of the handle, which is ar-
ranged with a little spring,
to hold the leaves firmly
together. If this is not ob-
tainable, a rosette of beads,
or a bow of ribbon, may be
substituted, with a wire
handle covered also with
beads. The colors of the
cloth and braid may be much
varied, and any lady can
make an inexpensive pen-
wiper of this description by
using up any materials she
may happen to have by
her, taking care to contrast
the colors nicely.

Tnis penwiper represents a large leaf, veined
with braid, edged with a fringe of gold beads,
and finished oil' with a handle. If this is dif-
ficult to obtain ill gilt or bronze complete, a

WINTER SHAWL,

IN PLAIN KNITTING.

(See aiffravinr/. page 382.)

Several of our subscribers

having requested that this
useful article may be ar-
ranged so as to form an
easy occupation during the long evenings, we
have made the direction as simple as possible.
It can be worked in nearly every kind of wool,
and the size varied at pleasure, making it

436

godey's lady's book and magazine.

either for a small shawl to wear' across the
shoulders, or carried out for a large wrapper.
If made in strong yarn it is especially suited
for charitable gifts at this present season.

Materials. — A pair of knitting pins No. S Bell gauge
(measured in the circle) ; for a small shawl they should
he about 12 inches, but a larger one will require them
longer. Tho wool may be either double Berlin, 4-ply
fleecy, or Scotch fingering yarn. Of the latter, there is,a
uew kind made in two colors, viz., violet and black,
scarlet and black, blue aud white, etc. ; it has a pretty
effect for the centre of the shawl, the border being made
with two plain colors to contrast with it. The fringe is
usually of the same color as the centre. The cheapest
yarns or knitting worsteds are only to be had in plain
colors — gray, brown, and white, being the least expensive.

The shawl we have engraved is composed of mixed
violet and black yarn for the centre and fringe, with plain
black and gold-color for the border.

THE CENTRE.

Cast on G stitches with the violet and black
wool.

1st r.ow. Knit the G stitches.

2d. Slip the 1st stitch, that is, taking it off
the pin without working it ; then to increase
a stitch, knit the nest stitch plain, but before
taking it oil" the left pin, insert the right pin
in the back of the same loop on the left pin,
and, bringing the wool between the pins, knit
the stitch, taking it off the left pin ; there
will now be 3 loops on the right pin ; knit the
next 4 stitches quite plain.

3d. Slip the 1st stitch, then increase as in
the last row, by knitting the 2d stitch, and
before taking it off the pin knitting another
stitch in the back of the same loop ; knit 5
stitches plain.

3d. Slip the 1st stitch, increase in the 2d
stitch as before ; knit 1 plain ; increase a
second time in the next stitch ; increase a
third time in the next stitch, then knit 3
plain ; there will now be 11 stitches on the
pin.

4th. Slip the 1st stitch, increase in the 2d
stitch ; knit the rest of the row plain.

5tli. Slip the 1st stitch, increase as before ;
knit 3 plain, increase a second time in the

next stitch ; then increase a third time in the
next stitch ; knit 5 plain.

6th. Slip the 1st stitch, increase as before ;
knit the rest plain.

It will render counting unnecessary if a
small mark is now put on the pin in the cen-
tre of each row — a loop of white cotton or a
small bag-ring will answer the purpose, and
it is used as follows : —

7th. Slip the 1st, increase as before, knit 5
plain, increase a second time, put the mark
on the right pin, increase again, knit the rest
of the row plain.

Sth. Slip 1, increase as before, knit the rest
of the row plain, putting the mark in the
centre of the row on the other pin.

Sth. Slip 1, increase as before, knit the rest
of the stitches plain to within one of the mark,
increase in that stitch, slip the mark on to
the right pin, then increase again in the next
stitch, and knit the rest of the row plain.

Repeat the two last rows until the required
size is made for the centre.

THE BOEDER.

With the black wool work 4 rows, repeating
as the 8th and 9th rows of the centre.

Gold wool, 6 rows the same.

Black, 4 rows the same.

Gold, 6 rows the same.

Black, 10 rows the same, which forms the
centre of the border.

Then repeat the gold and black stripes al-
ternately as before, and cast off all the stitches.

The fringe is made with the same color as
the centre.

Cut the wool in lengths of 6 inches, and,
with a crochet needle, loop two pieces of the
cut wool into each stitch formed by the cast-
ing off row of the shawl,- thus : insert the
needle in the stitch, fold the two pieces of
wool on the point of it, and bring them through
the stitch in a loop ; then draw the ends of
wool through this loop, and continue the
same to the end.

DARNING PATTERN FOR NETTING WORK, SUITABLE FOR TIDIES, BEDSPREADS, OR TABLE COVERS.

RECEIPTS.

437

fttuipts, &t.

OMELETTES.

Bread Omelette.— Break six eggs, Season thorn with
r and salt, or sweeten with sugar, if preferred ; add
I pood tnblespoouful of fi;i.!\ irratod bread cmms made
*' stale bread. Beat the whole well together, ami fry iu
the same manner aa the plain omelette. This omelette
requires a little more attention in the dressing thun those
n I icfa are made without bread, being more liable to born
and break. It isan excellent accoinpaniin.-ut to preserved
or any other description of rich jam.

Omelette acx waaa bzbbbs. — This i> precisely the same
n* the plain omelette, with the addition of finely chopped
thyme, parsley, marjoram, pepper, Bait, etc.

Veal Omelette, — The kiduey of veal dressed In this
manner is geuerally a favorite dish. It consists of kid-
ney, previously cooked, beiug finely chopped, and beaten
in with the eggs. Another method La to mince or cut the
kidney into very thin slices, seasoned neth pepper, salt,
parsley, or eschalots. When, well mixed together, these
ingredients mu-i be put into a small stewpan, with a
little of the gravy from the joint. When the meat has
simmered until warm through, set the stewpan aside.
■lake a plain omelette, and fold in the mixture before
sending it to table.

The directions for making the latter omelette apply to
i very descrtptton of fish, meat, or fowl that it is desired

to introduce in this f..>rm. < '■ >"k.-d asparagus ui- any other
delicate vegetable may be employed in the same manner.

Omelette S.ufflee.— Break six eggs, and separate the
white? from the yelks. Add to the latter some sifted sugar,
flavored with lemou-peel. Beat the yelks and sugar,
liieu whisk the whites. Pour the yelks and whites toge-
ther, continuing the whisking until the eggs froth. Melt
t. little butter in the omelette pan, and place it over a slow
fire. When the butter is melted (but not hot), pour iu the
mixture, and gently shake the j au until the top of the
mixture falls to the bottom. When the butter is dried up,
fold the omelette ou a buttered dish, sift a little sugar on
the top, aud browu with a salamander.

The above sovffiie may be varied in endless ways by
adding different flavorings or preserved fruit, at the time
of beating the yelks of the eggs.

These receipts show that uo other form of food admits
of so great a variety as the employment of eggs in. ome-

ttes. In the country especially, where new-laid eggs
are plentiful, the knack of omelette making will be found
an invaluable acquirement, and the fear of spoiling a few
half down of eggs should not deter the novice from prac-
ng her hand, a successful result being certain to defray
the original trilling loss.

The following is another method of cooking eggs,
which dispenses with the difficulty of frying. It is a most
convenient, easy mode of making a rerliT/ff-'. and is par-
ticularly suitable to invalids and little children who are
d >t .-fan age to masticate their food. By the adoption of
plan, all the nutritive qualities of the eggs are pre-
served, together with the lightness of the omelette, with-
out the richness which Is inseparable from over so small
a quantity of fried butter: —

The requisite number of eggs is beaten, seasoned, and
I Bsed through a sieve, to whicha small quantity of good
gravy is added. Th^ mixture must be placed iu an ena-
melled stewpan, and set over a slow fire till the eggs

35*

thicken. The ■tew pan In then removed, and a .small piece
of fresh butter is added to the mixture, which, when
melted, la ready to receive the addition of any linely
minced fowl, meat] fish, asparagus, peas, ox cauliflower,
that may be desired. The Latter ingredients must bo
stirred Id until warm through, but not Buffered to boil.

MISCELLANEOUS COOKING.

LOBSTES SOUP (2*rencft). — This soup is certainly most
excellent, and worth all the care winch mast be bestow i 1
upon it. Take three young lobsters, boiled, or four small
ones ; take out the meat aud cut it in small square pieces ;
take OUt the coral, not the berries, pound it so a t to B( pa-
late it, and sift it through a coarse strainer; take two
quarts of good veal stock, quite a jelly, and cold ; add to
it the berries bruised, ;i tabU>poonful of anchovy sauce,
two ounces of butter, melted before the fire, into winch
rub two tablespooufuls of Sour ; put it into the stock with
a blade of mace, let it boil for ten minutes, then strain it ;
add to it the meat of the lobsters and the whole of the
coral, stir it up so as to make all thoroughly warm, but
if it now boils the color will be lost ; put half a teaspoon-
fal 0%anchovy sauce into it and send it very hot to
table. Forcemeat ball, of minced meat out of the head of
the lobster, with the soft part, the tips of the tails, and
other scraps, somo bread cmms, a teaspoonful of flour, a
few minced shrimps, and a very little grated nutmeg,
mixed together with the yelk only of an egg, made into
balls the size of marbles, and fried, should be thrown on
the top of the soup directly it goes to table.

To Cook Beans without IV'kk.— Put them into boiling
water, without soaking; change the water three times,
letting them boil a few minutes each time ; the third time,
add salt sufficient to make them palatable, boil nearly dry,
and warm up with, a little fresh lard or butter.

This receipt is banded down as the invention of the
celebrated Marcchal St. Evrcmont, whose taste was edu-
cated in the Court of the Grande Moniirqne: Take what
quantity of oysters you will and wash them in their
water ; lay them iu a stewpan and strain their water
upon them; add a good lump of butter, which (when
melted) should be half as much as the water : season with
salt; boil smartly with the lid on, and wheu it is halt"
cooked put in some crusts of light French bread aud finish
the boiling.

Fried Oysters.— Beat up a couple or three eggs in a
cup, and rasp bread cruras on a plate with sweet herbs
powdered, and lemon-peel. Dry the oysters as much as
possible, souse them in the egg, and cover them with
crams. Fry them iu plenty of good butter.

Lamb Chops.— Take a loin of lamb, cut chops from
it half an inch thick, retaining the kidney in its placi
dip them into egg and bread crams, fry and serve with
fried parsley. When chops are mado from a breast - i
lamb, the red bone at the edge of the breast should be
cut off, aud the breast parboiled in water or broth, with a
sliei d carrot and two or thi ee onions, before it i> divided
Into cutlets, which is done by cutting between overy
second or third bone, and preparing them, in every n-
sp ct, as the last. If liouse-lamb stedfta arc to be done
tifftito stow them in milk and water Hll very tender, with
a bit of lemou-peel, a little salt, some pepper and mace.
Have ready some veal gravy, and put the steaks Into 11 ;
mix some mushroom powder, a cup of cream, and the
least bit of Bom ; shake the steaks in this liquor, stir it,
and let it get quite hot, but not boil. Just before you
take it up, put in a f> w white mushrooms. If bfown —

438

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

season them with pepper, salt, nutmeg, grated lemon-peel,
and chopped parsley: but dip them first into egg; fry
them quickly. Thicken some gravy with a bit of flour
and butter, and add to it a spoonful of port wine.

Mutton Pie. — Cut the mutton into small slices, without
bone; season it very well, and strew it with the fat also cut
in pieces, putting in no water. When tender allow it to
remain until cold ; remove all the grease and fat very care-
fully ; have suiue gravy made from the bones, add to it the
strained gravy from the mutton, and a glass of port wine,
out the wiue may be omitted if the gravy be strong and
highly seasoned. A minced shalot and button onions are
good additions, and if the latter be pickled, their acidity
will be an improvement. Put it into a dish, or into small
pattypans, and bake it ; if in pattypans, use puff paste.
Mutton pies are better hot than culd. The underdone
part of a leg of mutton may be thus dressed ; but the loin
and kidneys are better suited for the purpose.

Hominy. — There are three sizes of hominy. Large hom-
iny requires to be boiled from four to live hours over a
gentle tiro. It should be washed clean, and put in the
stewpan with just enough water to cover it. It is eaten
as a vegetable. To cook the smaller hominy, wash it in
two waters ; then to one teacupful of hominy add a quart
of water and a teaspoonful of salt, and place the dish that
contains it in a kettle of boiling water, to prevent it from
getting burnt, or else over a very gentle fire. Let it boil
for an hour, stirring it well with a spoon. It is generally
eaten for breakfast. It is excellent, sliced and fried, after
it has become cold.

CAKES, PUDDIXGS, ETC.

Muffins. — Take two pounds of flour, two eggs, two
ounces of butter, melted in a piut of milk, and four or five
spoonfuls of yeast ; mix them together ; beat thoroughly,
and set to rise two or three hours ; bake on a hot hearth,
in flat cakes.

Crumpets. — To a quart of warm milk and water add a
tablespoouful of good yeast and two eggs well beaten ;
mix with these by degrees as much flour as -will make a
thick batter; then heat a very small frying-pan, rub it
with a little butter, and pour in a large spoonful of the
batter, which will spread over the pan. Watch the under
side by raising it with a fork, and when brown turn it.

Biscuit Pudding. — This is a very delicate and nice pud-
ding for an invalid, and is made so simply that it is gene-
rally found useful in cases of illness. Grate three large
Naples biscuits, pour upou them one pint of boiling milk
or cream, and cover them down closely. When cold, add
the yelks of four Pgge, the whites of two, some nutmeg, a
little brandy, half a spoonful of flour, and some sugar to
taste. Boil this for one hour in a basin or mould, and
serve it up with melted butter, wine, and sugar.

Rolled Pudding, — Make soda biscuit crust ; roll in
eurrant jam, or any other tart fruit. Let it boil three-
quarters of an hour, or steam two hours.

Ginger or Cinnamon Tablet. — Melt one pound of loaf-
sugar or sugar candy, with a little water over the fire, and
put in one ounce of pounded ginger or cinnamon, and
keep stirring it till it begins to rise into a froth ; then
pour it into a dish which has been first rubbed with a
little butter; before it hardens cut it into the size and
shape you approve of for table.

Apple Snowballs. — Obtain half a dozen apples, pare
them, and cut them into quarters, taking care to remove
the wholo of the coves. When reconstructing the position

of the apples, introduce into the cavities caused by ab-
stracting the cores one clove and a thin slice of lemon-peel.
Have six small pudding cloths at hand, and one-half
pound clean-picked Indian rice, and cover the apples
severally, one after the other, in an upright position, with
rice, tying them up tight. Then place them in a large
saucepan of scalding water, and let them boil for one
whole hour. On taking them up open the tops, and intei'-
mix with the fruit a little grated nutmeg, with butter and
sugar to your taste. The above constitutes a wholesome
and nutritious course of food for children, and proves,
withal, an economical feature in the nursery bill of fare".

Bread Cake. — Two cups of dough, one-half cup of sour
milk, one-half teaspoonful of soda, one cup of butter, two
cups of sugar, four eggs, nutmeg, and a few raisins.

Coffee Cream.— This is a delicate and agreeable dish
for an eveuiug entertainment. Dissolve one ounce and a
quarter of isinglass in half a pint of water. Boil for two
hours a teacupful of ichole coffee in about half a pint of
water (ground coffee is not so good for the purpose) ; add
a teacupful to the melted isinglass. Put them into a
saucepan with half a pint of milk, and let the whole boil
up ; sweeten with loaf-sugar, and let it stand ten minutes
to cool, then add a pint of good cream: stir it well up,
and pour it into a mould, and put it into a cool place to
fix ; turn it out on a glass dish before serving up.

Doughnuts. — Two coffee cups of milk, one coffee cup of
butter, one coffee cup of sugar, one coffee cup of yeast,
two eggs. Spice to your taste. Flour enough to roll out.

Ligut Rolls for Breakfast. — One pound of flour, one
ounce of butter, one largo eggspoonful of carbonate of
soda, and the same quantity of salt, a largo teaspoonful
of sugar. Mix the butter with the flour so thoroughly
that you will hardly know there is auy iu it. Then mix
the three other ingredients together, and put them in
amongst the flour iu a basin. To this add as much but-
termilk as will make the dough like that used lor common
white bread. It should not bo much kneaded, but rolled
out to the thickness required, and then cut to the size
wished for the small rolls. The oven must be well heated
before the rolls are pui in. They take about three-quarters
of an hour to bake.

Another: Crumble one ounce of butter into two pounds
of the best flour, and mix with them a large saltspoonful
uf salt. Put into a basin oue dessert-spoonful of solid,
well purified yeast, and half a teaspoonful of ponnded
sugar. Mix these with half a pint of new milk, warm.
Hollow the centre of the flour, and gradually pour in the
yeast to the flour, stirring' to it sufficient of the surround-
ing flour to form a thick batter. Sfrrow a little flour over
the top; place a cloth double over the pan, and let it
stand In a warm kitchen to rise. Iu about an hour the
leaven will breaklhruugh the flour on the tup. Then mix
a lightly whisked egg, or the yelks of two with about half
a pint more milk — warm milk, mind — and wet the mass
into very smooth, nice dough. Cover it over as before, let
it stand for three-quarters of an hour, turn it out on your
pasteboard, and divide it into twenty-four portions.
Knead them up as lightly as you possibly can into dice-
shaped rolls, make a slight incision in them, place them
on slightly floured baking-sheets a couple of inches apart,
and let them stop for fifteen minutes to prcrw, as Miss
Acton calls it. Wash them over the top with yelk of egg
mixed with milk, and bake a quarter of an hour.

Magic Pastry. — Two tablespoonfuls of pounded sugar,
four ounces of fine flour, two eggs. Mix all tog-ether very
smoothly, and fry in lard.

RECEIPTS.

439

Scet PunDCfa ■ r.. m; d). — One cap of rael chopped flue,
■ of raisins, one cop of molass* two cups of flour,
'one cup of milk, a little sod*. Cinnamon and cloves to
your taste.

PRESERVATION OF THE TEETH.
Walpolb ^ty- (*' Letters," rot lit. p 376): "Use

a little bit of alum twice or thrice in a week, no b
rtha» half your nail, till it baa all dissolved in your mouth,
aud thea spif it out. This has fortified my teeth, that they
- the pen of Juntas, I learned it of Mrs.
not a Bpeck in her teeth till her
Both.*1 I' • not let your brashes be too bard, as they are
(likely to Irritate the gams and injur.' the enamel. Avoid
t >■■ ■.[■■ qn< at use of tooth powder, and )>«■ very cautious
what kind yon buy, as many are prepared with destruc-
tive acid-. Those who brash their teeth carefully and
:y with tepid water aud a soft brash (cold water
|*hould never be used, for it chills and injures the nerves)
,lmve no occasion to use powder. Should any little in-
crustation (tartar) appear on the sides or at the back of

Khe teeth, which Illness and very often the constant eat-
ing of sweatineats, fruit, ami made dishes contaioiogaclds
(will cause, pot .l little magnesia on yoor brush, ami after
Jtwo or three applications it will remove it. While treat-
ing on the care of the teeth, which is i subject Of the high-
jest important- to these who have yonng families, and in
-lies to preserve theui, I beg to re-
jnind my reader* that as the perio.t generally occ i

calculated to be about (at least] six hoars oat of

'■" twanty-I iur, it would greatly promote the healthful

jtuaintcnance of the priceless pearls whose loss or decay

appearai ce and our comfort, if

| '■• wor*' to aatahlteh a habit of carefully cleaning them

rich a soft brash before going to bed. The small partt-

[flfl of food clogging the gums impede circulation, gcuc-

and affect the breath. Think of au

imalgainatioD of cheese, flesh, sweatmeats-, fruit, &c, in a

■tale of decomposition, remaining wedged between our

leethforsix or seven hours; yet how few ever take the

rouble to attend to this most certain cause of Toothache,

Hon, and decay, entailing the miseries of scaling,

extraction, and the cruwuing horror — false

■eth !

MISCELLANEOUS.

■ The fumes of burning coffee are powerful disinfectants.

Kxperimeuts have been made at Paris to prove this. A

Quantity of meat was hung up In a cloned room until de-

1. and then a chafing dish was introduced and

five hundred grammes of coffee thrown on the fir*; — in a

,ew minutes the room was completely disinfected. In

;.uother room sulphuretted hydrogen and ammonia were

developed, and uiueiy grammes of coffee destroyed the

BBell in about half a minute. It is also stated that coffee

kestruys the smell of musk, caetorenm, and assafectida.

is a proof thai the noxious smells are really decomposed

>y the fumes of coffee, and not merely overpowered by

hem, it is stated that the Brat vapors of the coffee were

ot smelt at all, and are therefore chemically absorbed.

chile the other smells gradually diminish asthefomt-

ation continues. The best way to effect this fumigation

i to pound the coffee in a mortar, and then strew it on a

ot iron plate, which, however, must not be red hot.

To Take ITilvew from rr.M-rm's.— Mix soft soap with

bwdexed starch, half as much salt aud the juice of a

knOD . lay It on the part with a bru-e ; 1~[ it lay on the

. till the stain comes out. Iron-

moulds may bo removed by the salt of lemons. Many
Btains may lie removed by dipping the linen in sour but-

termllk, and then drying it in a hut suit ; wash it in cold

water, repeal this tin.'.' or four times. stains caused by
adds may bo removed by trying some pi arlaah up in the

stained part ; scrape some soap iu cold soft water, and
boil the linen till the stain Ifl

For CiiArrni) HA5BS. — lake an ounce and a half of
spermaceti, halt' an ounce of white wax : scrape them into
an earthen vessel or pipkin (an earthen jam pot will do
add six drachms of pounded camphor, and pouv on tin
whole four taUeepoonfals of best olive oil — let it Btaj d
before the fire till it dissolves stirring it well v ben liquid
Before you wash your hand-, take a small piece of the
be, anil rub it into your hands, then wash them ..
UMial. Putting the cerate on before going to bed is very
good.

Ivory Cement. — Trie finest isinglass mixed in common
gin; they should be melted together in a wide-mouthed

bottle, standing iu a saucepan of hot water or some kind
of impromptu buiii-moni: ; the cement should be very
stiffwhen cold, and it is best to allow it t a become ao and
then remelt it for use. This is also an admirable cement
for any ornameutal china, aud it will stand gentle wash-
ing although not soaking in water.

To Pi.nk Silk Stoikin<;s.— An inquirer will find that
she can pink her -ilk stockings very easily with "pink
saucer,"' which she may purchase at a fancy stationer's
or color shop. Some clean soapsuds should he colored
according to the taste of the manipulator by means of the
pink saucer, and the stockings, after having b< t a
thoroughly dipped into the suds, should be placed uu a
clean cloth in tie- air to dry. It is a good plan to rnb
them with flannel before they are quite dry, taking care
that the rubbing be in one direction only. During this
operation, it is as well to let them lie upon fianuel until
dry.

Piano Keys (to lit start Vu Oolor ••/ (!<>■ fyory). — By
applying sand-paper to the yellow key> of tin.- piano the
color may be restored.

Wash Balls. — Take white soap, seven pounds ; pearlash
six ounces; orris powder, eight ounces; bergami ;, ooe
ounce; oil of lavender, half an ounce; cassia oil, quarter
of an ounce; oil of cloves, one drachm ; caraway, half a
drachm. Mix with water to a paste, and finish to taste.

Water to Thicken Hair and Prevent its Paixtxa
Out. — Distil as cool and slowly as possible two p rands i I
honey, a handful of rosemary, and twelve handftols of tl
curling- oj tendrils of grapevines, infused in a gallon of
new milk ; from which about two quarts of water will be
obtained,

To Clear Vegetable- of In-dts. — Make a strong brine
of one pound and half of salt to one gallon of water; into

this place the Vegetable (with the stalk end- npp !1 im i )
for two or three hours ; this will destroy all the insects
which cluster in the leaves, and they will fall out, and
sink to the bottom of the water.

To Clean Haik Brushes. — As hot water and soap soon
softeu the hairs, aud rubbing completeatheirdestruction,
use soda dissolved in cold d -i. having an af-

finity br grease, cleans the brash with verj little trlctJ ■■
After well shaking thero, stand them on the point-- of ti.e

handles in a shady place.

Razor Paste— Emery, reduced to an impalpable pow-
der, two parts ; spermaceti ointment, DSC ; Bit, Mix

...i!.i i til It -v. r the si p,

Htrm' ffiafeh*

OUR NATIONAL THANKSGIVING— A DOMESTIC

FESTIVAL.

(HELD YEARLY ON THE LAST THURSDAY IN' .NOVEMBER.)

Ox the twenty-fourth of this month recurs the Day —
"the last Thursday in November" — which has now be-
<■ >me firmly established as one of the three National
Festivals of America.

"The Birth of Washington," which brings before all
minds the example of the patriot hero and the Christian
man; "Independence Day,'' which reminds us of the
free principles on which our Government was founded;
and "Thanksgiving Day," which lifts our hearts to Hea-
ven in grateful devotion, and knits them together in bonds
of social affection — are three anniversaries such as no
other People have the good fortune to enj oy. We fervently
crust that, so long as the nation endures, these three Fes-
tivals will continue to be observed with an ever deepening
sense of their beauty and value.

In our endeavors, which have been continued for many
years, to secure the recognition of one day throughout tlte
land as the Day of public Tltanks giving, we aro con-
scious of not having in any manner gone beyond the
proper limits of the sphere which we have prescribed for
the Lady's Book. It is the peculiar happiness of Thanks-
giving Day that nothiug political mingles in its observ-
ance. It is in its very nature a religious and domestic
holiday. It belongs to the altar and the hearth, at which
woman should ever be present; and the women of our
country should take this day under their peculiar charge,
and sanctify it to acts of piety, charity, and domestic love.

There is one duty connected with the day which on the
present occasion should be especially called to mind. In
the divine order which was given to tho Israelites for the
celebration of their great National Festival, the " Feast of
Weeks," they were bidden to "eat the fat, and drink the
sweet, and send portions unto them for whom nothing is
prepared." Although Providence has blessed our land
with an abounding harvest, we must remember that
there are among us many who will have but a scanty and
insufficient share in this abundance. The civil war has
given to our care many maimed and helpless men, many
widows and orphans, many destitute refugees. Notwith-
standing all the provision made by Government, there
will be ample room for all that private benevolence can
bestow. Let us each see to it that on this one day there
shall be no family or individual, within the compass of
our means to help, who shall not have some portion pre-
pared, and some reason to join in the general Thanks-
giving.

Who can estimate the benefits and blessings which may
flow from the faithful observance of this happy Festival?
For one day the strife of parties will be hushed, the cares
of business will be put aside, and all hearts will join
in common emotions of gratitude and good-will. We
may even hope that for on« day war itself will cease by
common consent, as was the custom in the Middle Ages
during the solemn church Festival known as the "Truce
of God ;" and it is not impossible that sentiments may
then be awakened which will aid in bringing on that
return of true union and peace which is so earnestly
desired.

.440

At all events, we may be sure that, wherever it is pos-
sible, among our war-worn soldiers in every camp and
hospital, amoug our gallant sailors on every sea, among
our devoted missionaries, laboring throughout all hea-
thendom, among patriotic Americans in every foreign
country, as well as among millions of homes in our own
wide land, between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, this
great National and Domestic Festival will bo celebrated
with happy recollections and cheerful hopes, and with
grateful aD(l softened hearts.

Let us all, with devout thankfulness to the beneficent
Giver of all good gifts, do our best to make this coming
Thauksgiviug Day a foretaste of that happy period of
"peace on earth and good-will among men," in which
all wrongs and sufferings from evil are to dissolve like
shadows before the noonday suu, in the righteousness and
goodness which will crown the glorious reign of Christ on
earth.

Note.— On the last Thursday in November, 1859, tho
following States united in holding their Thanksgiving by
proclamations from their respective Governors, thus, by
the will of the People, sanctioning the establishing of this
National and Domestic Festival as an American institu-
tion: Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts,
Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Penn-
sylvania, Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, South Caro-
lina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana,
Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee, Kentucky. Ohio, Michigan,
Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Kansas
(then a Territory), California, Nebraska Territory, District
of Columbia.

In November, I860, the number was about the same,
and also this American Festival was celebrated by tlie
resident Americans abroad, by our embassies, and on
board our fleets. Last year, 1863, the Day was appointed
by the President, and was joyfully observed in oar own
laud, wherever the American flag held sway, and in the
Old World wherever the knowledge of this fixed day, the
last Thursday in November, was known to American
residents as the American Festival.

THANKSGIVING HYMN.

Our Father! To thy throne our thoughts ascend

In grateful symphony of thanks and praise,
For all the mercies that our steps attend,

The smiles that bless, the hopes that cheer our days ;
For all the gladuess of the budding spring,

The golden garniture of summer fields,
The sheafy crown that Autumn glories bring,

The sweet content the Winter fireside yields.
For all the bounties of the fruitful sod,
We give thee thanks, our Father and our God.

We thank thee for the ward thine angels kept

Above the precious heads to us so dear,
That no ill thing should harm them while they slept,

Nor noonday pestilence should come auear.
And ah! the strokes that pierced our quivering liVarls,

The blows that tore our dearest from the day !
We know thy mercy aimed the fatal darts,

We know 'twas thine to give and take away.
Alike for fostering hand and chastening rod
We give thee thanks, our Father and wur God.

We thank thee for the guiding radiance shed

Along the way wherein we journey here;
The faith that smooths the loftiest steep we tread w

The hope that lights us through the vale most drear ;
The love unequalled, shown by Him who died

That we might live, who lives that we may rise
Through death to follow him, the Crucified,

Redeemer aud Exemplar, to the skies.
We mark the shining path our Leader trod,
And L'ive thee thanks, our Father uud our God.

H. H.

editors' table.

441

A NEW AUTHORESS: AND BBS GREAT BW
I A publishing house In London has lately bronght oat
as from the Loiters of Caroline Francis Corn wal-
A" authoress of "Pericles; "ATale of Athens," "Small
Books on Great Subjects," etc atlas Cornwallia was the
of two daughters of the Hector of Wittersham
m Kent Bhe was brought up by a very remarkable
mother, a woman distinguished for unusual acquirements,
.: Hebrew scholar and authoress of a Commen-
.Ury on the Bible. Ho doubt her little daughter was
'stimulated by the example and influence of her mother
Barndies which developed her Intelligence and led her
■ hi subjaotB weightier than young bulies usually
care to undertake. She did not content herself with ac-
'complishments and light reading. In the case of Miss
Cornwallis the results of this intellectual training seems
^to have been very happy. She wrote her " Small Books
Ha Great - acts;" es won applause from

learned critics and celebrated men in Theology, in
History, in Science, in Philosophy, in Education, and in
Law. Like many other people of mark, her kn
■asebtali i • irtions, and her mind

nltnred by few aids and in spite of many obi

■v. up iu a retired village, with "no mas-
books, and very suffering health." Hotwith-

staudiuu; these difficulties, she u&deratood many lini-

.. b acquaintance n ith the literature

Lined, and wrote 1 lea on the severer intellectual

Ibbjecta, books which were ascribed to the highest and
most eminent masculine writers of the day.

ftOsa Cornwallis never permitted her name to be known

la- a writer. Her secret was faithfully kept till her death :

and now her example will be a shining mark for her sex.

H-t life, as seen iu her Letters, and her sentiment-. ,

forth iu the "Small Books," etc., which will now. we

trust, be soon republished, show such delicacy of mind,

such true womanly renunciation of all selfish aims in her

." which were intended to do public good,

j that now she is dead and cannot stand in the way of her

j masculine critics, we trust her remarkable abilities^ i ren

though she was a woman, will be wledged

and her memory honored.

From the Letters, which begin when Miss Cornwallis
i was twenty-fnur, and carry us through forty years of her
i good life, we gather that she had offers of marriage from
i ndi. She refused )• is band, but preserved his
■ friendship. The following letter to her mother, written
1 at the time of Sismondi's death, 1S42, shows the feelings

I with which Bhe regarded him.
)

"He was a friend more than a-; long a* I can remember,

fori do col recollect th g him. He had the

I greatness of mind to get over what few men do. and con-

-amc warm friend as ever : and never to his

A to show me every kindness in his

i Such a friend is not easily replaced, and can

He i> one more added to the list of

[hose u bo make me feel more a denizen of the next world

than of tins. My only comfort is my trying to make my-

Kell vi t-thy of them."

"The Correspondence4' Is very interesting, lively, and
original, En 1827 IQss Cornwallis lived in Italy, h i
can villa, lent her by M. Slsmondl. The following extracts

will give some idea of her life and style at that time.
Her letters .■ racier of the country people

hf Italy, and a pleasant pic given of the wit

and kindliness of the common people.

"Take as a sample of Tuscs ,.- reply of my

nan, when I asked her the >ther day what the

hour the i find out. If I could

with laughter — '<>li, you stopped to see tho Hoards eat !
But it was not dinner time, perhaps ; you must give them
an invitation, and then you will know how they manage.'

I asked her if the family oi' ,i poor woman who is ill
wore not very poor, Bhe was quite astonished at the

question — 'Poor! No I they are very well otf; they have
children.1 This very primitive idea of riches pleased me.
1 iio oontad&ti {country people) have kicked otf shoes and
Btockiugs, aud 1 delight to watch their light free move-
ments. Little J. (the English maid) is much seandallxi d
*t her mistress, and wonders how she can staud and Look

at these h.ireffot'-d no ti a: work, aud think-, she main-
tains the honor of an Englishwoman by turning away
her eyes from tho indecency of the five toes. Unlike the
tritadini (the citizens), who saunter from morning till
night with a large cloak hung about them, this hardy
peasantry may be recognized by their (tee light stop and
yet lighter clothing, the smile that ts always ready and
the good humored greeting as they pass, which tiny
would always like to have returned with a few friendly
words. I am Italianized enough to do this now, and
nothing can be more cordial than my reception by all the
peasantry round, when 1 visit them, as I do sometimes.
Every twelve or fourteen acres maintains a family, so
that l have plenty of neighbors of this class. The mix-
ture iu their manners of democratic freedom and a hom-
age to which they give a show of affection, of gayety, of
gallantry, and among the younger part of belle* lettrts,
is ;i compound so .singular that I have not yet studied it
halt' enough. ' You bring the sunshine with you,' said
A. the other d: j i ■ ■■ bs i i im ■ across the mo-

ment when 1 happened to be passing where he was at
work Thenexl moment he ae I vely how long it

ce Alfieri wrote his tragedies, beeausi he had a
pending with a very young friend, He! isell
wagered that it was forty years, his friend, that it was
in ire. This Led to talk further of his friends, and he re-
peated a vi ry pretty sonnet written on the recovery from
illness of a girl of Posoia, by another friend — ;i shot maker
makes ladies1 slippers, of this sonnet I am to
hav< a copy. In short, the education, or rather informa-
tion of Tuscany is to be found iu the class of citizen- ..iA
laborers."

Tho later letters of Miss Cornwallis show the gradual
education of life, leading her vigorous mind to broader
views which resulted in her many useful books. All this
mental action went on through years of ill health and
months of the severest pain. The memory of this gifted
and noble-minded woman deserves more detail than ran
: here. We hope hex " Letters" will soon be re-
published in America.

BISHOP LEE SEMINARY FOR TOUNG LADIES.

This new institution for the education of th< lau /hters
Of the Weel has commenced under very favorable circnm-
8, Considered as a branch of the "Griswold Col-
lege11 (for yeung men), at Davenport, aud placed under
: pic-'- of the Protestant Episcopal Church in tho
Diocese of [owe, with the superintending care of B

Lee, this Seminary for Young Ladies can hardly fail of

success, because it will receive such faithful attent i i
from the frlende of Christian education. We should re-
mark that the School is open to all denominations, and
parents and guardians may designate bhe place of wor-
ship for their daughters and i

There Is, however, one advantage in being educated at
this Seminary which we consider very important. It

I fit/- in harmony with Bible authority for woman's
name, and also with the true use of Langua El

. nary EbrYoung Ladies, "not a "Jfei try."

This term/.;,!*//., if it does not Include anlmi when

■! to woman, certainly does comprehend aU feminine
bumanityt aged women, married - arc

ft males : but these are not included in the class i young

persons for whose benefit tins Seminary was opened,

then fore II would not be proper to use it. FemaU is an
unpleasant term applied to women, h cause it bears on
its fori bead cb to I !.>-

spiritual and intell te, or

humanity would soon become brntali/. re we

reji c ■ ' bs a true title, d

grammatical, has been given to I >n for

the daughters of America We earnestly hope those who
'. tshi p L" St minary

d influence by their ...
works; thar they may be like the "he
who "ministered" to St. Paul, able to follow the big]

442

godey's lady's book and magazine.

soarings of man's Christian hopes, and happy to sympa-
thize with and help him in his earnest and heavenward
labors. We trust that, like the " Elect Lady,5' many will
go forth from this Seminary who will be capable of the
noble and spiritual vocation of training children — their
own or those committed to their care — "to walk in the
truth." The Bible docs not represent the feminine beings
who did theso things as females, they were women or the
" lady."

Work fob Christian Women. — From the Episcopal
Hospital, in Philadelphia, there was put forth a notice
sumo mouths ago that the managers were "ready to re-
ceive one or two ladies as residents, to aid in the Christian
mission to the patients, and to the working people near
the hospital.

This notice was added: —

" A very interesting field Is also opening to women who
desire to become trained nurses, either for the purpose of
increasiug their Christian usefulness, or of attending the
sick as a business. Apprentices will be taken for six,
nine, or twelve mouths, without any charge for instruc-
tion or for board. The practice in the hospital aud in
the vicinity, will afford them greater facilities than have
ever before been offered in this country to make accom-
plished suxgiea) and medical nurses."

We are sorry to learn that these plan's are not yet all
filled. When such noble opportunities of doing good are
opened before single women, who have time and means
aud talents, is it possible that they do u«i appreciate the
benefits to themselves as well as to the cause of humanity
which are proffered them? We hope this notice will bring
many applicants for these opportunities.

Deaconesses. — We have exhausted our supply of this
interesting report, and now have on hand several orders
for copies. As soon as we can procure the pamphlets we
shall forward them.

OUR SCRAP BOX.

The guardians of the Holborn Union (England) lately
advertised for candidates to fill the situation of engineer
at the workhouse, a single matt, a wife not being allowed
10 reside on the premises. Tweuty-one candidates pre-
sented themselves, but it was fouud that, as to testi-
monials, character, workmanship, aud appearance, the
best men were all married men. The guardians had
therefore to elect a married man.

An eminent physician was sent for by a lady whose
complaints were imaginary. He questioned her. She
confessed that she ate, drank, and slept well, and had all
the symptoms of perfect health. "Oh, well," said the
witty doctor, "leave it to me; I will give you a remedy
that will soon rid you of all that."

QOOD LIFE, LONG LIFE.

It is not growing like a tree

In bulk, doth make man better be.

Or standing long an oak three hundred year,

To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear.

A lily of a day

Is fairer far in May,

Although it fall and die that night.

It was the plant and flower of light,

In small proportions we most beauties see;

And in short measures life may perfect be.

Bfn Jonson.
A Savant one day deep in abstruse studies, was inter-
rupted by a little knock at the door ; a young girl asked
him for a few coals to kindle her fire. " But what will
you put them in?" said he. "Oh! that's easy managed,"

replied the child, who filled her hand with cold ashes, and
put the hot coals on the top. The doctor, surprised, threw
aside his books, sayiug: "With all my science I should
never have thought of that."

Death of Catherine Sinclair, the Authoress. — Miss
Catherine Sinclair, a well-known authoress, and a lady
remarkable in more ways than one, died in her 65th year,
in Loudon, on August Sth, at the official residence of her
brother, the Venerable Archdeacon Sinclair, Vicar of Ken-
sington. She was a "strong-minded woman,"' in one
sense of the phrase, and that a good one : strong in sug-
gesting, strong in acting, strong — let it be said — in pray-
ing for the benefit of her country, and the good of the poor
of all classes.

Catherine Sinclair, born in Charlotte Square. Edin-
burgh, April 17, 1S00, was a younger daughter of the
Right Hon. Sir John Sinclair. In lS3o appeared " Modern
Accomplishments" and " Modern Society ;" the first work
directed against the mistakes made in the education of
women, as exemplified in their conduct in the second. It
is said that 30,000 of these works wero sold. "Holiday
Homes" is a famous work — a history of Miss Sinclair's
childhood, which has won the hearts of all children from
its naturalness, its geniality, and its truthfulness. Among
her other works are "Beatrice, or Unknown Relations?
(1S52), "Business of Life" (1S4S), "Cabman's Holiday"
(1855), "Cross Purposes" (1857), "Sketches of Scotland^
(1859), "Sketches of Wales" (I860), "Lord and Lady Haft
court" (1860), etc. etc. All are marked by much origina-
lity and a high moral tone.

Qt'EEN Victoria's Novel. — Among other expedients to
make novels fashionable, it is said that one, "Margaret
Deuzil," was written by her majesty, and lately published
in '* Coruhill Magazine." There is no need of contradict-
ing such reports.

ENOCH Arpen, Tennyson's last poem, is one of his best ;
if popularity is a test; its sale is wonderful.

Photcoraph Albums as Gift Books.-
page 443.

-See Book Table,

To ocr Correspondents.— The following articles are
accepted, and will appear as soon as we have room : "To
One whose Fjice I ne'er shall See'* — "The Old Elm" —
"Our Clarence" (in part) — aud "My Letter."

The following articles are declined (those who have
requested the return of such manuscripts aud .sent
stamps will have their articles returned): "Mrs. Robert
Huutin" — "Maidenhood and Womanhood" — "A Sur-
prise"— "To Bereaved Mothers" — " Might versus- Right"
"Carbon, though a Gem most Rare" — "Shall I Write" —
"Reminiscences'' — "Oh! do the Dying never Weep" —
"The Rain" — "The Old Trysting Place" — "Mother's
Room" — "Voices of the Past"— "Too Soon" — "Mother"
(we have more poetry offered than we can accept) — "There
is a Time" — " Ou Death of a Brother" — "To a Beautiful
Lady" — "My New Sister" — "My Pearl" — "Confession-"
"Dreaming in the Trenches" (we are much obliged to
the author, but we have no room) — "The Graves by the
Waterside" (other articles have never been received) —
"Death" (too long)— "The Battle Prayer '—" Blind at
Night" — "Pauline Avery" — "We have Parted" (and
other poems. Wo are burdened with poetical articles) —
"Has He Sinned" — "My Sister" — "Song" — "The Mar-
tinet"— "A Sharp Word" — "Tha Benefits of Industry"
— "Aunt Overton's Ways" — "Richard" — " Grand fath-
er's Masouic Medal" — "After Long Years" — " Dr. Wood-
bury" (send stamps if MS. is to be returned) — "Crumbs
on the Water" (destroyed agreeably to requet-t)— and
" My Great Uncle."

We have many letters to answer; our correspondents
shall hear from us soon.

LITERARY NOTI

443

fitemg Utoticts.

From Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia: —
TMK PRIDE OF LIPK By Jane, Lady Scott, "daugh-
farln-taw of s p Walter. Bcott," and authoress of "The

ad Husband." This, the second novel of the
■fled writer, is prouounced by English critics to bo far
■parlor to the Brat, which is Baying very much iu its
praise. The intrinsic and living- interest attached to all
contests between the "fine clay" of ihe aristocracy and
the "gross earth" of tin? middle and laboring classes of
■ngland is the spring of attraction in this story, and sel-
dom is it presented in as acceptable characters, or in so
beautiful and ohaste a style. We predict for it a wide-
t-pr )ad popularity among refined and intelligent circles.

THE DEVOTED BRIDE. This is a story of the "Old
Dominion" in its early days, and contains touches of a
few historical events of interest. The narrative is in-
tensely intonating, and written in a stylo of ease and
pagance that will insure its favorable reception.
. FLIRTATIONS IN FASHIONABLE LIFE. By Catherine
Sinclair, author of " Beatrice, " "Jane BoQverie," "Mo-
dern accomplisliments," etc. The title of this book, al-
though fully suggestive of the author's design, may
nevertheless deceive many porsons in regard to the true
nature and character of its literary contents, especially
bob as are not acquainted with the high reputation of the
author of " Flirtations in Fashionable Life." How sug-
gestive are these words of trifles and triflers! But we
would not have our readers disappointed, or deprived of
the perusal of a healthy and fascinating moral treatise,
merely because from the title they cannot tell that it is a
book of noble aims and literary dignity. Therefore we
take pleasure in assuring them thabthey will be delighted
with ItsJQSt and pungent satire, and elevated aud strength-
ened by its energetic appeals to those who would assume
the whole duties of Christian ladies and gentlemen.

THE BrVAL BELLES. By J. B. Jones, author of
"Wild Western Scenes," "Lore and Money," etc. The
author's well-earned reputation renders it unnecessary to
say that this is a book worthy a place in every library —
nor will wo spoil it for any by giving the plot, but simply
| give our opinion, that it is one of the most pleasing books
of the month, and will be very popular.

I From Wh. S. k ALFRED Martien, Philadelphia :—
I PHOTOGRAPH ALBUMS, As the "gift book" season
1 approaches, we observe that photograph albums seem to
' hive lost none of their attractiveness. These books may

' well be ranked among the most interesting gift books,

, inasmuch as every person who possesses one has a special

l edition, exactly suited to the owner's taste. With the

i beautiful cover and vacant leaves in our possession, we

I forthwith proceed to edit the volume for ourselves by

filling it with "counterfeit presentments" of the friends

whom we love, or of the good and great, the heroes,

states] ten, and authors whom we admire. Of such works

it may well be said —

"Time cannot wither nor custom
Their Infinite wh iy."

We are reminded of these at present by a very elegant
volume from the Messrs. Ma rtien. Their publishing house
is renowned for its beautiful photograph albums, and our
owu readers who are in search of the best may find the
perfection of the artist"- work at '596 Chestnut Street,
Philadelphia.

From LlPPnroOTT & Co., Philadelphia: —

CHAMBERS' ENCYCLOPEDIA, Nos. 7.". and 76. A

Dictionary of Universal Knowledge for the lVoph-, .-i

the I ; i Is of the latest editions of the German Convr a

i axlcon. With wood engravings and maps. The

best Encyclopaedia published, aud only 20 cents a number

From Ha&FBB &. Brothers, Now York, through Petek-
SOH & BA0THBB8, aud LlPPINCOTT& Co., Philadelphia: —

NOT DEAD YET. By J. C. Jeaffreson, author of " Live
it Down," etc. As this volume has obtained a place, and
of course makes a most respectable typographical appear-
ance, in " Harper's Library of Select Novels," it would be
safe to infer that it is a safe and interesting work of its
class. The author, it is true, has not yet greatly delighted
or astonished the discriminating public in his eflbrts for
their approbation, but he has made progress up the tugged
Bteep of tame, which gives evidence that his triumph will
come soon. He introduces us to many spirited contrasts
of English character — from the high to the low, from jus-
tice and generosity down to depths of baseness aud sordid
villainy — which gives evidence of much versatility ol
talent and close study of human nature.

WILLSON'S LABGER SPELLER. A Progressive Course
of Lessons in Spelling, arranged according to the Principles
of Orthoepy and Grammar, with exercises in Synonyms.
for Reading, Writing, and Spelling. Also a new System
of Definitions. By Marcius Willaon. The arrangement
of this work is something new, and is well adapted to
increase the interest iu the too often dry and neglected
study of spelling. The classification under heads of dif-
ferent parts of speech will greatly aid the young pupil in
grammar, and the exercises in "synonyms" are admira-
bly adapted to assist in early composition. We heartily
commend it to the notice of teachers and parents.

From Robert Carter & Brothers, New York, through
Wm. S. and Alfred Maktien, Philadelphia: —

MR. RUTHERFORD'S CHILDREN. By the authors of
"The Wide, Wide World" aud "Dollars and Cents."
Our readers are probably aware that these writers arc
the Kisses Wetherell, who, or especially the oldest, has
gained a world-wide popularity by her novels, as well as
written many excellent books for children. We have two
of this Beriea now before us; the first devoted to the
" Rutherford Children, " the second entitled " Karl KriL-
ken." We hardly know which book children will like
the beet. Little girls will be delighted with the fir.-t
volume; "Sybil and Chryssa" are such darling!
boys will think the title of "Karl Krinken" promises
more fun. Colli volumes are excellent iu their way, and
two more are promised soon. Then the Christmi
these four books will make a charming library for good
children*.

THE sriRIT OF PRAYER. By Hannah More. To
which are added Prayers, Meditations, aud Hymns for
every day in the Week, and on Various Occasions. This
excellent hook is a real favor, for which we thank ti.t
publishers. Hanuah More, had she only written this
book, would deserve the love and revereuce of all Chris-
tians. It is one of those preeious little books that, like
diamonds, always reflect light, and never lose their worth.

From Dick & Fitzgerald, New York, through Lippin-
cott & Co., Philadelphia : —

IMOGENS; or. The Marble Heart By Pierce Egan, Esq
This is one of those phrasing pictures of English life and

society which will always receive the attention of a cei

444

gopey's lady's book and magazine.

tain class of American readers, who peruse such works as
a study of British manners, habits, and character, as
much as from a love of fiction. The author of "Imogene,"
the work before us, has proved himself a masterly deli-
neator of the peculiarities and eccentricities of nu common
order of characters, and evidently possesses such an in-
terest in the oppressed as enables him to speak feelingly
of their wrongs and sufferings.

From Carleton, New York, through Peterson & Bro-
thers, Philadelphia: —

JOHN GUILDKRSTONE'S BUS. By C. French Richards.
We cannot turn from the perusal of these pages without
thanking the author for the courageous exposure of the
heinous sin of John Guilderstone. Its sentiments agree
with the true, just, and the honest impulses of the human
heart, and will command the approbation of hundreds of
readers, who never before contemplated the cruel sin it
treats of in its true, appalling deformity. If the narrative
awakens the conscieuce of hut oue man on the way to his
own and another's ruin, something will he dono in the
name and to the honor of virtue, of which an author may
well be proud.

DOWN IN TENNESSEE, and Back by Way of Rich-
mond. By Edmond Kirk. The author, as will appear
from the contents, was held in the highest confidence and
esteem by many of the first officers of the government, both
civil and military. This fact has given it a popularity
with the political public very advantageous to the author,
as well as given credence to many statements which other-
wise might have been considered doubtful.

QUEST. It is long since we have read a novel of its
class with as steadfast an admiration. A love story it
certainly is, one in which an earnest woman received at
last a full and perfect reward.

From M. W. I>odd, New York, through J. B. Lippincott,
Philadelphia; —

THE EARLY DAWN ; or, SketcJiea of Christian Life in
England in the Olden Time, By the author of "Chroni-
cles of the Schbnberg-Cotta Family." With an introduc-
tion by Professor Henry B. Smith, D. D. • The author of
tbi.- interesting volume, as will be seen from the title-page,
is already favorably known to the reading public through
a former work, founded upon incidents selected from the
history of the Protestant Reformation in Germany. The
events and scenes to which the writer transfers the reader
are taken from early times iu England, and are, of course,
those which, from time to time, and upon each generation,
have exercised an influence over the minds of historical
and religious students and disputants. In general, stories
thus founded are not worthy of much reliance, for there
is always danger of appealing more to fancy than fact.
We believe mosi of the errors committed in this path of
literature are here avoided, and the author has presented
the public with a collection of sketches which, if not en-
tirely acceptable to every religious class of readers, may
at Least be read without offence by all.

From TieitxoR & Fields, Boston, through Peterson &
Bkotiier.s, Philadelphia : —

ENOCH ARDEN. ETC. By Alfred Tennyson, D. C. L.,
Poet-Laureate. The critics differ, very naturally, in their
estimate of the literary merits of the leading poem of this
volume, the appearance of which was so long and anx-
iously looked for by the public. Some of the more fas-
tidious have condemned it because of the humble origin

of the story and the consequent simplicity of style in
which its painful events have been narrated by the gifted
pen of the poet-laureate. For our own part, we are dis-
posed to prefer the poem for the very qualities for which
they receive it coldly. There are many instances, it is
true, similar to that which marked and marred the happi-
ness of Enoch Arden ; but no proud poet has before con-
descended to sympathize, and record their history in sweet
poetic numbers like these of Tennyson. "Sea Dreams"
we liked next to " Euoeli Arden," and " Aylmer's Field"
will be preferred to either by many. Having said this
much in reference to the character of the volume before
us, we will not further anticipate its beauties by quotations.
THE CLIFF CLIMBERS; or, The Lone Borne in the
Himalayas. Sequel to "The Plant Hunters." By Cap-
tain Mayue Reid, author of "The Desert Home," "Boy
Hunters," etc. etc. With illustrations. This is No. 12 of
a series of popular "books of adventures for boys." It
is a beautiful volume, the contents of which accord with
its appearauce, and will he eagerly road by ail who have
acquaintance with the author's happily conceived stories. I

From Lee & Shepaud, Boston, through, J. B. Lippin-
cott, Philadelphia : —

LITTLE PRUDY'S CAPTAIN HORACE. By Sophie
May. Here is a little book to delight the children, a
class of readers who appreciate good-natured and lively
characters, and will therefore like the bright, active little
Captain Horace.

§obni's Jrut-Cljiur.

NOVEMBER, 1864.

Notwithstanding our publishing at a loss on present
prices, we still continue to give our usual variety. We
have never published a better engraving than "TheFarm-
House Porch." Desigu and artistic execution are both
perfect. Our Fashion-plate contains six figures. We also I
give an article that every lady can make, and every gen- ^
tleman wants — that is, single gentlemen ; and what a
suitable present for a soldier brother — "Housewife for a
Gentleman," a most useful article. "The Young Artist"
is a pleasant picture.

Make up Your Clubs according to the new rates, which
will be found on the next page. Remember that the Lady's
Book is the best work for ladiesjmblished in this country.
Any person with a very little trouble can get op a club
for the Book. Wo have frequently been so informed by
ladies — the work is so popular. Clubs must be for the
Lady's Book alone.

Not a Bribe. — We copy the following from the Neicport
Neios : —

" When it is considered that in no instance has a bribi
in the shape of a premium been offered, it shows that the
Lady's Buok stands first in the hearts of American ladies,
who subscribe for the sake of the work itself, and not for
the premium. The illustrations this month are magnifi-
cent, especially the double fashion-plates, which are con-
tinued regardless of expense. No wonder Godey is the
ladies' favorite."

Marion Harland. — We take pleasure in stating that
this celebrated authoress will next year write for no other
magazine than Godey's Lady's Book.

godey's arm-chair.

445

The Terms of the Lady's Book for 1865 are as follows, for the
present : —

1 copy, 1 year S3 00

2 copies, 1 year 5 50

3 copies, 1 year 7 50

4 copies, 1 year 10 01)

CLUBS.

5 copies, 1 year, and an extra copy to the person sending- the club, making

6 copies . . . . . . . . . . . 14 00

8 copies, 1 year, and an extra copy to the person sending the club, making

9 copies 21 00

11 copies 1 year, and an extra copv to the person sending the club, making

12 copies 27 50

All additions to clubs of any denomination $2 50 each.

Lady's Book and Arthur's Home Magazine will both be sent 1 year on receipt of $4 5Q.
We club with no other magazine.
J Canada subscribers must send 24 cents additional for each subscriber to pay American
postage.

In order to secure the extra copy for the club, the money must all be sent at one time.

L. A. GODEY,

JV". E. Corner Sixth and Chestnut Streets.

GoDEYyoRl86-V — We ask attention to our advertisement

fur next year, published on cover of this number. Wo

have been obliged to advance our price a little, but very

J little. What is our advance compared to everything else?

| We give a few instances. Ham from 13 to 30 ; beef from

J 12 to 30 ; boots from $6 to $16.50 ; coats from $12 to $33 ;

ire — and there we touch the gentlemen nearly — from

.: J and 4 cents to 15 and 20 ; butter from 30 to 75 and

I B0. Why need we enumerate? Everybody knows that

1 everything has advanced, and yet, singular to say, no one

I objects to paying any of these advances. Nor do we, for

' we pay more for our daily papers by 50 per cent, than we

I f Tmerly did. We only advance a very small percentage,

and we are sure that our subscribers will willingly pay

; it. But we have done. The prices we ask we must have,

I or we cannot send (he Book. It will be useless to appeal

t > as, and say, "We have been subscribers for so many

i years." "We havo sent you so many clubs." We can

inily answer, "Will your milliner, your grocer, your

foods man, your shoemaker, charge you less because

I you havo dealt with them so many years?" Ho. They

1 Inve to advance their prices, and so do we. All periodi-

- and newspapers throughout the Union have raised

their prices ; they could not do otherwise. The New York

• x presses the opinion that not one-third of the

journals of that city are paying current expense-, and

adds: "It is notoriously true that the capital invested

here In newspapers is paying no profit whatever."

Freight os Letters oe Premiums on Drafts.— We want
(fibers distinctly to understand that, when they
^end their letters by express companies, they must pay the
freight. We advise our subscribers to procure draft-; —
they and the postal money order are the only -
of remitting. The premium on the draft most bo -paid b}
the subscribers.

VOL. LXIX. 36

Br the time this num'jer reaches our subscribers the
postal order system will perhaps be in operation. Wo
copy from our August number the following article : —

Postal Mosey Orders. — Apply to your postmaster for
a postal money order. No more losses by mail.

"The postal money order system just established by
law provides that no money order shall bo issued for any
sum less than $1 nor more than $30. All persons who
receive money orders are required to pay therefor the fol-
lowing charges or fees, viz. : For an order for $1, or for
any larger sum but not exceeding $10, the sum of 10 cent*
shall be charged and exacted by the postmaster giving
such order: for an order of more than $10, and not ex-
ceeding $20, the charge shall be 15 cents ; and for every
order exceeding $20 a fee of 20 cents shall be charged."

The ridiculous old registry system that charged you 20
cents for a piece of paper, for that was all the security you
obtained, will, we hope, be done away with. Can any one
say that he ever recovered the money lost in a registered
letter?

Sending Specimen Numbers. — This business, to nse a
very expressive and common phrase, is about "played
Oilt " A party combines, and they get a whole yeai •
numbers by sending for specimens. We have traced this
matter up very clearly, and in future we synd no speci-
mens nnless under peculiar circnmslauc-

Our Superior Needles.— We have made arrangement*
by which we can continue to furnish the ladies' favorite
needles for 40 cents per 100 and n 3 cent stamp to pay re-
turn postage. This is much cheaper than they can be
purchased elsewhere, and the needles are of a much fin^r
qnallty. The demand is so great for them that it is- the
business of one person in our office to attend to the orders
We resume again si little profit to ourselves, but we - •
anxlons that our subscribers should be supjplied
superior article.

446

godey's lady's book and magazine.

HINTS FOR THE CULTIVATION OF WINTER
FLOWERING BULBS.

ET HENRT A. DREER, PHILADELPHIA.

Method to Bloom Hyacinths and other Bulbs, in the
Winter Season, in Pots and Glasses.

For tins purpose Single Hyacinths, and stick as are
designated earliest among the Double, are to be preferred.
Single Hyacinths are generally held iu less estimation
than Double ones ; their colors, however, are mure vivid,
and their bells, though smaller, are more numerous; some
of the sorts are exquisitely beautiful ; they are preferable
for flowering in winter to most of the Double ones, as
they bloom two or three weeks earlier, and are very sweet
scented. Roman Narcissus, Double Jonquilles, Polyan-
thus Narcissus, Persian Cyclamens, Double Narcissus,
Early Tulips, and Crocus, also make a fine appearance in
the parlor during winter.

Hyacinths intended for glasses should be placed in them
during October and November, the glasses being pre-
viously filled with pure water, so that the bottom of the
bulb may just touch the water ; then place them for the
first three or four weeks in a dark closet, box, or cellar,
to promote the shooting of the fibres, which should fill
the glasses before exposing them to the snn, after which
expose them to the light and sun gradually. If kept too
light and warm at first, and before there is sufficient fibre,
they will rarely flower well. They will blow without
any sun, but the colors of the flowers will be inferior.
The water should be changed as it becomes impure;
draw the roots entirely out of the glasses, rinse off the
fibres in clean water, and wash the inside of the glass
well. Care should be taken that the water does not
freeze, as it would not only burst the glass but cause the
fibres to decay. Whether the water is hard or soft, is not
a matter of much consequence* — soft is preferable — but
must Be perfectly clear, to show the fibres to advantage.

Bulbs intended for blooming in pots during the winter
season, should be planted during the months of October
and November, and be left exposed to the open air until
they begin to freeze, and then be placed in the green-
house or a room whero fire is usually made. They will
need moderate occasional watering until tbey begin to
grow, when they should have an abundance of air in mild
weather, and plenty of water from the sauceis, whilst in
a growing state ; and should be exposed as much as pos-
sible to the sun, air, and light, to prevent the leaves from
growing too long, or becoming yellow.

We now offer a complete assortment of choice Flower-
Bulbs comprising the finest Double and Single Hyacinths,
Tulips, Crocus, Narcissus, Jonquils, Snow Drops, Lilies,
etc. etc. For a remittance of $10 we will forward, by
mail, a choice selection of the above, comprising a gene-
ral assortment, suitable for winter flowering. Catalogues
of the entire collection will be forwarded by inclosing a
postage stamp. Address,

HENRY A. DREER, Seedsman and Florist,
714 Chestnut Street. Philada.

We had an article from Punch in a recent number,
stating how valuable a cat was to a cook in a house. A
correspondent sends us the following: —

"Our cat ate in one week (by the cook's account) two
large loaves of cake, half a box of pickled mackerel, one
p'tund of green tea, a hind-quarter of mutton, a jar of
preserved times, and a dozen oranges, washing them down
with a quart of cream and a pint of fourth-proof brandy,
bought fur minced meat. The cat still lives, and can be
.*een by any one calling on our cook, to whom we pre-
sented her in consideration of her valuable services as a
servaut."'

Children's Jokes. — Why is it that all so-called chil-
dren's witticisms should be npon sacred subjects? We
receive a large number, but can't publish them on that
account. Do children never make jokes except upon
sacred subjects? Taking the name of God in vain? We
do ask most respectfully that such things may not be sent
to us.

OUR MUSICAL COLUMN.

Hollovxiy's Musical Monthly, fur November. This is
a gem number of the Monthly. It contains, first, abeauti-
fnl romance, The Orphan's Prayer, by Badarzewska.
author of the celebrated Maiden's Prayer (La Priere d'une
Vierge), and is in the same style of composition as that
favorite work. This piece alone purchased in separate
sheets costs more than the price of the Monthly. Next is
a Grand Allegro Marziale, march movement, arranged
from Verdi's new opera, La Forza del Dcstino, which
is to be produced this season at our Academy of Music,
and will create a sensation equal to that produced by the
great author's La Traviata. Then there is a beautiful
ballad, O Love, Thou art Like a Reed bent Low, by M. W.
Balfe, from his grand romantic opera, The Armorer of
Nantes, a taste of which beautiful opera our subscribers
have already had in the May number of the Monthly.
This new ballad is a gem.

All this music the subscribers to Holloway's Musical
Monthly get for 25 cents as part of the yearly subscription
of $3. And it is published with beautifully engraved
title pages, and from regularly engraved plates, exactly
as other sheet music is published. Will our friends please
note this? As often as we have repeated it, we still re-
ceive letters every day from persons who have perhaps
just seen a number of the Monthly for the first time, and
who write that they are astonished at the elegant ap-
pearance of it— had no idea before that it was sheet music
— thought it was some little primer-shaped thing, or some
newspaper, or something of the kind. We should like to
know what plan to adopt to let every one know exactly
what Holloway's Musical Monthly is. If our friends
will send in their subscriptions, we willguarautee them a
work which will please them, whether for its beauty,
novelty, variety, cheapness or intrinsic worth. Terms
$3 per annum whether to single subscribers or clubs.
The old club rates are necessarily discontinued; and it
will require a very large addition to our subscription list
to enable us to continue the publication at $3. Our
friends have sustained us hitherto, and we have faith
that they will continue to do so, since in helping us they
help themselves. The Monthly, it will be remembered,
is not for sale at the music stores. Address J. Starr Hol-
loway, Publisher Musical Monthly, Box Post Office,
Philadelphia, with subscriptions or communications of
any nature appertaining to the work.

We are making arrangements for an early publication
in the Monthly of the gems from Gounod's new grand
opera of Mirelle, and Nicolai's new opera of The Tem-
plar, based on Sir Walter Scott's Kanhoo.

Premiums. — In the November number of the Monthly
we publish a fine list of Premiums which we are offering
for new subscribers. Lists, with terms, etc., will be
mailed to any address on receipt of a three cent stamp.

Bound Volumes. — Now ready, a few copies of the first
and Becond volumes of the Monthly, for 18G3 and 1864.
neatly bound. Price of each year's volume $6, and sent
free of postage. Copies in extra binding, morocco and
gilt edge $10. The volumes sold together or separately.

New Sheet Music. — Come Again , Ye Noble Freemen, is a
stirring Republican Rallying Song and Chorus for the
campaign of 1864, by Fa wcette. This fine piece is in large
demand among oursoldiers, political societies, clubs, etc.
Let every one send for a copy. Price 30 cents, or 5 copies
for $1, or 12 copies for $2, or $10 per hundred. For a
splendid list of Now Music see last mouth's Column in
the "Book." Address all orders for music, or the Monthly,
to J. Starr. Holloway.

GODEY S ARM-CHAIR.

447

A Heartless Jade.— We copy the following elopement
in high life from a late English paper. What a picture of
Aristocratic life:—

■Among the Euglish aristocracy there i? no house so
remarkable for the manner in which it has Interwoven
itself with the great families of the laud as the Paget*,
and which may in some measure be accounted for by
their connection with the court, which has been of many
- standing. Indeed, it has been said of them that the
men were all heroes and the women angels. Around
them romance has shed its halo, from the first Marquis of
Anglesey down to his granddaughter, who, by her mar-
riage on Saturday, became the Marchioness of Hastings.
Such an alliauco at one time would have created no more
" sensation than an ordiuary marriage in high life. The
announcement would have appeared in ourcolumns ; and
we should have done justice to the beauty of the bride,
and the exquisite texture of her dress, enumerated her
bridesmaids, and given details of their costumes, and con-
cluded by staling that the happy pair left town for Don-
nington Park, accompanied by the best wishes of their
friends for their future happiness. All this trouble has
been spared us. We should premise our story by stating
that, among the belles of onr English aristocracy, few of
late years created such a sensation on her d^but as Lady
Florence Paget, the youngest daughter of the Marquis of
Anglesey. Gifted with the hereditary beauty of her family
to a rare extent, her petite figure and dove-like eyes
caused her at once to become 'the rage of the park, the
ball-room, the opera, and the croquet lawn.' These per-
sonal charms were not a little enhanced by the unaffecled-
ikv-w of her manner and extreme good nature, which.
caused her to become the idol of her father and the house-
hold. Deprived of a mother's «are at an early age, her
education was hardly so advanced as might have beea
anticipated from her sphere in life, and she seemed to
have made Diana Vernon her model. In her intercourse
With society, among the many suitors by whom she was
surrounded was Mr. Chaplin, a gentleman possessed of
tee in Lincolnshire which produce him a rental of
nearly forty thousand pounds per annum, and endowed
with every quality to render him adesirablepartfi. Their
intimacy was such last year that rumors of their engage-
ment appeared in the papers, only to be contradicted, and
air. Chaplin proceeded on a shooting tour in India with
his friend Sir Frederick Johnstone. Returning in May, he
again met Lady Florence daily, and as a proof that his
attachment was undiminished he proposed to her, and
was accepted. The match was one which gave the great-
est satisfaction to the .Marquis of Anglesey and all his
family, for Mr. Chaplin wasa young man ofgreat promise,
aud by his ample means could give Lady Florence a
position in society which she had a right to look for,
although she could bring him no dowry. The announce-
ment of the engagement appeared in the Morning Post,
and also in our own columns, and the happy pair were
seen driving together in the parks, in the same box at
the opera, and enjoying each other's society in the same
manner as fiancees are in the habit of doing. At a fashion-
able jeweller's at the West-end Lady Florence's jew. is,
the gift of Mr. Chaplin, were displayed to all comers, and
the trousseau engaged the attention of the first modistes.
Presents] came in to her in abundan#p, the servants even
subscribing for a silver teapot, sugar basiu, aud cream jug
fa her. The wedding was fixed for the second week in
I _• oat, and Mr. Chaplin had made the necessary prepara-
tions to receive his bride. But it was not to be, although
no later than Friday night s-he occupied Mr. Chaplin's box
at the opera, and sat between him and her really future
husband, the Marquis of Hastings, of whom we may re-
mark that his attachment to her had been notorious, and
it was known that he meant to have proposed to her, if
Mr. Chaplin had not taken time by the forelock. Ad-
dicted as his lordship is to the turf and its congenial ac-
cessorfes, it was imagined Lady Florence's image would
i be erased from his mind, but it seemed otherwise,
and that, while on the best of terms with Mr. Chaplin, ho
was only concealing his play, for on the following morn-
ing (Saturday) that he had been at the opera with him and
her ladyship he found himself with the latter at St.
George's Church, Hanover-square, and they were united
for better or worse. As much curiosity prevails to know
bow the marriage was arranged, we may state that Lady
Florence, on Saturday morning, left the St. George's Hotel,
in Albemarle Street, where she had bepn staying during
the season, in her father's brougham, telling the porter, if
Mr. Chaplin called, she should not return until two
o'clock. She then was driven to Marshall and Snell-
gr >ve's. in Oxford Street, and leaving the carriage at one
entrance was met at the other by the sister of the Marquis

of Hastings, who, engaging a hick cab, drove her at onco
to St. George's, where the Marquis of Hastings, accom-
panied by Mr. and Mrs. Granville (whose marriage wo
recorded only a fortnight back), Mr. Blake, Mr. Wilkin-
son, and Mr. F. Wombwell were iu waiting. Immediately
after the ceremony had beeu performed, the Marquis and
Marchioness of Hastings repaired to Mr. Granville's lodg-
ings in St. James's place, from whence after the bride bad

communicated by Letter to Mr, Chaplin and her i

her change Of mind, they started per special :■
Donnington Park to spend the honeymoon. At Peter-
borough station they were met by several of their friends,
who were not a little surprised to find Lady Pii i
company with the marquis instead of Mr. Chaplin. To
show the marriage could not have been an impn mpttl
affair, as some people imagine, the bet of the happy
couple being received at the station by his tenantry, who
had erected no leas than nine triumphal arches trimmed
with flowers, at once discloses. It is needless to add that
Mr. Chaplin feels very much the slight that has been put
upon him, but his feelings are in some measure consoled
by the assurance of his friends that it is all for the best.
The Marquis of Aulgesey is also much distressed at the
affair, for the alliance with Mr. Chaplin had his const at
and approbation. Her ladyship's brother and brother-; n
law, Lords Uxbridge and Winchelsea, heard of the mar-
riage by accident at the pigeon ahooting match at Horn-
sey. In conclusion, we may state that since Lady Adela
Vi'lliers eloped with Captain Ibbetsou, of the 11th Hus-
sars, at Brighton, no similar occurrence has created such
a profound sensation among the West-end Mothers and
Daughlers."

Oea Card Photographs fob Albdmk. — We areditriribnt-
ing these elegant pictures all over the country, from Maine
to California and Oregon, and everywhere they ore giving
satisfaction. Why? Because they are of the finest quality :
equal to anything produced. All orders are promptly
mailed, and the cards selected with particular care.
Liberal terms to those who buy in quantities to sell again.

Blitz, Bobby, and the Birds. — TheThree B's, a glorious
trio. Blitz the inimitable, the good, the kind, the witty,
has again opened his temple of wonders at the Assembly
Buildings. His r'pertoire is entirely new and his ven-
triloquism is better than ever. Blitz is a good citizen and
a loyal man. We commend him to the public — but why
need we? Ue is almost as well known as the Lady's
Book.

Chestnut Street Female Seminary, Philadelphia. —
The twenty-ninth semi-annual session of this boarding
and day school will open at 1615 Chestnut Street. Wed-
nesday, September 14. Principals, Miss Bonney and MlES
Dillaye. Particulars from circulars.

Friend Editor of the Jackson Standard, how well you
read human nature, and ours in particular. Listen, ladies,
to what he says, and second it: —

"Godey is a favorite, and much admired by the iadies
of Jackson. If he were a candidate and the ladies con l
use the right of suffrage, he would be made,
The President of the United States,
To kiss all the ladies, and ride upuu the Gates."

Thank you, friend of the Standard, but we prefer pre-
siding over the tastes of our fair subscribers, to under-
taking the charge of the nation. We accept the fln-t
clause of the second line, but — excuse the gates.

A Correspondent says: —

"We have a little girl who was absolutely given to
punning long before she had reached her fourth year.
Our house is warmed by a furnace, but in a new apart-
ment added to it is an open grate. When the different
parts for furnishing it were brought, she was very curi-
ous to know what they were. She was told that they
were to make a grate. 'Hum.' said she, looking up
with an arch lauyh, 'that's what I call a grate idea. '

448

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

We publish this month a number of complimentary
letters that we have received from ladies forwarding us
clubs. We have many thousands of the same kind : —

I send you nine subscribers; and truly no lady should
be deprived of such a treasure. Mrs. L., Iowa.

Should positively feel lost without my Godey every
month. Have taken it for yearn, and may I be fortunate
enough to enjoy the reading of it for many years to come !

Mrs. F., N. H.

Dear Sir: Inclosed please find a club for tho Book,
which we could not do without. May Heaven shuwer
ibwu iU choicest blessings upon you !

Mrs. J. H., Ohio.

Please send your excellent magazine to the subscribers
whose names I send, and oblige an old subscriber, who
deems the Lady's Book not only a luxury, but a real gem
m a household. May success attend it ! L. W., Iowa.

Clubbing with Magazines. — We have no club with
auy other magazine except Arthur's, and that as follows;
One copy of Godey'a Lady's Bouk, and one copy of Ar-
thur's Uo)iie Magazine, each one year, fur $4.

Young Ladies' Seminary fob. Boarding and Day
Pfpils.— Mrs. Gertrude J. Cary, Principal, South-east
corner Sixteenth and Spruce Streets, Philadelphia, Pa.
The twentieth session of this school will commence in
September, 1864.

The course of stady 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, wind, 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 G»dey, Esq., Philadelphia ; Rev. J. N. Candee, D. D.,
oalesburg 111 ; Louis H. Jenkins, Jacksonville, 111. ;
jtev. George Duflield, Jr., Adriau, Mich.

Circulars sent on application.

A Good Thick. — Wrap a strip of paper slanting wise
round a pencil-case, ruler, or any round object, making all
the edges meet. Write upon it, and then unwrap it; it
will be quite a chaos, but when brought back to its old
position on a roller, it will be as legible as this print.

We have heretofore published something on this sub-
ject:—

Case of Paralysis cured by Ice.— The Medical Times
and Gazette of May 26th contains an account by Mr. F.
liroughton, Surgeon-Major Bombay Army, of the relief of
a paralytic girl, aged twenty-one, by the application of
Dr. Chapman's ice process. The girl had been confined
to her bed for upwards of a year. She could not turn in
bed or assist herself iu auy way. but had to be moved
like an infant. Iu October, 1S63, Mr. Broughton says:
" My attention had been directed to the agency of ice in
such cases by the perusal of Dr. Chapman's paper in your
journal, and, I confess with no very sanguine hope of
success, I directed two pounds of ice, in oiled silk bags, to ,
be applied to the spine every morning for two hours, fol-
lowed by hand friction down the spine to the extremities
for two hours following, the whole body being subse-
quently cased in flannel." The result was that by the
middle of November she could turn herself in bed. By
December 1st she was able to stand and move about the
room. She improved to such an extent that ou Christmas-
day Mr. Broughton had the satisfaction of meeting her
walking in the streets of the Sussex village in which she
resides.

JUVENILE DEPARTMENT.

We give, this month, some instructions to our young
friends how to make a pen-wiper. They will be found
very simple In their character.

THE WITCH PEN- WIPER.
Procure a brown wax doll, with an old woman's face,
if possible ; fix something on the back to give the appear-
ance of stooping, and fold some cloth round tho legs to
serve for petticoats, and also for the purpose of wiping
the pen. Put on an old-fashioned cotton skirt, and for tho
cloak cut out a piece of red cloth rather longer than the
breadth, and a shoulder-piece of the same material, and
gather the cloak on to this ; then cut out a cape long
euough to cover the shoulders; sew this round the neck

of the latter piece, bind it neatly, and also the cloak ; tie
round the neck a small red ribbon, first having cut out
two holes for the arms. Quill up some narrow lace for
a cap, and make a large bonnet of black satin, with a
high, old-fashioned crown, then put in the cap, rather
near the edge of the bonnet, sewing it on to the head of
the doll. Get a small basket, line it with pink glazed
calico, and fill it up with small pincushions, etc., and
bang it on tho arm of the old woman. In the hand place
a small twig for a stick. When completed, it will make a
pretty and useful ornament for a writing-table; or, if
very neatly executed, they form pretty embellishments for
the chimney-piece or side-table.

F. F. says : " I was walking up*the hill one day when
I heard some one call out behind me, 'Hoy.' Thinking it
was intended for me, I looked round, but seeing no one
behind me, I continued my walk, wheu 'boy' was repeated
louder than before; again I stopped and looked round;
not a soul was in sight, and again I continued. ' Hoy.'
Thinking some one was poking fun at me from some se-
cure hiding-place hard by, I did not look round this time,
when 'hoy, hoy, hoy,' was repeated in the most urgent
tones. Again I came to a full stop, and looked round
completely puzzled, for I could not make out where the
rascal was who was thus fooling me, when an uproarious
shout of laughter, a downright peal of intense enjoyment,
ensued, and my gaze following the sound, I detected
Master Polly, hung up in and half hidden by a large,
shady vine. Seeing he was detected, the rogue cocked
his head on one side, and, looking at me with a most
cnuniug expression, said, ' Sold again ! only Polly ! sold !
sold! sold! Ha! ha! ha!' And, quite disgusted at being
cbalfed in this way, I walked on, followed by shouts of
laughter and choice selections of nautical phrases. I
have no doubt whatever that although the bird had been
unquestionably taught this little amusement, and often
practised it, that he had sufficient sense to connect cause
and effect, and to enjoy the embarrassment he created."

GODEY 3 ARM-CHAIR.

449

DESIGN FOR AX ORNAMENTAL COTTAGE.
Dcsignai urprtssly/or Gvdey'a Lady's Bookt '<y Isaac II. Hobbs, ArcUU'ct, PhilmUlphia.

PERSPECTIVE VIEW.

FIRST 6TORY.

Principal Story.— P parlor, B library, F tower hall, H
main hall, C conservatory, I breakfast-room, D dining*
room, 0 porch, V veranda, K kitchen, E pantry, W wash
room, A carriage porch.

Second Story.— V veranda, C principal chamber and
bath-room, X chamber, S closet, 0 main hall, T boudoir,
|H veranda, A roof or porch, Z chamber, IV back chamber,
iMf J bedrooms.

Mcsic Received —We have received the following from
Blackman tt Co., New Orleans: —
Come to Me. Love. A Serenade.

3C*

SECOXD STORY.
HrvoROCS address on a letter :—

'Mr. Postmaster Brady,

Oblige a young lady :
To Philadelphia city this letter convey,

In leas time than no day,

Go seek L. A. Godey ;
There 's three dollars inside for subscription to pay.
And don't let this letter iu thieves' finger* fall.
Or I sha'n't get my Lady's Book, maybe, at all."

A Schoolteacher a«ked a little girl one day, " What
Is latitude?'1 The answer was, "Latitude is something

either north or south from the Vrtatt^r.',

450

GODEY S LADY 3 BOOE AND MAGAZINE.

SOME HINTS.

In remitting, try to procure a draft, and don't fail to
indorse it.

Address L. A. Godey, Philadelphia, Pa. That is suffi-
cient.

If a lady is the writer, always prefix Mrs. or Miss to
her signature, that we may know how to address a
reply.

Town, County, and State, always in your letter.

Ii" you want your book sent to another post-office, state
to what office it is sent to at the time you write.

When a number of the Lady's Book is not received,
write at once for it ; don't wait until the end of the
year.

When inclosing money, do not trust to the sealing
matter on an envelope, but use a wafer in addition.

Mrs. Hale is not the Fashion Editress. Address "Fash-
ion Editress, care L. A. Godey, Philadelphia."

When you send money for any other publication, we
pay it over to the publisher, and there our responsibility
ee«tses.

We can always snpply back numbers.

Subscriptions mjy commence with any number of the
year.

The postage on the Lady's Book is 24 cents a year,
payable yearly, semi-yearly, or quarterly in advance,
ut the office where it is received.

Let the names of the subscribers and your own signa-
ture be written so that they can be easily made out.

Jocose. — The Providence Journal cuts down its ex-
change and its free list, and begs that those who have
heretofore come on the latter won't think that now they
Must subscribe, because at the present price of white paper
a subscription is not a favor.

The Ohio Advertiser gives forth the following to the
public : —

"Godey sends us his incomparable Lady's Book regu-
larly every month, and we as regularly forward it to our
'gal,' who holds it in great favor. Indeed, what Napo-
leon was to the people of France Godey is to the ladies
of America. They little care whether Republicans or
Democrats triumph, whether there is peace or war, so
they have Godey 's Book for a companion, and no squalling
children to interrupt them in the midst of the, to us, unfa-
thomable mysteries of the fashion-plates."

A lady contributor, reading the above, adds, rather
indignantly: —

" 'Squalling children !' I 'd like to know who furnishes
patterns for dresses, sacks, and aprons for these ' squall-
ing children?' Godey ! Who provides pretty pictures to
quiet their squalls? Godey! Who gives us receipts for
all the 'goodies' for these squalling children? Godey!
Who, in short, so provides for and fascinates both mother
and children that squalls are things unheard of where he
reigns? Godey."

Thank you! We try to do all this, and if we succeed,
we are delighted.

The Chinese are dexterous menders of broken iron
vessels. Their method id described by Dr. Lockhart. The
s-urface of the broken vessel is first scraped clean. A por-
tion of cast iron is then melted in a crucible no larger
than a thimble, in a furnace as large as the lower half of
a common tumbler. The iron, when melted, is dropped
on a piece of felt covered with charcoal ashes. It is
pressed inside the vessel against the hole to be filled np,
and as it exudes on the other side it is struck and pressed
with a small roll of felt covered with ashes. The new
and old iron adhere, and the superfluous metal being
removed, the vessel is as good as new.

Two elegant little volumes for ladies are just published
by Messrs. J. E. Tilton & Co., Boston. Price $2 00 each,
Illustrated in the style of their "Art Recreations."

Wax Flowers: How to Make Them. With new meth-
ods of Sheeting Wax, Modelling Fruit, etc.

Skeleton Leaves and Phantom Flowees. A complete
and Practical Treatise on the Production of these beautifu 1
Transformations. Also, Directions for Preserving Natural
Flowers in their fresh beauty.

Freakishly enough, a hen of ours the other day laid
such a little egg — scarcely larger than a pigeon's. It was
on the table yesterday, specially assigned to baby— four
years old. He wouldn't eat it ; said that he wanted to
keep it; then, after a moment, "Mother, won't it get
ripe t ' '

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 niatle
out of post-marks.

Mrs. G. W. W.— Sent pattern August 17th.

J. A. H. — Sent pattern 17th.

M. L. L. — Sent pattern 17th.

Mrs. 0. P.— Sent pattern 17th.

Mrs. R. S. K.— Sent pattern 17th.

Mrs. M. A. C— Sent articles 20th.

Mrs. M. J. Mc. — Sent dress shields 20th.

Mrs. E. L.— Sent pattern 23d.

J. H. B. — Sent articles by express 25th.

J. A. W.— Sent hair chain 27th.

L. R.— Sent Grecian curls 29th.

S. V. — Sent braiding pattern 29th.

T. W.— Sent hair jewelry 30th.

M. R. S. — Sont hair braid by express 30th.

Mrs. S. M. — Sent infant's wardrobe by express 30th.

Mrs. M. G. — Sent hair curls by express 30th,

S. J. S.— Sent pattern September 3d.

Mrs. G. C. D.— Sent pattern 3d.

Mrs. F. A. M. S.— Sent pattern 3d.

L. J. S. — Sent pattern 3d.

Mrs. E. P. D.— Sent pattern 3d.

H. R. G.— Sent pattern 3d.

Mrs. D. J. R.— Sent collar 9th.

E. B.— Sent dress shields 9th.

Mrs. D. J. R.— Sent kid gloves 9th.

Mrs. M. J. J. — Sent embroidery cotton 9th.

M. L. W.— Sent lead comb 9th.

M. A. J.— Sent lead comb 9th.

Mrs. H. E. S.— Sent articles 9th.

Mrs. D. N. — Sent goods (sample) 9th.

M. F. P.— Sent leaves 9th.

Mrs. J. B. W.— Sent pattern 13th.

Mrs. M. J. P.— Sent pattern 13th.

Mrs. M. P. C— Sent pattern 13th.

E. M. — Sent dress goods by express 15th.

Mrs. M. A. S.— Sent hair charms 15th.

E. M. — Sent hair chain 15th.

W. H. A. — Sent hair set by express 15th.

Miss R. L. M.— The gentleman is correct. It was his
duty to precede you in such a crowd as you describe.

Miss P. B. — Simply being partners in a dance does not
lead to an acquaintance. If the lady chooses to recognize
you afterwards, it is all right.

Subscriber. — We do not know of any remedy for a bad
breath. Perhaps it is your teeth. Consult your physician.

FASHI0X3.

451

Un P. V. D. la assured (hat "a wreath of orange blos-
som" is not essential to tho marriage ceremony. If the
favored gentleman objects to all "parade," it would bo
weil for his sako to avoid it. Our opinion is that a wed-
ding should I"-- conducted with as much display as is con-
sistent with the position of w,ie gentleman.

L. II. — Perfectly correct; but we understand it; the
right arm will be the left one if a lady is ou the other.

Um Q, V. — It would be better to marry one of your
owu persuasion; but Love overrules all.

Su\hu.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

BATIKS had frequent applications for the purchase of
jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the
Editress of the. Fashion Drparhnent wiil hereafter execute
commissions for any who may desire it, with the charge of
a small percentage for the time and research required.
Spring and autmnu bonnets, materials for dresses, jewelry,
envelops, hair-work, worsteds, children's wardrobes, man-
tillas, and manteletfl, 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. Fur the last,
distinct directions must be giveu.

Orders, accompanied by clucks for the proposed expert'
dit'irt, to be addressed to the aire of L. A. Qoaeyt Esq.

Ka order tctlt be attended to unless the money is first
received, A ith r > E liter nor PvttUsher will he account-
<thh' far 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
hi from Brans k Co.'s ; mourning goods from Besson
& Sou ; dry goods of any kind from Messrs. A. T. Stewart
.'; Co., New fork; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, from
Brodle's, ol Canal Street, New York ; bonnets from the
most celebrated establishments ; jewelry from Wriggeus
Jc Warden, or Caldwell's, Philadelphia.

When troods are ordered, the fashions that prevail here
govern the purchase; therefore, do articles will be taken
back. When the goods are sent, the transaction must be
considered final.

DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR

NOVEMBER.

Fig. 1. — Skirt of heavy black silk, edged with ir'.mson
silk, braided with black. Jacket of white silk, rimmed
with bands of crimson silk braided with black. The hair
is rolled in frout, arranged in a bow at the back, and
dressed with crimson velvet and small tufts of flowers.

Fig. 2. — Skirt of chocolat au la it colored silk, with
streamers of green silk richly trimmed with black lace.
Jacket of black gros grains silk, trimmed with black
velvet and steel buttons. The hair is waved in front, and
arranged in a net at the back. Black felt hat, trimmed
with green velvet ribbon, and a bouquet placed directly
in front.

Fig. 3. — Visiting suit of pearl-colored poplin, with vest
of Magenta silk. White uncut velvet bonnet, with white
plume.

Fig. 4. — Walking snit of cuir-colored poplin, richly or-
namented with guipure lace and crochet trimming. The
skirt is looped over a petticoat formed of alternate stripes
• ■f blue and white merino, trimmed with black velvet.
'Bonnet of white plush, with soft crown of purple velvet.
The trimming is composed of purple Telvet and scarlet
and white flowers.

Ftff. "<—R:ch purple silk dress, trimmed with black

velvet and chenille fringe, arranged to simulate a tunic.
The corsage is also trimmed with chenille fringe and
velvet. White corded silk bonnet, tr;i.uned with jet
black feathers, a purple tip, and fancy grasses.

Fig. (3. — Pearl-colored poplin dress, trimmed with rows
of Magenta velvet, arranged in a pattern on each breadth.
Wide sash uf poplin, trimmed to mutch the skirt. Puffed
waist, made of white cashmere, and trimmed with Ma-
genta velvet. Hair rolled from the face and caught in a
not, which is trimmed with Magenta ribbon.

CHITCHAT CPOX NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA
FASHIONS FOR .NOVEMBER.

Thouoh each day brings forth new goods suited to the
cooler season, we have few real novelties to speak "f
The change seems to be a great variation of v. ha; we
already had. The goods are very beautiful ; indei d, it
would almost seem as if the looms of Lyons must be ex-
hausted in furnishing the elegant, rich-colored taffetas
now on exhibition. They are brocaded, plaided, and
striped in the richest combinations of colors, the quality
is heavy, and gros grain is one of the most favored styles,
particularly for a plain silk.

For walking, travelling, and ordinary dress we have
poplins of various kinds, Foulards, llama cloth, queen's
cloth, merinoes, poil-de-chevere, and alpacas, <ii.iv acd
cuir are colors always pretty, aud suitable; for the sired,
though purples, a dark shade of green, plum, and brown
are all worn.

Paletots or sacks of the same material as the dress are
much worn, and now that materials have advanced so
much in price, one pair of sleeves now answers for both.
When this arrangement is adopted, the sack should be
trimmed at the armhole with an epaulette of the materia*
prettily trimmed, or else a fancy gimp epaulette. The
effect then is good ; indeed, better than when two pair of
sleeves are worn, as the latter often have a bulky, stuffed
appearance.

Gray and black will be much patronized for full suits.
Flat trimmings are the most prevalent, and much inge-
nuity is displayed in rendering them attractive. They
are cut out in a hundred different styles, aud stitched on
by machine with a very coarse purse twist. Black is
generally the color for the application, as it always trims
effectively.

A pretty and dressy style of trimming consists of a
number of ends of a color contrasting well with the dress,
and left streaming from the waist. Fig. 2 of our fashion-
plate is a good example of this trimming. Heavy silk
cable cord, arranged in a pattern on a dress, also edging
the scallops on the edge of the skirt, is a very rich trim-
ming for a plain silk. Floss silk fringe, a light, pretty
article, trims evening and dinner dresses very effectively.

For school-dresses, dressing-gowns, and wrappers, wo
have printed meriuoes, cashmeres, and flannels, also
French chintzes, which now, from their price, stand very
high in public estimation. All theso goods are either
figured with small, brilliant bouquets or designs, or else
have broad ribbon-like stripes, formed of palms and flow-
ers, alternating with others of a sober though rich color.

Opening day at Mme. Demorest's revealed to us a host
of pretty toilets and the greatest variety of new and pretty
patterns of most every article of dress, some quite simple,
others elaborately trimmed.

Among the pretty dresses, we select the following tor
description: A dinner dress of rich corded mj Ik of the shade
known as azurline. The skirt, very wide and full, had
the edge cot in waves, and bound with velvet matching

452

godey's lady's book and magazine.

the dress in shade. The trimming consisted of bows of
black lace, with centres of blue velvet, which had the
effect of butterflies. These butterflies were linked toge-
ther with five rows of fine blue silk cord. The corsage
was made with quite a coatee, and trimmed with butter-
flies to match the skirt. The sleeves were made in the
coat style.

Another rich robe, intended for a carriage dress, was
accompanied by one of the new velvet coata. It was
composed of handsome plaid, silk poplin of the blue and
green combination, which is always fashionable and
stylish. The skirt and basque were trimmed with a no-
velty in the way of jet ornaments called the pine-tree
pattern. The base consists of silk and jet fringe, and the
upper part of silk and jet arranged very much in the
shape of a common pine-tree, and hence the name. A set
of these ornaments constitutes a particularly elegant and
appropriate trimming for any kind of a poplin dress. The
coat had long, square basques, pockets, and revers, and
was trimmed to match the dress.

A promenade dress of a mixed black and gold-colored
poplin or queen's cloth was trimmed with fancy broad
lozenges of black velvet, ornamented by a narrow beading
of jet, and jet drop buttons. The body was high, double-
breasted (a favorite style), and fastened with enormous
jet buttons. Three slender lappels completed it at the
back. The sleeves were in the coat form.

A suit for a little boy from five to seven was of olive
green ribbed cloth, trimmed with rows of narrow black
velvet. The pants were open four inches on the side, and
held together by flat bows of inch wide black velvet, with
pointed ends. The fulness was massed into three plaits
in front. The jacket was round, with pockets and small
revers. Its open front disclosed a fine tucked skirt and
Mnall gold studs. A narrow crimson necktie completed
the suit.

The trowsers of another suit, instead of being open at
the side, were trimmed all the way down. The jacket
was slashed at the side, cut in hollow points at the back,
and square across the front. The sleeves were a loose
coat sleeve.

A pretty plaid dress for a little girl is plaited into a
yoke. The skirt only full at the sides, but skirt and
waist forming one piece, back and front. The skirt is cut
in deep points at the edge, bound with velvet and a long
bilk drop button on each point. A small sack of the same
is also trimmed with deep points and buttons.

These points are also lasLionable for ladies' suits, but
we think we prefer scallops, as points on the edge of a
skirt are apt to turn up. It is, however, a pretty finish
for a sack.

A coat for a boy of three years had a gored skirt,
trimmed with diamonds of velvet. A deep talma or cape
turned back in front, the revers ornamented with three
diamonds in velvet; plain high body, and shaped coat
sleeves.

Tartan is very much worn by children. A pretty suit
for a boy is a skirt of very bright plaid poplin, a zouave
of black cloth or velvet, made with tabs at the back. A
scarf of plaid silk, edged with fringe, is carried from one
side of the waist to the opposite shoulder, where it is
caught with a Scotch pin. The hat is of felt, trimmed
with eagles' feathers.

We mentioned in our last Chat that buckles were worn

of colossal size. We understand that in Paris they are

worn both in the front and back of the waist ; also that

belts with these large buckles are worn over casaques.

The newest combs are composed of tortoise shell, cut In

diamonds like a net, and these terminate with a gold
fringe.

Some new styles of coiffure have appeared. One style
has the hair rolled from the face, a coronet plait is arranged
over the forehead, and a cluster of plaits is gracefully
looped at the back. 0

Another style is to turn the hair straight from the face
in a rolled bandeau, to plait the back hair in one wide
plait, and to pin this straight up the centre of the head,
the ends being fastened under the bandeau. Sprays of
drooping flowers are arranged each Bide of this plait, the
ends being fastened underneath it.

A new style of glove for evening wear is made quite
high on the wrist, and laced with fine silk cords from the
wrist to the top. The cord is finished with silk tassels,
and is tied in bows at the wrist.

We are pleased to call the attention of our Northwestern
friends to the admirable styles of corsets manufactured by
F. Alonzo Burger, Detroit, Mich. A recent examination
of his goods convinces us that, for perfect adaptation, and
beauty of finish, they are not surpassed by any made.
We bespeak for Mr. Burger great success in his enterprise
of supplying the West, and especially his own State, with
so desirable a class of goods.

Burger's improved skirt supporter is also worthy of
mention here, as combining corset and shoulder brace
with complete support for skirts. A most desirable article
for all who do not wear the regular corset.

Thibet or goat's hair fringe is quite a novelty, and
decidedly the most stylish trimming yet introduced this
season.

The short veils, of which we have before spoken as
mask veils, but more appropriately termed by the Parisians
muzzles, are now universally worn on both hats and
bonnets. They are of thread or guipure lace, or else of
tulle or spotted net, trimmed with chenille or bugle fringe,
or else are hemmed over a colored ribbon.

Mr. Brodic, of Canal Street, New York, displays this
fall a choice assortment of wraps, both in cloth and silk.
For misses there are the ever pretty white and black
cross-barred cloths made into circles with fancy hoods,
lined with bright-tinted silks, and trimmed with chenille
cords and tassels. Large checks of various colors, orna-
mented with chenille fringe, are among the general styles.
Plain colored cloths of all shades, made up into circles
or paletots, trimmed with velvet cut into arabesque de-
signs, are both graceful and elegant. Sacks of heavy
purple velvet cloth, trimmed with braid and steel buttons,
are very attractive and stylish.

A style not likely to become conwnon, owing to it* ex-
pense, is a circle or sack of gros grain silk, trimmed
with graduated rings of velvet or crochet trimming,
sparkling with jet beads. On the heavy silk this trim-
ming has a very rich effect. Other styles have a wide
sash formed of gimp and silk, or else lace arranged ou
the back of the paletots. Gigantic rosettes and bows enter
largely into the fall trimmings, and, if well arranged,
produce quite a pleasing effect.

Many of the cloth and silk paletots are trimmed with
square buttons made of silk, velvet, jet, or mother-of-
pearl. As these are a novelty, they are well received.
Other paletots have the trimming laid on in the exact
shape of a coat, and as the paletot is not cut away in
front, the effect is good and not too startling for the street.
Besides the above-mentioned styles, there is a profusiou
of others, made up in that admirable taste which has
made Mr. Brodie quite an authority on the subject of
wraps. Fasiiiox.

» «*wS3wnB#59«3p'W - ■** ' >^< -«W??y^ *

GOBI ] § EMHMffi i iR '«» :

■Si

CHRISTMAS IN CAMP.

vol. lxix. — 37

477

THE NEVADA.

[From the establishment of ti. Brodie, M Canal Strew, New York. Drawn by L. T. VoiaT, from actual articles

of costume.]

Tits is a most appropriate garment for the winter, being well adapted for the storms and cold The distinguishim;
» jr«-'S manner in which it is trimmed, which the illustration amplv explains. The passementeries vary to suit
the different qualities of the cloths, but as real usefulness is the chief object aimed at it is mostly constructed of heavy

•»fcC*,<i "• "5 mxy we" pnlillf' " '" ">• character of a "dread nought." Our drawiui- is from a gray beav. r cJ th
w_tn a flat trimming of the new style zigzag pattern, and buttons which resemble eves, having black spots set in to the
side, not centre, of white bnltons. j • e r

479

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480

NEW STYLE OF ROBE.

(From the celebrated establishment of Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., of New York.)

Robe of bine merino, with a pattern in gay colors, graduating up the front over the shoulders and round the yoke. The
tablier piece and yoke are of gray, and the designs up the front are black, to imitate jet trinimiugs.

482

ROBE DRESS.

(/><'« the celebrated establishment of Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., of Ni w York.)

L«OT8tinbriHhlhcollna W0°' ma"riaI' bordered iD a W Persiao design. Zouave of a black wool material, with snitable

463

baby's hood-knitting.

(See Description, Work Department.)

484

4-5

BABY'S TIPPET-TRICOT.

(.v. Description, Work Dejim lineal.)

ARRANGED FROM PETRELLA'S NEW AND BEAUTIFUL OPERA, "IONE."
By E. EHOLLO.

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GODEY'S

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PniLADELPHIA, DECEMBER, 1364.

SEVEN YEARS.

BT MARION HARLA3P.

[Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1804, by Loins A. fionuT, in the clerk's office of the District Co::rt
of tli-' United States, in and for the Eastern District ot" Pennsylvania.]

The New War bad had a stormy advent.
Snow at dawn, snow at noon, snow drifted
breast high in the roads, heaped above the
tops of tli.- femes, banked up against the
doors, and falling, driving, whirling still when
darkness closed gloomily upon the scene.

•• What a delightfully stormy night I" said
I, drawing my chair nearer the red-hot grate.

Cousin Martha rejoined by a smile of assent,
and went on with her knitting — a pair of
woollen socks, by which tingling or benumbed
feet, bleeding from long marches over frozen
clods, or crushing the snow upon the picket's
round, were to be abundantly comforted.

I wish you had known my Cousin Martha!
And, to brave prejudice at the outset, I will
remark that she was thirty-seven years of age,
and had never married. Nobody called her
"an old maid," yet it seemed unlikely that
she would ever enter any other state than
that she at present adorned. I used to think
it would be a pity if she should ; for, with all
due respect for the honorable exceptions that
redeem single-blessedness from the stigmas
continually cast upon it, those who dignify
and render it a desirable condition in the eyes
of the multitude are not so numerous that
any shining example can be spared. Cousin
Martha was greatly loved and respected in
our community, and it would have argued ill
lor the sense and taste of her neighbors had
not this been the case. She had been very
pretty in her youth : and, although infirm
health and sorrow, more than years, had
vol. lxjx. — 3S

scattered gray hairs among her chestnut locks,
and wasted her once plump form, there were
still traces of beauty in her features, while
her pleasant voice and the gentle grace of
every movement remained unchanged. She
wore a mourning-dress to-night, with tiny
white frills at the throat and wrists. She
was always thus apparelled, for she was the
last of her family. Father, mother, brothers,
and sisters had all stepped down before her
into the waters that, dark and cold as they
may appear, and stormy from the "troubling"
of Azrael's wing, are yet potent to heal all
mortal disease and woe. I thought of these
repeated and thrice-repeated bereavements
as I scanned the sweet, placid face, she uncon-
scious of my scrutiny. She was small of
stature, and very slight ; her busy hands
were dainty in form and touch ; her eyes were
still sparkling with life and intelligence. You
might have searched far, on that wintry eve,
before you found another fairer fireside pic-
ture than was set for my admiration — mine
alone, for we were the only inmates of her
parlor. A bright nook it was, with the light
of fire and lamp ; thick curtains excluded the
chill of the outer air, white and crimson hung
the walls, the carpet was a white ground, with
bunches of roses dropped here and there ;
there were softly-cushioned chai rs and lounges,
and a crimson-draped centre-table held, be-
sides books and lamps, a vase of white tea-
roses, their creamy hearts filling the air with
fragrance. Cousin Martha had taste and

489

490

godey's lady's book and magazine.

means ; the love of beauty and the ability to
gratify it. We had passed our New Year's
Day without other company, for in that quiet
country neighborhood the fashion of receiving
calls at that season was not practised. But
■we had had a happy time, with books, work,
and talk. My hostess was the best conversa-
tionalist I ever knew, and a charming racon-
teur, and spared no pains to entertain her
solitary guest.

Since our early tea, she had grown more
taciturn and thoughtful, and, as I watched
her, I observed that her eyes were often raised
to a portrait which hung over the mantel. By
and by her fingers were still, and her upward
gaze became fixed. Love, yearning and fond,
and settled sadness were expressed in the look,
and, attracted by its intensity, my regards
followed hers. It was the likeness of a young
girl, of perhaps twenty summers. Bands of
dark hair were put back smoothly from a wide,
rather low brow ; the face was oval, the com-
plexion brunette, with a tinge of olive ; nose
well-formed, and lips full ; but in the eyes
lay the chief charm of the physiognomy.
They were large, and almost, if not quite,
black, and in looking long at them I became
aware that there were wells of passionate
meaning in their depths. So well had the
artist done his work that the iris seemed to
dilate and grow lustrous as I met its glance ;
the soul — earnest, longing, seeking, yet with
a certain prescience of coming sorrow hanging
over it — to speak to me from the dumb canvas.
I could not command my eyes away from the
fascinating study, yet there was the oppres-
sive consciousness all the while that I, a
stranger, was guilty of unfeeling intrusion,
in searching into the griefs I felt, without
being told, had certainly befallen her. I was
wonderiug whether this melancholy. — myste-
rious and not to be described by words — were
indeed, as poets tell us, the token of early
death to her who wore it, when Cousin Martha
spoke, softly and reverently : —

"Earth holds few like her, my dear. In
heaven there are many."

"She was a dear friend of yours, I think
you told me once?" I said.

" The dearest God ever gave me ! the most
faithful that mortal ever had ! It was her
nature to be true, constant unto death!"

"Was hers a sad history?" I ventured to
ask, timidly.

'• i'tss, my love."

Her eyes glistened as they again sought the
portrait. The wind whistled and the storm
beat heavily against the panes ; but the room
was so still that the clicking of Cousin Martha' s
needles was sharply audible. It was such a
night as makes dwellers by warm hearth-
stones think pityingly of solitary graves, and
shudder at visions of bleak churchyards filled
with snow.

" I have been dreaming much this evening
of another New Year's day, just twenty years
ago," resumed the gentle voice, lowly still, as
if self-communing, " when in a fine old coun-
try house was gathered as merry a party as
that festal season saw in all the land. The
host was my uncle, and my two sisters, Ruth
and Lizzie, were there, happy, rosy girls ; my
cousins, George. Charley, and Ned Nowland,
manly, handsome fellows they were ; Phcebe
Lane, the best dancer in the county, and blue-
eyed Nellie Grey, the sweetest singer, save
one, of the band, and her brother Luther."

There was a little pause here, and the dear
head was bowed slightly, as one might bend
in prayer beside the tomb of a friend beloved.
It flashed through my mind that I had heard
whispers of Cousin Martha's betrothal to this
same Luther Grey, and his untimely death.
So I waited respectfully until she resumed.

"Two young collegians, classmates of my
Cousin Charley, Harry Frost and Allen Morley,
completed the list of beaux. But the bright
star of the cluster was Junia Langdon. That
portrait was painted three years later, when
she was twenty-three. She was looking well
that summer. Allen Morley spent his entire
vacation, August and September, in our neigh-
borhood. But I anticipate. We had come
together on Christmas day, at my uncle's
invitation, 'to make a week of it,' and we
gratified him. Such a succession of frolics
the homestead had never witnessed before.
It was clear, frosty weather, and we walked,
rode, and played ball in the open air during
the forenoon. After dinner we assembled in
the great old-fashioned parlor to sing, read,
dance, and talk until Aunt's bountiful supper
demanded our attention. She loved young
people as well as did her husband, and was
never weary of spoiling them. With them,
too, Junia was a prime favorite. She was
never too much engrossed in her own pursuits
to notice when my uncle wanted his pipe
filled, or his greatcoat and hat from the hall,
and every evening left the ring of dancers or

SEVEN* YEARS.

491

talkers to play a sober game of draughts with
him in the ohimney-oorner. If we missed her

in tin- daytime, we always Bought hei first in
the pantry, when my aunt passed at least
eight out of the twenty-four hours. There
we were pretty sure to find our lost comrade,
her sleeves rolled up above the elbows of her
smooth, brown arms, rolling paste, or beating
eggs, or stirring sugar and butter to a cream,
her face aglow with exercise and fun, and
chattering away cheerily to the old lady, who
would have given half her fortune to have
her for a daughter-in-law. But Junia knew
that none of the three sons had the remotest
idea of pleasing their good mother in this
regard. They were all clear-sighted enough
to understand that their love and pains would
be thrown away in the attempt.

"I have called her Junia ; but no one gave
her that title except her mother, whose choice
it was at her christening. To us she was
'June,' and the name suited her as no other
could have done. Her rich, warm complex-
ion ; changeful dark eyes, with their glowing
lights and intense shadows ; the smile, radiant
as quick to light up features that, not beau-
tiful iu themselves, drew the regards and
praise of all who met her ; the sunny gene-
rous temper, and, above all, the large, full
heart that only denied room to thoughts of
her own selfish delight ; all these likened her
to the brightest and most affluent of slimmer
months. I am not drawing upon my imagi-
nation for this portraiture. For fifteen years
we were as sisters in love and companionship —
more than sisters, for our souls were knit to-
gether in a bond that even death could not
sunder. I was with her in the halcyon days
of her earlier life — saw that all the allure-
ments of present blessedness, the rapturous
dreams of a future yet more abundant had
not power to make her oblivious, for an in-
stant, of the comfort and well-being of those
about her. She would leave the society of
the one dearest to her on earth, at the cry of
a child or to dispel the lightest cloud upon a
face she loved. I, and I alone, was near her,
as she stood, desolate and affrighted, amid the
ruins of her cherished temple of happiness,
trode, unmurmuring in the rough path
under the thick cloud that from that dread
hour settled closely down on her every side ;
but as the blaze of joy had not blinded her,
neither did this night hide from her the finger
of light pointing to 'the duty that lay nearest

her hand.' I never heard from her an un-
charitable or impatient word ; Bhe was utterly
incapable of an ignoble, not to say an unkind
action. Once I remember animadverting se-
verely upon thecouduct of one who had spoken
meanly malicious words of June herself —
words that I felt must wound her in a vital
point. 'Gently, dear!' she said, beseech-
ingly. ' There is much excuse for her harsh
judgment. She has had no suffering to make
her pitiful and tender to others I'

" It was no wonder that we — her young
associates — one and all, loved her, and that
our admiration kept pace with affection. Her
intellectual gifts were rare and varied; her
taste fine and pure to a proverb. Her tact
was inimitable, and such her powers of adap-
tation to whatever society she might be in,
that, while all recognized the ennobling influ-
ence of her character and conversation, she
set the humblest at his ease by her own
unassuming humility and kindly speech.

"On the afternoon of New Year's day we
formed a wide circle about the parlor fire. It
was too dark for reading or dancing, yet the
long twilight, through which the blazing logs
sent ruddy gleams, was too pleasant for us to
think of sending for other lights. So we sang
and talked by turns, sometimes a subdued
murmur of conversation breaking up between
the stanzas, like the throbbed accompaniment
of some sweet instrument. Allen Motley was
an enthusiastic musician, and the Grays being
capital singers, they, with June, made up our
finest quartette, the centre of our choruses.
June sustained the alto. None of the rest of
the girls would attempt it, being dubious of
their ability to carry it through well, and
considering it, moreover, as a subordinate
and not a pleasing part, until she proved the
contrary to be the truth by singing it like an
angel. It was her way to undertake all man-
ner of distasteful duties, and make them
lovely by her manner of performing them.
She occupied an ottoman directly beneath the
mantel on one side of the hearth. Allen Mor-
ley sat next, as it was his custom now-a-days
to do, whenever he could so arrange it. His
chair was turned partly away from his neigh-
bor on the other side, so that he faced June.
I shall carry that picture in my mind to my
last day, as I saw it then — now dimly, as the
flame sank and fantastic shadows swept and
quivered over the group — again, as the red
tongues leaped upward, so plainly that I

492

godey's lady's book and magazine.

could count the petals of the rose in June's
hair, and scan every line of the earnest visage
bent towards her.

"Allen was not a handsome man, but one
looked at him more than once before arriving
at this conclusion ; there was something so
attractive in the strong, intelligent counte-
nance and its habitual expression of frankness
and goodwill. He had keen gray eyes, rather
deeply set, a broad brow and a mouth that
would have seemed too large but for the very
beautiful teeth revealed by his smile. He
was a popular member of our party. I think
there was not one of us who did not wish him
success in the suit he was now pressing, for
his attachment and the probable declaration
of it to its object were no secret to lookers-on.
June wore a heavy black silk that evening,
open at the throat, as the fashion then was,
with an inside kerchief of snowy tulle. About
her neck was a narrow band of black velvet,
and, attached to this, a pearl cross, resting
among the fleecy folds upon her bosom. It
was a pretty, jewelled thing, and as she toyed
with it I had no prevision of the sadly heavy
cross she was even then preparing to take up.
A scarlet shawl had slipped from her shoulders
to her waist, and once, when the saucy blaze
laughed out suddenly, I saw Allen's hand
steal to that one of hers that lay buried in the
drapery in her lap ; I noted, also, that it was
not withdrawn, but that June dropped the
cross and put her disengaged hand hurriedly
to the cheek nearest the fire, as if she feared
that the illumination should make visible its
deepening blush. I knew all then, and, to
divert the attention of the rest, I began to
sing, not very steadily, I dare say, the first
song that came into my head. Luther Grey
sat beside me, and we were just opposite June
and Allen. Divining my purpose, he joined
in directly with his deep bass, that rang
through the chords like a bell. I was sur-
prised that June's voice was the next to
catch up the strain, and then Allen took the
tenor. It was that simple old ' Hymn to the
Virgin.'

'Ave Sanctissima!

We life our suuls to thee!
Ora pro nobis !

'Tis nightfall on the sea.'

I cannot hear it now without an aching heart
and that swelling of throat that betokens the
rise of unshed tears. The plaintive melody
has been vibrating in my memory for hours

past, with the full, regular beat of the bass ;
the rise and fall of the tenor, as it blended
lovingly with, then soared above the alto ;
the exquisite modulations of June's voice,
and the thrill of pathos that always belongs
to the sub-tones of a fine contralto — I can hear
it all I The song was encored, I recollect, and
then some other air was named, and we did
not cease singing until my uncle appeared
and called for candles.

"Supper was half over before I dared look
directly into June's eyes. Their lids fell for
a second — she had a trick of doing this when
slightly confused — then a faint color arose to
her temples ; she smiled, a little shyly, lifted
her eyes and gave me one glimpse of her
heart — just one I and no one else was the
wiser for the revelation. There was a certain
delicacy about the girl's every thought and
action, and in nothing was this exemplified
more forcibly than in her manner of commu-
nicating to me her newly-born happiness — the
fact of Allen's definite proposal and her ac-
ceptance of the same. In all our years of
intimacy I never asked her a question to draw
from her a more explicit expression of her
inner life, nor did she of me. Confidence, to
be valuable, must be spontaneous, and all
seasons are not alike propitious for the utter-
ance of unrestrained feeling. I was not dis-
appointed, therefore, when we were shut into
the chamber we shared together, that Allen's
name was not mentioned. June knelt longer
than was her habit, in her nightly devotions,
and she gave me two ' Good-night' kisses
instead of one. . '

' ' ' Many, many happy New Years, darling ! '

" ' May yours be as many and as full of joy
as those you wish for me, dear June, ' I re-
sponded.

"Then we conversed no more until morn-
ing. Only once, when after more than two
hours of hax^py wakefulness — -for life was very
bright to me, too, that New Year — I raised
myself on my arm and glanced over at her, I
saw by the light of the moon that she lay
calmly asleep, her hands folded, as in thank-
fulness, on her bosom, and a smile of such
sweet tranquillity on her lips that I could not
help pressing mine lightly to thorn. The
touch, gentle as it was, stirred her dream,
and she whispered one word — a name ! I
shrank back, conscience stricken. I felt that
I had violated the sanctity of the penetralia,
where even I had no right to enter uninvited.

SEVEN YEARS.

493

I never told her of the unintentional theft —
so I called it then.

■• Well, on the third of January we scattered
to our various homes, consoling ourselves and

one another by pledges of many more such
meetings, and a positive engagement of a re-
union on every succeeding New Year's day of
all of us who could, by any stretch of human
ability, accomplish this end.

"Mrs. Langdon, June's widowed mother,
lived nest door to my father, and not a day
I in the which June and I did not meet.
We generally spent several hours together,
working or reading or walking, yet a week
went by and Allen was not referred to by
either. An ordinary woman would hare over-
whelmed a confidante with all the particulars
of the courtship and engagement, at the first
available moment ; poured the whole torrent
of hopes, fears, and plans into her willing
ears. At length, one evening, as I sat musing
by my chamber fire, a cold having detained
me from some merry-making to which my
sisters had gone, I heard June's well-known
tap at my door, and hastened to answer it.
She came in brightly, as she always did, in-
quired tenderly concerning my indisposition,
and informed me that, feeling disinclined to
gayety herself, she had decided, instead of
going to the party, ' to inflict her company'
upon me for an hour or two.

'• • You are very kind !' I said, gratefully.

" ' I feel that I am — to myself !' she rejoined,
drawing a stool to my knee and seating herself
upon it. ' As if yon did not know, you infi-
nitesimal morsel of simple humanity, that I
am wearied to death by dissipation, and that
I, at all times, prefer a quiet confabulation
with you to any junketing, whatsoever. More-
over. I came over to-night, as the old people
say, "for a purpose." I have something to
show you !' And, with a kind of desperate
courage, while her cheeks glowed like fire
and her lashes drooped quite over the eyes,
where I was sure I had seen the tears start,
she held out her hand to me. There, on tho
third finger, gleamed a new ring — only a plain
gold circlet, such as Allen's means justified
him in purchasing, but it looked very bright
upon the delicately shaped hand, and I knew
that, had the Koh-i-noor itself been set in it,
the recipient could not have prized it more
highly.

" 'June!' I said, 'my darling girl!'

" The beautiful head sank upon my breast,

38*

a moment neither of us could speak.
She was first to recover her self-oommand.

" ' Fie upon me !' she said, brushing away
the glittering tears, and smiling, like sun-
shine through an April cloud. ' I meant to
be very straightforward and practical ! You
have not thought me unkindly reserved in
not telling you all about it before, have you ?'

"I answered truly in the negative.

" ' Because, you know' — she went on, plead-
ingly, ' it was all so new and unreal to me,
for awhile ! like a delicious dream I feared to
dispel by speaking. But to-day this came,
and a letter !'

" Nerved by my warm interest in the recital,
she told me all that she then knew of their
united prospects. Allen had still two years
of college life before him ; then he designed
entering upon the study of medicine. ' You
perceive that you are not likely to get rid of
me under four or five years at least, ' concluded
June. 'He says that it is an "intolerable"
time to wait. I was not prepared for this
strong expression of impatience from him.
He always seems to me so self-contained, so
equable in temperament — a very tower of
strength in resolution and steadfastness of
principle and feeling. Most men, at his age,
are immature and, to some extent, unreliable.
But I look up to him with respect and confi-
dence. I feel that my faith is anchored on
a rock. It is a blessed trust — rest, perfect
rest!'

"I thought I had never beheld anything
more lovely than her countenance as she said
this, and accompanying my silent kiss was an
unspoken prayer that no storm might ever
tear that anchor from its hold. I did not
anticipate this calamity, for youth seldom
thinks of death as a near possibility, and
Allen's character was well-known to us alL,
From his boyhood up he had maintained a
reputation for integrity, sound judgment, and
kindness of heart, while his taints were,
confessedly, of no mean order. So far as I
could see, there was not a speck upon June's
horizon, for the union would undoubtedly be
acceptable to the relatives of both parties.

"'We are both very young," she said,
presently. "He is just one-and-twenty. A
few years of waiting may be good for us. He
will learn patience soon ; and as for me, I am
content !'

" This ' content' it was, as I understood,
although few others did, that made her fioia

494

godey's lady's book and magazine.

that hour dearer than ever in her home, more
admired and respected abroad. For her own
share in the good things of life she felt that
she craved nothing more than was already
hers, and her active mind and great, brim-
ming heart sought out opportunities of be-
stowing blessings upon others.

"One year passed thus — a swift, busy year,
for the days were golden with promise, and
the nights filled with dreams that only visit
healthful, hopeful youth — and there was an-
other Christmas week in the old homestead,
with not a break in the circle that had sung
the former year out and the present in. A
second cycle wheeled around a third holiday
Season, and, strange to tell, we all met again
under the same roof, our ranks unthinned.
I say, now, 'strange to tell!' To me, then,
it was not matter of marvel or especial thanks-
giving that this occurred, for I had known no
changes except the natural ripening of hope
into fruition, of desire into accomplishment.
Once more, then, we sang together our favorite
songs ; farewells, merry, regretful, and ten-
der, were spoken ; hands were pressed in
friendly warmth and clinging fondness ; eyes
gazed their last upon loved and retreating
forms, and we parted — the hopeful renewal
of our pledge for the next year on every lip
and comforting each heart.

"The. ensuing summer was that of which I
spoke awhile ago, when Allen spent two
months in our village. He had completed the
academic course, bearing off the first honor in
his class, and was to go, in the fall, to a
famous medical school, some hundreds of
miles away. Of course he was at Mrs. Lang-
don's almost coustantly, and June's whole
being bloomed luxuriantly under the con-
tinued sunshine of his presence. Her cheek
.became more round ; her step elastic ; her
eyes were luminous with thought and feeling ;
smiles and blushes came with ever quickened
pulsation of a heart moved to its very depths.
She was glorious in her perfected womanhood I

was very busy all that spring and summer."

Here the narrator stopped, and I held my
breath, longing yet fearing to hear what I
divined was to come next. Then the mild
eyes were turned upon mine, and in sweet,
steady accents, my cousin said : — -

"I seldom speak of this, dear, although
not a day passes — no ! scarcely an hour — in
which the memory is not present with me ;
but June's story would not be rightly told,

nor you be able to do her justice, if I omitted
a sad passage in my own life. To-night, too,
I seem to be wandering through the remem-
bered chambers of the past, rather than telling
to another a sadly true tale of what has been
and can never come again, for there is but one
spring-time in each life, my child! God help
those who have never known its freshness and
beauty !

"I expected to be married to Luther Grey
that fall, and my preparations for this event
engrossed so much of my time that it was
very easy for June to have that portrait taken
without my knowledge. The artist was a
friend of Allen's, and came, at his invitation,
to our rural neighborhood. I have heard of
him since as a successful painter, but he never
achieved a greater success than that likeness
of my darling. She intended it as a bridal
gift. The bridal never came ! One week be-
fore the time set for our marriage Luther was
called to the city by business, was smitten
by fever on the journey, and died among
strangers !

"I have forgotten much that followed. I
had never felt sorrow until then, and the shock
prostrated me utterly. Mine was not a nature
to find a tonic in a single mighty grief. I was
to be taught endurance by repeated lessons.
But more distinctly than the comfortings of
parents and kindred, although these were not
wanting, do I remember the consolation I drew
from June's society and sympathy. She would
sit with me for hours together, when I could
scarcely bear to hear or to speak a syllable,
holding my hand in hers or supporting my
head ; soothing my paroxysms of rebellious
woe by mute caresses, or, when she thought
that I could heed them, whispering words of
holy truth, droppings of oil and wine into the
bruised and mangled heart. » Months elapsed
before she alluded, however distantly, to her
betrothal. As for me — I shame to own it, but
I was young, and undisciplined by affliction —
I could not bear to introduce the subject.
Not that I was so meanly selfish as to envy
her happier fate ; but we had been as one in
joy for so long, had traced our futures in the
self-same tints, and henceforward all was to
be changed — the light was all on her head,
the darkness on mine. I do not excuse the
sinful repinings that then seemed to prove me
unworthy to be her mate. The time came
when I was punished for these.

"New Year's day arrived, and I passed it

SEVEN" YEARS.

495

alone, obstinately refusing to admit any one
to my chamber through its heavy, heavy
All that in other daj a made the anni-
versary dear and joyous combined to augment

the gloom of this day of mourning. I called
myself unfortunate, stricken of God, wounded
I tin power of mortality to endure. I
did not know that there crawled upon the
Creator's footstool a more ungrateful, muti-
nous worm than I was hent upon being. Just
at nightfall June's step and knock sounded in
the hall, outside my room. I actually hesi-
tated, in my madness, whether to open to her
or not. The gentle rap came again, and my
better feelings moved upon me to unlock the
door.' Oh! the face that met my fierce, tear-
less gaze ! So pale, so solemn, yet so eloquent
of boundless compassion and lore ! It was as
if a pitying angel had folded her wings upon
the threshold. She closed and relocked the
door, took me in her arms, and wept over me,
calling me by endearing names until my hard,
bitter mood gave way under the gracious
shower. Still hushing me upon her heart, as
she would have done a sobbing, tired child, she
sang lulling airs and sacred words until I fell
asleep. I awoke two hours later to find her
supporting me yet, and all dark about us ex-
cept where the decaying fire showed a dull
red, and still, save for the sighing of the wind.

" 'You have not tired me,' said June, reas-
suringly, as I exclaimed at my protracted
slumber. ' I have been watching that star.
How bright it is 1'

"She pointed to one visible between the
curtains of the window nearest the bed,
gleaming like a ruby in the winter sky. I
lay back against her shoulder, and looked at
it with her. The piercing ray affected me
singularly. It was like a calm, searching
eye that read my thoughts, rebuked the earth-
liuess of my desolation. June's voice stole
into the stillness like a strain of majestic
music : —

" 'Within my soul there is no light
Save the red %ht of star- ;

I give the first watch of the night
To the red planet Mars.

II Btar of strength ! I see thee stand
And smile upon my pain;

Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand.
And I am strong again !

Oh, fear not, in a world like this,

And thoa Shalt know, ere long —
Know how sublime a thing it is
ffer and b€ ttr

"'June! June!' I cried, clinging to her
neck and weeping afresh, • 1 havi (eared and
have failed I 1 have suffered without learn-
ing strength ! Help me !'

"She did help me, as she knew best how
to do. Her teachings were of childlike sub-
mission and filial trust ; of the wisdom of that-
love that makes of the very hurt wherewith
the Father is constrained to chasten his be-
loved the medicine for the wound ; brings
forth from the thorny seed of affliction the
precious bloom of faith, love, and a deathless
hope of life and joy beyond the grave. My
noble friend ! She needed not suffering to
make her tender ! We talked on and on, until
I started up in sudden remorse.

" '0 June! I am keeping you from Alien
all this time! How cruelly selfish in met'

" ' I shall stay all night with you, Martha,
if you will let me ; Allen is not here.'

"'Not spending his holiday with you!' I
said, incredulously. ' How is that V

" ' We did not think it best for him to come
on just now,' was the quiet evasion.

"Allen told me, many months later, what
she had not allowed me to suspect — namely,
that he stayed away at her request. She
feared that his coming would revive too pain-
fully in my mind the memory of the gather-
ings of the three preceding New Year's days.

" It was about this time that she took up a
course of study he had marked out for her ;
readings of history, philosophy, intellectual
and moral, and French. I had a taste for such
pursuits, and she enticed me into working
with her. It did me good, by calling off my
thoughts from morbid indulgence in sorrow,
and she studied with avidity and success, to
, gratify him whose rapid strides in the acqui-
sition of medical knowledge had not impaired
his love of scholastic lore. Thus matters went
on until he received his diploma. This was
in the fifth year of their engagement. Mean-
while, my uncle and aunt, at whose house
they were betrothed, had died within a few
months of each other ; two of their sons, both
of my sisters, and Nellie Grey were married ;
Phcebe Lane had removed to the West, and
Harry Frost was in Europe. June and I, thus
left to each other, were more nearly insepara-
ble than ever. Allen was anxious to marry
so soon as he received his doctor's degree,
but his more judicious friends opposed this
proceeding as imprudent, and June could not
gainsay their arguments. He had no fortune,

496

godey's lady's book and magazine.

and her portion was exceedingly moderate.
It would have been mere romantic folly in
them to wed until he had a prospect of a set-
tled practice. Appealed to by his advisers
and hers, June undertook to reconcile him to
the delay.

'"I will never be a clog to you !' she said,
firmly. 'After all, it is only waiting a little
longer, and' — forcing one of her bright smiles
— ' surely we should be used to that by this
time, Allen.'

"'The last year in the felon's cell is the
most tedious,' he responded. But he yielded
finally, although with indifferent grace.

"For some months he was in wretched
spirits, and chafed sorely at the unsatisfactory
drifting from probability to chance, from what
looked, at a distance, like certainty, to disap-
pointment. June bore up bravely. Where
work was demanded, he might be the stronger,
but in this season of suspense, of wearisome
waiting and hopes often deferred, her cheerful
fortitude surpassed his. Her letters were
long and frequent, and breathed in every line
her steadfast devotion to him ; her sanguine
belief that he must succeed in the end ; her
conviction that this trial was the needful cloud
upon their otherwise clear sky, from the sha-
dow of which they would emerge with reno-
vated trust in Providence, and better fitted to
perform their life-work. The man who would
not rally at such encouragement would not be
worthy of the name, and Allen Morley was no
craven. Partly on account of his own merits,
partly through the influence of friends, he was
at length admitted to a partnership in a flour-
ishing medical connection in the city of N .

Soon the news crept through the large band
of June's friends and acquaintances that, after,
six years' waiting, she was to become the wife
. of her first and only love. By Allen's request,
the marriage was to take place on New Year's
day. It was to be an important occasion, for
Emma Langdon, June's younger and only
sister, was to bestow her hand at the same
time upon my cousin, Edward Nouland.

"One afternoon — I remember the date well,
it was the fifth of December — June and I were
closeted in my room, deep in talk of past,
present, and future experiences. She spoke
more freely of Allen than was her wont, even
to me — more as a wife might speak of her
husband.

"'Poor fellow!' she said, smiling a little
sadly, 'he used to wonder, during that dreary

six months of waiting for practice, if he would
have to serve for me fourteen or seven years.
I prophesied then that the Father would be
better to us than our fears. But I am hum-
bled when I reflect-how poor a Rachel is to
reward his faithful service. Don't interrupt
me. Martha ; I foresee your indignant denial
of my self-depreciation, and I thank j'ou for
it. But. — I say it in all seriousness — if is no
slight test of a man's love to set for him a
probation of such length, and he should re-
ceive a peerless wife to compensate him for
the trial. And Allen was so young when this
tie was formed ! I think, from what I have
seen in other cases, that it is not so natural
for men to be constant as it is for us. They
like to have the prize held within a reasonable
distance of their grasp, or they weary of the
pursuit. But then' — arousing from the dreamy
tone into which she had lapsed—' Allen is like
no other man that I ever saw !'

" ' So you think !' I rejoined, jestingly.

"'And who has a better right to know
him ? I have never been able to express even
to you how lofty is my estimate of his cha-
racter and motives ; how firm is my belief in
the sincerity of his avowed love for me. I
have never felt one pang of distrust ; never
dreamed, for one second, of doubting his honor
and truth. I look for the continuance of his
affection and fidelity as surely as I do for the
sun to rise to-morrow.'

"We were interrupted by the entrance of
Emma Langdon.

" ' June !' she called, breathlessly. ' Come
home, at once ! Allen is there !'

"June grew pale with surprise.

" 'Allen! what brings him, now?' she ar-
ticulated.

" ' I suppose the desire to see you !' laughed
Emma. 'At any rate, he .gaid so! So, run
along !'

" The following morning a note was brought
me before I was up. It was from June, and
penned hastily at midnight — I judged, shortly
after Allen's departure., She thought it best
to inform me, without delay, of the postpone-
ment of her marriage, the communication
went on to say. Allen's partner, Dr. Rich-
ards, had, in settling the yearly accounts with
his young colleague, revealed to the latter the
fact that he had greatly overestimated the
amount of his income from the business, as it
now stood. It would be larger the ensuing
twelvemonth — how much larger they could

SEVEN YEARS.

4 '.'7

not yet determine. It would be unwise, in
Dr. Richards' opinion, for Allen to marry
upon an uncertainty. At present lie could
not hope to support a wife unless their estab-
lishment were extremely humble.

" 'For myself,' wrote June, 'I am willing
to undergo privation ; care not how simple
may be my mode of life, hut Dr. R. dwells
upon the expediency of Allen's beginning his
professional career under different circum-
stances. Their practice is principally among

the wealthier class of N . with whom

Allen is already popular. I can see that un-
fashionable lodgings and a plainly-dressed
wife may damage him in their eyes. Yon
know his proud, independent spirit, and can
appreciate how galling to him it would be to
see me excluded from the society in which he
has been accustomed to move, or to be re-
ceived there by sufferance. He promised Dr.
Richards to lay the case frankly before me,
and at the cost of great pain and mortification
to himself, he has done so. While declaring
f to be willing and desirous to consum-
mate our engagement at the time appointed,
and to bear the consequences of what the
world might consider rash and premature, he
has nevertheless consented to abide by my
decision. You cannot doubt what that is.
I should be recreant to my self-respect, false
to the duty I have pledged to him, if I suf-
fered him to sacrifice his fair prospects to my
impatience. To you I confess that my heart
fainted, for one sickening moment, at the
thought of '" indefinite postponement" — cow-
ardice, which I am thankful I did not let him
detect. He has enough to bear without the
sight of my weakness. He was so careworn
and haggard, so miserable at the downfall of
hopes that seemed so near their fulfilment,
that I forgot my share of the burden in striv-
ing to alleviate his unhappiness. We will
not talk of this when we meet, doar, if you
please. I have a hard task before me iu con-
vincing my family and others that this is a
slight trial to me, that I am so used to wait-
ing, that a few months more will be as nothing
added to the many, during which I have
been in spirit, as I thought soon to be in
name — Allen Motley's wife ■' Do I seem bold
in writing that word ? If so, forget it ! I
need something to-night to sustain me — this
has come so unexpectedly upon me ! I must
be tired and nervous. I can attribute to no
other cause the nameless dread that shakes

my spirit. Do not, I entreat you, cast the
shadow of blame upon Allen, nor suffer others
to do so, iu your hearing. He has acted

nobly throughout the matter. The ohange is
all my work, my own free choice. My trust
in him was never stronger.'

"Judging rightly that my presence would
be a support to her, I went over to Mrs.
Langdon's, directly after breakfast, and found
the family in great confusion : Emma crying ;
Mrs. Langdon gravely inquisitive, and two
sisters-in-law, who had dropped in, severely
censorious of the mismanagement displayed
by both Allen and June, in not knowing more
about their pecuniary affairs before setting
the wedding-day. One of them went so far
as to intimate that the suggested postpone-
ment savored of disrespect, on Allen's part, to
his chosen bride and her family. June looked
up quickly.

" ' You must not say that, Fanny ! Allen is
the soul of honor ; otherwise he might, from
considerations of mistaken delicacy, have let
things take their course. There has always
been perfect confidence between us. I might
have complained, had he failed to repose this
in me now. I "suggested" the change —
not he I He would marry me to-morrow, if
I would let him injure himself and me by so
doing !'

" She asked my help in packing her wed-
ding-clothes out of sight in the large new
trunk that had been bought for the bridal
trip. We performed the task in silence, fold-
ing and laying away the fine linen, wrought
by loving fingers, the soft llannels and sheer
muslins, the handsome dresses provided by
her mother for her favorite child, handker-
chiefs, collars, and ribbons we had selected
together ; all the best of their kind, for the
doctor's bride must be well apparelled among
her new acquaintances. In everything Allen's
taste had been studiously consulted. Not a
chintz wrapper had been chosen without
thought of how he would like it. The entire
wardrobe was that of Am wife, and would suit
no one else. The last article was laid in, the
white crape shawl in the tray allotted to it',
and the dainty parasol with its rich white
silk fringe beside it, and the spring-lock clicked
into its place. To my aching heart it sounded
like the closing of a coffin-lid, but June did
not shed a tear in my sight.

"Emma was married at the time set for the
double wedding, and June was first bridesmaid.

498

godey's lady's book and magazine.

We had a gay time, or, to speak more truly,
all appeared hilarious. For my part, I have
often felt more cheerful at a funeral. Allen
was not there. He made professional business
the excuse for his non-appearance, hut wrote
privately to June that he could not risk being
present in a scene that would bring to him so
vividly the sense of his own great disappoint-
ment. For the first time I called him selfish
and unmanly in my secret thoughts. Since
she must run the gauntlet of curious eyes,
and prying tongues, and suspicious whispers,
it was surely his duty to stand at her side and
assist her to support the ordeal. I had not
known how brave she was until that night ;
I have never questioned since the truth of the
stories told of martyrs who sang and smiled
at the stake. Her flow of spirits had no
semblance of recklessness ; it looked like the
blithe, spontaneous outgushings of a happy
heart. Her hospitality was thoughtful and
free, pleasing all, and overlooking none. The
gossips forgot to remark how well she bore
her recent trial — forgot, indeed, that she had
anything to bear. ' If Allen does not choose
to recollect this,' I said, in my cynical mus-
ings, ' it is not wonderful that others find it
convenient to overlook the extent of her self-
devotion.'

"Time did not fly the rest of that winter
and spring; the days crept by with lagging,
noiseless tread. I used to fancy there was
something ominous in the dead hush and calm
of our life. I say ' our,' for June and I were
always together. I could see subsequently
that she clung to me like a child that feels
the first chill of coming evening, with a vague
sense of loneliness and terror, the cause of
which she knew not herself. Allen had spoken
once of a hope that he might be able to claim
her by midsummer ; but when July came, he
paid us a visit of a week, and ' feared,' as he
told me — and I suppose June also — that he
must not look forward to having a home of
his own before the winter. I had never liked
him so little as during this week's vacation,
yet he found more favor in the eyes of our
townspeople than ever before. His manners
were more suave, his conversation entertain-
ing, and he had greatly improved in personal
appearance. June saw no fault in him ; only
grieved that his spirits were so often de-
pressed.

"'He feels our prolonged separation too
keenly for his peace of mind,' she said to me.

' It almost breaks my heart when he speaks
of it.'

" I learned later that he had criticized her
appearance and dress on several occasions — a
thing unprecedented in their intercourse ; had
cautioned her against becoming ' countrified'
and 'prim,' especially against 'growing sober
before her time.'

" ' Poor girl !' he once said, in savage self-
reproach, ' what have I ever been to you but
a slow blight upon your life ?'

" Her answer was instant : ' A blessing and
a glory, Allen ! the best gift Heaven ever made
me!'

"The afternoon before he left for his post
of duty I stood with them on the piazza,
watching the sunset. June was thinner and
paler than usual that season, and as she
leaned against a pillar of the porch, looking
towards the west, the strong light showed
this only too plainly. She was thinking, pro-
bably, of the morrow's parting, for there was
a drawn, painful look about her mouth, and
an expression of sad, dreary longing in her
beautiful eyes. I saw that Allen was eying
her narrowly, while he tried to talk to me,
and imagining that, like myself, he desired to
comfort the tired, faithful spirit that had
passed the best years of life in patient waiting,
in the hope of finally becoming his, I slipped
quietly away.

" 'June !' I heard him say, abruptly, before
I was out of hearing, ' for Heaven's sake do
not look so dolorous ! It makes .you appear
a good ten years older !'

"I had nearly turned back to rate him
hotly for his unfeeling and ungentlemanly
address, but second thought showed me the
manifest impropriety of interference.

"Autumn drew on, and early in November
June was called from home by the illness of
her sister Emma. She was absent seven
whole weeks. We corresponded regularly,
although her letters were brief, and devoted
principally to accounts of Emma, her home,
husband, and baby — 'the fresh young June,'
the fond aunt styled her. These seemed to
engross her to the exclusion of all thoughts
of her own concerns. She was expected back
on New Year's Eve, and I meant to be among
the first to greet her ; but an inconvenient
instalment of company detained me in my
own home until past ten o'clock. Too impa-
tient to wait until morning, I only stayed to
see the last of the mal apropos guests cross

SEVEN YEARS.

i '.)',)

the threshold, when, saving to my mother
thai I should not be in again that night, I
threw a cloak over my head and ran through
i rden to Mrs. Langdon's. The hack en-

trance was not yet fast, but I met none of the
family. I entered, stole upstairs, and knocked
at June's door. It was locked on the inside.

"'June!' I called, supposing she had re-
tired, 'are you awake ? It is I !'

"There was a hasty rustling within, as of
papers being pushed or dragged over the lloor,
the key was turned, and I caught her in niy
arins.

" ' And how are you ?' I asked, pulling her
around, that the light might fall upon her
face. ' My beauty ! how tired you louk !'

" ' I have travelled far to-day, ' she returned,
hastily, 'and I have not had a night of unin-
terrupted sleep in sis weeks. I told you, did
I not, that while Emma was so ill Baby June
was brought into my room ? Afterwards, I
would not let her go. She is the dearest little
thing !'

" This was plausible, but I was not deceived.
The first glimpse of that colorless face, the
deep, unutterable melancholy of the eyes, the
dark shadows beneath them that .-poke of
nights and days of wretchedness, the unna-
tural smile aud hollow voice, struck chill
horror to my heart. I asked no questions,
according to our custom, but talked about
Emma, and the baby, and neighborhood news,
as she evidently wished me to do, for half an
hour. Then I said : ' Had you not better go
to bed, dear? You need rest.'

"She seemed embarrassed, and stood, lean-
ing her forehead on her hand, for a whole
minute, as in irresolution, or reluctant to
speak. Then she took my fingers in hers. I
can feel their fevered clasp now !

[' 'I intended to keep it from you, Martha,
until after to-morrow. I feared to mar the
pleasure of the day to you. But, since you
are here, it may be best that you should know
all. I was busy when you came to the door :
I ought to finish my task to-night. Do not
let what I am about to tell you trouble you
too much, my dearest friend ! That it will
affect you I know, lor you da love me, Martha !
See here !'

' ' She drew from beneath the table a heap
of letters and small package.-, collected in the
middle of a large sheet of stout wrapping-
paper. My eye caught the superscription of
that which lay uppermost.

1 Dr. Allen Moblby.

S-

The shock was overwhelming. I sank into a
chair, sick and trembling ; then a rush of
tears came to my relief. It was long before
I could utter a word. Even I failed her in
her hour of extremest need. I sat, silent and
despairing, while she finished the arrange-
ment of the contents of the bulky parcel ;
folded the paper about it and corded it up
with all the strength of her small hands.
Then — this is literal truth, my dear ! — she
took down an inkstand and traced the familiar
address, for the last time, in firm, legible
characters on the outside. As she raised her-
self from the floor where she had knelt to do
this the clock struck twelve ! She shivered,
as in an ague fit ; looked at me with a piteous
smile, a thousand times more mournful than
tears, and covered her face with her hands.

" ' Seven years ! seven years !'

"I have been in many scenes of distress
since then ; have heard many wails of be-
reavement, but never has there sounded in
my ears anything else so plaintive, so expres-
sive of wounded love and regretful anguish
as that one low, sad cry. ' God forgive him ! ' .
burst from my lips, i am afraid the accent
as well as the inward sentiment were those of
a curse, more than a supplication for a blessing
upon the author of her woe. Her ear was
quick to detect my meaning.

" ' You wrong him, Martha ! He was, and
he is good ! He could not help being weaned
from me. He tried to keep his heart steady
to its allegiance. He would have remained
faithful to the letter of his pledge, although
the spirit had died out. He never designed'
to desert me. But he is moving in a different
sphere from mine ; is courted and flattered,
and lie was always ambitious. Then, too,
while he has barely reached his prime, I have
passed the first bloom of youth. I feel that I
have grown old very fast.'

" ' Waiting for him !' I ejaculated, warmly.

" ' Hush, dear! Had this engagement ended
in one year from the time it was formed, it
would have been all the same. Having once
loved him, I could never have married any
other man. Do not dislike him because I
have ceased to please him. He is not to
blame. This change has been growing a long
time. I can see it all now. "When, through
his representations, I postponed our marriage,
a year ago, I thought it was all my doing ; L

500

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

am sure now that his heart shrank from ful-
filling the compact even then. I was blind,
selfishly blind, not to have discerned it, and,
by breaking the engagement myself, spared
him further pain ; saved him from the odium
that will, I fear, attach to him. He loves no
one else, he says, but there has been a gradual
waning of his affection for eighteen months
past. I am not the only sufferer. This has
been and is still a great sorrow to him. Now,
dear, we will go to bed, for I need rest to
prepare me for what is yet to come. I must
answer questions, you know, and I must shield
him ! Mother knows nothing yet, nor Emma,
although it is five weeks since our correspon-
dence closed. I felt that all was not right,
and finally gathered courage to write, implor-
ing him to deal truly with me and tell me all.
I fear I am not very coherent.' Again she
put her hand to her head, and the poor, pale
lips were wrung, not wreathed, by a smile.
' But I have maintained a show of composure
in the sight of others until to-night, and I am
weary — God only knows how weary ! Forgive
me for distressing you ! You will stand by
me, won't you ? will help me defend him, for
■there will be harsh, unjust things said of him,
and that I cannot bVar ! Now, kiss me ;
good-night, dear ! Our Father in heaven
give you a happy New Year, and grant me
strength!'

"My dear child, it is too much the fashion
to speak lightly of woman's constancy, and
there are those who exchange one lover for
another with as much apparent ease as they
would slip a glove from the hand. But, if
only in memory of the sad, simple tale I have
told you of one heart's loyalty — staunch,
stainless, and abiding — never' let these slurs
pass unreproved in your presence. Such
women, and there are many as true, love for
a life-time."

" Did she ever meet Allen again ? (How I
hate him !)" said I.

'•Once. In the spring of that same year,
we both paid a visit to Emma. We went by
rail, and at the junction of the road with that

leading from N , a large wedding-party

from that city came on board. It soon ap-
peared that most of them had only escorted
the happy pair to this point, and were to
return upon the next down train. Conspicu-
ous among the gay and laughing group was
the figure of Allen Morley ! June and I were
thickly veiled, and remained very quiet, not

speaking or moving lest he should recognize
us. I was somewhat surprised that he did
not, for he stood for, at least, five minutes,
talking to a lady directly across the aisle from
us, and so near to June, that she could have
touched his arm. At his entrance, her hand
had closed convulsively upon mine, and while
he spoke, the pressure tightened until it was
really painful. I could have said, too, that
she held her breath, lest she should lose an
accent of his voice. He lingered on the cars
until the last moment, and was uttering his
hurried adieus, when the first movement of
the train at starting jostled him against June's
shoulder.

" ' I beg your pardon !' he said, lifting his
hat in courteous apology, true to his instinct
of gentlemanliness, in the haste and bustle of
the moment.

"The next instant he had sprung from the
platform and we left him behind. We made
no allusion to the meeting, for many miles.
Indeed, we did not speak at all, for June's
bowed head warned me to forbear comment or
inquiry. At last she looked up, and again
pressed my hand.

"'I must never see him again, Martha!
never !'

" I understood the touching acknowledg-
ment of the power he still possessed to move
the inmost recesses of her heart, and devoutly
hoped that the pathways so widely sundered
might from that hour never cross one another.
They did not. They will meet no more until
the great day."

"What became of him?" I questioned,
further.

"He lives yet — prosperous, and, the world
says, happy. He was married about a year
after his rupture with June, to a ' fast' belle,
with red cheeks and saucy black eyes ; volu-
ble of speech ; superficial as to education,
and who bantered him at their wedding-feast,
in the hearing of all the guests, upon his
former 'love scrape.' I leave you to draw
your own inferences as to her delicacy and
depth of feeling."

"And she !" I looked up with moist eyes,
now, into the noble face bent towards me from
the mantel. I could have fancied that the
head was encircled by a halo, such as wor-
shipping painters love to throw around the
brows of martyrs who have fought the good
fight against great odds and entered into rest.

"She walked on in her appointed way,

MY FIRST ATTEMPT.

501

■ it 1 v- still ; more mindful than
ever, if that were possible, of others' weal;
charitable, with holy pity to the erring;
•■> the lowly, full of Bympathy with the
Buffering, an angel of mercy to all upon whom
her shadow Fell. Such goodness was not with-
out many admirers. More than one sought
her hand porsoveringly, in spite of her twenty-
six years and the story of her disappointment ;
hut she listened to none.

" ' How could I ?' she said to me, once,
when I spoke of her rejection of an estimable
suitor. ' I told him, plainly, that I had no
love to give him. The cup is as bitter, now,
as whi-n it was fir>t pressed to my reluctant
lips, but the Father gave, and shall I refuse
to drink it V

" Yet I hare heard acquaintances of years'
standing compliment her upon her unflagging
spirit- ; her mother told me she had never
seen her downcast for an instant, and her
sister would look on, with a sigh of envious
admiration, as her children frolicked with
their best-loved playfellow, 'Aunt June,' and
say, ' How fortunate it was for herself and for
other* that June's temperament enabled her
to throw off care so easily.' I knew better,
and the merciful Father comprehended the
full extent of her patience, her loving kind-
ri'---. and heroic self-sacrifice. When the
ns fruit was fully ripe, He put forth His
hand and took it. She has lived in the un-
clouded light of His love for seven years."

MY FIRST ATTEMPT.

It has been the great ambition of my life
to be an authoress; not that I have dared to
think of being a famous one — -I may come to
that point some time — but thus far I have felt
that I should be satisfied if I could but see
something of mine in print. From my child-
hood, visions of myself as a writer have danced
before my eyes, and I have thrilled with de-
light as I have imagined some one pointing
me ont as the talented authoress of "those
delightful sketches in the Magazine.''

Hitherto, however, notwithstanding all my
devotion to the art of composition. I have
never before summoned courage enough to
attempt an entrance into the arena of literary
fame ; indeed, to tell the truth, I have had
very little encouragement. I don't think
people have appreciated me sufficiently. At
school, thongh my compositions were un-
v^l. lxix. — 39

doubtcdly remarkable, my teacher nevi

any particular notice of them, and made ii"
attempt to accelerate the growth of my bud-
ding genius, and so, through her neglect, my
ideas upon "Friendship," "Spring," and
various other subjects, are lost forever to the
world. At the moment, I was filled with in-
dignation at her treatment, but as time has
somewhat healed my wounds, and as I am
naturally amiable, I have forgiven her, ami
hope that her neglect was owing rather to
want of ability to appreciate than envy of my
superior talents. Then I have heard, too.
some of tho most heart-rending stories of
blood-thirsty editors, who have refused to
print' thrilling stories and lovely poetry,
merely for the sake of tormenting their luck-
less authors, and I have naturally been afraid
of falling into the hands of one of these " roar-
ing lions." But true genius always over-
comes, sooner or later, the greatest obstacles,
and so I have determined to make one more
attempt to reach the coveted goal.

If I should be rejected — but I will not think
of that; I would rather dwell upon the idea
that my article will be accepted, and imagine
myself waiting anxiously for the magazine i'i
which it is to appear. How eagerly I shall
turn over the pages until my eye rests upon
the familiar yet unfamiliar words! How I
shall torment my friends by repeatedly in-
quiring if they have read that article in the
magazine, and what they think of it ! The
mere thought exhilarates me so now, when it
is only fancy, that I hardly know what will
become of me should the idea resolve itself
into reality.

Pshaw! there comes the dark side of the
picture thrusting itself before me. Well !
I will meet it bravely. Suppose my poor little
attempt is ignominiously rejected! Ah, I
am afraid I should become from that instant
a cynic, and a firm believer in the doctrine of
total depravity. I know I should be an editor-
hater for life. But there is consolation, even
in that view of the question. Have not many
of our very first writers been unsuccessful at
first 1 And then no one need ever know that
I tried for the prize and failed, for I intend to
keep it a profound secret.

Well, I have decided to write. New comes

the momentous question, What shall I write

about ? I have no disposition to make inroads

upon the domains of poetry, and even if I had

in, 1 Gear. 1 should lack the ability.

502

GODEY'S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

I nevpr did attempt anything in the rhyming
line but once, and that was several years ago,
when I did perpetrate a poetical description of
one of my schoolmates, which was contained
in three verses of four lines each ; and, as I
availed myself of poetical license to a con-
siderable extent, I hardly think the descrip-
tion was very striking. I know it abounded
in allusions to pearly teeth, vermilion lips,
marble necks, and jetty curls. I believe the
subject was rather deficient in every one of
these particulars, but I presume it was as near
the truth as most newspaper poetry. It de-
cided me, however, that my mission does not
lie in the region of poetry, and so I am not
obliged to decide whether I shall astonish the
world with an epic poem or merely minister
to its taste by a sonnet. But if I don't hurry
and choose my subject, I won't have any room
to make my observations about it, for I have
determined that my "first attempt" shall not
be a long one. Perhaps, way down in the
bottom of my heart. I may consider myself
competent to handle any subject, from a poli-
tical leader on the state of the country down
to a dissertation on a coat-button ; but I want
to choose one that will meet with general
approbation.

Now, "Our Country" would be a grand
theme, but I don't think the "other sex"
exactly like the ladies to meddle with that,
except to bow acquiescence to all that they do,
and as a lady and an authoress I feel bound
to conciliate the lords of creation. I must
fay, though, that I think that some of the
women could have done quite as well in the
field as some of our generals ; indeed, I will
venture to say that I think they might have
surpassed them, and without trying very hard,
either. The other day, after reading the
newspaper, I fell into a reverie, and began to
imagine myself a modern Joan of Arc, and to
build castles in the air, having for foundation
my exploits in that capacity. Just at the
instant when my castles had reached a goodly
altitude, my brother happened to fire off his
pistol outside the window. The start I made
threw my airy buildings to the ground, and
convinced me that if my mission was not a
poetical, neither was it a warlike one. I have
made a stern resolution to learn to shoot
within the next six months, if only for the
sake of overcoming my nervousness. It has
always been one of my doctrines that women
ought to cultivate self-possession and courage

more than they do, and for the future I am
resolved to be less afraid of spiders, caterpil-
lars, and pistols (three of my weaknesses)
than I have hitherto been. I have a perfect
antipathy to spiders ; they have destroyed a
great deal of pleasure for me ; half of my en-
joyment in the country is spoiled by the in-
trusion of these unwelcome insects.

I have decided not to have any subject this
time, but will close this short eS'usion by hop-
ing that the editor will read it after dinner,
when he is in a good humor ; and if I am
allowed to come upon the stage again, I will
begin with my subject at once, and I will also
inform him that I have some very good stories
(in my estimation) tucked away in my brain.

THE CASKET OF TEMPERANCE.

BT WILLIE E. PABOR.

(Pearl the Twelfth.)

THE WIFE TO HER HUSBAND.
By hopes that gathered round thee

When life was like the May,
By loves whose glory crowned thee

In manhood's earlier day,
Give up, give up, the fatal cup

Forever and forever.
By memories that muster

Round hearthstones of the heart,
By joys and griefs that cluster

In which we both have part,
Give up, give up, the fatal cup

Forever and forever.
By thought of holy altar,

Of maiden changed to wife ;
Of words that did not falter,

That were to last through life,
Give up. give up, the fatal cup

Forever and forever.
By little Ben and Kitty,

Who sleep the sleep of peace
In that sad, silent city

Where sorrows ever cease,
Give up, give up, the fatal cup

Forever and forever.

I/ENVOI.
So, with the year, the casket is complete ;
Its sorrow and its suffering are merged
la one continuous chain ; and if the work
Be done not wisely or not well, I pray
You take the purpose for the deed, and find,
Though scattered far between, the pearls of faith
In the humanity whose centres lie
In clouds of doubt ; the pearls of hope aud love
See shining through the drifts of murky fears ;
Aud here and there see stars of promise beam
In arcs wherein are drifting silver-lined
And rose-hned clouds; aud so, and so, with than!.
For kindly heed to utterance of mine,
Farewell— farewell.

THE PHANTOM SKATER.

r.Y CIIAKl.l? D. OAKDBTTS.

John THiLLirs was, and is, one of the most
accomplished skaters I ever saw, and the most
untiring and devoted cultivator of that grace-
ful art anybody ever saw. Morning, upon,
and night, through every skating season,
found Jack skimming over the glassy surface
of the river that ran by the foot of his garden,
or whirling in wondrous curves and gyrations
manifold within a magic circle of a few yards
in diameter, whose periphery was closed by a
triple line of admiring spectators, lie seemed
to live on the ice. People who wanted to be
witty insinuated that ice was his meat and
drink, and that he had been seen making a
hearty lunch off a good-sized block of it,
1 down by a draught of the clear, cold
water of which it was composed. I have too
often lunched with Jack off cold chicken and
ale, however, in the noontide interval of
skating, not to know that this was pure in-
vention.

There were a number of cottages along the
river side on each side of the Phillips mansion,
aud a number of pleasant people lived in them
— amiable " old folks,-' clever lads, and pretty
lasses, all of whom (saving the elders, whose
skating days had gone by) were more or less
familiar with Jack's favorite accomplishment,
and many merry skating frolics were held
thereon.

Perhaps the most graceful and accomplished
artiste, after Jack, was a charming young
damsel of some seventeen summers (and win-
ters, for every season must and will count in
the race of life), by name Fanny Leytou, who
lived in the cottage lowest down the river,
nearly half a mile below Phillips's house.
Fanny and Jack often ran races, and it was a
doubtful matter which was the swifter of the
two on a straight-ahead match, though Jack
far surpassed her in the arabesque, if I may
so call them, evolutions and figures of the art.
My readers will not be surprised to learn that
Jack Phillips was desperately smitten with
Miss Fanny ; but it will give them pain, I bar,
to know that she looked coldly (even in sum-
mer) upon his passion. What the reason
was I never knew, nor did he, I believe. Pro-
bably it was simply one of those mysterious

caprices that seem incident to maidenhood.
At all events it was a fact, and to Jack a
melancholy one, though he bore up under it
manfully, and, believing that "faint heart
never won lair lady," kept hoping and perse-
vering in his suit with praiseworthy ardor.

Fauny didn't dislike Jack, mind you ; on
the contrary, she seemed fond of his society,
for he was a genial fellow and a thorough
gentleman ; but whenever he attempted to
pass beyond the limits of simple friendship
and camaraderie, aud to speak of his love, she
turned the subject aside with a laugh, saying
"she didn't intend to allow any thought of
love to trouble her till she was five-and-
tweuty, at bast, and that Jack was too agree-
able as a friend and companion to think of
changing him in that character." Upon
which Jack would look mopish for a moment,
but soon brighten up again and join in the
laugh ; and the conversation would continue
in the bantering tone Miss F'anuy had just
adopted.

This was the state of affairs between them
when the events I am about to relate suddenly
and essentially modified them.

Jack had been kept in town all day, very
much to his disgust, by some business it was
impossible to delay or neglect. The ice was
ill splendid condition, and Phillips had been
picturing to himself the gay scene it doubtless
presented the while he was tied down to his
desk in a musty law office. And, as if to vex
him the more, there was a large space of dirty
frozen water in the court on which his windows
looked, and every time he glanced up from
his papers he beheld some five or six boys,
most of them with a single skate, scudding
up and down this oasis with shouts of laugh-
ter and many a tumble on the opaque surface
of the frozen puddle, which only made them
the merrier.

"Confound the brats!" said Jack, savagely.
"How the deuce can a man think, with such
an infernal row in his ears! I've a great,
min I to go out and drive 'em of!" However,
as Jack was a most amiable fellow at bottom,
he didn't execute his threat, but content' d

504

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

himself with semi-occasional anathemas on
the urchins, in the intervals of his labor.

When he finally stopped to light his gas,
they were gone, and a couple of hours' per-
fect silence enabled Jack to finish his task,
and prepare to go home. "Let me see,"
said he to himself, as he went along. " Yes !
it will be moonlight by about ten to-night,
and, by George ! I '11 have a glorious skating
frolic all to myself, for there won't be any one
out, it's so abominably cold." Jack was
quite consoled with this idea ; and by the time
he had had his supper, lit his cigar, and sat
down in front of a cheerful wood fire beside
his widowed mother and his only sister Kate,
he was in a capital humor.

"Kate, how I wish your poor foot was
well!" said he, "so that you might go with
me on the river to-night. There won't be a
soul out, and we'd have it all to ourselves.''
Kate had violently sprained her ankle a few
days before, in skating.

"Why, John," exclaimed Mrs. Phillips,
"you surely don't think of going skating
such a bitter night ! You '11 freeze to death,
my boy."

"Not a bit of it, mother!" cried Jack,
cheerily. " I 'm used to it, you know. And
haven't I that splendid worsted jacket you
knit me ? I'd defy Lapland in that jacket.''

"They've been cutting up the river to-day,
Jack," said Kate. "Look out for air-holes."

"Pooh! as if I didn't know all about it,"
■answered Jack, chucking his sister playfully
under the chin. "I '11 jump 'em, my dear, if
I don't see 'em in time to go round."

Being aware, from experience, that remon-
strance would be useless, neither Mrs. Phil-
lips nor Kate volunteered any further remarks
of that nature ; and at ten o'clock Jack bade
them both good-night, and, apparelling himself
in skating guise, went merrily forth to his
solitary ice frolic.

There was fortunately no wind. A still,
bitter cold made everything crisp and brittle.
The turf crackled under the foot, and, though
it was many inches thick, the ice ever and
anon gave a sharp snap as the weight of Jack
Phillips pressed for an instant upon it, here
and there in his erratic course over its moonlit
surface.

After loitering, as it were, hack and forth
in front of his own grounds for a while, an
idea, and a very natural one under the cir-
cumstauces, struck Jack that it would be a

pleasant thing to skate down the river as far
as Fanny Leyton's domicile, and have a look
at the windows thereof, especially certain two
that gave air and light to that young lady's
chamber. Jack immediately acted on this
idea, and in a very few minutes brought him-
self gradually to a stand in front of the Leyton
villa. His hope, however, if such it was, of
seeing a light glancing from the casements,
or from any special casement, of that mansion
proved fallacious. The house was entirely
dark within, and the moon, which was but
lately risen, shed a pale, cold glitter on the
gray stone walls, blackened fantastically here
and there by the shadows of the old trees that
stood round them.

Jack heaved an involuntary sigh, and, after
remaining a few moments longer in a sort of
reverie by the river bank, struck out towards
its centre, with the intention of returning
hoiueward. Gazing mechanically down the
stream, as he shot out from the shadow of the
bank, his gaze was suddenly arrested by the
apparition of a form that seemed to be skating
in a circle near the further shore, about a
couple of hundred yards lower down. He
fancied for a moment that it was an optical
illusion, as the distance and the uncertain
light thrown by the moon through the belt of
trees that lined the river side made the figure
somewhat shadowy and indistinct. He rubbed
his eyes, skated further out into the line of
vision, and looked again. No ! there it was.
an actual form, curving and swaying in the
fantastic evolutions of an accomplished skater,
in the same spot where he had just beheld it
the instant before.

" Who can it be ?" muttered Jack. " Some
one from town, I reckon. At all events, I '11
run down and have a nearer look at him."
And, suiting the action to tlfe word, he struck
out leisurely down the river.

A few yards below the point at which the
form seen by Jack was gliding about, the
river took a bend, and narrowed suddenly,
running for more than three miles between
lofty overhanging banks, from which the
trees, chiefly hemlock and pine, projected
themselves towards each other from either
shore, throwing the stream into deep shadow,
with here and there a band of light, where a
few trees had been cut down, or had fallen
away from the bank with the gradual wash
of the soil from their gnarled roots.

THE PHANTOM SKATER.

505

T" Jack's astonishment, no sooner was he
fairly under weigh lor the mysterious skater
than the latter, apparently seeing him and
iliviniug his intention, suddenly ceased his
gyrations, and, after an instant's pause, shut
swiftly down the river, keeping close in shore,
and evidently with the design of evading
Jack's pursuit.

"Ho, ho!" said Jack to himself, half aloud.
•• That 's your game, is it .' Very well ! Here
goes for a chase, my line fellow I"

And. putting forth an additional amount of
strength, he increased his speed so far and
quickly as to gain a hundred yards in a mo-
ment upon the flying Phantom. But the
other, apparently perceiving this again, im-
mediately increased his own pace, and, with-
out materially widening the distance between
them, sped onward with a rapidity' that defied
Jack's utmost efforts to surpass. In a mo-
ment the form had entered the deep shadows
beyond the bend, and Jack lost sight of it.
In another he again beheld it llitting across a
space of moonlight, still the same distance
ahead, to become again lost almost instantly in
the next line of darkness. In this manner,
through gloom and through glitter, the chase
continued with wonderful swiftness for nearly
two miles, neither pursuer nor pursued gain-
ing upon each other.

What the emotions of the Phantom were
(for Jack had begun involuntarily to call it
thus to himself) of course I cannot pretend
to say; but Phillips's mind was aroused up
to a pitch of excitement that sent the blood
coursing hotly through his veins, and caused
a profuse perspiration to start forth upon his
bosom and brow in spite of the bitter cold.
He, however, was utterly unconscious of this,
and felt neither cold, nor heat, nor fatigue.
His whole soul was possessed with the one
fixed resolve of overtaking the Phantom; he
neither saw nor heard anything else but the
fleeing form and the echoes that rolled along
the glib ice from the skate-strckes ; nor did
he relax his speed for an instant, whether in
shade or in moonshine, nor give other heed
to his course than to make it as straight and
swift as that of an arrow launched by a stout
archer from an ashen bow '.

The chase had now entered on its third
mile, and here the river became tortuous and
irregular, a sharp curve spreading out into a
broad, bay-like expanse, and as suddenly
doting up ag tin inl . dark gorge, only

iij*

to carve out its banks again, a few yards fur-
ther on, into another brief space of clear
moonlight and calm water.

Whenever these open spaces occurred, the
Phantom hugged the shore, which was always
in partial shadow, but Jack held straight
across the open space, hoping thereby to gain
upon the fugitive by substituting the straight
line for the curve. The advantage, however,
had been but slight and transient, so far ; and
the race bade fair to carry them both to tho
sea, which was but twenty miles further down,
when, as Phillips entered the third of the
openings above described, he beheld (for his
eye was ever steadily fixed in quest of the
Phantom), with a grim delight, the form scarce
two-thirds of the distance around its margin,
and evidently gliding with diminished speed.
The pace had at last begun to tell upon it.

Jack's heart bounded fiercely, for he was
possessed with a kind of rage against this
weird skater, who had thus far foiled his
powers of speed and endurance, and. with a
desperate effort, he shot, with the speed of
light, straight out across the moonlit space,
feeling confident that he should head the
Phantom off in the mouth of the opposite
gorge. His eyes were still fixed upon the dark
form seen indistinctly skimming along under
the shadow of the further bank. He was
more than half way across the opening, and
nearly abreast of the figure, when there was
a sudden crash ; he felt the ice give way be-
neath him, and in an instant he was plunged
into the deadly cold water, with a shock that
caused him to utter a wild, sharp shriek of
mingled terror and pain ere his head sunk
beneath the bubbling surface!

Fortunately the river was not very deep at
this point, nor was the current at all rapid,
and in another moment Jack was struggling
manfully among the broken ice to reach the
firm edge of the air-hole. But, encumbered
as he was by his skates and his heavy cloth-
ing, and nearly paralyzed by the intense cold
of the water, it is more than doubtful whether
he would have succeeded in rescuing himself
from a horrible death ! Help, however, was
at hand ! The Phantom had heard the shriek
and seen Jack disappear, and, swift as a swal-
low's flight, it sped to the rescue. On the
very edge of the air-hole it halted, and, ra-
pidly tearing off a long cashmere scarf with
which its throat and shoulders were protected,

506

GODEY S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

planted its skates firmly athw&rtwise on the
ice, anil flung the end of the scarf, with skil-
ful aim, right into Jack's face, crying at the
same time, in a clear, sweet voice: "Hold
hard, Jack, and never fear I Now for it !"

That voice gave Jack new life. A sudden
glow seemed to gather round his heart, and
to start the warm blood afresh through all
his stiffening frame. He caught the scarf in
his teeth, then, grasping it with his left hand,
was enabled, without great strain upon his
rescuer's strength, to climb upon the solid
ice, hoarsely ejaculating, "God bless you,
Fanny I" and instantly lost consciousness.

There was not a moment to lose. Assist-
ance must be had at once, or Jack had only
been saved from one death to succumb to
another almost as speedy. There stood a
small cottage on the nearer shore of the
stream, inhabited by a ferryman who carried
freight and passengers over the river, for the
nearest bridge was opposite the city, three
miles and more above, and there was none
below for more than ten. To this cottage
Fanny Leyton, brave and devoted girl, and no
longer provoking Phantom, flew rather than
skated. A few heavy blows with a large stone
soon awoke the inmates, ten hurried words
told the tale, and in twenty minutes Jack
Phillips was stripped and wrapped in blankets,
was laid on a mattress before a blazing fire,
while Enoch, the ferryman, concocted a pow-
erful hot gin toddy, his panacea against all
fleshly ills, for his slowly reviving guest.

Fanny Leyton, having sent young Enoch
by land to her own house with news of the
affair, heroically rebuckled on her skates, and
started as swiftly as ever up the river to bear
the tidings to Mrs. Phillips and Kate. Iu an
hour Jack was as well as ever, apparently,
and took a second toddy with decided relish,
and less than two hours later Mrs. Phillips's
carriage, with Kate and all sorts of remedies
and clothing within, drove up to the ferry-
man's door, and carried Jack home.

The next morning, however, Jack was not
so well. He had high fever, and every limb
seemed to burn and throb, as if with acute
rheumatism. But about nine o'clock came
Fanny, with anxious inquiries about his state,
and before she left Kate, with whom she was
in close confab for an hour, she wrote a few
lines with a pencil, which she desired might
be given to Jack as soon as she was gone.

As my friend would never show me the note
nor communicate its contents, I am unable to
give them to the reader. But that they were
eminently agreeable I feel confident, for as
soon as Jack recovered, which was in a very
few days, he called at the Leyton mansion,
and continued to repeat his visits daily for the
next month, at the end of which period he
announced to me "and to the rest of man-
kind" who cared to know it, that he was
engaged to Miss Fanny Leyton.

They have been married, now, more than a
year, and a happier couple I never desire to
see. They still go skating now and then,
both by day and by night, when there is a
moon ; but always together, and so they are
sure never to be betrayed iuto danger by the
fantastic chase of a Phantom Skater^

SMOKE.

BY MELICENT IRWIN.

Smoke, smoke, this winter's night!
Where dost thou go from the fire so bright?

Curling iu silence away —
Like a noiseless spirit on viewless wing
Intangible, graceful, an-iform thing,

Iu blue, aud iu white, and in gray !

Smoke, smoke, this winter's night
Like you I 'd steal away if I might,

Ou silent, invisible wings !
Out iu the starlight, fearless aud free,
No ban of the senses arresting me,

Mid silent, unsullied fair things.

C >uld I carry myself in a fleecy fold,
Or a curling wreath unnoticed, untold,

liare sights, O smoke, I !d see!
From aloft in fearless, conscious height
Fair dells, wheu kissed by the morning light

And the work of the frost-king's glee.

And away I 'd float to those I love best,
Aud I 'd work them a spell otjoy or rest,

With sweetest of benisons fraught.
Unseen and unheard, nor more in their way
Thau holy mooubeam or sunbeam gay,

I'd live in a blissful thought.

Smoke, smoke, this winter's night !

We 're all of us wrong, and you are right:

Curling in silence away—
Away from the cheer aud the cares of earth,
From the lonely vigil or harmless mirth,

It is you that is right, I say!

Our spirits like you, O smoke, should rise
From things of earth to the holy skies

Where love aud truth endure:
Above calm fields of upper air,
On invisible wings of thanksgiving and prayer,

Seeking the perfect-pure.

FANNY'S ENGAGEMENT; OR, HOW XEWS IS MANUFACTURE!).

1 V M Ail T W . J A .\ V ii I .s .

" Good afternoon, Miss Bisbeel Thought I
must run over and see yon .1 few minates to-
day. Didn't Bee you out to meeting Sun. lay,
and eonclnded you must be sick,'' was tha
salutation of Miss Selina Peabody, one Juno
afternoon, as she entered the snug little do-
mioile which stood a few rods' remove from
!>ildilt'tovrn Square, as neat, spotless, and
comfortable as fresh paint, constant " house-
cleaning," and the full purse of its easy,
plump little spinster-owner could make it.

"I'm dreadful glad to see yon! Take a
seat right here on the lounge ! Scat ! Tabby
always geta the best corner. I declare, if I
wasn't thinking about you not three minutes
ago, Selina I I been sic/.' No, but I spent
Sunday up to Sister Hannah's, at Iiockville ;
her husband come down after me Saturday,
and brought me home last night. Lemme see I
1 haven't Been you for a fortnight. What's
the news ? Don't you think it 's dreadful dull
her.' in Dibbletown? Why, I told Sister Han-
nah they had more happen the three days I
was there than we'd had for a month. A
wedding in the church Sunday, after meeting;
Deacon Brigg's wife's funeral Monday after-
noon ; and one of the neighbors got word of
two of his sous being awfully wounded in the
last battle. I do like to live where there 's
something going on ! That's right! takeout
your knitting; and now tell me what's new
over in your neighborhood." And, while the
visitor produced her work from her reticule,
the hostess disposed her plump figure in a
comfortable rocker, first running her eye round
her little parlor to assure herself that every-
thing was in that state of "apple-pie order"
on which she prided herself.

" Well, I don't know of anything new, ex-
cept Fanny Henshaw's tent. Hut I
suppose you 've heard of that, Miss Bisbee f"
began Miss Peahody.

" Fanny Henshaw ! You don't say? That
is news! Why, who's the man, and when
did it happen ? I didn't know as anybody
was paying attention to her!" exclaimed the
little spinster. "They've kept it dreadful
sly, seems to me ; but I suppose it 's one of
them city fellers that she has coming to see
her. Do tell me all about it, Selina '."

" Well, all I know is this — and it all came
out through the Henshaw's Irish girl, Norah,"
commenced the visitor. " You s.-.-. Sist.T
Maria and I, living so near Mr. Henshaw's,
have seen this young man there for a week or
two past. He came one night in the evening
train from the city, and then we saw .1 young
lady come about the same time he did. and so
we concluded it must be Fanny's beau and
his sister. They kept very close, and didn't
go out much, and I thought something was in
the wind, and made up my mind to find out
what. So one day I jest put on my tilings,
and made a call over there. And what do
you s'pose Mrs. Henshaw's plea for Fanny's
not coming down was? Why, I must excuse
her daughter, who was very busy with her
dressmaker J Well, that only set me out the
more; for that very night, after I . •ailed, I saw
tie- depot hack bring that young man back to
their house again ; he must have gone off
some morning, in the first train, before we
were up, for the city. So, sez I to Sister Ma-
ria: 'I believe something more'n you and I
know of is going on over to the Henshaw's,
and I'm determined to pump their girl.'
Well, bimeby the chance came round. Norah
was going past the house one day, and I jest
called her in, pretending that I wanted to
inquire about her sister's sick baby — 'twas as
good a handle as any, you know ; and then I
found out considerable, in a roundabout way,
you see, for 'twouldu't do to ask questions
directly. It seems that the young man is a
Lieutenant Lossing, of the navy, and was
brought up by Mr. Henshaw, who was his
gardeen ; and the young lady is Fanny's cou-
sin, come to make a visit. Now, putting all
this with a city dressmaker's being there a
week, things look suspicious ; and you see if
Fanny Henshaw isn't married before July is
out I"

"But about this young navy feller. Does
anybody know anything about him ? Fanny's
father, of course, is glad his gal is going to
make out well, if he 's smart and likely, ' ' said
Miss Bisbee.

"That's jest what I was coming to," was
the reply. " Norah hinted as much as to say
he was opposed to it ; and, between you and

507

508

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

I, there must be good reasons for it, for Mr.
Htenshaw is too sensible a man to want his
daughter to go into the fire with her eyes wide
open."

"You don't! What did the Irish gal say,
now?" asked little Miss Bisbee, in an eager
voice, bringing the swaying motion of her
rocker to a stand-still.

"Oh, it isu't my way to gossip, you know,
Miss Bisbee ; but I do think you have a right
to know all I do about it, seeing that the
Henshaws have always set themselves up
above other people so ! And to keep this
engagement so secret (for of course it's been
coining about for a long time), when there's
nothing to be proud of! But p'r'aps that's
Hie very reason, after all! These haughty
kind of people do get come up with some-
times." \

"But what did Norah say about Mr. Hen-
shaw's being opposed to the match ? What's
the reason ?" repeated Miss Bisbee.

" Well, I had to ask kind of cautious, you
see; so the first thing I said — and that was
after she 'd told about the dressmaker — sez I :
'Well, I couldn't help seeing this stranger
going in and out often. Of course, he won't
leave you just yet, Norah?' 'Ah, no, ma'am,'
sez she, 'not till the fust of July, when they'll
be afther travellin' on the journey.' 'The
journey!' sez I — and that's what the dressmaker
was there for, you see, making the wedding
outfit, Miss Bisbee. 'You'll miss them after
they 're gone. How do Mr. and Mrs. Hen-
srtaw feel about it ?' I didn't like to say
■ about losing Fanny,' directly, so I put it that
way. ' Oh. it 's bad enough they feel intirely.
Misther Henshaw declares it '11 be the death
ov him, and worries all the long day over it.
But Miss Fanny, she only laughs, and says
she '11 take the risk on her own head, and the
cousin, Miss Nellie Kingman, she upholds her
in it.' "

"But, to get to the bottom of the matter,
what makes Mr. Henshaw feel so about it,
Miss Peabody?" was the pertinent query.

"That 's what I 'ni coming to," replied the
narrator. " But Norah seemed to take it for
granted that I knew about things, so I had to
be careful in my questions. ' Well, I hope
they'll enjoy the journey,' said I next; and
Norah's answer set me on the right track.
Sez she : ' Ah, faith, and it 's but little com-
fort poor Mr. Lossing'll be afther gettin', the
way he goes on.' ' How 's that ?' I asked, and

sez she : ' Why, from bad to worse, sure !
It's down hill purty fast he's goin' ; and he's
no more like the same young fellow that sailed
away three years ago than you 're like me,
Miss Peabody.' You see, that gave me the
key to the mystery, Miss Bisbee," said the
speaker, growing more animated.

" Yes. What is it ?" asked her listener, in
one breath.

"Why, what, of course, except that he drinks
dreadfully ? Isn't that what they always mean
by 'going down hill pretty fast?' I declare,
I was all str.uck up. But I didn't let on to
Norah but what I knew everything about
matters, and so sez I: 'Well, I've heard a
little about it, and am sorry for Miss Fanny.'
You see, I had to make believe, so as to get
at the rest. ' Ah, yes, it 's bad for Miss Fanny ;
she feels dreadfully, though she purtends not
to,' said Norah. 'But it's worse for the
young gentleman goin' that way in the (lower
of his days. It makes my very heart ache to
see him staggerin' from the carriage to the
door when he comes back from the city.' ' Is
he so bad as that, Norah ?' I asked upon that ;
and sez she : ' Ah, yes, indade, it 's miserable
he is ! purty far gone ! and all the family see
it but Miss Fanny ; but she insists that the
mountain air, and the change of the journey,
and her care, and the like of that, will bring
him out of it. And the Blessed Virgin grant
it may, but it 's Norah Kooney that cannot
see it.' "

" Well, did you ever ? The gal is bold and
brazen, as well as headstrong. It's bad
enough to like a feller with them habits — but
to insist upon marrying him, and believing
that she can make him over into a better
man, and to want to make a fashionable
journey and a great display, is flying right
into the face and eyes of- Providence ! I
sha'n't pity her one mite. She ought to suf-
fer for it ! These folks that always set them-
selves up above others. You know the Hen-
shaws never would mix with our people at the
sewing-circles or fairs; I think it's a judg-
ment upon them when something happens to
'em! What else did you find out, Selina?"
And Miss Bisbee paused, quite breathless with
interest.

" Not much, for Norah was in a hurry then ;
only I was determined to know if there was
money at the bottom of the match, and so sez
I : 'I suppose the young man is well off,
Norah ?' She looked at me kind of sharp,

fannt's exgagemen't; ok, how news is manxjfactubed. 509

and answered : ' Sure, I d like to see how that
can be after what I've been tollin' ye I It's
well oil enough he imm, bnt it's poorer he's
growiu' ever; day ; though .Miss Fanny keeps
her Bpirits up just as high as ever, and won't
believe it. she says he isn't half so bad as
he was off in the foreign lauds where he's
been, and '11 be himself agin by the end of the
summer-time. The saints grant it to him!'
Norah went just then, and 1 called after her,
and told her I'd send a flannel pettieoat to
her sister's baby. You see, I had a piece of
homespun in the honse that I found the moths
had got into, and it '11 1»- a generous thing to
give it to an Irish woman, especially when
flannel is so high these war times, and I dare
say she 11 couie and work a day or two for me
next week, honsecleaning. And then Norah
thanked me, and was gone. But I'd found
out what I'd meant to when I called her in,
and I sot down pretty well satisfied, I tell i/ou,
Miss Bisbee! But 1 must he going now!"
And she gathered up the thread of her story
with her knitting.

"Oh, do stay and have a cup of tea! I '11
have the kettle right on," urged Miss Bisbee.
'"It don't seem as if I'd Been you a minute
yet."

"Thank you, hut not to-day. I only run
over for a little while; besides, I've got to
drop in at one or two places as I go home.
You won't mention anything about hoio I got
my news, Miss Bisbee ; for if the Henshaws
knew of it. they might blame Norah. As if a
hired girl can be ezpeoted to keep all the
secrets of a family, and work as that girl has
to, for nine shillings a week !"

•• Oh, not a word ! You know I never gos-
sip. But do run over again soon, Selina ! I
Djoyed every minute you 've been here,
and I do hope we shall have something now
to keep us alive here in Dibbletown!"

"So do I. Come over soon and return my
visits. Good afternoon." And away hurried
Miss Selina Peabody, with her knitting in her
reticule and her "news" in her brain, intent
upon finishing up her afternoon's mission.

And by the time the sun of that June after-
noon had sunk behind the boundary of the
western horizon over half a dozen tea-tables
was Miss Selina Peabody's "news" discussed :
and before the close of the succeeding dav it
was known pretty thoroughly throughout the
precincts of Dibbletown that Fanny Henshaw
was engaged to be married, early in July fol-

lowing, to a "dissipated" spendthrift, who
had squandered his fortune by confirmed ha-
bits of excess, but whom she was " bent upon
having," in direct contrariety to the wishes
of her father, who was "bitterly opposed to
the match."

"I don't understand it, Cousin Fan," said
Nellie Kingman, as the two girls sat in a front
chamber of Fanny's home, a few days after
Miss Peabody's visit to the little cottage do-
micile of Miss Bisbee ; "there's such ■■< do Iging
to and fro in the square before your house I
1 should think tin' feminine portion of Dibble-
town had been holding a convention for the
last four or live days. I 've seen that ol I lady
with the leather reticule and the green sun
umbrella pass the window at least six times
this afternoon. Thorn she goes now, up the
steps of the house over opposite. Bee how she
scans these windows ! She looks like Dick-
ons' Widow Oummidge, ' a poor, lone, lorn crit-
ter,' with whom 'everything goes conlrairy.' "

•• Why, that 's one of the 'leaders of society'
in our town, Miss Selina Peabody. Widow
(rummidge, indeed!" replied Fanny, with a
smile. "And, instead of everything going
' contrairy' with her, she has everything her
own way, for she actually manufactures and
sets afloat seven-eighths of the gossip of Dib-
bletown. I expect you and Frank will be the
nucleus around which she will weave a famous
air-castle during your visits here, Noll. She
called here a week or two ago, but I made
mother excuse my non-appearance down stairs
to her, for I always avoid her when it is pos-
sible."

"Miss Selina Peabody! Well, if I'd had
the bestowal of the lady's patronymic, I
should have made it Busybody," replied Nell,
laughingly. "But who's that? Another of
the sisterhood? She's more of the Pegotty
style, X'lump and rolypoly. I declare, if she
isn't going into that house, too! Depend

upon it. Fan, they're holding a u ting over

there for the dissemination of knitting-work
and tin- propagation of scandal."

"That 's Miss Martha Bisbee," said Fanny,
laughing at her cousin's faithful description
of the little dumpy figure that disappeared in
the doorway of the house toward which her
attention was directed. "And she U another
of the clique. Mrs. Honeywood is holding a
tea-party, or perhaps the Sewing-circle meets
there to-day."

510

godey's lady's book and magazine.

"What a precious trio they'll he I Busy-
body, Busybee, and Honeybug!" said Nell,
with a shrug of her dimpled shoulders.
" Won't characters suffer over there? Don't
I wish I was a little mouse in the wall, to
overhear what they manufacture about us ?
Say, Fan. why won't you invite the three weird
sisters here some day for Lossing's delectation ?
It would be better for him than all his medi-
cines. But don't you think he has improved
wonderfully, of late?"

"I know he has — though papa can't see it,
and says he isn' t strong enough for the journey.
But, as I 've thought all along, it '11 prove the
best thing for him. Ah, there lie comes now !"
and Fanny nodded and smiled at the occupant
of a low buggy which disappeared in the ave-
nue that led round to the stables ; and she
sprang up, followed by her cousin, to hasten
down into the sitting-room.

Meantime, as the buggy turned into Air.
Henshaw's grounds, half a dozen heads ap-
peared at the windows of the house over
opposite ; and then Miss Selina Peabody ex-
claimed with decision, to the groui> of ladies
who constituted the " Dibbletowu Social Cir-
cle" : "I am just going to put on my things
and make a call over there ! I mean to see
him for myself! Fanny 's at home, for I saw
her at the window as I came in." And
straightway the spinster's purpose was put
into execution.

Some twenty minutes later, the scout re-
turned to camp with important tidings prog-
nosticated in her triumphant nod and smile.

" It 's true, every word of it ! just as we 've
heard ! But who would think he could parade
it so openly ? I found him in the sitting-
room, with the girls and Mrs. Henshaw — and,
what do you think ? with a glass of wine in his
hand.' Currant or elderberry, I suppose — but
that feeds the appetite, you know ; and that
girl must be reckless, to put the cup to his
lips ! She ought to suffer for it ! Wasn't I
lucky, to go in just as I did? But you can't
imagine how unconcerned they seemed ; and
that young man was jest as cool and polite to
me as though he was all right, and I didn't
know he often got so bad that he staggered
from the carriage into the house."

"But it seems to me he looks dreadful
kind of thin and pale, for anybody that drinks
so hard!" said Miss Martha Bisbee, from the
depths of her easy chair. "There's old
Squire Treadwell — he 's red as a beet, and

weighs nigh on to two hundred ; and they lay
it all to old Cogniac!"

"Oh, the Doctor says that liquors affect
different constitutions differently !" said Mrs.
Doctor Vermyfuge, wife of the principal Dib-
bletown practitioner, with an air of superior
knowledge.

"Of course," chimed in Miss Peabody;
"and while Squire Treadwell might go off in
an apoplexy, this beau of Fanny Henshaw's '11
grow thin as a shadder. It affects some so.
He does look terrible kind of sickly ! But
wa'n't I lucky to go in there as I did, and see
for myself? I never like to report a story on
hearsaij .'"

Six weeks later, at the close of an August
afternoon, a travelling-carriage passed through
Dibbletown Square, and drew up at the house
of Mr. Henshaw. Two ladies and a gentleman
alighted ; trunks were unstrapped and carried
into the house ; and the vehicle was driven
round to the stable. But the trio who had
disappeared within the front door of the man-
sion little imagined that they were the centre
of attraction to all occupants of the Square,
and that, from behind blinds and curtains,
sundry pairs of Argus-eyes scanned their
movements, while busy tongues as freely
were put into motion.

By a singular coincidence of events, it
chanced to be the afternoon of the meeting of
the "Dibbletown Social Circle" at the house
of Mrs. Honeywood ; and much the same
company were there assembled as upon a
former occasion. And it also chanced to be
at that twilight hour when crochet and knit-
ting needles had subsided, anticipatory to the
"tea" that was shortly to be announced;
consequently everybody was at leisure to rush
for the windows when keen-e^ed Miss Selina
Peabody made the discovery of the home-
returned travellers.

"Just a month to-day since they started !"
said Mrs. Honeywood. "I was up-stairs at
my window the morning they went off, and
saw Mr. Lossing hand 'em into the carriage.
I remember 'twas of a Tuesday, and I 'd had
a large ironing — and 'twas an awful hot July
day."

" A month ? That 's the length of the huncij-
moon, you know!" said Miss Martha Bisbee,
wiping her rotund, ruby face, down which the
perspiration was streaming violently.

" Hum ! the honey '11 sSon turn to vinegar,

FANNY'S ENGAGEMENT; OF., HOW NEWS IS MANUFACTURED 511

in my way of thinking !" returned .Miss Selina
Peabody. "I suppose they were married on
the way — nr, maybe, just before they started.
Nobody knows — and their Norah keeps so
close, nobody can see her and ask her a ques-
tion ! I wanted to find out how her Bister's
sick baby is getting aloug. I s'pose they give
her her orders I "

"But it's never been in any papers, and '
nobody 's ever seen it : and Mr. Henshaw, lie
only laughed when somebody joked him about
his daughter's getting married," ventured a
little mild-face lady, whose manner was very
confused and uncertain whenever Miss Pea-
body was by.

"Of course he wouldn't own up! That 's
their way, never having anything to say to
people. They've always set themselves up
above the rest of Dibbletown, these two years,
since they moved here. Well, for my part, I
gu.-ss th.y won't held their heads so high
always ! This marriage will break their pride,
se.- if it don't I"

•■ What were their travelling-dresses. Mrs.
Honeywood?" asked another lady. "I could
• a glimpse of 'em, they vanished into
the house so quick."

'•W.-ll, as near as I could make out, they
seemed to be of this new-fashioned taffeta ;
and they did look pretty stylish. Suppose
Fanny Renshaw has everything nice. And
Mr. Lossing — he cut quite a figure in one of
his naval suits. S'pose they 've made quite
a sensation. It seems queer that they didn't
have another gentleman along with 'em for
groomsman. This Miss Nellie Kingman must
have felt kind of lonesome — 'third party.'
yon know. Well, I always kind of liked
Fanny Hcnshaw, and hope she'll make out
well. Marriage does reform young men some-
times ; and, of course, if she and her husband
that is were brought up together, they must
understand each other's dispositions, and she-
may be just the one for him!"

"Don't you believe that, Mrs. Iloneywood!"
exclaimed Miss Selina Peabody. with asperity.
" He 's too far gone for any woman to reform
him. Of course he '11 do better for awhile —
he'd be .ashamed to carry on so had, right
.-.way alter be 's first married; but you see if
he don't go back to his old ways before a
year! However, there's one comfort! At
the rate he's been going down hill, and by
his looks that day I was over there and
caught him taking his wir.e. he won'

it a great while. But there ! as I've said all

along, I don't think Fanny Henshaw deserves
an atom of consolation; and I wouldn't be
tin' one to hint to her that she's likely to be
a young widow. If I pity anybody, it 's her
father, who opposed the match so terribly !"

At this juncture Mrs. Honeywood left tin-
parlor to have tea served ; and, a little later,
the ladies of the "Dibbletown Social Circle"
were summoned to the dining-room, to refresh
themselves with divers kinds of cake, buttered
bread, and old hyson.

A few days of quiet passed to the returned
travellers ; when suddenly commenced such
a steady influx of callers, that Fanny Henshaw
and her mother were in a complete state of
bewilderment at the social tendencies of Dib-
bletown. and honest Irish Norah found herself
oftener in attendance upon the door-bell than
upon her duties in the kitchen.

First, came the young ladies of about Fan-
ny's age, making short and stereotyped calls.
succeeded by others, as regularly as soldiers
relieve guard on picket duty ; then came
their mammas, in the same formal, stereotyped
manner ; till poor Fanny and Mrs. Henshaw
were quite worn down with this incessant
draught upon their time, good nature, and
patience. It seemed a little singular, en pas-
sant, that, whenever Mrs. Henshaw made her
appearance in the parlor alone, tin- callers
never seemed disposed to depart without a
call for "your daughter" or "Miss Fanny,"
for none dared openly apply the supposed
marital patronymic — -hence the tide of social
life rolled in and out the door which honest
Norah tended, and the mystery of its How was
unravelled.

But, on the seventh day after her return.
Fanny entered the cool, shady library that
opened into the garden in the rear of the
house, and where her Cousin Nellie and Lieu-
tenant Lossing were enjoying a game of chess,
and exclaimed, with impatient weariness : —

"I don't understand this! Three-quarters
of Dibbletown have been here within a week
— people whom I have known considerably,
slightly, and not at all; and mamma and I
are regular martyrs! And these folks all
make the primmest, most ceremonious calls,
and - n me so curiously, and ask about my
journey in the queerest way. and look around
every time the door O] ;h they

d to see somebody else ; ami this after-
Ellery girls actually asked me if I

512

G.ODEYS LADY 3 BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

should remain long in Dibbletown. I'm sure
I must Have looked astonished, but I believe
I managed to say that I didn't intend leaving
home at present, though I might possibly be
controlled by circumstances, meaning a hint
at our present deluge of visitors ; but they
took it all as a matter of course, and rose to
go, after leaving their regards for all other
members of the family, whose acquaintance
they hoped to make before they left town,
and of course that means you and Frank.
Now, I 'm resolved upon one thing, Nell.
You 've got to make your debut into Dibble-
town society, going into the parlor to relieve
mother and me, while we recruit ourselves with
a week's sleep ; and Frank shall also be im-
pressed into my service."

" Not I. Fanny ! Commend me to a Cali-
fornia expedition or a South American trip,
but deliver me from the tender mercies of
the Dibbletown ladies — present company ex-
cepted!" replied Lieutenant Lossing, laughing
heartily. " But little Nellie, here — hasn't she
just beaten me unmercifully in the game ?
Didn't she explore every hidden nook at the
Notch, and bring home a regular table of sta-
tistics of the altitude Of every hill, the length
of every river, and the population of every
town we passed through on our journey '!
Site's just the one to ferret out the mystery
of this sudden descent of the good people of
Dibbletowu. Take her into the parlor as your
ally. Ah, now's your time; there goes the
door-bell."

"Miss Peabody and Miss Bisbee, Miss Fan-
ny," was Norah's announcement in the li-
brary doorway. "And sure an' yer mother
has laid down, an' tould me not to disturb
her."

"Busybee and Busybody! Widow Gum-
midge and Pegotty ! Delectable ! Come,
Fan!" said Nellie Kingman, with a gleeful
shrug of her shoulders, looking back, as the
two girls were on the threshold, to add, "I'll
bring you the solution presently, Lieutenant
Lossing !"

Five, ten, fifteen minutes glided away, and
then, following the sound of the closing street
door, Nellie Kingman burst into the library
again with shouts of laughter.

"0, Lieutenant Lossing, you'll die — I
know you will ! Fan and I are almost suffo-
cated! We hud to keep a sober face, you
know, till they went. I mill tell him, Fan !
it s too good to keep, and you can't blush any

redder than you are at this moment ! What
do you suppose is the reason of Cousin Fan's
deluge of visitors, Lossing ? Why, they all
thought she was married, and had been off on
her bridal tour, and so cama to pay the Wed-
ding calls ! Isn't it splendid ?" And the girl
sank into a chair to take breath, the next
moment running on with the remnant of the
story. "Yes, I do think it's splendid fun !
But Fan never 'd have known she was receiv-
ing bridal calls, if I had not been very busy
talking with Miss Peabody, and told her I
intended to have Cousin Fanny with me in
the city this winter 'to make her market.' I
said it just for the fun of the thing, you know,
when I was suddenly horrified by the old
lady's turning straight to Fan, and saying,
drawing herself up : ' And, pray, how will
your husband like the idea of his wife's flirting
during his absence V 'My husband t During
his absence!' said Fan, looking surprised as
possible ; upon which the Busybee spoke up
— 'Ain't you married, my dear, after all?' I
was beginning to take then ; but Fan says, as
innocent as you can imagine: 'After all what,
Miss Bisbee ?' And then it all came out I Oh,
I wish you could have seen the Widow Gum-
midge's face, Lieutenant Lossing! She looked
the personification of disappointment, when
Fanny, very quietly, keeping back her vexa-
tion and laughter, informed them that ' she
was sorry that she couldn't return the bridal
calls of the Dibbletown ladies, from the fact
that she was still Miss Henshaw.' That Wi-
dow Gummidge ! I do believe she's at the
bottom of the whole affair. She looked so
disconsolate, and a little spiteful, too, when
she found that events had actually gone ' con-
fcrairy !' " And again Nellie Kingman paused
to take breath, and then go off into a longer
peal of laughter.

"But what upon earth, or who upon earth
led these people into this supposition?" ven-
tured Lieutenant Lossing, at length, a strange
flush on his handsome forehead and a sudden
tremor in his usually gay, easy tones, uttering
his words in that half hesitating way that
people assume when they would prefer silence
at that particular juncture, but feel that si-
lence would be more awkward than speech, if
possible.

"Oh, that is the cream of the affair!"
laughed Nellie. " Poor Norah ! they actually
lay the whole matter on her shoulders ! Miss
Busybody didn't intend to let that slip from

FANNY'S ENGAGEMENT; OR, HOW NEWS IS MANUFACTURED. 513

lier tongue, I am confident, but it came out in
the confusion of the moment ; and now poor
Norah will have to be summoned before the
Inquisition to meet the charge of manufactur-
ing the story out of whole cloth. Why, Fan,
you blush as crimson as though there was
some truth in it. But there goes the door-bell
again. Now, let BU assume the task of enter-
taining the rest of the afternoon's callers ;
leaving you and Lossing to consult together on
the proper mode of procedure with Norah."
And, flinging a mischievous look upon the
pair. Nellie Kingman darted from the library.

Whether the conversation that ensued be-
tween Lieutenant Lossing and Fanny Henshaw
related directly to the affair that had so
strangely agitated both we will not here re-
cord, but chronicle a few of honest Norah's
exclamations, when, an hour or two later, in
presence of Fanny and her mother, she was
informed of her alleged agency in the report
circulating through the length and breadth of
Dibbletown.

"Sure, ma'am, and sure, Miss Fanny," she
broke forth indignantly, after listening to that
laid to her charge — " sure, and it 's ould Miss
Pabody that did call me in there the day I
was going past her house, an' it 's meself that
answered her questions; but it's the very
ould Spirit of Evil himself that put it into her
head to make mischief out of me words, bar-
rin' but I don't think, meself, you could find
it mischief to say Miss Fanny had got married
to sich a fine gentleman as Lieutenant Lossing !
The old maid I it comes to me mind, this
blessed minute, how she axed me all about
the journey, and wanted to know how many-
new gowns the dressmaker had made for Miss
Fanny, and all about Misther Lossing's health,
and if it 's better he was getting, or more
poorly I"

Norah was here interrupted by the entrance
of Miss Nellie Kingman, who, it would appear,
had managed, with her usual tact and adroit-
ness, to fathom the whole matter, and sift
every particular of the stories afloat through
Dibbletown from the callers she had volun-
teered to entertain during the remnant of that
afternoon. A short conference with her aunt
and cousin sufficed to furnish them with a
knowledge of the embellishments Lieutenant
Lossing's character had received ; and then,
in reply to their request that Norah should
repeat circumstantially, as far as she could
vol. lxix. — 40

recall it, her conversation with Miss Peabo.iy,
the honest girl complied, adding, by way of
Jinale, her own convictions.

"Oh, the ould she-dragon!" exclaimed
Norah. "Isn't it meself that will throw the
lie back to her ? Faith, and when I said Miss
Fanny's father was afther opposin' the jour-
ney, wasn't it that the masther feared the
long carriage-ride to the mountains would
overtax the young joutleman's health — an'
wasn't it Miss Fanny herself who insisted in
belavin' it would be the upbuildin' ov him
agin, an' it proved the blessid thruth 2 An'
when I said he had, many a time, come stag-
gerin' into the house, didn't I mane it was
from wakeness, sure, afther the long spell of
faiver he 'd had, off in the forrin counthry
an' all the way home on shipboard? An'
wasn't it Miss Pabody herself — the ould, cross-
eyed, double-tongued vixen! — who axed, the
last thing ov me, before she offered Bridget's
sick babby — the poor darlint ! — the stingy bit
ov ould wormy flannel, ' if Misther Lossing
wasn't afther gettin' poorlier ivery day?'
An' I answered 'yis' to that same ; an' come
away, never dramin' she was twistin' my
words into sayin' he was squanderin' his for-
tune? Arrah now, sure I can't help bein'
sorry for it all, barrin' that she belaved about
the leeddin', which same I can't help thinkin'
would be no discredit to the young leddy as
good an' handsome as yerself, Miss Fanny ;
but to make me out wid accusin' Misther
Lossing — the born jontleman that he is ! — wid
bein' the dhrunkard .' Ah, bad luck to the
lyin', mischief-makin' ould thing, and the
likes ov her ! If Saint Pathrick was only
alive, an' in this counthry, I 'd pray on me
knees he would serve 'em as he did the other
crapin' things in ould Ireland ! It 's the
plaguey gossips that are always afther twistin'
an' turnin' sayin's to suit themselves ; an'
then they get together, an' set the stories
adhrift — an' that's how the 'news' is manu-
factured !"

Reader, you are wiser and more refined than
is poor, ignorant, Irish Norah — and, doubt-
less, have added Logic and Rhetoric to the"
list of your educational acquirements ; but,
think you that ornate embellishments of lan-
guage, keener reasoning, or subtler intuition,
could guide you to a surer deduction thau
that expressed in her closing sentence — "and
that's how the news is manufactured?"

51-i

godet's lady's book and magazine.

A few more words and our tale is brought
to a terminus.

Whether the story of his engagement and
wedding-tour suggested the idea that this
report, reduced to a reality, might not be an
unpleasant era in his experience — or whether
Lieutenant Lossing had long felt a tender
penchant for his beautiful and warm-hearted
sister by adoption, we do not pretend to solve ;
but we do affirm it, for a well-authenticated
fact, known by the Henshaw family, and their
more immediate circle of relatives, Nellie
Kingman included, that the first named state
of beatitude now exists between the lovers,
and that the second event, in due course of
time, is sure to follow.

But the public at large, and the community
of Dibbletown in particular, not being cogni-
zant of that happy event which will, one day,
transform Lieutenant Frank Lossing, U. S. N.,
from bachelor to Benedick, we feel it our duty,
as a faithful historian, to enlighten them
regarding it.

And, with this morceau of "news," we make
our congee to them and to the reader !

RUINED CASTLES.

Rdiwrd castles, ruined castles, standing desolate and lone,

From whose walls the latest echoes of the former days
have flown ;

Oft the traveller stops to view them, and, with sorrowful
regret,

Marks the wild and mournfnl beauty of the wreck re-
maining yet.

Once the lautrh and song resounded through each grand
and lofty hall,

And young noble hearts responded to the battle trumpet's
call;

Here have merry groups of maidens bent o'er the em-
broidery frame,

Striving there to weave the record of a warrior lover's
name.

Here were field the joyous revels when the chieftains

home returned,
And the spirit of each noble with the fire of triumph

burned ;
Here they filled the precious goblet with the red and

sparkling wine,
Drinking gayly to the honors of their lord's ancestral

line.

Here, ofttimes, the wandering minstrel found a welcome

free and warm ;
Here he sang old songs melodious, songs of danger, wreck,

and storm —
Songs of battle and of triumph, songs of war and songs of

peace—
Songs of love and glad reunion, when the earthly life

>hould cease.

Hither in the time of feasting, or the time of want and

dearth,
Came the peasant and the pilgrim, came the lowly ones

of earth ;
And the gentle high-born lady gave of gifts to each his

part,
And, as each one spoke his blessing, each one blessed her

in his heart.

Euined castles, ruined castles, standing desolate and lone.

With the lichen, moss, and ivy, hiding every humbled
stone ;

Once their strongly guarded inmates feared no siege of
hostile bands,

But no barricaded fortress Time's unending siege with-
stands.

Hushed is now the voice of music, hushed the harp, and
hushed the lute,

And the lips which spoke defiance, and the lips which
blessed are mute ;

And the maidens weave bright pictures in the tapestry no
more.

And no longer shine the torches on the wine-cup brim-
ming o'er.

Yet the poet, 'mid their ruins, writes his most enduring

lays,
And the pencil of the artist their wild loveliness portrays ;
Or some beauty-loving traveller, all unskilled in song or

art,
Gazes on them, still and silent, till sad wonder fills his

heart.

Rnined castles, ruined castles, standing desolate and lone,
Links to bind our busy present with the ages that have

tiown ;
Undisturbed, in fallen grandeur, may their relics long

remain
On the wintry northern hillsides, in the summer land of

Spain.

A Child's Eye. — Those clear wells of unde-
filed thought, what on earth can be more
beautiful ? Full of hope, love, and curiosity,
they meet your own. In prayer, how earnest !
in joy, how sparkling ! in sympathy, how
tender ! The man who never tried the com-
panionship of a little chilcl has carelessly
passed by one of the greatest pleasures of life,
as one passes a rare flower without plucking
it or knowing its value. A child cannot un-
derstand you, you think. Speak to it of the
holy things of your religion, of your grief for
the loss of a friend, of your love for some one
you fear will not love you in return. It will
take, it is true, no measure or sounding of
your thoughts ; it will not judge how much it
should believe, whether you are worthy or
fit to attract the love which you seek ; but its
whole soul will incline to yours, and ingraft
itself, as it were, on the feeling which is your
feeling for the hour.

RETTA'S CHRISTMAS EYE.

A N ITIE PR08T.

"Writing to-day, Retta?'' The question
came in a tone of surprise, as Mr. Saunders
saw pen, ink, anil paper placed upon the little
table at his bedside.

"Yes, indeed, papa. Why not?"

"Why, you told me yesterday of wouder-
ful preparations for my Christmas dinner, all
to be made to-day ; of turkey to stuff, chicken
pie to manufacture, pies to bake, and pudding
to boil, sauce to sweeten, and gravies to
spice — ' '

"Stop! stop! Allow me to remark, sir,
that I am afraid your exalted ideas will have
to come down before your dinner ! But all is
done. Was I not up before the peep of day,
baking and preparing, in order to have time
to spare for the editor of the Evening Star,
who wants, if you please, something funny.
Funny ! . My brains are baked as dry as a
chip, and my head would certainly rattle if
anybody would take the trouble to shake it!
Now, papa, here is the pen, there the ink,
and under my hand the paper ; only one thing
U wanted — I haven't the ghost of an idea."

" It is all some writers ever do have, and
dreadful work it seems to be to raise it."

"Do you mean to be personal, Mr. Saun-
ders ?"

" Not at all, Miss Retta. But what are you
going to write, and must it be done to-day ?
You look tired."

" I am not very tired, only rather weary of
pots and pans. Literature will make an agree-
able variety. Ain't it funny, papa, to come
from such direfully matter-of-fact topics as
roast meat and apple pies to the ' Sorrows of
Seraphina' or the ' Wails of a Broken Spirit ?'
But this won't write my funny article. Oh
dear! What is funny ? I ain't. I feel as solemn
:.;■ thai historical animal, a church owl, though
mind you, papa, I am by no means prepared
10 grant that an owl is any more solemn in a
church than he is out of it."

■• Where are all the unfinished articles you
were talking about the other day ?"

"Oh, those are my heroics! They ain't
funny. They are the wonderful productions
that are one day to place me at the head of
American authoresses, and send my name,
wreathed in laurels, down to posterity. They

are to be the evidences of the ' startling origi-
nal genius' of our talented contributor, Retta
Soniers, the highly finished artistic finish of
which, etc. etc. You know all about it."

" Well, why don't you finish them I"

" Because — whisper, papa ; walls have ears
— I can't, if my life depended upon it, think
of a single ' startling original' line for one of
them."

' ' Won't any of them do for this emergency ?' '

" Well, there is the young man who fell in
love with the young lady — "

"My dear, can you complain of want of
originality?"

"Don't be sarcastic, sir. And the young
lady drives him to despair by flirting with
young man No. 2, and I stopped there, and
have not decided whether it shall be suicide
or pistols for two. Then there is my myste-
rious murder ; but I have made the mystery
so deep that I don't see how in the world I can
ever explain it — and anyhow it is not funny."

"Couldn't you introduce a comic song?"

"Now, papa! As if bringing one's muse
down to a caterer for bread and butter was
not sufficiently aggravating, without being
made fun of. Come, sir, I '11 forgive you, if
you '11 tell me something to write about."

"Put away your pen, then, and come here
close to me. Lay your hand in mine, and
now listen. Once upon a time — "

"Now, papa, you are going to make fun of
me."

"You asked me to make fun for you, but
you must not interrupt me. Once upon a
time, not many years ago, there lived in the

pleasant city of P a gentleman who had

one little daughter. Many years before, when
this little girl was a wee baby in arms, he had
lain his wife in her long, narrow grave, and
taken this tiny pledge of her love into his
inmost heart. He loved the child fondly, yet
in his love he was blind to many things that
might have made her happier. As he loved
books, music, and painting, he made her life
one round of study, sweet sounds, and sights,
neglecting those little feminine pursuits a
woman loves and craves. She was his scholar
and companion, trained to masculine tastes,
atle :.:: 1 womanly from nature and a

515

516

GODEYS LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

higher instinct than her father could teach.
As she passed from child to woman, her father
read upon her broad white brow and in her
clear blue eyes a talent he had never possessed,
and by gentle urging he trained the gift till
his eyes were gladdened by reading all the
pure outpourings of his child's genius. A
poet born, her prose was full of gems, and
her pen became her dearest treasure."

"Papa!"

"Listen, Retta. One day, upon all this
dreaming life of pleasant intercourse there
came a blow, sudden as the thunder in a sunny
summer's day. The trustees who held the
wealth that had made this life an easy one to
indulge in, failed, and swept off at once the
whole fortune upon which these two depended.
This was not all ; a fall upon the ice crippled
the father so incurably that he was chained
by his injuries to bed, dependent for actual
bread upon his child, whose eighteenth sum-
mer had just opened, a fair, loving blossom,
trained to a life of luxurious ease. It was
then he learned his mistake ; when watching
the noble nature that conquered all difficulty,
he saw how the fastidious taste shrank from
such domestic labor as most women love.
With many a pang of bitter self-reproach, he
saw the most common-place duties of a poor
house fulfilled by fingers trained to glide over
the ivory keys of a grand piano, saw the busy
little hands he had so watched guiding the
pen now ronghened and soiled by cooking,
dusting, sweeping, and knew his fair child a
martyr in every detail."

"No, no! Love made the tasks easy.
What could repay the years of care such a
father had lavished ? She were a disgrace to
her sex, if such memory did not gild the most
menial task."

"Hush, Retta, listen. When the little
ready money that had served at first was gone,
the talent that had been the father's pride
became his support. Other eyes than his
loving ones learned to scan and grew to praise
his child's works, and day after day piles of
neatly-written sheets were transformed into
food, medicines, and clothing. Perhaps this
might have become the life of these two, con-
tent to always continue all to each other ; but
one was a woman, with a loving heart and
noble womanly nature. Visiting this pair,
passing whole hours by the bedside of the
invalid, was a young doctor, whose love for
his profession at first drew him often to study

an interesting case, but who came soon from
a deeper motive. The father, from his prison
bed, had grown to watch his child's face so
closely that every thought of her heart was
transparent to him, so he soon read in her
eyes the secret she tried to hide, and knew
that these two, both dear to him, were still
more dear each to the other. Retta, why do
you weep ? There was no shame in such love :
it was sought with manly frankness by one
worthy to win it. Still, there was a bar. The
young doctor was poor, and when he told his
love, the maiden would not burden him with
a helpless invalid, neither would she leave
her father."

" Oh, papa, how did you know ?"
"The lover himself told the invalid, who
then wrote to see if a hospital could not afford
him a home."

"Never ! Papa, you break my heart."
"Not yet, for the story does not end so.
Christmas was coming, and the day before,
while the child was busy in the kitchen at
her distasteful work, the young doctor came
to pay his daily visit. His story was worthy
of a novel, for he had received a legacy from
an aunt sufficient to keep him in luxury. He
had purchased a house, and a deed of gift
made it his Christmas present to the father of
the woman he loved. To-night, Retta, this
father and lover move into their new domicile,
and the child, the loving girl who has so pa-
tiently borne dark days, will she not come to
gladden bright ones ?"

It was evening when the flitting was made,
and in the new home the loving father gave
away his treasure to stronger protection, while
there was no happier heart in that large city
than little Retta's on that Christmas Eve.

— In early youth, while yet we live among
those we love, we love without restraint, and
our hearts overflow in every look, word, and
action. But when we enter into the world,
and are repulsed by strangers and forgotten by
friends, we grow more and more timid in our
approaches, even to those we love best. How
delightful to us, then, are the caresses of chil-
dren ! All sincerity and affection, they fly into
our arms, and then only we feel the renewal
of our first confidence and first pleasure.

— As the best-tempered sword is the most
flexible, so the truly generous are the most
pliant and courteous to their inferiors.

AN ARCTIC LANDSCAPE.

IT UN T a O K N E .

When I first began to know Helen Harper,
it did riot oeevir to me that she could ever
become, to me, an object of interest. I re-
member trying her at the mental bar, and
finding her tame, without even the benefit of
a doubt. She was a tallish girl, of good
figure, and without being in any sort related
to the class of pink and white beauties, had a
fair skin and rosy cheeks. Her features were
distinct without any harshness in their out-
lines ; her hair nearly black, with brown
shades in the sunlight ; and her eyes — but I
think, at that period of our acquaintance,
that I could not have observed her eyes, or I
niust have seen that they were deep, far-see-
ing, true eyes, with no want of affection in
their gray depths. No ; at that time I could
not have looked into her eyes, for in the
mental arraignment, already mentioned, I
found her cold, unloving, and unlovable.

She was noticeable only for her quietness.
Not in the statuesque style. There were no
suggestions of Parian marble. Yon never
caught yourself fancying her. tranquil and
moveless, sitting in the midst of a wild con-
flagration ; or. with rigid calmness, watching
the rising of a tide which must in the next
moment overwhelm her. Nothing of the sort.
She was no automaton, either, kept from dead
inertness by the intricate contrivance of the
human mechanism. It was apparent to me,
from the first, that she was an habitual
thinker, often an idle thinker, always a re-
served one. ner thoughts, whether subtle or
lofty, enriched no one but herself.

It was in her father's house that I met her.
I had closed up my business in Montreal,
having already conducted it with such Buccess
that I need never think of engaging in busi-
ness again unless I chose.

While spending a summer in travelling
through New England, it chanced that in a
small manufacturing village I stumbled upon
my cousin, Alonzo Thornton, at that time an
agent, I believe, in the employ of a manufac-
turing company. In boyhood we hid 1 n

intimates, and he now insisted that I should
visit him. I accordingly accompanied him to
his hoarding-place at Mr. Harper's.

The family comprised Mr. Harper and his

40*

wife — a second wife, not Helen's mother : Mr.
Grilroy, and his little girl, LulieGilroy, hoard-
ers ; my cousin Thornton, a boarder likewise, '
and Helen Harper. I soon learned that Mr.
<!ilroy was Mrs. Harper's son by a former
marriage, and that his wife, lately dead, was
Helen Harper's sister. There was also in the
family a small maiden called Janet, whose
chief employment seemed to be to amuse the
little Lulie, a remarkably beautiful child two
years old, or about that.

Mrs. Harper was, oddly enough, one of
those women with whom there never can be
any sense of repose. She was a large woman,
and rather handsome. She talked incessantly,
using a redundance of pet phrases and double-
headed superlatives. Once I found myself
wondering whether Helen Harper's marked
quietness of demeanor was not assumed in
contempt of her stepmother's continual fns-
siiiess. Nothing appeariug to confirm me in
this hypothesis, I did not pursue it further.

There seamed to be no ill feeling between
the two. On the contrary, Helen's manner
to Mrs. Harper (she always called her Mrs.
Harper, and never mother) seemed to say,
" I accept you as a friend, and value you
accordingly. But Heaven vouchsafes us only
one mother, and you are not mine."

By accident I learned that Helen Harper
sometimes indulged in stronger emotions than
her frigid exterior indicated. There was a little
shady nook in one corner of the grounds
where, with a book, I sometimes passed the
hours while my cousin was employed. Going
thith.-r one day I found Miss Harper, prostrate
upon the ground, holding before her a picture
in a small oval frame, and sobbing piteously.
I heard her cry, "Lucy, 0 Lucy! and I loved
you so much, Lucy ! 0 Heavenly Father !
help ti,y struggling child." I stayed to hear
no more, but went back noiselessly aa I had
come.

At '•upper, that night, I watched her as
closely as I dared. No iceberg could have
been more coldly impassive than Helen Har-
per. Little Lulie got no beaming glances, no
tender caresses. The intercourse of courtesy
between Helen and the boarders was briefer
than nsual. She smiled wearily at one or two

517

GODETS LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

trivial attempts at nonsense, which I addressed
to her, and seemed as if she would have felt
surprise that I had taken the trouhle, if it
had been worth her while, which it clearly
was not.

That evening, contrary to my custom, I
lingered in the sitting-room after leaving the
supper-table. Miss Harper was busy arranging
some sewing. I pretended to look over the
evening paper, and watched her as she worked.
Mr. Gilroy came in.

" Are you going to the Hall, to-night,
Helen ?" he asked.

"No," she answered, briefly.

"The entertainment will be very amusing."

" I do not care to be amused."

" And instructive."

"You should not miss it, then."

"And you?"

" I am not in the mood to be instructed."

Mr. Gilroy stood before the fire and played
with his watch-chain. It was a slender golden
thread, and he broke it asunder. He thrust
it into his pocket, and began smoothing his
hat. Finally he put it on and went out. If
he had been waiting for a more gracious word
or look from Helen, he was obliged to go with-
out either.

There was an interval of silence. I broke
it at length by asking: —

" Do you know, Miss Harper, which of the
heroines in Dickens' novels I think you would
be sure to like best?"

"How can I tell? It may be the amiable
Mrs. Skewton, for aught I know."

" By no means. It is Louisa Gradgrind."

"And why?"

"Because, seeing you so cold and stately,
one would judge that all the warm romance,
all the tender thoughts, all the deep emotions,
all the soft, womanly enthusiasm natural to
the young of your sex had been expressed
from your nature by some process like the
Gradgrind system of facts."

"And judging so, one would be wrong, as
they are apt to be who judge of what they
know nothing about."

She began to disarrange the work in her
basket, and then scanned the carpet closely,
as if looking for something.

"Have you lost anything?" I asked.

"My thimble."

I assisted in the search, and on one of the
light figures of the carpet I at length found
the tiniest silver thimble, fit for Cinderella, if

she wore a thimble at all proportionate to her
tiny slipper."

"Here is some child's thimble; Janet's
without doubt," I said.

"Let me see it."

I held it up, crowded upon the extremity
of my little finger.

"It is mine. Thank you."

"Not so fast, if you please. Yours! Ab-
surd ! See ; I cannot make it cover the nail
of my smallest digital."

She waited quietly to have it given her.
She would not condescend to waste words
about it.

" Janet !" I called to the little handmaiden
who was singing to Lulie in another room, as
she rocked her to sleep, " come here."

She came, and stood bashfully in the door
waiting to know why she had been called.

"Come here," I repeated, "and let me see
whether this finger-hat, as those sly humor-
ists the Germans call it, belongs to you.
Hold up your finger !"

She had a brown chubby hand, and the fat
finger rolled out around the silver rim like
the silken threads of a tassel around the cord
which it adorns.

I laughed, and sent her back to her task.
Helen was still quietly waiting to have the
implement necessary to go on with her sewing
restored.

"If you can put it on," I said, handing her
the thimble, "I shall have to acknowledge
that the right bride is found at last."

She dropped the thimble carelessly into her
basket, and took up some crochet work. She
would not gratify me by giving the proof I
asked for ; but I observed that the hands
which handled the crocheting so nattily were
as small and white, and the fingers as tapering
as any peeress could boast. I never could
resist a beautiful hand. I am sensible that I
acknowledge a weakness, but a fair face never
had the power to move me that a perfectly
formed hand possesses. She went on with
her work in stately stillness. Our conversation
for that time was evidently at an end ; without
rudeness, she made me understand that in
answering a trivial observation that I addressed
to her.

On going to my room that night, Helen
Harper was again brought before the mental
judiciary for a new trial, with the benefit ot
the new light thrown upon her character by
the revelations of that and the preceding days.

AX ARCTIC LANDSCAPE.

519

At a'similar arraignment' I had formerly found
her cold, unloving, and unlovable. The scene
among the trees that day was now admitted
to prove that her coldness was only upon the
surface. The fact that I had once or twice
surprised her in the act of caressing the little
Lulie Gilroy with passionate words of endear-
ment showed that she was not unloving. A
rigid inquiry into the state of my own heart
demonstrated that she was wholly lovable.

Some days afterward, while on the street, I
saw a child, at a little distance on the opposite
sidewalk, escape from the small maiden who
had charge of her, and run with all her child-
ish might down the street. Xot three yards
off there was a bridge ; its railing was old
and rotten ; a part of it had fallen in that
day, leaving a gap of several feet. At the
other end of the bridge a span of horses came
dashing on, rearing and plunging uncontrol-
lably. The child, to evade the little maiden
who pursued her, was running with her ut-
most speed across the bridge, when, seeing the
plunging, foam-flecked steeds, and their driver
in disorder, pulling at the reins to no purpose,
she turned half around, screaming in terror,
and ran backward off the bridge into the
water below.

I was but throe paces off. Another bound,
and I might have caught her before she fell.
Failing in that, I plunged into the water after
her. It was no great feat to seize her by her
dripping robes as she rose to the surface, and
swim with her to the shore ; but the crowd
who had gathered around would magnify it
into a deed of heroism, and insisted upon
accompanyingme when I took the half-drowned
child in my arms to carry her home.

The child was Lulie Gilroy, and the little
maiden, Janet, white and terror-stricken,
walked on at my side, and almost momentarily
put the question, "Will she live, sir? Will
she live ?"

"To be sure she will live," I answered, as
often as her returning fears forced her to re-
new the question.

"Oh, sir, if she shouldn't, Miss Helen wonld
die — would die !" said Janet.

I was jubilant. Miss Harper would have to
acknowledge me the saviour of the child that
she loved. Perhaps she would take my hand
in hers, and thank me with tears in ber eyes.
Xot with all that crowd at my heels, however.
With ten words, I dispersed them. They
went their several ways, chattering abont

Lulie's peril, and my noble daring. Miss
Harper was alone in the sitting-room when I
carried Lulie in.

"Where is Janet?" she asked.

"She could not quite keep pace with me.
She will be here directly."

"Something has happened!" said Helen, a
trille paler, but with no other sign of emotion.

I related what, coloring my recital according
to the state of excitement in which I spoke.
She listened, coldly quiet.

"I am sorry you should have had such
trouble," she said, when I had done. "Mr.
Gilroy will be greatly obliged to you. Janet,
call Mrs. Harper ; she will know what should
be done for Lulie."

That was all. I was referred to Mr. Gilroy
for the thanks I had set my heart upon re-
ceiving from her. Her manner said but too
plainly that she had no sentiment to throw
away upon me. I was furious. I chafed and
fretted like a madman in chains. The visit
with my cousin had been prolonged to the
utmost limit contemplated by either of us,
and nothing was gained. Reason bade me go
home like the sensible fellow I had always
flattered myself I had a right to be called ;
inclination bade me stay. When was reason
ever known to triumph in such a cause ?

I sent for a palette and colors, and got an
easel constructed. On fine days I sketched
the scenery about the village, which from
many points was really fine. It was at this
time that I began my grand classical repre-
sentation, which has since become somewhat
celebrated.

I was now one of the regular boarders at
Mrs. Harper's. In my new character of artist
I contrived to pass a part of almost every day
with Miss Harper. Sometimes I would beg
leave to bring my easel into the sitting-room,
pretending to get a better light there than in
my own room. Indeed, in those days, my
brain became so fertile in pretences that I
never was at a loss for an available one. Two
or three apt criticisms of my pieces revealed
to me that Helen Harper had artistic taste.
She read much, showing rare discernment in
her choice of books. An occasional thrust
aimed at Mr. Gilroy proved that she was an
expert satirist. It was not long before, in
spite of her impassivity, I believed I had dis-
covered that she had some stronger feeling
for Mr. Gilroy than for any one else whom
she was accustomed to meet ; but whether of

520

godey's lady's book and magazine.

liking or disliking it was impossible to con-
jecture. An intenser quiet, a prouder rejec-
tion of all tendencies to emotion characterized
her manner when he was by, and a subtler
poignancy was infused into her occasional
gravely uttered witticisms. I should as soon
have thought to see her lavish endearments
upon Lulie's gutta-percha doll as upon Lulie
Gilroy when the child's father was present.

Once I remarked something of the sort to
Thornton.

•'Neglects to pet Lulie?" said my cousin.
"Well, what do you expect? No show of
warmth from a delicate piece of frost-work
like the Harper, I suppose ?"

"I may believe that the frost-work is only
upon the surface."

"An incrustation? Very likely. I've
heard it said that before she inherited her
uncle's twenty thousand dollars she could be
merry or sad, according to the occasion, like
any other girl. That was just after Mr. Gilroy
tame home."

Here was a revelation. Miss Ilarper was an
heiress. Why should this have changed her?
Was she vain enough to assume a haughty
manner because she was rich ? I thought
not. Some other cause must have been at
work. Was it Mr. Gilroy ? My anxiety was
becoming torturing. I overturned my easel,
and caused all the colors on my palette to
illustrate the universal law of gravitation as I
thought it over ; I put my heel upon a sketch
of the Harper grounds, with the sheltered
nook, and a lady's figure bending over an oval
frame ; I overset an ottoman which supported
a small picture of the ruinous bridge and the
child's escapade, leaving it crippled in one of
its slender carved legs. A little King Charles
spaniel, belonging to Mr. Gilroy, ran in at my
half-opened door, and began smelling about
among the ruins ; I gave him a kick which
sent him whining to his master, whom the
uproar had brought to my door. He stood
surveying the scene with the dawning of a
smile which, if allowed to expand, would have
^leen altogether too expressive.

"Anything serious up ?" he asked.

"Nothing but myself. Everything else is
down."

"An accident ?"

"No ; design."

I could not help giving my answers curt
and crispy.

"The worse ; unartistic," said Gilroy.

"I am in despair, that Mr. Gilroy should
have found me unartistic."

"Better I than another, with whom devo-
tion to art is a cardinal virtue."

"I know none such."

." I am more fortunate."

"I congratulate you."

"For what ?"

" Your good fortune."

"Oh, you mean about Miss Harper. The
thing has been very near consummation a
long time, and only lacked the formality of
speaking. I take your congratulations kindlly,
be assured."

" Confound — I mean I am glad you do."

" I think Miss Harper told me that you are
soon to leave us. We shall be inconsolable."

"Be consoled then; and assure Miss Har-
per that she is in error. I shall stay to see
the consummation of your happiness."

Mr. Gilroy's face retained its composure,
but I thought I could perceive that it was with
an effort.

"That is kind," he said; "I know not
how we have deserved such distinguished
consideration from Mr. St. Joyeuse."

When this interview was ended, I tried,
vainly for a time, but at last successfully, to
recall a scene in which I had met the same
expression that Mr. Gilroy's face wore when
we parted.

It was in the course of a European tour. In
an idle hour I sauntered into one of the salons
at Baden, and looked on at the playing. An
accomplished gambler, having had a run of
luck almost unparalleled, staked his whole
winnings upon a single game, and lost. His
expression, as the stakes were swept off, was
like that upon Mr. Gilroy's face at our part-
ing. Had he undertaken to play a desperate
game and lost ? And how ? I wondered.

If it had been possible for Mr. Gilroy to be
congealed by a frigid manner, he must have
been paralyzed by Miss Harper's that evening,
and during the ensuing week. Her repose
was icy, her action glacial. My thoughts and
researches at that time all tended poleward.
I procured and read Dr. Kane's Arctic Explo-
rations. I was uncomfortably anxious about
Sir John Franklin and the Northwest Pas-
sage. I attempted t6 paint a fancy piece. My
imagination delights in soft, warm tints, and
hazy skies, with the sunlight glittering
through ; and an exuberance of light, and
warmth, and glorious forms of vegetation.

AN ARCTIC LANDSCAPE.

521

But now it could devise nothing warmer or
softer than an Arctic landscape, in which
icebergs glittered and polar bears gambolled,
and Helen Harper, the genius of the scene,
in no respect discommoded by her frosty sur-
rounding, yet breathing sentiment, with all
the essentials of a full warm life pulsating in
her reins, had a fit dwelling in the tallest of
the bergs. A frost queen in her glacial tem-
ple, smiting with congelation whatever ap-
proached her.

I did not choose this subject for my paint-
ing. The fancy got hold of me, and pursued
me like a fate. I could not escape it until
the piece was executed. Then placing it upon
my easel in the light of a gray October sun-
set, I stood back to look at it, and shivered as
I looked.

Turning to shut my door, which, as the day
waned, I had thrown open for more light from
the window in the passage, I stood face to
face with Helen Harper. Her eyes were fixed
upon the picture, and she scarcely knew that
I saw her. A bright spot burned upon each
cheek, and there was a strange softness in her
eyes.

"How do you like it, Miss Harper?" I
asked.

"You have frozen me," she said, with a
shiver. " How dare you ?"

"Frozen you! No. No more than a North
Sea glacier could be frozen by a warm sun-
ray." t

" The warm snn-ray is not in your picture."

" No, but it is in my heart, or was. I am
not sure that the frost queen has not banished
it and filled its place with icicles."

1 ' They are beautiful. Do you like them t"

"What?"

" Icicles."

" No. Why should I like them ?"

" I do. I remember that as a child I used
to covet them. I have seen them when the
sun's rays were on them, so lustrous, and
pure, and dazzling. But, though sparkling
with radiance, they never cheated me into
believing that they might impart warmth.
They are sublime in their sincerity."

" Does Mr. Gilroy admire them ?"

In a moment all the softness faded from her
eyes, leaving them cold and glittering like
the icicles for which she professed an admira-
tion.

"He! Butnomatter; if you seek to know,
ask him."

"All, now I have frozen you* indeed!
that, rejoicing in the realization of
lore's young dream, you should have the art
so effectually to chill all who would offer con-
gratulations or utter kind wishes for your
future."

" Pray stick to your canvas, Mr. St. Joy-
euse, and let love's young dream alone. Or,
at least, do not identify the dreamer with the
genius of a scene like that you have just
painted. Let me pass, sir."

I had taken such a position in the narrow
door that she could not well go until I moved
aside. I was by no means ready to let the
interview end. My movement was then quite
involuntary. Had she commanded me to cut
off for her my right hand, with that tone and
gesture, I think I must have obeyed her. She
bowed slightly in acknowledgment, gathered
up her robes that there might be no possi-
bility of their touching me, and went away.
She might have been indeed a dweller in the
Arctic zone, and I could scarcely have felt
that there was a greater distance between us
than that simple act of gathering up her gar-
ments, that they might not touch me, had
placed between us.

Going down stairs later, I heard laughter
and merry voices through the half closed
parlor door. One of the voices was unmis-
takably Helen Harper's, yet so changed from
its ordinary passionless tones that one less
sensitive to its faintest, modulation, would
have failed to recognize it. She came out a
moment after, and I saw an equal change in
herself. Her face was lighted up with a
glad smile ; her step, her very form seemed
changed.

"Mr. St. Joyeuse," she said, "my friend,
Nellie Grattan is here, and wishes to see you.
She has often heard of you through Lieutenant
CafTerton."

"Lieutenant Cafferton is my very best
friend."

" And Nellie Grattan is mine."

"Is this friendship a recent one?"

"No, or it never would have existed. I
knew Nellie Grattan and loved her before —
before" — she hesitated, in real confusion.

" I understand. You mean before you con-
ceived such a passion for icicles."

" Perhaps."

" How could the face that glows so brightly
in speaking of your friend ever have led me
to perpetrate that Arctic landscape ?"

522

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

"Even the polar regions have their season
of sunshine." But she added, with a sad-
dened face, " 'Frosts come in dog-days, and
snows fall a month before the harvest moon.'
So their brief summer is to little purpose."

"One should make the most of the sun-
shine while it lasts, then."

"Come and see Nellie Grattan, and I think I
may promise that you shall not pine for human
sunshine while she remains," said Helen.

Nellie Grattan was that rarest thing in na-
ture, a brilliant woman unspoiled. Her geni-
ality could not fail to please, since it rendered
you well satisfied with yourself; her discourse
was bristly with sharp points of wit. She
was possessed of a cultivated intellect, and
accomplished in all that graces social life. I
could scarcely wonder that Helen's coldness
had yielded to the enchantment of her glad-
dening presence. The intercourse of the two
friends showed a tenderness without affecta-
tion, as rare as it is delightful.

Nellie was accompanied by a brother and
sister, pleasing acquaintances, and such as
would be well received in any drawing-room
in New England. But in my opinion they
were in no respect so distinguished as in
being closely connected with Nellie Grattan.

How the memory of that evening moves
me ! Blessings on the rare Nellie Grattan.
Blessings on thy real and loving heart, with
warmth enough in its depths to set aglow the
soul of the veriest cynic that ever sneered at
human affection. During that evening Helen
Harper gave herself up to gayety with child-
like abandon. Her rippling laughter thrilled
me through and through like a strain of
strange music from a master hand, heard un-
expectedly, where neither instrument nor
player is visible. I bad never heard her laugh
before. I began to comprehend how all this
might be, while her heart must have been
starving for companionship, for love. Could
Mr. Gilroy ever supply this need ?

He was away from home that day, and I
saw the cloud come back upon Helen's face
only once ; that was when Nellie Grattan in-
quired when he was expected to return.

He reappeared next morning at the break-
fast-table, and so did the icy repose of Helen's
manner. But Nellie Grattan was not there to
see it. Would the change have come if she
had been? I think it would.

Some days later I was waiting up town for
the sorting of the evening mail, and stood

before a cheap engraving in the gentleman's
parlor of the hotel, when a pair of arms were
thrust around me with a bearish grip, and
before I could utter a word I was lifted Irorn
the floor and placed, standing, upon a tall
office stool, facing my assailant.

"Lieutenant Cafferton!" I exclaimed, sur-
prised.

"How are you, my boy ?" said the cheery
voice of my friend. "You know me, I sup-
pose, as one would a bear, by the peculiar
force of my initiatory hug. Can you find
room in your den to stow away a brother cub
for a day or two ?"

"For a score of days, if you like. Come
along and see."

He took my arm, and we went out together.
As we walked along, talking tumultuously as
old friends will, he stopped, with the abrupt*
ness that characterized all his movements,
and said —

"St. Joyeuse, I am going to be married."

" Very likely. I wonder you never thought
of it before."

"Perhaps I did. I may have had my ro-
mance in real life, and my heart tragedy as
well. But now, if God wills, I shall be the
happiest man alive."

' ' And who will be the happiest woman
alive ? Who will be Mrs. Cafferton ?"

"Nellie Grattan."

"God bless you, my friend. You would be
the veriest ingrate living, if you had, won rare
Nellie Grattan, and were not the happiest man
alive."

I had to explain then, of course, how I came
to know Nellie Grattan, and with mutual
explanations and confidences we prolonged our
walk until a late hour. There was a light in
the parlor at Mr. Harper's when we returned,
and as we stood in the front door a moment,
looking out upon the glory of the moonlit
night, we heard the indistinct murmur of
voices. Presently the parlor door was opened,
and Mr. Gilroy's voice, harsh and angry, ar-
rested Helen Harper as she was about to leave
the room.

"You shall consent, Helen Harper," said
Mr. Gilroy. " You think if you refuse me,
that Mark St. Joyeuse will take you. for the
sake of your property. But I know him bet-
ter. He has told me himself that I am wel-
come to you if I like. It would take more
than twenty thousand dollars, he said, to
reconcile him to a union with a snowbank."

AX ARCTIC LANDSCAPE.

523

" You do well to guard your friend's oonfi-

I rn with such ehivalric honor, Mr. Gilroy,"
replied Helen, coldly.

" Be as sarcastic as you please, Helen Har-
per, but I tell you you shall consent. Refuse
me, nud before one week all whom you value
most, Mark St. JoyeuBi , Nellie Grattan, your
father, proud in the unspotted parity of your
family name, shall know that Lucy Harper,
later Mrs. Gilroy, was a false wife."

"Scoundrel!" cried Cafferton, striding into
the room hurriedly, "unsay that of Lucy
Harper, or never speak again."

"Did you know Lucy Harper?" asked

II lien, without showing any surprise at the
irruption of a stranger at such an hour.

' • Know her ! Yes, and loved her. I should
have won her, but this Gilroy came between
u;."

•' More. Tell me more," said Helen.

"Well, it doesn't matter. I will tell you
all there is to tell. Mark, I told you to-night
that I may have had my romance and my
heart tragedy. You shall hear the history
now, if you like. I told Nellie it before I
asked her to marry me. Lucy Harper was
spending a winter with her aunt in Boston ; I
met her there, and loved her. There was no
merit in that, for none who knew her could
help loving her. We were much together
until Mr. Gilroy came, armed with a brother's
passport to her favor. After that we met but
rarely. He married her, and removed to Ral-
ston. I had a sister living there. She be-
came acquainted with Lucy, and loved her,
as everybody did who knew her. She often
wrote to me about her friend Mrs. Gilroy, not
knowing how every word concerning her hurt
me. At first her letters were full of her
friend's happiness at home and the admiration
she obtained in society ; then there were
glimpses of unhappinoss, caused by her hus-
band's injustice and jealousy. Poor Lucy!
She could no more help being admired than
the sun could help shining. But her husband
worried her into believing that every time her
sweet, beautiful face provoked an admiring
smile it left a trace of guilt upon her heart.
fihe abandoned society, hoping to avoid her
husband's censure, and secure his confidence.
That hope was vain. One day she was left
alone at home. Having nothing cheering in
the present or hopeful for the future to employ
her thoughts, they turned naturally enough, I
suppose, to the past. She had in her writing-

desk a note which I had written her. It had
been detained by some means when the others
were returned. Her husband came in later,
and found her asleep with the note lying on
her lap. It was written very tenderly, as
everybody spoke and wrote to her, whether
friend or lover. It prayed her to grant me an
interview, with a gentle reproach for having
disappointed me the previous evening. It was
dated with the day of the month, but the year
was omitted, and the month and day were the
same as that on which her husband found it
open on her lap. He would not hear her
tearful protestations, but struck her in hte
brutal rage. She tied to my sister. Poor
girl ! she knew nowhere else to seek a refuge.
She could not go home, for her father's wife
was Mr. Gilroy' s mother. Six months after-
ward she died, charging my sister to assure
the father of her little babe that she was inno-
cent, and died forgiving him. Anatomy of
falsehoods," said Cafferton, turning abruptly
to Mr. Gilroy, "tell me whether this be true!"

"It is," said Gilroy, cowering abjectly.

"Enough. Now, begone!"

"One moment, first," I interposed. "Will
Mr. Gilroy tell Miss Harper ichen Mark St.
Joyeuse did himself the distinguished honor
to express such sentiments as he has this
night ascribed to him ?"

" I think — there must have been some mis-
take. It must have been some one else."

I bowed profoundly, and Mr. Gilroy shied
out of the room.

Helen took Lieutenant Cafferton's hand.
" Lucy Harper's sister thanks you, ' ' she said,
with a burst of tears. ' ' I shall be happy, again,
now that this cruel falsehood is exposed."

"As the friend of Nellie Grattan and the
sister of Lucy Harper you have a double
claim upon me. Say the word, and I '11 im-
merse that fellow, Gilroy, in the nearest pond,
until he begs your forgiveness heartily."

"No. If you. would do me a favor, will
you promise, for Mrs. Harper's sake, that what
has passed here to-night shall be known only
to us?"

"As you pier se. I promise. Bah! Sucht
cowardly meanness sickens me ; I must walk
it off in the night air. St. Joyeuse, will yo«l
go with me ?"

"Presently. Miss Harper!"

" Oh, yes. And you."

"And I shall devise no more Arctic land-
- "

524

godey's lady's book and magazine.

She laughed, and again, like a strain of
mysterious music, her laughter thrilled me
through and through. "And you will pro-
mise, too ? Or, rather, I need not exact your
promise to be silent about Mr. Gilroy ; I may
lely upon your honor."

" You may. Miss Harper — Helen — "

She looked up, wondering.

"Will you rely upon my love as well ? Will
you let the sun-ray in my heart expand and
glow in the added beam of your own love?"

"Not icicles, then, after all," she said,
with another laugh.

"0 Helen. Come."

She has been my wife three years, and my
household hearth has never been cold for
want of the sunshine of a glad, loving heart.
Lieutenant, now Colonel, Cafferton is in the
army, and his wife is spending the Christmas

holidays with us, waiting, in cheerful, holy
faith, until the end of the war shall restore
him to her.

THE FAMILY DRAWING MASTER.

IN A SERIES OF FAMILIAR CONVERSATIONS.

P. Now, here is a new drawing for you.
You must not think it is difficult. You must
first copy the two trapeziums carefully ; then,
if you can draw easily the figures you have
learned before, you will be sure to make the
drawing nicely.

L. I will count the different figures in it.
There are two squares, viz., the upper part of
the house, and the window of the shed.

Three rectangles, viz., the lower part of the
house,' the tower of the church, and the door
in the wall.

TEAPEZnTMS,

Three trapeziums, viz., the two roofs, and
the little house on the left.

The little piece of roof projecting from that
house forms a right-angled triangle ; and the
spire of the church is an isosceles triangle ; so
that there are, altogether, two squares, three

rectangles, three trapeziums, a right-angled
triangle, and an isosceles triangle.

P. We will not learn the names of any Dew
figures for the present ; but I will supply you
with a series of drawings for practice. Some
will be easy, and some difficult.

THE FAMILY MAWIXfl-MASTER.

525

A FEW FRIENDS.

BY KORMAJI LYNN.

A FANCY DRESS PARTY.

For several days before the last meeting of
the " Child-again Society" mysterious little
notes were fluttering about town. Mrs. Green,
the hostess elect, sent them to members and
non-members with marvellous prodigality, and
each recipient lost no time in dispatching a
prompt acknowledgment.

When the evening arrived, it was evident
that something unusual with the society was
about to take place. Mrs. Green's mansion
seemed fairly ablaze within, from basement
to roof. Subdued but impatient violins were
giving vent to solitary squeaks, and guests by
the score were adjnitted by a pompous darkey,
who seemed, by some strange reversal of
modern law, to have purchased the Green
family bodily, and to have just opened an
exhibition of them on his own account.

Soon the ladies' dressing-room became al-
most crowded ; gentlemen's ditto. Glances,
curious and penetrating, were dealt freely and
unreservedly, still few recognitions took place.
Finally, as pair after pair moved slowly down
the stair, little groups above discussed their
identities in laughing whispers. Soon the
violins were permitted to relieve themselves,
and a joyous melody floated through the
mansion. The stairway continued in active
service, leading expectant and timid forms up
to the "front room, second floor," and bear-
ing them down again, transformed into joyous
creatures, who already began to feel at home.

Society, true to itself, wore two faces this
time. Shielded by mask and domino, the
guests could look and feel as they pleased
without disturbing their outward calm. Of
the ladies, Mrs. Green alone appeared with
countenance uncovered ; yet all had to look
twice before they could persuade themselves
that their graceful hostess and " that stout
landlady with the gorgeous cap and the bob-
bing courtesy" were the same. There was an
old gentleman, also, among the guests, who
scorned to degrade his gray hairs and time-
worn cheek with the absurdity of plumed cap
or domino. Wrinkled, and yet not wrinkled ;
decrepit, and yet graceful; drawn at the mouth,
yet laughing in the eye, it was well the dear
526

old gentleman did not venture to speak with-
out two thimbles in his mouth, or some of the
company might have recognized the voice of
the gallant young Stykes. Few knew that
his beautiful top-boots were constructed of
his Sunday best, with a band of yellow paper
neatly pasted around their tops ; that his
wrinkles were charcoal, and his dilapidated
teeth eked into deformity by bits of black
paper skilfully Spaulding-ed upon his imma-
culate ivories. Why should they know 1 It
was none of their business. Why should they
know, either, that a fair hand had converted
his oldest black vest into a costly brocade by
simply transferring the flowers from a gaudy
bit of ribbon to its surface ? And why should
they suspect that his cast-away soft hat had
been converted into a "lovely three-cornered
affair" by that same useful member?

Mary Gliddon certainly did not know or
suspect any of these points, for she had been
conducted to the festive scene by a long-
cloaked, black-plumed Hamlet ; and upon her
suggesting to his Danish highness that some
one would surely find out who they were, if
they remained together, he had vanished,
somewhat after the manner of his ghostly
father, and she had seen him no more. How
astonished would she have been, and how
indignant, too, had she suspected that the
meek old gentleman to whom she ventured to
address the simple question, " Have you seen
my Lord Hamlet, sir?" might have replied
truthfully, "He is here, dearest Ophelia, at
your feet !"

Mary Gliddon, with her long flaxen wig and
whitened eyebrows (though the lashes con-
tradicted them), made a very pretty Ophelia.
Straws and a white dress are always accessi-
ble, and flowers were not difficult to find in
Mary's home ; indeed, some of Ben's bouquets
had helped to eke out her store. So Mary had
chosen the character "to save trouble," she
said. Alas ! she little knew into what trouble
the dress would lead her. But of that anon.

I cannot tell the reader what costumes the
other "Few Friends" wore, for I left early on
that evening, before the masks were removed.
Still, perhaps, an ingenious mind may be able,

A FEW FRIEXDS.

527

after a briel description, to give sum.' of the
characters "a local habitation and a name."

In the first place, there was an animated
creature flitting about, which all recognized
at once as "The Press." Her dress was of
newspapers, and very pretty it was, too, with
infant waist and short sleeves, gathered into
graceful shape. The skirt, too, formed of
Commercial A . lined with white mus-

lin, hung beautifully, as the ladies say, while
the soft gray hue of the whole proved to be
exceedingly becoming. Of course, there was
a newspaper fan and a newspaper handker-
chief, to say nothing of exquisite bracelets
wrought of twisted fragments of the Evening
Gazette. The sceptre in her hand, too, and
the headdress of pens, and miniature scissors,
and gay pen-wipers, were suggestive, and
added much to the general effect. It seemed
to me that the movements of this lively, busy
" Press" were not unlike those of the " pretty
cousin from Ohio," but of course I could not
feel any certainty about the matter.

Another lovely figure moving through the
crowd met with no little admiration. This
was the " Spirit of the Sanitary Commission."
All about the hem of her flowing garment
there waved a line of gold, and not until one
marked it closely was it plain that the golden
line was but a list of the cities whose noble
fairs had enabled her to be a blessed spirit
indeed. Over the graceful sash of red, white,
and blue that crossed her fair shoulder hung
a canteen and a knapsack packed with lint,
cordials, and comforts for the wounded soldier,
while the blue, star-spangled diadem above
her brow lent a brightness to the beautiful
eyes beneath. With one fair hand she clasped
a willow branch twined with laurel, and with
the other she held a basket, on the sides of
which the words "for the wooded" were
woven in immortelles. Many an offering was
dropped silently into this basket during the
evening, and, with a joyous heart, dispatched
next morning by Theresa Adams (I suspect) to
headquarters. The respectable old gentleman
aforesaid dropped in an anachronism in the
shape of a twenty-five cent currency bill. So
did a fierce-looking brigand, and a Chinaman,
and Sir John Falstaff. A Yankee, dressed in
the conventional flaxen wig, short striped
pants, and high hat, left off whittling for a
moment to plunge his hands into his pockets,
and look wistfully at the bright spirit.

" 'Tain't natur'," he said, shaking his head

sadly, "'tain't natur' not to heave suuithin'
in that 'ere basket of yourn. I woz goiu' ter
give you a dime er tyoo, when, jest es I was
goiu' ter take out my pocket-book, I thought
all ter onct, that the blamed thing was home
in my tother trowsers. You 're Miss Scott, I
reckon, or Miss Adams. Beaut you, now?"
And, after au insinuating glance, tin' represen-
tative of our enlightened republic shuttled off.

Of course there was the usual sprinkling of
Scotch lassies, flower-girls, and Italian pea-
Bants. These seemed to have empty pockets,
and, in consequence, slid quietly past the
"Spirit of the Sanitary."

In the middle of the evening a huge giantess
entered the room, and stalked boldly about.
She towered far above the tallest man present,
carried a huge green work-bag, and wore a
red shawl and the most outlandish of poke
bonnets. People stared, and well they might,
for how could they guess that this mammoth
specimen was composed of two young men,
the smaller and lighter one firmly seated upon
the shoulders of his perspiring companion.

A monkey scampered about near the giant-
ess, apparently much to her annoyance and
terror. This animated little biped I am sure
was Bobby. A tight-fitting red jacket, with
short, full skirt, from which protruded a long,
gracefully wired tail, limbs covered with
brown worsted leggings, brown paint, and a
jaunty little red skullcap completed the effect;
Bobby was for the time being a veritable
monkey, and delighted in doing, "in charac-
ter," all sorts of mischievous things.

One of the prettiest creatures. present was
"Aurora," a fair young girl dressed, sans
crinoline, in pink silk, covered with a fleecy,
cloud-like drapery of tarletane, with golden
tresses, shaded by a long floating veil, caught
over the brow by a single blazing star.

''Music" was there, too, but in a new
guise. His jacket was a drum, his hat an
inverted trumpet, his pantaloons composed of
sheet music, his coat sleeves ditto, ingeniously
tapered off into drumsticks, his epaulettes
were miniature key-boards, his earrings bona
fide jewsharps, and in lieu of a sword a fine
flute swung gallantly from his belt. Strapped
across his back was a metronome quiver filled
with violin bows, and his breath faintly came
and went through the chambers of a pandean
pipe. Altogether, he presented a curious
appearance, being, as all admitted, one of the
finest effects of the evening.

528

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

I must not forget to mention the character
of "Nancy" in Oliver Twist. This was well
sustained by a fat lady with small, jetty eyes.
In fact, the only thing she did which was
entirely out of keeping with her part was to
cast fearful and warning glances at an uncom-
fortable-looking brigand, who seemed to be
slightly rheumatic in the knees. Nancy's
dress was admitted by all the ladies to be
"capital." A short gown and petticoat, wide
apron, showy cotton shawl folded carelessly
over her bosom, heavy shoes, a defunct bon-
net trimmed with nameless ribbons, a big
house key in her hand, and an empty basket
hanging upon her arm. This was all, but the
whole constituted an effect from which one did
not wonder that the Oliver present fled with a
never-ceasing horror. Persistently she fol-
lowed him up and down the rooms, claiming
him as her own dear Brother Oliver, her
"ungrateful boy ;" but she had not succeeded
in laying her hand upon the terrified youth
at the time I left.

While the giantess was stalking about, and
Nancy was trying in vain to clutch the poor
book-laden Oliver, a strange scene was being
enacted in a far recess of the long parlors.
Ophelia had drawn aside, partly to rest and
partly to wonder why Hamlet had taken her
request so very literally, when suddenly she
saw that Hebenon-haunted young man mov-
ing slowly and surely toward her. He was
disguised, like herself, in black silk mask and
domino ; still she could see that he was suf-
fering under extreme trepidation. Gradually
drawing closer to the astonished maiden, he
addressed her in an agitated whisper.

"Miss Gliddon — for I know you are no
other — the time has come for me to speak. I
love you passionately ; I will devote my very
life to your happiness. You know me, of
course."

Blushing and trembling behind her mask,
Mary nodded a surprised acknowledgment.

"I knew you would. What veil can hide
kindred spirits from each other ? Answer
me, dearest. Can you love me '! Ah ! you
are silent ! At least, if you cannot speak,
place your hand in mine."

"This is no time — no place," faltered Mary,
shrinking back in surprise.

"Nay, but it is," whispered the husky
voice. " This very night, if you love me not,
I embark for a foreign land. I can bear sus-

pense no longer. Your hand in mine, if you
love me !"

Startled, yet quivering with a strange joy,
Mary timidly placed her hand within the
eager palm extended toward her.

" Heaven bless you I" sobbed the lover.

At that moment supper was announced.
Trembling, almost fainting, Ophelia leaned
upon her dear Hamlet's arm, as the guests
walked two by two into the grand supper-
room. All were assembled at last, the signal
given by the host, and every mask was re-
moved. How could poor Mary look up at
Ben ? And yet a shy glance from beneath her
eyelashes while he was bending so devotedly
beside her could do no harm. Horror ! It
was not Ben at all ; it teas the gentleman from
Liverpool ! What could she do ? How rectify
the mistake there, in that crowded, noisy
room, among all those smiling faces ? The
walls seemed spinning round her, the lights
danced and flashed, then suddenly grew dark.
Soon the tidings spread rapidly that a lady
had fainted.

For the last half hour the fine old gentle-
man in yellow top boots had been watching
the movements of Ophelia and this second
Hamlet in an agony of jealous interest. Now
he sprang forward and assisted the young man
from Liverpool in bearing the maiden out of
the room. Mrs. Gliddon and the captain, too,
were soon beside her inanimate form, lending
every assistance in their power. Soon her
eyes opened, and she beheld the pale visage
of the young man from Liverpool fairly glar-
ing into her own.

"Not you!" she cried, faintly, stretching
forth her hand, "not you! Oh! / was mis-
taken ! Forgive me !"

' ' What does this mean ?" asked Ben, savage-
ly, looking horrible things at the young man.

"It means," answered the other, bitterly,
" that I am not needed here. Good-evening. ' '

Just one week from that night, Benjamin
Stykes entered the parlor where Mary sat
alone, quite resolved upon playing with her
a certain game called "Yes and No;" not
that played by the Few Friends at their fourth
meeting, but the old-fashioned, beautiful ver-
sion which has been so popular among Adam's
children since the days of Eden. The room
was dimly lighted, and Mary spoke faintly, but
a little bird told me that her answer to his first
question, after the game had been fairly com-
menced, was "Yes."

NOVELTIES FOR DECEMBER.

BONNETS, SLEEVES, HIOHT-DRBSS, ETC.

Fig. 1. — White corded silk front, with
puffed silk crown edged with black lace. A
black velvet ribbon, which is fastened inside
the front of the bonnet, is carried to the centre

Fig. I. Fig.

of the crown, whore it finishes in a point,
from which hang clusters of grapes with fo-
liage. The inside trimming is of tulle, scarlet
velvet, and purple grapes.

2. Fig. 3.

Fig. 2.— Eve bonnet of puffed white tulle,
with small pointed cape. The front edge of
the bonnet and cape are edged with a double
row of Marguerites. The same flower, mingled
with tulle, forms the inside trimming.

Pig. 4. Fig.

Fig. 3. — The front of the bonnet is of quilted
gray silk. The crown is soft, and of plain
silk crossed with black velvet. Deep blue
flowers are arranged on the lower part of the
crown, and instead of the curtain are loops of
Fig. 6.

ribbon and lace. The inside trimming is of
tulle, black lace, and blue flowers.

Fig. 4. — Bonnet formed of rows of violine-

41*

colored ribbon, arranged in points. The out-
side is trimmed with a half wreath of lilies o(
the valley and a violine-colored feather. The

529

530

godey's lady's book and magazine.

inside trimming is of violine velvet and whi^e
flowers.

Fig. 5. — Reception bonnet of white royal
Velvet, with a short cape formed of two rows

of blonde. On the outside are white camelias
with scarlet velvet leaves. Inside are blonde
caps, small white flowers, with coral centres
and scarlet leaves.

Fig. 7-

Fig. 6. — White silk bonnet, with crown of
Azurline blue velvet. On the edge of the
bonnet is a roll which is strapped with narrow

blue velvet. Inside is a very large cluster of
blue daisies and grasses. Daisies and grasses
are also arranged on the outside of the bonnet.

Fig. 8.

Fig. 7. — Pique dress, for a little boy. The I is worn over it. The skirt is edged with a
corsage is plain, but a fancy belt of the pique I fluted cambric ruffle.

NOVELTIES FOR DECEMBER.

531

Fig. 9.

Fig. 8 is the back view of the same dress,
showing the hack of the belt and a pique sash,
with ends trimmed with cambric ruffling.

Fig. 10.

Fig. 9. — Short night-dress, with the entire
front tucked. It is richly embroidered, and
trimmed with a narrow fluted ruffle.

Fig. 11.

Fig. 10. — Sleeve, suitable for a dress or un- I Fig. 11. — Morning sleeve, with linen cuff
dersleeve. | embroidered in scarlet.

EMBROIDERT.

532

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

BABY'S KNITTED SOCK.

Materials for the Pair. — Half an ounce of single red
wool, and half an ounce of white ; one yard of narrow
white satin ribbon. In our pattern the shoe is red, and
the part forming the sock white.

Begin at the toe. Cast on 30 stitches with
red wool on four steel needles, and knit in
rounds alternately plain and purled. In the
3d round increase 1 stitch hefore the 1st and
before the 16th stitch, and repeat this increas-
ing in every 4th round. Between each in-
creasing there must always he 15 plain stitches

in the row, which form the sole : the part
increased is for the upper part of the shoe.
When you hare increased 13 times, work 3
or 4 more rows without increasing ; then cast
off the 13 middle stitches in front of the shoe,
and knit the heel all plain, working hack-
wards and forwards so as to continue the ribs.
After the 38th round the heel is large enough,
but a small piece should be worked on each
side in the following way : Take up 11 stitches
in the centre of the side of the heel, and knit
backwards and forwards, taking 1 of the

stitches left on each side with the last of the
11 stitches in each row. When this is done,
begin the little sock with white wool, knitting
either in rounds, or backwards and forwards
alternately plain and purled : in the latter
case the edges must be joined together by a
seam at the back. The rows are to be in-
creased several times at the back, at the calf
of the leg. When you have completed 86
rows, work 18 or 20 rounds of double or patent
knitting, which forms a border to be turned
down over the sock. When the seam is made,
work 2 rows in crochet of loops of chain

stitches in red wool ; work a few red spots on
the border and cross stitches on the sock, as
shown in our illustration, and add 2 bows of
white satin ribbon. Our pattern is lined with
white knitting ; for this lining cast on 42
stitches on wooden needles, knit loosely back-
wards and forwards, and decrease twice in
the space of 8 stitches, which form the front
part of the foot. When you have decreased
9 times, knit 3 more rows without decreasing,
and cast off very loosely. Join together both
sides of this lining by a seam which will form
the middle of the back of the heel : the foun-

WORK DEPARTMENT.

533

dation row will come in the middle of the
sole, and the oast-offstitohes at the to.-. Fasten
the lining inside the shoe by a few stitches.

LADY'S KNITTED UNDER PETTICOAT.

2fut'T\al4. — Ono and a quarter pound of four-thread
scarlet fleecy, aud quarter of a pound of white ditto.

We cannot too highly recommend these
very warm garments for wearing under crino-
lines, as they cling so nicely to the figure.
Our model is made in scarlet and white wool,
those portions of the illustration represented
Hack being knitted in scarlet, and the tiny
stripes in white. The petticoat need not be

30</i. — Seam the white stitches, slip the
scarlet.

31s( and 32rf.— The same as 29th and 80th.

33d and 34th. — Knit plain with scarlet.

35M.— Knit 1 with white, *, slip 2, knit 3
with white, repeat.

36th. — Seam the white Stitohes, slip the
scarlet.

37f/t and 3Sth.— The same as 35th aud 3(!th,
knit 2 rows of scarlet.

This completes the border of the petticoat.

For the centre knit and seam alternate

rows of scarlet till 18 are done. Knit 1 row

of white, seam and knit alternate rows of

scarlet till 15 are done, knit 1 row of white,

knit a stripe of 13 rows of scarlet,

1 row of white, then a stripe of
11, 9, and 7 rows, with 1 row of
white between each, knit 6 stripes
with 5 rows of scarlet and 1 row
of white between each, knit 1
row of white, seam 1 row of scar-
let, then knit 24 rows in ribs of

2 and 2, cast off. Three breadths
will be required. Join them with
single crochet, and add an elastic
band.

made very long, therefore does not take a
great deal of time to knit.

Cast on 141 stitches with scarlet, knit 4
rows.

5(A row. — Join the white, knit 1, *, make 1,
knit 3, slip 1, knit 2 together, pass the slipped
stitch over, knit 3, make 1, knit 1, repeat
from *.

6th. — Seamed.

Repeat the 5th and 6th rows till 8 are done.

Join the scarlet aud knit 4 rows.

Repeat the 5th and 6th rows till 8 more are
done, knit 4 rows of scarlet.

29th.— Knit 3 with white, slip 2 stitches,
repeat.

BABY'S HOOD.— KNITTING.

(S . - ngraving, page 4S7.)
Materials. — 3 skeins of white, and 1 of
pink or blue Andalusian wool ; a pair of
knitting pins No- 11, and one pair No. 5,
measured in the circle of t he bell gauge.
For the edge, a small ivory crochet needle
will be required ; also 2 yards of colored
sarcenet ribbon to match the wool. To
form the shapeof the roll, a dozen skeins
of white single Berlin wool is ti.-' beqt,
but wadding may be used if preferred.

THE CKOWX.

Commence with the white wool and No. 11
pins. Cast on 80 stitches on one pin.

1st row. Slip the 1st stitch, and purl the
rest of the row.

2d. Slip the 1st stitch, and knit the rest of
the row plain.

3d. All purl knitting, always slipping the
1st stitch every row.

4th. All plain.

5th. All plain ; so that the ribs may be on
the contrary side to those previously worked.

6th. All purl.

1th. All plain.

8(A. All purl.

534

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Four rows will now be ribbed on one side of
the work, and four on the other, which forms
the pattern.

Commence again at the 1st row, and repeat
the eight rows three times more, when there
will be four patterns.

For the Back, cast on 10 stitches, then purl
the row the same as the 1st row, and at the
end of it cast on 10 stitches more. Then re-
peat as the 2d and following rows to the end
of the 8th row. The next row will be the 9th
row of the Back.

9M. Purl 2 together and then purl 5 stitches,
alternately to the end ; this decrease is to
shape the crown.

Repeat from the 2d row to the end of the
8th row.

17M. Purl 2 together, and purl 3 stitches,
alternately to the end. Repeat from the 2d
row to the end of the 8th row.

25th. Purl 2 together, and purl 2 stitches,
alternately to the end.

26th. All plain.

21th. All purl.

2Sth. All plain.

29th. Knit 2 together and knit 2 plain, al-
ternately to the end.

30th. All purl.

31st. All plain.

32d. All purl.

33rf. Purl 2 together, and purl 1 stitch, al-
ternately to the end.

34th. All plain.

35th. Purl every two stitches together*; and
with the rug needle draw up the remaining
stitches. Then sew the sides of this piece
together to make it round.

TRIMMING FOK THE CROWN AND FRONT.

Commence with the pink or blue wool and
No. 5 pins, cast on 61 stitches loosely and with
both pins.

1st. Knit the first 2 stitches together to de-
crease, then knit 27 stitches plain, knit 3
stitches all together, knit the rest of the row
plain to the last two stitches, then knit them
together.

2d. All plain.

3d. Knit 2 together, knit 25 plain, knit 3
together, knit the rest plain to the last two
stitches, then knit them together.

4th. All plain.

5th. Knit 2 together, knit 23 plain, knit 3
together, knit the rest plain to the last two
stitches, then knit them together.

6th. All plain. Join on the white.

At the end of the last row cast on 14 stitches ;
work the rest of this piece with the white
wool.

1th. Knit the 14 stitches cast on, then on
the colored row knit 23 plain ; then knit 3
together as before, and knit the rest plain.
The three stitches knitted together are always
in the centre of the row, and immediately
over those in the row preceding. At the end
of this row cast on 14 stitches to correspond
with the other side.

,. 8(/(. Knit the 14 stitches cast on ; then knit
the white row all plain.

9th. Knit 37 plain, then knit 3 together,
and knit the rest plain.

10(A. All plain knitting.

Repeat as the 9th and 10th rows 11 times
more, but working one stitch less at the be-
ginning of the 9th row each time ; the work
will decrease two stitches each time.

Then knit twenty rows quite plain ; and
when they are worked knit 14 rows more, but
casting off 3 stitches at the beginning of every
row ; then cast off the remaining stitches.

To make up the roll which forms the front
of the hood, place the skeins of white wool or
wadding on the right side of the work, across
where the colored border begins, and the de-
creasing ends in the centre of the white ; then
turn the last rows of white over the roll, so as
to cover it, sewing the casting off to the part
even with the border ; draw the straight rows
at the ends together, then attach the front to
the foundation of the crown, leaving the tri-
angular piece to fall over it, the point of which
should cover the centre of the back. The
sewing should be made with a rug needle and
the wool.

THE CAPE.

Commence with the colored wool and No. 5
pins ; cast on 73 stitches with both pins.

Knit 7 rows all plain.

8th. White. Knit 2 together, knit 33 plain,
knit 3 together, then knit the rest plain to the
last 2 stitches, then knit them together.

9th. All plain.

Repeat the last 2 rows 7 times more, knit-
ting 2 stitches less where it is marked in italics
each time.

24th. Knit every 2 stitches together, and
cast off.

For the lining of this cape, commence with
the white wool ; cast on 73 stitches as before,

TVORK DEPARTMENT.

535

and repeat the direction for the cape, but
using white wool throughout. When finished,
join the two pieces together, by sewing the
edges.

The Epge. — Work along the colored border
of the cape, with white wool and crochet
needle. Make 5 chain, miss 1, and 1 plain ;
repeating to the end. Then sew the last row
of the cape to the back of the hood, and edge
it thus : with the colored wool make a chain
of 100 stitches, and along this chain work a
row of 5 chain, miss 2, and 1 plain ; repeat to
the end and turn back. Then S chain, miss
5 and 1 plain, in the 5 chain of the last row ;
repeat to the end. Fasten off.

Sew the foundation row of this trimming
along the top of the cape and sides of it. Work
another piece of trimming the same, and sew
it where the roll joins the crown. Then with

the ribbon make two bows and ends, attach
one to the top of the hood and the other at
the back ; finish with strings.

TOILET CUSHION.
(See Plate prhited in Colors, infrorit.)
The cushion is made of two round pieces of
muslin sewed together and stuffed with bran.
It is then covered with deep blue silk, and
bordered with blue ribbon plaited on one edge,
beaded by a narrow black velvet ribbon quilled
in the middle. The star is bound with black
velvet and edged with gold-colored cord, which
is also used for the braiding pattern in tho
centre. The star is placed in the middle of
the cushion, and a ruffle of black lace is be-
tween each point. The bead tassels and bows
are put on as represented in pattern.

INSERTING.

536

godey's lady's book and magazine.

A PET DOG'S COLLAR.

Materials. — Two and a hal f yards
of thick worsted conl ; two tassels
to match ; a large wooden bead.

We think that many of
our readers will approve of
this collar for a pet dog.
It is pretty, and very easy
to make. The work con-
sists entirely of knots ; it is
begun in the centre, and
one half is first finished,
then the other. First tie
the cord in the middle, as
shown in Fig. 2. Nos. 1
and 2 mark the places where
the cord is to be passed at
first. Take the knot repre-
sented by Fig. 2 between
the thumb and forefinger of
the left hand, so that the
end of cord marked b may
fall into the palm of the
hand, and hold the end
marked a in your right
hand (this end of cord,
which is threaded in a bod-
kin, is much shortened in
our illustration), and insert
the bodkin in the opening
marked 1, drawing up from
the bottom ; next pass it in
the same way through the
opening marked 2. The
bodkin must always be
slipped through from un-
derneath upwards, and care
must be taken not to draw
it too tightly. The result
obtained by this first pro-
cess is seen in Fig. 3, and
Nos. 1 and 2 show again
the openings through which
the bodkin is next to be
passed. The knots are to
be continued in the same
manner until only about 3
inches of the cord remain ;
then fasten off, and repeat
the same process of knot-
ting on the opposite side.
When both halves are fin-
ished, pass the ends of the
cord through a large wooden
bead, and add a tassel to

First process of knotting the cord
for dog's collar.

Secotid process of knotting the cord tor
dog's collar.

WORK DEPARTMENT.

537

earth of them. The bead should first be co-
vered with red silk, and then with a network
formed with red wool. To undo the collar
when round the dog's neck, it is only neces-
sary to draw out the cord till the tassels touch
the bead.

LADY'S TRAVELLING-BAG.

POCHE POMPADOUR.

Tnis elegant travelling-bag is especially
suitable for a lady. It is made in the shape
of a very large purse, and is of violet rep
embroidered in white. These colors may, of
course, be changed according to taste. Two
and a half yards of rep or other woollen ma-
terial, twenty-seven inches in breadth, are

at the other, so that both patterns may show
when the bag hangs over the arm. The bag
is entirely lined, a pocket is formed on each
side, and a slit is made in the centre of the
\actly in the same way as in a purse;
two rings are slipped over, and the slit is fur-
ther fastened by pearl buttons and silk loops.
Each pocket is edged with silk fringe up to
the slit in the middle. These pockets are
very convenient to hold the numberless small
articles which a lady always wishes to have
by her during a journey. The embroidery is
worked in satin stitch, the inner part of the
pine pattern being filled up with colored silk.
The material should be stretched over a frame
in order to be worked neatly. The bag is
very easy to make up, being, in fact, nothing
but a purse of very large dimensions. The

required, and the same quantity of white calico
for lining ; two and a quarter yards of silk
fringe, and five skeins of white embroidery silk
for the trimming ; two ivory rings, and some
pearl buttons. The pattern is not worked
twice on the same side of the purse, but on
one side at one end and on the opposite side
vow lxix. — 42

embroidery can easily be dispensed with, and
a useful bag made of plain materials. One
of the advantages that this bag possesses over
the ordinary kind is that it really "has a grace-
ful appearance when properly carried, which
can scarcely be said of many travelling
pouches.

53S

GODET S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

INFANT'S CROCHET BOOT.

Materials for one pair. — Eight skeins of white single
Berlin wool, four skeins of black, and two skeins of red.

The elegance aud grace of this little boot
amply repay for the trouble of making it.
Round the ankle it is very light, being worked
in open crochet. The whole of the boot is
made in close double crochet, always worked
on the right side, so that the wool must be cut
at the end of every row. Hake a chain of 9
stitches with black wool, aud work 2 rows
with the same number of stitches ; in the 3d
row begin to increase by working 3 stitches in

missing in each 1 stitch on each side, but you
musi also bring the red stitches nearer, so
that the number of black stitches remains the
same. At the 13th row, with white, divide
the two parts round the foot, working on each
side, and leaving the middle stitch free. Work
on each side in the following manner, begin-
ning in the middle : 1st row. 10 white stitches,
1 red, 5 black. 2d. 9 white, 1 red, 5 black.
3d. 8 white, 1 red, 5 black (from this place
do not miss any more stitches at the ends).
4th. Then S more white, 1 red, 5 black. 5th.
9 red, 5 black ; work 8 more rows entirely
black, without increasing or decreasing. Coni-

the middle stitch ; continue to increase in the
centre stitch of every row ; in the 4th row
work the 3 middle stitches in red, for which
take a piece of red wool 4 yards 12 inches
long, and begin in the middle of it, leaving
the ends to hang down on each side, to go on
with the small red border in the middle of the
black ; in the 5th row the 3 middle stitches are
white, with 1 red stitch on each side, and the
rest black. The same arrangement of colors
is to be continued in the following rows.
There must always be the same number of
black stitches, with 1 red stitch on each side;
the white part alone increases. When you
have worked 10 rows with white, work 4 rows,

plete the opposite side in the same manner,
and sew the edges together. The sole is
worked with white wool, backwards and for-
wards, very tightly, and always inserting the
needle through both parts of the stitches.
Begin at the point of the foot, make a chain
of 8 stitches, and work 3 rows with the same
number ; then increase 1 stitch at the end of
each row until you have 13 stitches ; after-
wards work 14 rows without increasing, and
then decrease in the same proportion, until
you have only eight stitches left ; after work-
ing 2 rows with 8 stitches, increase to 11
stitches, work G rows with that number, and
decrease again to 7 stitches. The sole is

■WORK DEPARTMENT.

539

then completed. Join it to the hoot by a
seam. The trimming at the top is worked on
a foundation of open crochet in white. Round
the top of the shoe work 1 row of douhle
crochet ami 4 of treble open crochet. In the
upper chain of the 3 last rows work a fringe
as follows : Draw a loop through the first
stitch, pull it out to half an inch ahove the
work, draw a second loop, and keep hoth on
the needle, repeat the same in each stitch ;
afterwards join all the loops together by a row
of chain stitches, work 1 chain in each loop,
and 2 hetween each. The chain stitches in
the first and third rows must be worked in
red, those of the second in black. The top
of the shoe is finished off with a stitch of
double crochet into each long stitch, with 3
chain hetween each in black. A plaited string
in red and black wool is run through the first
row of open crochet, and the 2 small rosettes
in red wool, ornamented with pearl buttons,
are added on the front of the shoe.

BABY'S TIPPET IX TRICOT ECOSSAIS.
(See engraving, page 485.)

Materials. — Half an ounce of blue or Alpine pink, and
half an ounce of white single Berlin wool ; a tricot nee-
dle, the stem of which measures No. 9 bell gauge ; a piece
of white sarcenet for the lining, and two buttons with an
elastic loop for the fastening at the neck.

The whole of this tippet is made in the
ordinary tricot stitch; but the arrangement
of the colors gives it an exceedingly pretty
effect, the white wool having the appearance
of being under the pink or blue loops.

TrtB RIGnT SIDE.

Commence with the pink wool, and make a
chain of 16 stitches, which is for the centre
of the back.

1st row. Keep the loop on the needle, and
put it into the last chain stitch but one, take
the wool up on the hook, and bring it through
the chain stitch ; there will now be 2 loops
on the needle : put the needle into the next
•itch, and bring the wool through in a
loop as before, when there will be 3 loops on
the needle; continue putting the needle into
each chain stitch, and bringing the wool
through until there are 16 loops on the nee-
dle; this is termed raising the loops or stitches.
Join on the white wool. The wools are cut off
every time, the joinings being kept on the
wrong side, as they are covered with the lining.

To " work back." Use the white wool, and

work from left to right thus : Take rrp the;
wool on the hook, and bring it through the 2
last pink loops, *, take up the wool again, and
bring it through the white loop, and also
through the next pink loop ; repeat from *
until there is only a pink and white one left
on the needle. Join on the pink wool, and
bring it through the remaining 2 loops to finish
the row.

2d. Pink. Keep the pink loop on the nee-
dle, and put it into the second pink stitch —
that is, the upright one to the left of the edge ;
take the wool on the hook, and bring it
through, so as to raise a stitch as before, then
put the needle into the next pink upright
loop, and raise another stitch, and in the same
manner raise a 4th and 5th pink stitch : leave
the rest of the 1st row uuworked, as the
shaping for the back is now to be made. Join
on the white wool, and

To "work back," take up the white wool,
and bring it through the last 2 pink loops on
the needle, then take up the wool, and bring
it through a white and pink loop, take up the
wool again, bring it through a white and pink
loop ; join on the pink, and bring it through
the remaining two loops.

3(/. Pink. Raise the four pink stitches of
the last row, exclusive of the one on the nee-
dle, then on the 1st row raise 2 stitches ; join
on the white, and "work back" as before,
always joining on the pink wool to finish the
last 2 loops.

4th. Pink. Raise the G stitches of the last,
row, then raise 2 more on the 1st row; join
on the white, and "work back" as before.

5th. Pink. Raise the 8 stitches of the last
row, then 2 stitches on the 1st row ; join on
the white, and "work back" as before.

8th. Pink. Raise the 10 stitches of the last
row, then raise 2 more on the 1st row ; join
on the white, and " work back."

1th. Pink. Raise the 12 stitches of the last
row ; then raise 3 more on the 1st row ; join
on the white, and "work back."

8th. Pink. Raise all the stitches of the last
row; join on the white, and "work back."

Work 16 rows more the same as the last.
This will make 24 rows, counting the short
ones at the commencement. At the end of
the last row put the needle into a stitch at
the side of the work, draw the pink wool
through, and make 8 chain stitches rather
loosely. Cut off the wool, and draw it through
to fasten it ; these chains will be used in tha

540

godey's lady's book and magazine.

following rows ; tie the white wool into the 1st
of these chain stitches, and work hack as
usual.

25th. Pink. Decrease at the beginning of
this row by putting the needle into the 2
1st stitches of the row, and bringing the wool
through as one stitch ; raise the rest of the
13 stitches as usual, then put the needle into
the next chain stitch made in the last row,
and raise a stitch, so that there will be still
16 loops on the needle ; join on the white, and
"work back."

Work 6 rows more the same as the last.

Then work 27 rows as the 8th row — that is,
without shaping at the sides.

To form the point at the end. Work G rows
more, decreasing at the beginning of each
row, and at the end leaving one stitch un-
worked each time. This finishes one side.

THE LEFT SIDE.

1st tow. This side is worked on the 1st row
of the right side, and it will make the work
neater if the foundation chain be unpicked,
when the upright loops of the 1st row will be
exactly the same as though just worked ; how-
ever, the foundation may be left at the back,
if preferred. In either case, commence with
the pink wool at the right side of the 1st row,
and raise the 16 stitches of it, putting the
needle into the upright loops as usual ; at the
end, the 2 last loops will be close together,
being raised from the edge stitch. Join on
the white, and to "work back" (take up the
wool, and bring it through 2 loops 3 times) ;
join on the pink, and bring it through the
white and pink loops ; leave the rest of the
stitches on the needle.

2d. Pink. Raise the 4 stitches to the left ;
join on the white, and to "work back" (take
up the wool, and bring it through 2 loops 5

times) ; join on the pink, and bring it through
the white and pink loops.

3d. Pink. Raise the 6 stitches to the left ;
join on the white, and to " work back" (take
up the wool, and bring it through 2 loops 7
times) ; join on the pink, and bring it through
the white and pink loops.

4th. Work as the last row, raising 8 loops,
and working back 9 times, instead of 7.

5th. Work as the 3d row, raising 10 loops,
and working back 11 times.

6(A. Work as the 3d row, raising 12 loops,
and working back to the end of the row.

Work 17 rows without shaping, and for the
shoulder —

24th. Pink. To increase a stitch, make 1
chain, put the needle into the edge stitch, and
bring the wool through ; then raise 14 loops
as usual, which will leave one stitch at the
end of the row ; join on the white, and work
back.

Work 6 rows more as the last, then 27 rows
without shaping, and make the point the same
as the other side.

The Edge. — 1st round. White wool. Work
a row of single crochet all round the tippet,
putting the needle sufficiently deep into the
work to make it look neat.

2d. Make 5 chain, miss 1, and work 1 single
on the last round ; repeat all round, and
fasten off.

The Tassels. — Take a card about 2 inches
wide, and wind the white wool 20 times round
it; then with the pink make 16 chain, pass
it through the loop .at one of the points of the
tippet ; then place the ends by the side of the
white folds, take them off the card and fasten
them together so as to form the top of the
tassel; making a few hem-stitches round it
with the pink. Line it, and sew on the
buttons.

NAME FOR MARKINS.

RECEIPTS.

541

^IfCfipts, ftt.

PLUM PUDDING, CAKES, AND OTHER RECEIPTS
FOB CHRISTMAS.

Wa devote the wh^lo of our space iu tho Receipt depart-
ment this month t.. Instructions for making Mich puddings
and cakes as nn* generally used during the Christmas
holidays. Wo havo, published some of them before, but
I i >ur increased liet of subscribers for 1864 they will be
entirely new.

RlGH Pll'm PrnniNO.— Carefully look over one and a
quarter pounds of currants, aud wash them well with
your bands. As soon as the water runs clear through the
currants put them into a clean cloth, doubled lightly over
them, and there let them drain aud swell for a quarter of
an hour. Next pick from the stalks and stono one aud a
quarter pound of rich raisins. The fruit being thus pre-
pared, shred and chop one quarter of a pound of beef suet,
and mix it with the fruit, in a pan large enough to contain
all the ingredients, into ten ounces of flour, ten ounces
of finely grated stale bread cruins, eight ounces pow-
dered loaf-sugar, one ounce finely ground spice (made
of equal parts of mace, cloves, and nutmeg), half a tea-
spoonful of gronnd ginger, and half the peel of a fresh
lemon, grated. Break ten eggs into a basin, and well
whip them up with a small toaspoonfut of salt, and mix
then with a pint of milk, but before yon pour it into tho
pan mix up with the flour and fruit five ounces of candied
lemon-peel, two and a half ounces of candied orange-peel,
and two and a half ounces of candied citron-peel, shred,
or cut into thin pieces. Then strain the eggs and milk to
the other ingredients, and well stir it about; add a gill
of brandy (or a quarter of a pint of strong ale), and well
mix the whole together with a strong wooden spoon.
Cover the pan, aud set it by till next morning. In doing
the above, you should first mix tho spice and sugar with
the flour and bread crums, then mix with this the candied
peel, suet, and fruit, next the eggs and milk, aud then the
brandy or ale. Next morning thoroughly beat up and
mix the pnddin.' a_'ain, before putting it into the pot ; put
a plate to prevent it sticking to the bottom of the pot, flour
the inside of the cloth, and tie the same close and tight.
Put it into water enough to cover it two or three inches,
cover the pot down, and let it boil twelve hours; keep
gentty boiling, aud fill up as the water boils away.
When done, put it just as you take out of tho pot into a
colander, and lmm< ree it in a pan of cold water, letting
it remain covered with cold water from three to five mi-
nutes. This will bind it, and prevent it from breaking or
falling to pieces ; then take the colander out of the water,
and let it drain a further fifteen minutes ; then carofnlly
untie the cloth, the padding still resting on the colander ;
put the dish in which it is to he served upon the top of the
pndding. and turn it over into the dish, and serve it up.
A little brandy sauce poured on the top of it, and some in
a sauce-tureen may accompany the pudding.

A Plum Pudding —Two pounds of currants, one pound
of raisins, two aud a half ounces of flour, one and a quar-
ter ounce of beef sur-t. half a pound of moist sugar, four
eggs, one ounce citron and lemon-peel each, cinnamon,
cloves, and mace, wine and brandy a tumblerful. To be
boiled at least nine hoars.

P. S — The brandy sauce for both puddings is made with
thick melted butter, to each half pint of which a gill of
brandy and two ouuees of lump sugar are added. Some

42*

prefer the sauce mado with iherry in tho same proportion
as braudy.

A Very Nice Littm: Christmas Pusdixo FOB a SMALL
Party, suitable to a young and happy pair who are- {net
commencing housekeeping, are rather inexperienced.! and
can only invito three or four friends ; • n.. , .u ■,. .■ .-; i'.m
died lemon peel, one ounce of orange peel, six ounces of
raisins, six onnces of currants, six ounces of best beef
suet, six ounces of flour, t> ounces of sugar, two eggs, a
pint of milk, a small nutmeg, and a teaspoohful of salt
Stoue tho raisins, pick, wash, and dry the currants, chop
the suet extremely fine, put them, with the h-mon and
orange-peel finely sliced, all together in your large dish
for mixing, add the flour and sugar, and grate the nutmeg
over all. Then beat up your eggs, and stir the milk
gently into them. With this liquid wet all tho other
ingredients ; flour well a strong pudding-cloth, and, when
you have thoroughly mixed your pudding materials, bo
that all is perfectly blended, and taking care not to make
them too wet or to leave them too dry, put your pudding
into the cloth, tie it tightly, and boil in a largo pot four
or five hours, taking care that the water boils ere tho
pudding is put in, and that it is kept ou a quick boil
during the whole time of cooking, and also that the pot
is replenished with boiling water, as it frequently requires
to be.

Rich Pi.vm Puddiko.— Stone carefully one pound of
the best" raisins, wash and pick one pound of currants,
chop very small ono pound of fresh beef suet, blanch and
chop small or pound two ounces of sweet almonds and
one ounce of bitter ones ; mix the whole well together,
with one pound of sifted flour, aud the same weight of
crumb of bread soaked in milk, then squeezed dry and
stirred with a spoon until reduced to a mash, before it
is mixed with tho flour. Cut in small pieces two ounces
each of preserved citron, orange, and lemon-peel, and
add a quarter of an ounce of mixed spice ; quarter of a
pound of moist sugar should be put into a basin, with
eight eggs, and well beaten together with a three-pronged
fork ; stir this with the pudding, and make it of the pro-
per consistence with milk. Remember that it must not
be made too thin, or the fruit will sink to the bottom,
but be made to the consistence of good thick batter.
Two wineglassfuls of brandy should be poured over tho
fruit and spice, mixed together in a basin, and allowed
to stand three or four hours before the pudding is made,
stirring them occasionally. It must be tied in a cloth,
and will take five" hours of constant boiling. When
done, turn it out on a dish, sift loa!-*t ■ ■ he t->p,

and serve it with wine-sauce in a boat, and some poured
round the pudding.

The pudding will be of considerable size, but half the
quantity of materials, used in the same proportion, will
be equally good.

Christmas Plum Pcddixo. — A pound of suet, cut in
pieces not too fine, a pound of currants, and a pound of
raisins stoned, foureggs, half a grated nutmeg, an ouoce
of citron and lemon-peel, shred fine, a teaspooufil of
beaten ginger, half a pound of bread-crumbs, half a pound
of flour, and a pint of milk ; beat the eggs first, add half
the milk, beat them together, and by degrees stir in the
flour, then the snet, spice, and fruit, and as much milk
as will mix it together very thick ; then talcs a cleanl
cloth, dip in boiling water, and squeeze dry. While the
water is boiling fast, put in your pudding, which should
boil at least five hours.

Another tray.— Seven ounces raisins, seeded and a little
chopped ; seven ounces currants, well washed and

542

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

picked ; one and a half ounce citron ; three ounces of
beef suet, chopped very fine; three-quarters of a nutmeg,
grated ; one-quarter of ateaspoonful of cinnamon ; five
eggs well beaten up ; four tablespoonfnls of sugar ; five
tableepoonfuls of wheat flour ; half a lemon-peel, grated ;
one glass of brandy aud one glass of Madeira ; a little
milk to mix, sufficient to make rather a thick batter.
The whole must be well mixed. The above mixture to
be put into a well-buttered basin. Tie a pudding cloth
over, and pin the four corners over the top. Put into
boiling water, and to be kept boiling without ceasing
for five hours. We have tried this receipt, and know it
to be excellent.

A Christmas Plum Pudding, with or without Eggs. —
Take two pounds of bread crums that have been well
sifted through a colander ; two tablespoonfuls of flour ;
half an ounce of ground allspice, and one pound of brown
moist sugar; rub these ingredients thoroughly well
together; chop one pound of suet very fine, and tho-
roughly mix in with the other things. Wash well in
tepid water a pound and a half of raisins, and stone them,
or two pounds of 6ultana raisins, which require no
stoning, and are equally good, though more expensive ;
chop these, not too fine, and well mix in ; then a pound
of well-washed currants, and a quarter of a pound of
candied peel, cut iuto lumps, not slices. Having mixed
all this together well, make the whole sufficiently moist
with a little milk ; well butter one or more large basins ;
Well press the mixture into the bottom of each (or they
Will not turn out in good shape), and when filled to a
trifle above the brim of the basin, spread some flour on
the top, and tie the basin down with a well-wetted
cloth ; place the pudding in boiling water, let it boil up
rapidly, and so continue for four hours ; then take it up,
remove the cloth but do not turn it out of the basin.
The next day, or when wanted for use, put the pudding
to warm, with the basin still on, for two hours, in a
moderately warm oven, then take it out, turn it from the
basin on to the dish ia which it is to be sent to table.
With the handle of a teaspoon, or the blade of a fruit-
knife, make incisions in different parts of the pudding,
and pour on some sherry wine, then sift powdered
sugar over. It is obvious that this pudding must be
made the day before it is required for use, and it is much
better for being so. Eggs are not necessary to give either
richness or flavor, or to "bind the pudding;1' the milk
and the flour will do that. Eggs render the mass tho-
roughly indigestible ; but if they must still be had — and
weagain repeat that tliey are not needed — eight eggs, well
beaten and strained, can bo used instead of the milk.
Great care is necessary in all puddings of the kind, not
to make them too wet, or they will be heavy ; and to
thoroughly mix the ingredients separately.

A RrCH Christmas Pudding. —One pound of raisins,
stoned, one pound of currants, half a pound of beef-suet,
quarter of a pound of sugar, two spoonfuls of flour, three
eggs, a cup of sweetmeats, and a wineglass of brandy.
Mix well, and boil in a mould eight hours.

A Good Christmas Pudding.— One pound of flour, two
pounds of duet, one pound of currants, one pound of
plums, eight eggs, two ounces of candied peel, almonds
aud mixed spice according to taste. Boil gently for seven
hours,

A Good Pound-Cake.— Beat one pound of butter to a
cream, and mix with it the whites and yelks of eight
eggs beaten apart. Have ready, warm by the fire, one
pound of flour, and the same of sifted sugar ; mix them
and a few cloves, a little nutmeg aud cinnamon, in fine

powder together; then by degrees work the dry ingre-
dients into the butter and eggs. When well beaten, add
a glass of wine and some caraways. It must be beaten
a full hour. Buttera pan, and bake it an hour in a quick
oven.

The above proportions, leaving out four ounces of the
butter, and the same of sugar, make a less luscious cake,
and to most tastes a more pleasant one.

Common Crullers or Twist Cakes.— Mix well together
half a pint of sour milk, or buttermilk, two teacupfnls
of sugar, one teacupful of butter, and three eggs, well*
beaten ; add to this a teaspoonlul of saleratus dissolved
in hot water, a teaspoonful of salt, half a nutmeg grated;
and a teaspoonful of powdered cinnamon; sift in flour
enough to make a smooth dough : roll it out not quite a
quarter of an inch thick; cut in small oblong pieces;
divide one end in three or four parts like fingers, and
twist or plait them over each other. Fry them in boil-
ing lard. These cakes maybe cut in strips, and the enda
Joined, to make a ring, or in any other shape.

Soft Crullers.— Sift three-quarters of a pound of flour,
and powder half a pound of loaf-sugar ; heat a pint of
water in a round-bottomed saucepan, and when quite
warm, mix the flour with it gradually ; set half a pound
of fresh butter over the fire in a small vessel ; and when
It begins to melt, stir it gradually Into the flour and
water; then add by degrees the powdered sugar and half
a grated nutmeg. Take the saucepan off the fire, and
beat the contents with a wooden spaddlo or spatula till
they are thoroughly mixed; then 'beat six eggs very
light, and stir them gradually into the mixture. Beat
the whole very hard till it becomes a thick batter. Flour
a pasteboard very well, and luy out the batter upon it in
rings (the best way is to pass it through a screw funnel).
Have ready, on the fire, a pot of boiling lard of the very
best quality; put In the crullers, removing them from
the board by carefully taking them up, one at a time, on
abroad-bladed knife. Boil but few at a time. They must
be of a fine brown. Lift them out on a perforated skim-
mer, draining the lard from them back into the pot ; lay
them on a large dish, and sift powdered white sugar over
them.

Fruit Cake. — Take one pound of butter and one pound
of sugar, and beat them together with the yelks of eight
eggs ; beat the whites separately ; mix with these one
and a half pound of flour, one teacupful of cream, one
wineglassful of brandy and one of wine, one nutmeg,
one teaspoonful of mace, one teaspoonful of cloves, two
teaspoonfuls of cinnamon, one salt-spoonful of salt,
three-quarters of a pound of raisins, sjtoned, three-qnar-.
ters of a pound of currants, half a pound of citron ; mis
with the flour two teaspoonfuls of yeast powder.

Queen Cake. — Mix one pound of dried flour, the same
of sifted sugar and of washed currants ; wash one pound
of butter in rose-water, beat it well, then mix with it
eight eggs, yelks and whites beaten separately, and pnt
In the dry ingredients by degrees ; beat the whole an
hour ; butter little tins, teacups, or saucers, filling them
only half full ; sift a little fine sugar over just as yon
put them into the oven.

Lemon Cake.— Beat six eggs, the yelks and whites se-
parately, till in a solid froth ; add to the yelks the grated
rind of a fine lemon and six ounces of sugar dried and
sifted ; beat this a quarter of an hour ; shake in with the
left hand six ounces of dried flour ; then add the whites
of the eggs and the juice of the lemon ; when these are
well beaten in, put it immediately into tins, and bake it
about an hour in a moderately hot oven.

RECEIPTS.

543

Washington Cake.— Beat together one and a half
pound of sugar, aud three-quarters of a pound of butter ;
add four eggs well beatos, ball a pint of sour milk, and
one te*spoonful of saleralus, dissolved in a little hot
water. Stir iu gradually one and three-quarter pound
of flour, one wiueglassTul of wine or brandy, and oue
nutmeg, grated. Beat all well together.

This will make two round cakes. It should be baked
In a quick oven, and will take from fifteen to thirty
minutes, according to the thickness of the cakes.

Docon-NCrs.— Take three pounds of flour, one pound of
butter, one and a half pound of sugar ; cut the batter
fine into the flour ; beat six eggs light, and put them in ;
add two wine-glasses of yeast, one pint of milk, some
cinnamon, mace and nutmeg; make it up into a light
dough, and pot it to rise. When it is light enough, roll
out the paste, cut it in smalt pieces, and boil them in lard.

Lemon Gingerbread. — Grate the rinds of two or three
lemons, and add the juice to a glass of brandy; then
mix the grated lemou in one pound of flour, make a hole
iu the i!»ur, poor in half a pound of treacle, half a
pound ot" butter melted, the lemon-juice, and brandy,
aud mix all up together with half an ounce of ground
ginger aud quarter of an ounce of Cayenne pepper.

Pdmpkin Pudding. — Take one pint of pumpkin that
has been stewed soft aud pressed through a colander;
melt in half a pint of warm milk a quarter of a pound of
butter and the same quantity of sugar, stirring them well
together ; one pint of rich cream will be better than
milk and butter; beat eight eggs very light, and add
them gradually to the other ingredients alternately with
the pumpkin ; then stir in a wineglass of ?oee»watef and
two glasses of wine mixed toother, a large tea^poonful
of powdered mace and cinnamon mixed, and a grated
nutmeg. Having stirred the whole very hard, put it
iuto a buttered dish, aud bake it three-quarters of an
boor.

Cream PiB (Jinf).— ll.il f pound of butter, four eggs,
ilt, and nutmeg to your taste, and two table-
spoonfuls of arrowroot wet ; pour on it a quart of boiling
milk, and stir the whole together. To be baked in deep
dishes.

Ginger Sponge-Cake. — One cop of molasses, one cup
of butter, two cups of sugar, four eggs, three cups of
flour, one cup of milk, soda, and ginger.

GmaBR Cake— Take three pounds of flour, one pound
Of -u.'.ir, one pmud of butter, two ounces of ginger, and
one pint of treacle ; add a quarter of a pint of cream and
a Uttlfl nutmeg. Mix warm, aud bake in a slack oven.

.Ginger Lozenm SB — Hl3 with white of eggs four onnces
of powder- <i ginger, two pounds of white sugar, and one
pound of starch,

French Jcmblep.— One ponnd and a half of flour, one
pound of sugar, three quarters of a pound of butter, three
eggs; dissolve one teaspoonful of soda in one-half cup
of milk ; add this, also one nutmeg, and roll out the
dough, and cut into small cakes of any shape, and bake
them in a quick oven.

Seed Cake. — Beat one pound of bntterto a cream, add-
ing gradually a quarter of a pound of sifted sugar, beat-
ing both together; have ready the yelks of eighteen
eggs, and the whites of tan, beaten separately; mix in
the whites first, and then the yelks, and beat the whole
for ten minutes ; add two grated nutmegs, one pound and
a half of flour, and mix them very gradually with the
other ingredients ; when the oven is ready, teat iu three
ounces of picked caraway-seeds.

Ccrrant Cake. — due cop of butter, three eggs, one
cup of water or milk, half a teaspoonful of sale:atus,
liinim-g, cup of currants,

MINCEMEAT.

Wb give a number of receipts for making mincemeat.
The ingredients can he increased or lessened at 1 1
sure of the person making it.

Ifun i meat.— There are various opinions a* to the re-
sult of addiug raeaJ to the sweet ingredients used in nuking
this dish. Many housewives think it an Improi neat)
and use either the undercut of a well roasted sirloin of
beef, or a boiled fresh ox-tongue for the purpose. Bllher
of those meats may bo chosen with advantage, and one
pound, after it has been cooked, will be found sufficient ;
this should be freed from fat, and well minced. In making
mincemeat, each ingredient should be minced separately
and finely before it is added to the others. For a moderate
quantity, take two pounds of raisins (stoned), the same
quantity of currants, well washed and dried, ditto of beef
tool i lapped fine, one pound of apples, pared and cored,
two pounds of moist sugar, half a pound of candled
orange-peel, aud a quarter of a pound of citron, the grated
rinds of throe lemons, one grated nutmeg, a little mace,
half an ounce of salt, aud one teaspoonful of ginger.
After having minced the fruit separately, mix all well
together with the hand, then add half a pint of brandy
and the same of sherry ; mix well with a spoou, press it
down in jars, nnd cover it with a bladder.

Another tcity: Six pounds of meat, three of suet, six of
raisins, seven of sugar, nine of apples, one pint of wine,
three gills of brandy, half pint molasses, one pint rose-
water, essence of lemon, oue quart of liquor of the meat,
one cup of salt, one-fourth of a pound of cinnamon, or
orange-peel, three ounces of cloves, oue dozen nutmegs ;
add a little elder if y._»u wish before putting in the oven

Mincemeat to Keep. — Take a ponnd and a half of cur-
rants ; a pound of best raisins, stoned ; three-quarters of
a pound of almonds, cut very small ; the peel of one
lemon, minced small; the juice of one lemon; three,
apples, minced small ; a pound of citron, minced small ;
a pound and a half of suet, shred very fine ; au eighth of
an ounce of nutmeg ; the same of cinnamon ; the same of
mace, and the same of cloves. Put the whole into a jar,
and keep it dry. When wanted, mix it with either wine
or brandy.

Mini'emeat WTrnor/T Meat.— One pound hard apples
cut small, one pound currants, half a pound shred raisins,
half a pound beef suet, quarter of a pound moist sugar,
one ounce lemon and citron-peel, quarter of an ounce cin-
namon, one drachm mace, the rind of a lemon grated, one
glass of brandy, and two glasses of sherry. Double the
above for a large family.

Mincemeat. — Six pounds of enrrants, three pounds of
raisins stoned, three pounds of apples chopped fine, fonr
pounds of suet, two pounds of sugar, two pounds of beef,
the peel and juice 'of two lemons, a pint of sweet wine, a
quarter of a pint of brandy, half an onnc*> of mixed spice.
Press the whole into a deep pan when welf mixed.

Another way. — Two pounds of raisins, three pounds of
currants, three pounds of beef-suet, two pounds of moist
sugar, two ounces of citron, one ounce of orange-peel, one
small nutmeg, one pottle of apples chopped fine, the rind
of two lemons and juice of one, half a pint of brandy ;
mix well together. This should be made a little time
before wanted for use.

Htflu' iEa&le,

A FEW WORDS WITH OUR FRIENDS.

I count myself in nothing else so happy
As in a soul remembering my good friends.

Shakspeare.

The seasons have gone their rounds, and Eigldeen
Hundred and Sixty-four begins, to-day, the last month of
his reign.

With the close of the year our Lady's Book also closes
its present volume. This number, therefore, must bear to
our generous friends, for their long and appreciative sup-
port, our warm thanks and good wishes, and a cordial
invitation to continue the intercourse and friendship — to
us so pleasant — through the medium of the new and beau-
tiful volume now in preparation for Eighteen Hundred
and Sixty-five.

But here comes the important query : "Will the price
of the Lady's Book be raised?" Books and newspapers
have "gone up," and editors of periodicals have been
compelled, as they all tell us, to advance their prices;
other magazines that were three dollars are now four per
annum.

The reasons for this advance must be obvious and suffi-
cient to all who consider the present conditions of trade
and the high prices now ruling throughout our land. One
item only need be named here. Four years ago good
muslins could be purchased for ten cents per yard ; now,
from sixty to seventy-five cents is the price. This article
of muslin regulates, in a great degree, the value of paper.
Thus books and periodicals cost now for paper alone
nearly the full amount formerly spent on the completed
work. Then the high taxation must he met. And yet,
notwithstanding this dark side of the picture, and our
diminished profits, Mr. Godey is going to try the experi-
ment of keeping our new volume of the Lady's Book at
its old price to owr subscribers — three dollars a year, paid
in advance. He does this cheerfully, in gratitude for the
long-continued and, we may say, loving patronage we
have received from our old friends. We are willing to
make sacrifices to enable all who desire our work to go
on with us through another year. We know that many
■who subscribe — widows and single ladies with fixed in-
comes— would feel the increase of a dollar p^r year as a
tax they were unable to meet. We cannot part with these
intelligent friends ; names that have Btood on our list
from ten to thirty-five years must not be dropped because
gold changes its value. True and tried friends are in-
valuable.

Should these readers desire to reciprocate favors, as we
believe they will, they may induce their friends whose
names are not on our list to send for the Lady's Book. An
increase of subscribers would help much to bear the work
onward and upward.

The character and object of our periodical are well
known. There is no English or American magazine that
comes into competition with ours for usefulness as a
Family Instructor and Guide "in whatsoever things are
lovely and of good report" for women to know and to do.
As one of our correspondents wrote to the Editress: —

"No one who reads the Lady's Book attentively can
fail to see and feel the high standard you have for wo-
men, and the deep interest you take in their progress in
all true virtue and right conduct. The dress patterns and
the costumes are but the outward adorning of the person
whose chief charms it is your desire should be humility,
patience, gentleness, -and godliness."

544

CHRISTMAS.

At Thy nativity a glorious choir

Of angels in the fields of Bethlehem sang

To shepherds watchful of their folds by night,

And told them the Messiah now was born,

Where they might see Him, and to Thee they came.

Directed to the manger where Thou Iayest,

For in the inn was left no better room.

A star, not seen before, in heaven appearing,

Guiding the wise men thither from the East

To honor Thee with incense, myrrh, and gold,

By whose bright course led on, they found the place

By which they knew the King of Israel born.

Milton.

Ottr beautiful Frontispiece suggests the memory of Mil-
ton's spirit-stirring lines, so appropriate to our artist's
description.

These wonderful scenes of our Saviour's birth and in-
fancy have stimulated and employed the highest efforts of
genius; poets and artists, through the long series of
centuries, have consecrated their best gifts to do honor to
the Babe of Bethlehem.

The Christian can never contemplate these scenes with-
out pleasure and triumph, and if he retires into himself,
and commune with his own heart, never without profit.
All that has been done for the individual being, as well as
for the human race, to restore the lost happiness and glo-
ries of Edon, seem rooted in this heaveuly history, as
brought down by the host of angels who sang "Glory to
God in the highest, and on earth peace and good-will to
men!" The echo of that glorious anthem seems to breathe
of peace, love, and happiness on each return of the hal-
lowed anniversary.

Christinas is the bright household festival that comes to
gladden old winter, bring joy to life, good cheer, family
gatherings, and tokens of love. To children especially it
is the happy epoch to be joyfully anticipated aDd joyfully
remembered. Merry Christmas! The words are full of
happy meanings to warm every heart. Even when gloom
darkens the minds of the elder members of a family, when
sorrow or adversity has checked their pleasures, there is
ever a little reserve of Christmas merry-making for the
young folks. " We must not, on this day, throw a gloom
over the children," is every wise parent's thought.

And so the Christmas-tree rises in its glad greenness,
laden with its glittering presents, and bright with the
tapers that display its rich fruits. And the stockings are
hung up for Kriss Krinkel, and filled with such wonder-
ful treasures as fairy lore never exceeded in the fancy of
the little ones, who pull out the toys and presents of the
season. Wise and good mothers take this time of Chris-
tian joy to teach the little hearts, made happy by home
cherishing, to remember the poor and desolate, and that
it is more blessed to give than to receive.

In selecting books for Christmas gifts, we would suggest
to our friends who really believe in the Lord Jesus Christ
as our divine Saviour, the need of studying His history.
It would be well to have among these Christmas books
some that refer to Christ as the theme of chief interest.

There is a "Little Poem,* Dedicated to a Little Girl,"
that we would especially commend as one of the sweetest
and most perfect productions of poetic genius devoted to

* Infancy of Our Saviour: A Christmas Carol. By Mrs.
Juliet II. L. Campbell. Published by Lippincott & Co,,
Philadelphia.

editors' table.

545

the infancy of Jesus. Written by an American lady, it
deserves the love and praise of American mothers.

Another work* on the Saviour that we consider very
remarkable, and wish wotild be placed in the hands of
every Intelligent reader in our laud during the Doming
Festival Of His Nativity, is the production of a Scotch
lawyer, It is a small, neatly printed book, writteu in a
style of such clearness and earnest yet calm thought and
research that none can read it without being interested.
Whoever le Booking for truth most be enlightened by the
expositions of the writer. All true learning and literature
must draw their divinest charm from the Divine Teacher,
who says of Himself: " I am the way, the truth, and the
life: no man cometh unto the Father but by me.*'

Thus we are made to feel the great import of the Christ-
mas festival, as it celebrates the birth of the Babe of
Bethlehem. On this day the. hope of the world reposes;
" peace on earth and good-will to men" are announced ;
we should rejoice in these heavenly assurances of divine
favor. Sorrows may lie heavy on individual hearts;
households may be in trouble and grief, and sore per-
plexities and dark shadows may be over our country;
still, the day is sacred to joy, and hope, and faith. "Merry
Christinas" is not a wish without meaning ; it includes all
the best blessings life has in store for humanity. Thus
we mean it while from onr heart we wish a merry Christ-
ina* to all our friends who meet us in the Lady's Book.

THE SACRED NAME OR TITLE 07 SAVIOUR.

SSULLL the word Saviour, when applied as the name or
title of our Lord Jesus Christ, be spelled without the u?

This we consider a question of such grave importance
that we have often wished to draw to it the attention of
learned and Christian men. No one has yet taken up the
subject, and as the season of Christmas seems a favorable
opportunity of introducing the inquiry, we will do this
by giving to our readers extracts from the letter of a lady
to a clergyman concerning this mutilation of the holy
name. Woman was the appointed guardian over the in-
fancy of the Saviour, and women were ever faithful to
His ministry; they watched beside His cross and were
first to welcome Him from the tomb. Women should be
faithful preservers of His Words and His titles, and never
suffer unbelief or carelessness to pervert the one or muti-
late the other without an effort to sustain the true and the
right.

********

"The mistake or misnomer to which T allude is drop-
ping the " from the name of our Saviour! It seems to
me that orthodox clergymen would not so write the blessed
namk ; therefore I the omission was the printer's

way. He has dropped the u in Saviour in every instance,
as you will tin I.

•■ it is true that Webster's Dictionary sanctions this
mode of spelling the class ,,f words to which Saviour be-
longs ; buy in the case where it forms one of the names or
titles of the Son of God, the learned Lexicographer seems
to shrink from r on. Dr. Webster first sp I -

the word Saviour; then 'Savior — pronounced San
Do the letters tor spell yt »<- ' If the sound of u is neces-
sarily retained in of words, why not retain the
letter and drop the o, if brevity or uniformity requires to
have a letter omitted ?

" In the blessed Saviour's name I feel that not a single
tetter should be taken away. Eoseems to me a desecration
and the sign of unbelief to allow it. I can hardly de-
scribe the painful effect which this mutilation of the Sa-
viour's name has on my feelings. Eye, heart, mind, all
suffer. My eye turns ■ ■ tided and sorrowful from the
misspelt name. By heart t ■ N that something loved is

* Th'-' Christ of History: an Argument Ground
Pacta ills Life on Earth. By J nng, LL.D. Pub-

lished by Robert Carter & Brothers, Hew York.

lost ; and my mind is distressed aud perplexed by the
fear that this innovation is the Bign of real declension In
the faith of those who have professed to love Jesus Christ
as their God and Saviour.

•■ This description may appear fanciful, but is true : and
as I am not learned in languages, it would be folly for mo
to attempt to prove, philologically, the truth of these
ideas; yet some thoughts have been suggested to my mind
while pondering on the subject, which 1 will venture to
lay before you.

"" Have you ever observed the manner in which the let-
ters of our alphabet (and of all alphabets) differ in their
effective powers or nature f (I do not find any Other
word that expresses my meaning.) The vow .Is seem the
living spirit; the cousouauts are the substance of the lan-
guage. Take as many consonants as yon please; you
may rattle them in your throat like dry bones, but never*
will a word come forth, a thought be spoken, a sentence
formed. Now drop a few vowels into this inert mass of
dead letters — like the vision of Ezekiel, the dry bones
come together, each in its right place, and the power
which God has given to lh& souittls, represented by uotosfo,
breathes life into the language, clothes thought with
beauty, and gives truth its fitting habiliments of expres-
sion.

" It seems to me that the old English Bible, as it came
forth finished from the hands of the seventy translators,
holy men, who feared God aud did their work in earnest
zeal, believing in the truths of the Divine Word, is the only
trie Book, and from it not a vowel should be taken, not a
word left out. The Bible, if held sacred in its language,
will keep our Anglo-Saxon tongue from deterioration. If
the vowels are diminished, will not the life of the lan-
guage be lessened? I am thankful that the British na-
tiou guards their language from American innovations;
and particularly that the name of the blessed Saviour is
never shortened, never mutilated in our noble mother
tongue as written where the English Bible was translated
from the original languages."

FLOWERS IN A SICK ROOM.
What unsealed fountain covers me with showers,

Dropping sweet-scented odors all around?

What secret spring hath love's skilled finger found
To ope a "fount of gardens," throwing flowers
Free as the summer rain on vine-clad bowers ?

When pain's strong grasp has gently been unbound,

When light the darkened room again has crowned,
Roses and fuschias, ye are for such hours!

Precious the breath your perfumed censers hold,
Sweeter your message than all spices smell.

Love! name it not with silver or with gold !
Love ! think its value ne'er with gems to tell !

Fkicher than fragrance from the tender vine

The whisper that a true heart beats with mine.

Kb. una.

A MAN'S IDEA ABOUT NOVELS.

11 We are constantly calling attention to the fact of the
influence exerted over morals and manners in France by
the prevailing tone of the lighter literature, and we mark
the increasing licentiousness thai has followed such works
as those of Eugene Sue and the younger Dumas. Let us
not forget to look at home, and see if, in the days when
the Waverleys constituted almost all our lighter reading,
the tone of society was not higher, the spirit more heroic,
the current of thought and expression purer, than In these
realistic days, when we turn for amusement to descrip-
tions of every quaint vulgarity that makes op the life of
the boarding-house or the strolling theatre.

" The glorious heroism of Scott's novels was a fine
sir. 'iuo to turn into the turbid river of our worldlines&and
money-seeking. It was of incalculable benefit to give
men even s passing glance of noble devotion, high-hearted
courage, and unsullied purity,

"1 can remember the time when, as freshmen in onr
first year, we went about talking to each other of ' Ivan-
b ..-' and 'Kenilworth ;' and r can remember, too, when
the glorious Bpiril oi those novels bad v" possess id us that
our romance elevated andwarmed nstoan onconscions

imitation of the noble thoughts and deeds wo 1.

reading. Smile if you like at onr h

r than the mocking spirit engendered by

godey's lady's book: and magazine.

realism, or the insensate craving after stimulus taught by
sen.sa.tiuu novels."

Are noble thoughts or noble deeds now taught or incited
in our popular novels ?

Words. — The Literary Gazette* has some curious infor-
mation about words. The Old Testament uses only 5,643
words ; Milton's Paradise Lost has 8,000 different words ;
Shakspeare, in all his plays and poems, moving all the
feelings and passions of the human heart, contains only
15,000 different words ; but these are all in their right
.places. The English language has 25,000 words.

NEW CHRISTMAS PRESENTS: GOLD PENS— SEWING-
MACHINES.

"What Christmas present would be most suitable for
a young gentleman, a cousin of mine, who has a dozen
smoking-caps and nearly as many pairs of slippers? I
want to make him a novel present (not a new novel or
gift book ; I think these are become vulgar) ; something
nice and pretty, that he can use; not merely keep to look
at. Dear Mrs. Hale, do advise me, etc." * * *

Thus writes one of our favorite correspondents. We
counsel the gift of a gold pen — the very best. We (Edi-
tors) use "Morton's," and find them excellent. There
can be no holiday gift from a young lady to a young gen-
tleman more appropriate than a gold pen. It is suggestive
of mental power and moral improvement, of rcfiuement
of thought, and progress in civilization. Would yon.
indicate the highest heroism and patriotism to your mas-
culine friends, remember that "the pen is mightier than
the. sword."

There is a dark side to this picture of pretty presents on
Christmas Day. It is the sorrowful appeals that come to
ns with almost every post, appeals from women, many
accustomed to live in luxury, who must now flud some
way to support themselves, and many have helpless ones
to care for. "What shall I do?" "In what work or
pursuit can I engage?" are the earnest questions.

Now, for one class of these sufferers, widows, often in
delicate health, with little children, we counsel needle-
work, if they can get a sewing-machine. It is better for
them than any attempt at literature, however well edu-
cated and gifted the lady may be; better than getting up
a school, which requires capital and time ; better than
opening a boarding-house, which requires not only capital,
but 6trontj health and steel nerves. But there comes back
the query, "How shall I get a sewing-machine /"

O ye who bask in fortune's sun,

And life's gay colors wear!
Your blessings from the God of love
■ Let your poor sisters share.

In every large city there are numbers of these appealing
sufferers, in every town and village one or more of these
women, who would esteem it quite a fortune to own a
good sewiug-machine. Are there not rich and benevolent
women enough in onr land to gladden all these sorrowful
households with such a Christmas present? What a glo-
rious opportunity the rich have of doing good at the
coming Christmas!

OUR SCRAP BOX.

ANCIENT Laws. — Henry Till, made a law that all men
might read the Scriptures, except servants : hut no women,
except ladies who had leisure, and they might ask some-
body the meaning. This law was very properly repealed
in the reign of Edward VI.

* Published by George W. Childs, 630 Chestnut Street,
Philadelphia. It is an interesting and useful periodical.

"Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.
Oh no ! It is an ever fixed mark,

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken.
It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth 's unknown, although its height be taken.

Domestic Love. — "Who can measure its height or its
depth? Who can estimate its preserving and purifying
power? It sends an ever-swelling stream of life through
a household, it binds hearts into one "bundle of life," it
shields them from temptation, it takes the sting from dis-
appointments and sorrows, it breathes music into the
voice, into the footsteps, it gives worth and beauty to
the commonest office, it surrounds home with au atmo-
sphere of moral health, it gives power to effort and wings
to progress ; it is omnipotent ; God is love."

Tertot, the historian, had a celebrated siege to de-
scribe ; the documents he expected did not come ; he grew
tired, and wrote the history of the siege half from the
little he knew, half from imagination. The documents
arrived at last. "I am sorry," said he, '"but I have fin-
ished my siege.'*

"Deaconesses."— We have obtained a small number
of this pamphlet, and sent copies to all who had remitted
stamps. A few copies are on hand ; those who want one
will please send a stamp.

Tre Health of Speech: How to Cure Stammering —
The mother is the true doctress as well as nurse of her child.
She should watch every development of an injurious habit
as carefully as she would a dangerous disease, and strive
to cure it. The habit of stammering is one of these dis-
eased habits that if suffered to become chronic, probably
causes more real distress through life to the stammerer
than would the loss of a limb, or even of an eye, for these
losses can be supplied by art in such a manner as to ap-
pear well to the world. Bet one who stammers is au
annoyance to all he approaches. He either meets pity or
ridicule every time he attempts to speak. What a terrible
infliction is this constant warfare with one's self as well
as the world which the poor sta m merer has to encounter !
We uever hear such a one speak without feeling that the
mother must havebeen ignorant or unfaithful, and nsually
it is ignorance of what to do that hinders a mother's
efforts. The following way of treatment is simple, safe,
and said to be certain of doing good, if not making a
perfect cure. So we give it a place, hoping it may aid
some sorrowful mother who has a stammering child to
improve its health of speech: — ■

'• Let the stammerer begin at once to beat time for every
word he utters, either in talking or reading, just as it'
singing the words. If this does not stop the hesitancy,
then try beating time to every syllable, and afterwards
gradually run into beating for words, and then for sen-
tences. The beating can be done with the foot or with a
hand, or with one finger of the hand, or by striking the
finger and thumb together. Thus: 'When (beat) in (beat)
the (beat) course (beat) of (beat) hu- (beat) man (beat) e-
(beat) vents (beat), etc' A persistent course of measuring
the words until the stammerer can read and talk straight
forward, though slowly, for an hour atj, time, will doubt-
less overcome the habit of stammering. We do not say
that this will always effect a perfect cure in the worst
cases, where the stammering or hatit has been long estab-
lished, but from the nature of the defect it must be greatly
modified, if not cured."

To ocr Correspondents. — These articles are accepted :
"Broken-Hearted" — "Donald Grey's Legacy" — "Socia*
Engineerings" — "My Love" — aud "The Dawn of Hope."

We shall not have room for the following manuscripts :
"Unrest" — "Song" — "Winter is Coming" — "Maude
Brontfi" — "Lines" written by a little girl at the age of
seven years. (The editors have not time to examine po-
etry not intended for publication ; yet we have read the
lines, and think them remarkable for a little child.)
"Muliebris"— "Our Country's Dead"— "Til Graham's
First Bean" — "Minnie Lee" — "A Story"— "Clouds"
(worth publishing if we had room)— " Disappointment"
(we are sorry to disappoint the writer, but the article
would not do justice to her talents)— " North and South"

LITEKAP.Y NOTb

547

— ■•Tin' Grail Ev.-nt of My Life'—" Sorrows"— and "The

of in) Childhood."

'^Aunt Charity," disposed of as writer requested.

We data Other USS. on hand that will be rvj*. ■ t ■;■
month.

Too close of this volume gives us the pleasant opportn-
ii ty of thanking out many contributors for their kind
favors. If all could not bo accepted, we are still obliged
for the appreciation of the Lady's Book, of which these
many contribution- are the proof. Most truly aad warmly
dj we wish our kind friends a pleasant Christmas, and
hope to meet them all again in our happy BfeW Year's
greetings.

Sittrxru Eotirts,

From Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia: —
PETERSON'S NEW COOK BOOK : or, Useful and Prac-
'-,/, andtte L'n initiated. We
have examined this volume with some care, and believe
that it is fully up to all the professions of its merits. We
ream that the book contains no less than eight hundred
nnd fifty new aud original receipts for cooking and pre-
paring food of different kiuds. This is a great addition,
and we presume no epicure, even in the present state of
the markets, will experience the least difficulty in select*
ing a sufficient number aud variety of dishes to gratify his
• . az changing appetite.

THE HAUNTED TOWER, By Mrs. Henry Wood. The
pen of this ready author seems none too prolific I
the demands of her admirers. This, as the title indicates,
will be auother taste of excitement for all who indulge in
that class of novels.

From LrppinooTT .V Co., Philadelphia: —

THE MARBLE ISLE, LEGENDS OF THE ROUND
TABLE, and oUier Poems. By Sallie Bridges. This is a
very neat little volume of poems on a variety of subjects,
n ritten in a style of Bober thoogb trainees which will re-
quire and repay the careful attention of the reader. Many
of the poems will be recognized as old favorites and par-
ticular friends with the public through the columns of our
best periodicals,

NARRATIVE OF PRIVATIONS AND SUFFERINGS
OF THE UNITED STATES OFFICERS AND SOLDIERS
WHILE PRISONERS OF WAR IN THE HANDS OF
REBEL AUTHORITIES. Being a Report of a Commti-

8tate6 Sanitary
Commission. With an Appendix, containing the Testi-
mony.

A MANUAL FOR CAVALRY. Routine of Ditty for
Oivalry in Quarters and on the March. By

Brigadier-General W. L. Elliott. A neat and complete
little book for young i (Beers and regiments in such service

CHAMBERS' ENCYCLOPEDIA. No. 77. A Diction-
ary of Universal Knowledge for the People, on the Basis
of the latest editions of the German Conversationes Lex-
icon. With wood engravings and map*. The best Ency-
clopwdia published, and only 20 cents a number.

From A. Wi.hch, Philadelphia: —

THE TAX PATERS' GUIDE, .in Analytical and Com-
2>reJiensive Digest of the Internal Revenue and Excise
Tax Laws ofUve United States. Being a Concise Compi-
lation of the Revised Acts of Congress now in force, passed
June 30 aad July 4, 13GL The whole arranged alpha-

betically, for ■ a* i reJ By Thompson

Westcott, of the Philadelphia Bar. Thisdi i ■

Slty in the hands of the people.

— •

From IIakpek & Brothers, New York, through Peter-
son k Brothers, and Lippinxott & Co., Philadelphia: —

HARPER'S HANDBOOK FOR TRAVELLERS IN EU-
ROPE AND THE EAST. Being a Guide through Great
Britain and Ireland, Franco, Belgium, Holland, Germany,
Italy, Sicily, Egypt, Syria, Turkey, Greece, Switzerland,
Tyrol, Spain, Russia, Denmark, and Sweden. By W.
Pembroke Fetridge. With a Railroad Map, corrected up
to 1S64, and a Map embracing colored Routes of Travel in
the above Countries. Third Year. This convenient and
valuable book contains all the information, historical a>nd
descriptive, which is necessary for the class of people for
whose special interest it is intended. A book of this kind
is also attractive to those not privileged to visit other
lauds except through the pages of this and other works of
a similar character. It will meet a want often expressed,
for while there are many gnldes through European coun-
tries, no one is so complete. It is the intention of the
publishers to issue a new edition every year, with correc-
tions up to the latest moment.

CRUSOE'S ISLAND. .4 Ramttle in the Footsteps of
Alexander Selkirk, With Sketches of Adventure in Califor-
nia and Washoe. By J. Ross Brown, author of *' Etch-
ings of a Wballng Cruise," "Yuseff," etc. The contents
of this book have been published in Harpers' Monthly,
iu which form they attracted very considerable attention,
on account of the easy and spirited style of the narrative
and the diversity of character aud incident introduced, to
the great amusement of the reader.

From D. AppLOTOD & Co., New York, through Ashmead
& Evans, Philadelphia: —

MEMOIR OF MRS CAROLINE P. KEITH, Missionary
of the Protestant Episcopal Church to CAffta, Eiljtfd by
her brother, WlUiamC. Teuney. This interesting memoir
of an amiable aud persevering woman is embraced in a
hth's of letters written by herself, aud running from the
year 1S3S to a short time before her death in 1362. In
these letter- she gives full expression to her feelings, and
relates much of her experience while employed as a
teacher in the South. In 1SJ0, she returned North, aud
soon after determined to devote herself to the Mission of
BOpal ('lunch In China. While there she married
the Rev. Mr. Keith, aud continued her services until 180%
when they returned — but only to meet death in their own
land, Mrs. Keith dying in San Francisco a few days after
her arrival, and Che Rev. Cleaveland Keith being lost iu
the "Golden Gate" on passage to the North.

APPLETON'S RAILWAY AND STEAM NAVIGATION
GUIDE Fbr October, 1S64. Price 2.5 cents.

THE TBjLAL : More Links in t/ie Daisy Oiain. By the
author of " The Heir of Redclyffe." Two volumes in one.
Thoso already acquainted with the pure elevating thought*
and sentiments of the former work of the writer wiil not
be disappointed in their anticipations of a literary and
moral treat in this volume. There is no leaving the book
without benefit from its pictures of distinctive character.
Though not as intensely fascinating as its predecessor,
" The Heir of KedclyfTe,'* we predict for it as deserving
popularity with the public.

THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES: To which
are added Reasons for Dissenting from (Ac Philoxuphy
><f M. ( 'omte. By Herbert Spencer, author of ' First Prin-
ciple?, "' "Essays: Moral, Political, and ^Esthetic." and

548

GODEY S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

the "Principles of Psychology." Mr. Herbert is at home
in nearly every department of science, and possesses the
highest confidence of our must intellectual and influential
men. Therefore the present work will demand attention
among persons interested in the class of literature to which
it belongs.

From Robert Carter & Brothers, New York, through
Wm. S. and Alfeed Martien, Philadelphia: —

HISTORY OP THE REFORMATION IN EUROPE IN
THE TIME OF CALVIN. By J. H. Merle D'AubignS,
I>. D. Vol. III. France, Sioitzerland, Geneva. Those
who have read the two first volumes will eagerly seize on
this; they will not he disappointed. It is of absorbing
interest; showing, with the vividness of a personal recol-
lection, almost, the picturings of those wonderful events
which have bad such permanent effects on the character
of European civilization. This history should find place
iu every family library. It is not only of deep import in
its religious bearing, but also in its historical value ; and
the story of those eventful times is told in such a natural
manner that the most careless reader will be attracted by
the wonderful scenes described, and remarkable persons
who seem living and moving through the book.

ELLEN MONTGOMERY'S BOOKSHELF. By the au-
thors of "The Wide, Wide World."

SYBIL AND CHRYSSA. Here are the two dear little
girls, again, as happy and interesting as when they first
came out. Every little girl will love them.

HARP MAPLE. By the author of "Dollars and Cents. "
Here, too, in this pretty volume, Sybil and Chryssa are
the centre and attraction of the story. But little girls and
boys, too, will like the story to the end.

CASPAR AND HIS FRIENDS— by the same authors-
is the concluding volume of this series. We think the
whole will be popular, and make welcome gifts for the
holidays.

SEA DRIFTS. By Mrs. Georgie A. Hulse McLeod, au-
thor of L> Sunbeams and Shadows," etc. The writerof this
book for the young has been very successful in her stories.
This one is the story of a little girl saved from a shipwreck,
where all but she were lost or died. There is a high,
pure tone of piety in the narrative ; yet a vein of cheerful-
ness, and often merriment runs through, like flowers and
stars in nature. It is a pleasant and good book for the
young.

THE MARTYRS OF SPAIN AND THE LIBERATORS
OF HOLLAND. By the author of "The Sch.inberg Cotta
Family." The popularity of her first work has been fol-
lowed by several others, written in a similar spirit ; this
lady's heart and soul appearing devoted to the task Of
illustrating the struggles, sufferings, and triumphs of the
early martyrs who embraced the true faith when there
was no liberty of conscience allowed by the church. This
work is very interesting, but has not the freshness of
such originality as marked the " Schiinberg Cotta Fami-
ly." All the books of this author are valuable for their
suggestive power: those who read them will want further
knowledge of those old times of persecutions.

From Mason & Brothers, New York, through Lippis-
cott & Co., Philadelphia : —

A NEW STORY BOOK FOR CHILDREN. By Fanny
Fern. The nom de plume of the author has been so long
familiar to the public that it will not be required to enter
into a review of these sketches, apparently intended only
for the amusement of young readers. There are, however,
some sentiments introduced, and some references made to

peculiar principles, which might have been left out with
benefit to that class of readers. The same vigorous and
, pointed style which she has maintained in her former
writings will be found in fnll force in the pages of the
" New Story Book."

From Dick k Fitzgerald, New York, through Lippin-
cott & Co., Philadelphia: —

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A LONDON DETECTIVE. By
"Waters," author of "Experiences of a French Detec-
tive," etc. etc. This is a very readable book, written in
the clear pointed style characteristic of a business requiring
so much vigor, resolution, and sustained zeal. Various
classes of swindlers and rogues are portrayed, and the
cautious, wary detective enchains the attention by his
fearle«, honest energy in his vocation.

From TrcKxoR & Fields, Boston, through Peterson &
Brothers, Philadelphia : —

DRAMATIS PERSONS. By Robert Browning. We
have here a third volume of poems from the pen of Robert
Browning, but with what intent and for the edification
of what particular class of readers it was prepared may
not be easily determined, even by the shrewdest of our
critics. The style adopted by the author is by no means
pleasing or agreeable to the taste of general readers, nor
are the subjects he has chosen such as will be likely to
interest or amuse those who seek to have their feelings
gratified if not excited by the perusal of everything as-
suming to be poetry. Browning's versification is formal,
stiff, and unpleasant, and, by readers unpractised in the
conjugation of verbs, hard to be understood, and in some
cases painfully mysterious. In these simple points his
poetry is so positively at variance with that of all those
who have for many years been considered our standards
among the English poets and prose writers, that we can
only look upon the present effort; of Mr. Browning and his
admirers as an attempt to reform our old school literature
altogether. But if such be their aim, we think they will
have a hard task to perform, and but few recruits from
among those familiar with the flowing verses, and the
simple majestic sentences of our favorite poets.

FIRESIDE TRAVELS. By James Russell Lowell. We
find the following notice of this volume on a spare leaf at
its beginning. It is the author's own brief explanation,
and is transcribed for the benefit of the reader: —

"The greater part of this volume was printed ten years
ago in Putnam's Monthly and GraJiam's Magazine. Thte
additions (most of them about Italy) have been made up
from letters and journals written on the spot. My wish
was to describe not so much what I went to see, as what
I saw that was most unlike what we see at home."

The captivating style of this author is too well known
and recognized to need any eulogies from our pen. His
name and its tasteful appearance are all-sufficient intro-
ductions.

EMILY CHESTER. A Novel. We do not know to
whom we are indebted for this ably written novel, but
we do not hesitate to say that the characters have been
drawn by a masterly hand, and will leave their impres-
sion on the mind of every reader. Few novels have
lately appeared equal to it in interest and ability.

ESSAYS ON SOCIAL SUBJECTS. From the Saturday
Revieio. The perusal gf these Essays will probably induoe
many persons to examine themselves on certain points of
conduct, peculiarity of habit and manners, with the salu-
tary effect of producing changes in their thoughts and
actions. An ounce of 6uch practical common sense is
worth a ton of idle gossip.

GODEY S AP.M-CIIAIR.

549

POEMS OF THE WAK By George H. Bolter. This
volume of admirably written poems will prove a most
worthy royagex to posterity along with the honeel prow
: u times. In after yean moreem-
phnticaiiy than now, when every erea! is passing bo har-
ts, these poems will be the source of great
poetic and historic Interest to our descendants. Think,
for a moment, how much we are indebted to the poets of
Koine for the bloody details of her civil struggles, and it
will be at ouce appreciated how such books will be
prized, by our posterity. Having1, in most respects, pre-
served the dignified style of the aucient laureates, Mr.
Boker*fl poems are truthful and philosophical ; they thrill
the heart with enthusiasm. His personification of ''Death*'
and '■ Pane*1 in tho " Ride to the Camp," is the conjura-
tion of a brain need to sympathise deeply with all tho
passions and weaknesses of humanity.

From Lee & Shbpaxd, Boston, through J. B. Lippiit-
OOTT, Philadelphia: —

WATCH AM' WAIT: or, Th>< Young Fugitives. A
Story for Young People. By Oliver Optic, author of "The
Soldier Boy," "The Kiverdale Story Books," etc. etc.
TLiis little story details in a vivid and stirring manner the
escape and adventures of three young slaves from Louis-
iana, and their safe and happy arrival iu New York city.

From A. Williams J; Co., Boston, through Lippincott
, Philadelphia:—

EVAN DALE. A Novel. The author seems to possess a
close acquaintance with the spirit which animates the
hearts of young people, whether engaged in tho pleasures
or the more engrossing matrimonial schemes natural to
that age.

From Cbosbt A Aktsworth, Boston: —

THE SOUTH AMERICAN RBVLBW, For October, 1864.

§ob fit's Jnn-Cljair.

DECEMBER, 1S64.

Two beautiful steel engravings, one of them, "The
Nativity," comprising six different snbjects; a further
description of this splendid plate wilL be found in Mrs.
Hale's department. "The Return," In these sad days,
when almost every hearthstone has a vacant chair, and
one picture in the family group will bring tears to the
mother's eyes, our Christmas plate will touch a chord in
BVery heart. The Old man so eagerly scanning the road,
the child with watchful face and half-suspended breath,
the waiting group inside, even the very dog, all seem to
live only for the blue coat they hope to see at the Christ-
mas bast The three dreary years of absence and sus-
pense fall back far into tho past, while the minutes that
must elapse are lengthened into hours by love's impa-
tience. God grant that before another Christmas dawns
Upon US that these pilgrims of patriotism may beall again
united to their families, and that no vacaut chair or un-
filled plate dampen the festivities of the day ! To many,
alas! this hope and watching may never come
hut to them our Heavenly Father gives promise "fa meet-
ing that will as far exceed in joy these earthly ones as
heaven's bliss is above mortal.

Godey's fashions. Six figures, and, as usual, reliable.
A Toilet Cushion, printed in tints, and an original amus-
ing engraving, "Christmas in Camp," designed oxpressly
vot. lxix. — 43

r ley. Two fashionable garments aro furnished us

from the celebrated house of Messrs'. A. T. Stewart & Co.,
New York, and one from Brodle. It will also he observed
that we givt- fiigravingi <<i comfortable winter garments,
articles that ladies can make up in these long winter
evenings. Our other engravings aro of useful sal

Make tp Your Clubs according to the new rates which
will befouudon the next page. Remember that thi Lady's
Book is the host work for ladies published in this country.
Any person with a very little trouble can get up a club
for the Book. We havo frequently been so informed by
ladies— tho work is so popular. Clubs must bo for the
Lady's Book alone.

Ocr BTsw Office. — After a period of eighteen years, wo
have changed our quarters. We now have an establish-
ment worthy of the Lady's Book. Our new oflSce is in
Hart's Buildings, at the X. E. corner of Sixth and Chest-
nut Streets, certainly one of the most desirable situations
in the city. We have the Hall of Independence in full
view from our windows. We occupy four apartments,
each thirty feet by seventy, and we have a cosy little
oflice of our own on the first floor, where we shall be
pleased to see our lady friends. We do not think we
have neglected any of our correspondents, but if we have,
we must plead our removal as the excuse. Some letters
and MSS. may have got misplaced, but they will turn up
in time.

We wish all of our 150,000 subscribers a very merry
Christmas. We trust that they have been pleased with
the book, through the present year, and we hope to meet
most of them, if not alt, tho next year. Wo have been
catering for their instruction and amusement nearly thirty-
five years, and we think that by this time we have found
out what kind of publication they want — and the result
is that Godey's Lady's Book is the very one.

Ocr readers may congratulate themselves upon the
music in this year's numbers, and may thank our musical
editor, J. Starr Holloway, for the rich treat he has given
them. We are pleased to find that Hollo way* 9 Musical
Monthly is so successful.

Arthur's Home M.v.azi.ve is the monthly that we
recommend to those who want a cheaper magazine than
the Lady's Book.

The following is an extract from a letter written by the
Principal of one of tho largest ladies' seminaries in the
West:—

"I am certain that the Lady's Book will refine the
taste of our young todies, and exert a decidedly healthy
influence upon their morals. I know of no periodical of
a secular nature half so valuable as Godey's Lady's
Book."

The contributors in this number are Marion Harland,
Miss Fro^t, Miss Janvrin, Willie Pahor, 0. Gardette, and
Zan Thome — an array of names that cannot be equalled
by any magazine in the country.

Ocr Card Photographs for ALBrMs. — We are distribut-
ing these elegant pictures all over the country, from Maine
to California and Oregon, and everywhere they are giving
Batisthotion. Why? Because theyareof the finest quality:
equal to anything produced. All orders are promptly
mailed, and the cards selected with particular care.
Liberal terms to those who buy in quantities to sell again.

550

godey's lady's book and magazine.

The Terms of the Lady's Book for 1865 are as follows, for the

present : —

1 copy, 1 year $3 00

2 copies, 1 year 5 50

3 copies, 1 year 7 50

4 copies, 1 year 10 00

CLUBS.

5 copies, 1 year, and an extra copy to the person sending the club, making

6 copies 14 00

8 copies, 1 year, and an extra copy to the person sending the club, making

9 copies 21 00

11 copies 1 year, and an extra copy to the person sending the club, making

12 copies 27 50

All additions to clubs of any denomination $2 50 each.

Lady's Book and Arthur's Home Magazine will both be sent 1 year on receipt of §4 50.
We club with no other magazine.

Canada subscribers must send 24 cents additional for each subscriber to pay American
postage.

In order to secure the extra copy for the club, the money must all be sent at one time.

L. A. GODEY,

N. E. Corner Sixth and Chestnut Streets.

More complimentary club letters; —

"When our year expired for your charming Lady's Book,
■we all felt, to meet the demands of the times, we should
forego the pleasure of your excellent Book, for the present
year at least. But as the time drew near for its accus-
tomed visit, some uf us agreed that, if necessary, We would
retrench in some other way rather than give up our old
friend Godey, and hence the club. Mks. M., Maine.

I have taken tha Book for a number of years, and al-
ways welcome it as I would a very dear friend. It is in-
valuable to me. I hardly know how to wait until the
number becomes due, and all the ladies are equally
impatient. Mrs, O,, Mass.

Again I have the pleasure of sending you a club. I
had no difficulty in getting the subscribers, as every one
knows what the Lady's Book is. Miss B., Ohio.

The ladies in this section of the country cannot do with-
out Godey, as witness this club. R. S. R., Pa,

Mb. Godey: I have taken your Book the past year, and
like it so much that I wished to continue it; therefore
thought I would get up a club. How well I have suc-
ceeded the above sixteen names will show. Every one
seemed willing and pleased to take it. S. L. B., Mass.

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
freight. "We advise our subscribers to procure drafts —
they and the postal money order are the only safe mode
of remitting. The premium on the draft must be paid by
the subscribers.

Marion Harland. — The only magazine that this lady
will contribute to in 1S65 is Godey's Lady's Book. Her
stories are copyrighted.

A maiden lady, whose ase is not a proper subject for
discussiou, warns young men that the stamp tax on
matches is soon to be enforced, and that it would be a
saving of money to finish up engagements at once.

Music Received. — We have received the following from
Horace Waters, 4S1 Broadway, New York : —
The Copperhead of 1S64 and '65.

God Save our Noble Union. Patriotic song and chorus. •
On to Richmond. Gallop.
We'll all go Home again. Song and chorus.
There are Voices— Spirit Voices. A soug.
They tell Me I '11 Forget Thee. A song.
Starlight Waltz.

I will be True to the Stripes and Stars. Quartette.
^ey said we Wouldn't Fight. A song and chorus.
The Sunnyside Set— Cannon Gallop, and Fanner Stubba.
My Country, Bear, I Die for Thee. Song and chorus.
The Soldier's Dying Farewell.
Moonlight and Starlight. A song.
No Slave Beneath that Starry Flag. A song.
From C. D. Benson, Nashville, Tenn. :—
Lucilla, the Maid of Shillon. Song and chorus.

Clubbing with Magazines. — We have no club with
any magazine or newspaper except Arthur's Home Maga-
zine. One copy of Godey's Lady's Bosk, and one copy
of Arthur will be sent one year on receipt of $4 50.

Two elegant little volumes for ladies are just published
by Messrs. J. E. Tilton & Co., Boston. Price $2 00 each.
Illustrated in the style of their "Art Recreations."

Wax Flowers: How to Make Them. With new meth-
ods of Sheeting Wax, Modelling Fruit, etc.

Skeleton Leaves and Phantom Flowers. A complete
and Practical Treatise on the Production of these beautiful
Transformations. Also, Directions forPreserving Natural
Flowers in their fresh beauty.

Particular Notice to the Binder of the Lady's Book.
Please give the fashion-plate adouble-fold before binding.
It will thus escape being cut when the edges are trimmed.

A Misprint occurred in our last number, page 44S, sixth
paragraph — "Clubbing with Magazines." "Godey and
Arthur one year, should be $4 oO, not $4.

GODEY S AKAf CIIAIR.

551

OUR MUSICAL COLOBOT

■' Monthly. — The December number
is now ready, completing the second volume and the
Second year of our popular Monthly. Tint contents are:
a beautiful and brilliant schottische, the Chancery Mill,
«■, injniiTil br the Monthly by Goo. E. Fawoette; Koran
BtaTonrneen, a now Irish ballad ; and Uoroet n Melodlque,
a charming nootame by Theo. Oesten, ■ composer of rare
merit, Who divides popularity among our subscriber with
Brinley Richards, The December number also contains
fur subscribers a complete Index and title-page, for the
volume, for the convenience of those who desire to havo
the year's numbers bound. They make a splendid volume
for preservation.

Our arrangements for the new year are now completed,
and notwithstanding the enormous advance in the prices
of white paper, plates, etc., amounting to about double
the cost of any former year, we havo determined not to
adngnee the rates of subscription. Jfearly every other
three dollar periodical has been obliged to increase its
Bubacrlptlon price for 1885 to four dollars, but onr friends
are now so fnUy responding to onr call for an increase in
our subscription llsl that, as we havo already announced,
we shall be enabled to go on at tho old rate. Wo shall
havo three times the number of names next year that wo
have this, or quadruple the circa before attained

by a musical periodical. Terms $3 per annum, in advance,
for each and every subscription.

Three Hundred Dollars in Premium*. — All the old
club rates at a less price than three dollars are necessarily
discontinued. We had either to do so or advance our
dngle BQbeeriptlon rate to four dollars. But in order to
induce still farther sal raiptions to the Monthly we have
Issued a splendid list • t premiums, including one of one
r'd'UtUursin oath, all of which will he duly awarded
according to the plan laid down in our Prospectus. Copies
will be forwarded to any address on receipt of a three
cent stamp f«>r postage.

(Oala Number.— We shallopen the new volume
with a beautlfol number, prepared with especial reference
to the holiday season. Thousands of copies of this single
number ought to be sold. It will be ready December 1.
Trice to non-subscribers 50 cents, aud sent free of p- -
to any address on receipt of price.

Bound Volumes for 1863 and IBM.— "We have ready a

:" v. c i Lee of the two volumes of tho Monthly, neatly

!. Price of each roar's volume $6, and sent free of

postage to any address. Copies in extra binding, morocco

gilt, >1" and $12. A splendid Christmas present.

The volumes sold together or separately.

y-ir Shed Jfeufc, — TheGood-By at the Door, by Glover,

tntS. Home of my Youth, by QloTOT, S>. Watching

nil Alone, 30. Evangeline, with beautiful lithographic

title-pa*.,''', 35. Forget Thee, by Balfe, 2.1. Around the

-<>ng aud chorus, 2-">. At tiio Gate, now edition, 25.

All daj I. Mi.', by Stephen C. Foster, hi- very best ballad,

30. oil. I wish the War were Over, 25, 11. -w are you,

mic, -"'. No Irish need Apply, 25.

Kill Polka Schottischo, ». Onr Governor's

ttiache,21 Volunteer's Quickstep, 25, MarcheHili-

by Glover, 30. Cavalry Quickstep, same, 35. A

>*i.-ht on tho Ocean, nocturne, 30. Musings at Twilight,

njoturne, 30.

AH .>nb-rs for Holiday's Muticol Monthly, etc.. must
1 to J. Starr Holloway, Publisher Musical
. Box Post-office, Philadelphia

J. Stake Hollowat.

Braid and EMimn.mr.iiT Stamts. — W« have frequently,
in times past, called the attention of the ladies to the
Premium Braid aud Embroidery Stamps manufactured by
Alprbd Panes, Ifaealllon, Ohio. We ham from Mr. P.

that, having purchased a homestead al the junction of
A. & G. W. and C. & P. Railroads, his post- tffloe address

will be, for the future, Franklin Mills, Portage County,
Ohio. That he has neither "<iuit the business," "sold
or "gone dead," as has been industriously circu-
lated ; but, ou the contrary, is more extensively engaged
than ever in the manufacture of the stamps which have so
justly acquired such wide-spread popularity. That his
efforts to please have been successful has b* i n shown by
the diplomas and medals awarded him, and the sponta-
neous praise bestowed upon them by those who have
need them for years. Mr. P. may be considered the pio-
neer in the stamp business, which he has made a specialty
for over six years, lie warrants his stamps to joiu well,
to be the best mado and cheapest stamps in use, and to
give entire satisfaction in all cases. Be careful to direct
orders to Alfred Pelree, Franklin Mills, Portage Co., Ohio.,
■ ■r to the following agents: George Atkins, 102 W. 4th
Bt., I incinnati; Mrs. M. A. Bender, Temple of Fashion,
1023 Chestnut St., Philadelphia; afagneus Holler, 641 W.
Baltimore St., Baltimore; Mrs. H. L. Raymond, 26 N.
Fifth St., St. Louis; Mrs. M. A. Bice, Hemphis, Tenn. ;
Mr>. Mary E. Fox, Sacramonr,,. Cal. ; Mrs, M. Schreiner,
Lancaster, Pa. ; Mr. W. W. Sherman, Toledo, Ohio.

Ocra BcpHBiOB eTbkdxjb. — We have made arrangements
by which we can continue to furnish i arorite

needles for 40 cents per 100 and a 3 cent stamp to i ay re-
torn postage. This is much cheaper than they can be

purchased elsewhere, and the needles are of a much finer
quality. The demand is so great for them that it is the
business of one person in our office to attend to the orders.
We resume again at little profit to ourselves, but we are
anxious that our subscribers should be supplied with a
superior article.

Dear Sir : A little incident came under my observation
a few days since, which was BO amusing and so rharac-
teristta of a lar^re class her.:- that I though! I wonld send
it to you, though it does not come under the head of "ser-
vant-gal-ism." We were waiting at a small station for a
train, when two girls (I should say y..ung ladii s, I sup-
pose) came in, with that peculiar strut which they intend
shall let you know "I am as good as you." They w.uked
about, baking all sorts of remarks in a loud tone, and at
last came to a window opening into the little telegraph
office ; though no one happened to be I 1 cl iue

was clicking away.

•' vTfjat in the world is that?" cried the more mode>: of
the two.

"La* don't yon know? That is a sewing-machine ;
my sixter has one just Like, it."

" But it is going, and there Is no one here "

"Oh, well, it is only >j ling thread now; It does 1

itself. L»ou't you see that green spool ou top?"

This was satisfactory, and the sewing-machine that
" went all by itself" called forth much admiration, much.
to the amusement of the waiting passengers.

An Old Sr»»cRiBER.

A Book for the Yonwo. — We take great pleasure in
announcing "The Irringb ok for the

Young. With illustrations ' y Darley." The author is
Mrs. §L E. Dodge, a lady well known to onr readers
through a series of stories Lately published, entitled "A
Few Friends."

552

godky's lady's book and magazine.

DESIGN FOR AN ORNAMENTAL COTTAGE.
Designed expressly for Godeifs Lady's Book, by Isaac H. Hobbs, Architect, Philadelphia.

PERSPECTIVE VIEW.

The above design is a square building, of a simple but
good plan. It has a French roof, and can be built of
either stone or brick. If the building was built in the
neighborhood of Philadelphia it would cost about $7,000.

It contains parlor, dining-room, sitting-room, with ample
kitchen upon the first floor. It is designed to be 43 feet in
the front, and 34 feet deep in main building. The orna-
mental part of this building is simple, and will cost but

little. The main hall runs through the centre of building,
which will make it airy, convenient, and easily to be
kept in order.

Description of Plan. — A parlor, B library, C dining-
room, D kitchen, E bedrooms, F chambers, G roof of porch!
H roof of bay-windows, I porches, 0 hall, K vestibule.

godey's arm-chair.

553

JUVENILE DEPARTMENT.
THE WBBBTLBBE

A SAMS FOX CHUBBEX.

Xattrialt.—Two large corks, some thin card-board,
small pleoM ofTariona materials, water-colon.

This game consists of two small heroes in cork and

i I. to whom a pi we of thread about three yni la

long is attached, causing them to put themselves into all

this would cause the little men to fight too deep
Let us dow explain how they are to be made: 1
thel dies good corks, three and a half inches long, They

muni \ f ill-- same size and Uh $anu wei fht, ai

i Bsarj for thorn to keep tl 'equilibrium a Ease should

be painted on the top of the corks [it Is unnecessary to
liaveagreat talent for painting to do this). Next, they
must be dressed. A Btrlp of linen two inches long] and
gathered round the Qgure, serves for s skirt , Ltisfi
by pine. The under part of thai dd to by a small

black silk ; it la tautened to which ia

pulled down lightly underneath. The toilet is con

aortaof contortions. This thread (whether white or black
it should be very strong] is passed through the crossed
arm- of the little men, and is fixed at one end to the floor
by means of a small nail or tack, while the other end is

by a band made with a colored ribbon, and by a little
cap. thf shape and color of which may vary according
to the taste of the worker, and which i - also pm on with
pins. Next cut out the arms and legs in thin card-board

Kg, 2.— The Leg,

i —The Arms

h**ld in the hand, rather slanting. By slightly drawing

id, the movements of the wrestlers are rendered

easier: but practice alone will teach this, and we must

warn our readers not to draw the thread too tightly, as

43*

from the illustrations 2 and 3. As the arms are drawn
each other, two similar pieces only should be
cut 'on, but f-»ur logs are required. The part repre-
sented black In the pattern for the legs is covered with

554

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

India ink, and the two pieces for the arms are painted in
water-colors, as well as the shirt-sleeves. A pin is in-
serted iu each leg, and the same pin is fastened on each
side of the wrestler's body, so that it may move easily.
The arms are attached in the same manner to the shoul-
ders, and in a very horizontal position. As a general rule
these small dolls should be well poised, and every fold in
their dress which might impedetheir movements carefully
avoided. Now pass the long thread through the arm at
the place marked by a small round, and fasten this thread
to the floor in the manner already described, and make a
knot iu the thread about one yard from the end, to pre-
vent the wrestlers from slipping about too much.

Hair Uprooted in Five Mindtes, by the Use of Up-
ham's Depilatory Powder.— This powder has been found
highly beneficial aud of great use to ladies who have been
afflicted with superfluous hair, principally when its growth
has been confined to the upper lip aud side of the face,
giving a masculine turn to the whole features. It will
be found to be a great addition to the toilet, as the use of
any sharp instrument is entirely avoided, aud the hair is
removed in five minutes after its application, loithoid in-
jury to the skin.

Mailed to any address for $1 25. S. C. Upham, No. 25
South Eighth Street, Philadelphia, Pa.

Grover & Baker's Sewing Machines.— We commend
to the public the sewing machines manufactured by this
firm. They are swift and reliable. None of the new-
fangled articles have in any way superseded the well-
known useful Grover & Baker premium sewing machines.
Every house should have one.

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, aud State you reside in. Nothing can be made
out of post-marks.

Mrs. D. T.— Sent pattern September 24th.

Mrs. A. S.— Sent pattern 24th.

Mrs. R. C. J.— Sent braid 24th.

Mrs. E. C. G.— Seftt pattern 24th.

Mrs. M. F. M.— Sent pattern 24th

II. T.— Sent pattern 24th.

Mrs. N. E. D.— Sent pattern 24th.

Mrs. H. E. W.— Sent pattern 24th.

Miss R. M. I.— Sent pattern 24th.

Mrs. E. K. L.— Sent articles 27th.

J. A. H.— Sent pattern, etc. 27th.

Mrs. A. K.— Sent pattern 27*,h.

Mrs- 8. A. W.— Sent pattern 30th.

Miss S. E. R. — Sent hair heart, October 4th.

J. F. S— Sent pattern 4th.

Mrs. M. W. — Sent pattern 4th.

W, II. K.— Sent pattern 4th.

Mrs. H. K.— Sent pattern 4th.

Mrs. M. E. H.— Sent pattern 4th.

G. G — Sent box by express 4th.

M. E. M.— Sent pattern 4th.

j ii. M.— Sent lead comb 8th.

J. S. H.— Sent lead comb 6th.

M. E. S.— Sent lead combs 8th.

N. F.— Sent lead comb 8th.

M. S. T.— Sent lead comb 8th.

J. L. — Sent lead comb 6th.

Mrs. V. S. F.— Sent kid gloves 10th.

D, E.— Sent dress shields 10th.

L. J. — Sent box by express 10th.

E. J. B. — Sent box by express 10th.

J. E. W.— Sent pattern 14th.

Mrs. J. B. W.— Sent pattern 14th.

Miss L. C. — Sent pattern 14th.

Mrs. M. A. W.— Sent pattern 14th.

Miss E. T.— Sent pattern 14th.

Mrs. A. B. C. P.— Sent pattern 14th.

Miss B. C. H.— Sent pattern 14th.

Mrs. P. G. R.— Sent pattern 14th.

Mrs. J. B.— Sent pattern 14th.

M. G. — We think it best not to publish your receipt,
although we thank you kindly for sending it. If any
accident should happen from any cause after having par-
taken of the berries, it would be laid to that cause.

M. and A. — To the first : Decidedly not proper. To the
second: Not proper, unless the gentleman is an accepted
suitor.

Old Subscriber. — We cannot tell any way to make the
braids into curls, unless you send them to a hairdresser.
The only way to keep the curl in is to recuil them when
it comes out.

E. Y.— Mask veils are of lace, and come ready made.
Hats are worn by ladies of all ages. We think forty too
old for them.

W. E. C— Very sorry, but we have no advice to give
on the subject.

A Subscriber. — Arthur's Home Magazine, for 1S64, can
be had in numbers, but not bound. Price $2. You pay
postage on receipt of ic.

Beata. — We do not publish charades. Yours is excel-
lent.

Miss E. C. — There is no "simple" remedy for removing
freckles. We have published receipts on the subject, but
have not the time to look them up.

L. J. L. — The waists are intended for home and evening
wear. With care they can be worn a season without
cleaning.

M. C. H.-We believe that there is no sequel to the
volume. "Say and Seal," and "Queechy" succeeded
"The Wide, Wide World."

M. E. M. — The bride should walk up leaning on her
fathpr's arm ; or, in absence of a father, on the one who
is to giv« her away. He stauds behiud, but next to the
person to be married, so as to be ready to answer the
question, " Who gives, etc."

Miss M. S. S. — We cannot give the information. That
is a secret kuown only to the manufacturer.

Jfasjjioit^

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 aud 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 kist,
distinct direction* must be given.

Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed expen-
diture, to he addressed to the care of L. A . Godey, Esq.

No ortter will he attended to unless the money is first
received. Neither the Editor nor Publisher imll he account-
able for losses that may occur in remitting.

The Publisher of the Lady's Book has no interest in
thisdepartment, and knows nothing of the transactions ;

GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR.

556

And whether the person landing the order is or is not a

riber to the Lady's Book, the Fashion edltoi
not know.

Instructions to be as minute a« It possible, accompanied
by a note of the height, eomplea

me person, <>u w fa Drees

- from Brans I rrom Besson

f any kind from Messrs, A T. Stewart

, New Cork ; flunks, mantillas, or talmas, from

Brodle's, .*>i Canal Street, N w Y >rk ; bon oia ft >m the

most celebrated establishments ; jewelry from Wrij -

& Warden, ->r Caldwell's, Philadelphia.

When goods are ordered, the Ihshions that prevail here
m the purchase; thai - • wi I be taken

When the goods are tent, the transaction must he
considered final.

DESCRIPTION OF STEE] - PLATE TOR

DECEMBER.

Tig. 1. — Pawn-colored silk dress, trimmed with fluting*

-ilk. Low waist, with a short puffed Bb

of white silk. Folds of white silk passovertheshoulders-

and a fun- nraaUn gnimpe is seen dinetiy in the front and

hack. The hair i> rolled from the face, and arranged iu a

double Waterfall at the back. An Alexandra curl falls
sr. The wreath is of green leaves and
Solfcrino ben

Fig. 2. — Press pf green silk, trimmed with narrow
pinked rallies. Corselet of green silk, with shoulder straps
and bow-. White mnslin gnimpe, with long sleeves, and
finished at the nock with a fluted ruffle, White felt hat
and white wing.

— Rich dinner-dress of a bll bite cross-

barred silk, trimmed with applications of black velvet,
I with a white fluted ribbon. Thy jacket \- of white
corded silk, trimmed with black velvet and white quilled
ribbon. The sash is of black veil plications of

While silk, and edged with a narrow box-plaited white
ribbon. The coiffure is composed of black lace and Sol-
ferine flowers.

Fig. i. — Dress and petticoat of dark cnir-colored reps.
The petticoat is edged with a fluted ruffle, and trimmed
with bands of silk cut out in a pattern and edged with a
siik piping. The dress - plain, and festooned in

each breadth by bands of silk arranged in loops. The
corsage is made with one wide tail, and trimmed with
velvet of a darker shade than the dress. The bourn t is
trimmed with a row of d ad the edge. The

crown is formed of loops of ribbon and flowers, and a full
of white lace takes the place of the curtain.

Fig. .i. — Visiting-dress of pearl-colored Irish poplin,
with coat of the same, trimmed with guipure lace. Bonnet
of white royal velvet, trimmed with white feathers. A
fall of blondo lace oonstitntes the curtain. The inside
trimming is of blonde lace and a small scarlet feather.

Fig. 6, — Dress of purple silk, edged with a fluted raffle,
and richly trimmed with black velvet. Thi
plain, and fastened up the front with black velvet buttons.
A fancy point is worn over thi?, which is laced up in
front. The long tails are trimmed with bugle trimming,
White bonnet, trimmed with Mack lace. A black feather
is laid over the front, and on the right side where the
black feather is fastened is a large tnft of pink rbscs.

FASHIONABLE BONNETS.
(See engravings, page 4SS.)
Tig. 1. — White silk cnrtainle^s bonnet, trimmed with
black velvet, black lace, large black beads, aud sprays of
orange-colored velvet floweret.

Fig. 2. — Evening bonnet of white cr'pe, trimmed with
mauve feathers. A fall of blonde lace and loopsof mauve

take Uieplao a tulle veil tie*, under

the chin, and i- a substitute for the si.;.- caps. Over the
forehead Is a pink rose, with buds and leaves.

CHITCHAT DTOM NKW YORK-AMI PHILADELPHIA

FASHIONS POB DBCBMJ

BOXVBTB arc DOW Worn quite .small, thoug

marvels of diminution we Bonn times hear of. They are
proportioned In size to tho head and feata ■ ■ irer

Where the curtain Is abandoned, it ia replace

of ribbon and fallt -t. -fully arranged that the

curtain, whi< h the Btyle I • -i bonnet, la

scarcely missed. Wo cannot resist describing some charm-
ing bonnets from the establishment of that fashionable

artiste, Mm... Tilmaii. of 14S Bast 9th Street, Nov

A snowflake like bonnet, suitable for visiting or recep-
tion, was of white royal velvet, with soft, drooping crown.
ooverod with Tall- of marabout fringe. Inside were clus-
ters of half-blown roses, bedd '.; white tulle.

Another was of puffed tulle, with hanging crown co
vered with soft blonde lac, loops of rose-colored velvet,
and tufts of forget-me-nots. On the edge of the front was
a tulle scarf, which tied under the chin, and took the
place of the quilled side caps.

A very graceful bonnet was of violine crt-pe, with a
wreath of autumn leaves and mulberries placed round the
crown, aud tied at the back with a ribbon and lung ends.

Another evening bonnet was very tastefully trimmed
with fuchsias round the crown. The face trimming was
formed of a fringe of fuchsias, falling over a phut of tulle
TUe effect Of this was charming.

For the Street were velvets of rich, soft shades, trimmed
with plumes or flowers, some having net crowns of narrow
velvet, arranged loosely over white er'pt or silk.

The prejudice against the mixture of blue and green no
longer exists, and we find this combination in flowers.
feathers, ribbons, and, iu fact, iu all kind!

The coronet style of headdress is no longer the favorite.
Clusters and branches of flowers are now the adopted
styles, and from the hands of Madame Tilman these a*e
perfect types of elegance. These branches and clusters fall
very lOW upon the shoulders, and are frequently arranged
on bright-colored chenille with good effect. Half wreaths
of mountain ash or holly-berries, dotted with white flow-
ers, are very graceful The beautiful waxlike camellias
are qnite prominent in many of the tasteful toilettes ; some
are surrounded by Parma violets, and furm poufi
other times they are mounted on scarlet velvet with ad-
mlrable effect.

The dress garnitures cross the breast in theord^r style,
and are particularly becoming formed of the rich ChJ
pinks, the trailing convolvulus with foliage, lilies of the
valley, or roses, which are always fashionable and pretty
The mixed compositions are exceedingly tasteful ; they
consist <>f a/alias, periwinkles, heather in green mOSS,
poppies, and a variety of other flowers, rich in color and
perfect in form.

the multitude of elegant garnitures in the show
rooms of the Malson Tilman w<
autumn leaves, with bunches of grapes monnb
Theso we think rather a novelty, and d well

received. Fteur-de-ti* are introduced into most all the
bridal coiffures and garnitures. Wo hope next month lo
present onr readers with more novelties from this «jme
establishment.

We noticed a very pretty corsage at Mme. Pemorest's.
It was ef the Spanish form in front : that is. p tint d t th
up and down, and laced op. At the back, however, were

fi56

GODEYS LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

two long coat-like tails, with a pocket in each. This is
quite a stylish little affair, particularly so when made of
hlack velvet and trimmed with jet. Instead of the regu-
lar jet trimmings, jet beads are now sewed on the dress in
close rows ; large black beads are also used as a heading
for lace or fringe, and the effect is very good.

Dress skirts are frequently gored, and not only is the
edge of the skirt scalloped and bound, but each seam Is
lapped over and scalloped. When the skirt is not gored,
the breadths should only be scalloped half way up.

For the economist who wishes to attempt dress-making,
we copy the following directions for f. tring a skirt, which
are said to be very good : —

"Have the front breadth plain; then a gore on each
side, the straight side of each against the breadth ; then
two breadths, one on each side the gore; then two gores
on each side these, the plain part Of each gore coming
against the plain part of the breadth, and the plain side of
the second gore on each side against the gored part of the
first of the two gores. Then comes the back breadth, the
gored sides of the two gores coming against the straight
sides of this plain breadth. We would caution against
cutting the back breadth into gores, as it is apt to overlap,
and not hang welt. To cut the gores, divide each breadth,
of whatever width, into three; thus there will be two-
thirds of a breadth at the widest part and one-third at the
narrowest, and all the slope of each must be got into the
straight side of a corresponding breadth."

Linsey is now very much worn for full suits. It is a
soft, thick, mixed material, and very fashionable. Double
width dc laines are this season of excellent quality, and of
all the choice shades. They make up very prettily, bang
well, and are not expensive. Plaids are to be had in all
kinds of goods. The cr'pe plaids are, however, the richest
of the all-wool plaids, aud these are worn for full suits.

Very wide and deep scallops are the fashionable finish
for a skirt, and when the skirt is scalloped the sleeves
should also be scalloped from shoulder to wrist, also the
tails to the waist.

There is no particular style of trimming. Bands of
rich embossed velvet of a different shade from the dress
are much worn ; also fancy tabs cut out of velvet or some
rich material, and edged with chenille fringe. These are
arranged at the distance of about a quarter of a yard
.apart. Frequently the skirt is edged with a fluting or
puffing, and velvet or braid is arranged to simulate a
scallop or point, the edge falling over the trimming on
the skirt.

The ooat sleeve, which to some persons was very un-
becoming, has been slightly altered. It is now cut in the
coat form in two pieces, and gathered into a baud whicii
runs from shoulder to wrist on the inside of the arm.

We have seen some double skirted dresses open in front
and looped back. Others have the upper skirt of a differ-
ent color from the lawn one, but trimmed to match.

Jackets of all kinds are worn, and the Continental
style of coat tail is very fashionable; that is, the coat
tail is turned over as a rcr>trs to show the lining, which
should be of silk. The most stylish jacket for home wear
is of bright-colored merino, trimmed with several rows of
cashmere braid, and edged with Thibet fringe. At the
back is a hood, trimmed with a Thibet tassel. The sleeves
are very wide, and laced with cords up to the elbow.

The fashion of looping the skirt is on the increase, and
the newest method of looping is to wear a velvet waist-
band from which hang six or eight long loops of ribbon
velvet. The skirt is then pulled through these loops,
•which festoons it very prettily. Frequently the dress and

petticoat are of the same material, the principal trimming,
however, being on the petticoat. Sometimes the dress is
arranged in deep festoons, aud looped up permanently by
fanciful buttons and straps. For colored petticoats, thu
black and white stripes or blocks are decidedly the most
fashiouable. They are trimmed with bands of velvet
richly braided, or else with tiuted ruffles of the material
bound with a colored braid. Wc hear of white muslin
skirts tucked and embroidered in colors. We do not
think this style will suit the tastes of many. A really
pretty style is to cut the white skirt into deep scallops or
poiuts, and trim them with a narrow ruffling.

Nothing can exceed the richness of the new cloakings.
They are very thick, soft, and velvety; the shades aro
entirely new ; some are of a delicate lilac, others of a
peculiar blue, approaching' the soldier blue, but very
beautiful ; then there are the softest and most indescribable
shades of mode and ashes of roses.

For travelling, small jackets will be worn ; these reach
only as far as the waist; they are straight, without any
scam down the back; they have a large, turned-dowu
collar, coat sleeves, two pockets, and trimmed with very
large buttons. We hear of paletots fastened up the back,
which are said to be very stylish, but we have not yet
seen anything of the kind.

We call attention to the cuts of the new morning robes
brought out by A. T. Stewart & Co. They are of the most
brilliant colors, and are to be had in great variety of de-
sign. The shape is quite novel and stylish, but, we fear,
only suitable for a tall, slender person. They could, how-
ever, be confined to the waist by a thick girdle, and then,
we think, would be better liked.

The newest black silks are embroidered in white, a
large design on each breadth, and are very elegant.

The most fashionable hats we have yet seen are of black
felt with a small vizor. The crowns are rather high and
straight in front, slope oft" at the back somewhat like a
Scotch cap. The favorite trimming is large black beads,
edging them, or looped in with velvet arranged in front.
Birds are very much worn, and some of them are quite
pretty.

For travelling, square grenadine or bar'ge veils are
generally worn. These are now made with a very large
button at each corner, or else the end is drawn through
a large, heavy bead. When thrown over the bonnet, the
veil is kept in place by these beads or buttons. Largo
buttons arc also fastened on the ends of the velvets or
ribbons, which are tied round the throat, and fall in long
bows and streamers at the back.

Fancy ties, half an inch wide, of colored silk, with
pointed ends, fringed and woven in a brjlliant design, aro
among the new importations. Others are of Ottoman silk,
one finger wide, with a gay Persian pattern on the end.
White cravats, an inch wide, with pointed ends embroi-
dered in colors, are now very much worn by young ladies.

The newest riding gloves have a gauntlet cuff, with a
horse head raised on them of a darker shade.

We close this Chat with a description of a very distingui.
ball-dress worn by the empress at a late ball. The dress
was of pearl gray tulle ; three skirts, one over the other,
formed of puffs running lengthwise. The upper skirt was
looped up with two bouquets of velvet nasturtiums, with
a diamond humming-bird in the centre of each. A bou-
quet of the same flowers, with velvet loops of a darker
shade, in the centre of the forehead, and a small bouquet
of the same at the back. A band of diamonds was used
to connect the bouquets, and a diamond bird was nestling
in both. Fashion.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

VOL. LXIX.

1 g Eye, 514

A Cold on the Imagination, 358

Adepts i a Commercial I'liulng, 183

A Dr.-.im Of I. IDS A.,., l.y J. /.. M,Cr,,rll,
A Few Friends, by A'urmnA Lynn, 6j, 156, 24u, 33.5, 422,

52 i
A Heartless Jade, 447

A Literary I. 268

All Hallow B'en, 858

Alphabet of Fancy Loiters (Illustrated), 114, 201

An Appropriate Name, 1^-

An Arctic Landscape, by Zan Tlujrne, 517

An Editorial lining, ' :: ii

Aa Item which every Man should Head, 80S

Another's Merit, 236

A Pet Dog's Collar (IUuttrn

A Picture in the Room, 332

Aprons villus'. 250, 421

Asphoilel Flowers, by Minnu Willis Banes, 238

A Violet, by Afr*. Sfltrfi U5./nerfon, 70

Baby's II 1 TUush 74, jsj, 638

Baby's Knitted Sock (IU> -fraud), 532

Baby's Tippet ^Illustrated), 4s5. 538

li.ill Coiffure (lUustrati I 249

Beanty aud the Beast, by S. Annie Frost, 311

Bo Cheerful, by 5. .V .s'.. 50

Bed Quilt Pattern (Illustrate,!), 344

Bel Dana's I tnptatl in, hy Mrs. B. Frank Enns, 214
Bib (Ilhutra 208

Bird Songs, by Clin Btanlt ". 155

Black Silk Apron (Illustrated), 488

Blanche Dana's Season, by Virginia F. Vaonsend, 412
Bonnets (Illustrated), 71, 72. 102, 200, 201, 8 19, 426. ."i2 I
Braided Pattern for Seat of Chair(/Uu«rr 315

Brnidiug for a skirt (lUust 384

ig Pattern tor a Pincushion (Illustrated), 231
Braiding Pattera forCloaks and Mantles (/ifiur'd), -'147
Braidiug Patterns (Illustrated), 21, 77. 164, 180, 2"2. 203.
251, 301, 345, :;47, 3S4
Breakfast-cap llllustrated), 74, 250

Caps (nttufr ■ 74, 2i0

Case of Paralysis Cured by Ice, 4-is

Child's Braided Shoe l/f/tw/ 112. lit

Cbocolato, SS

Chrutmaaia Camp (IUustrated), 477

Cinderella; or, the Little Glass Slipper, by S. Anntl

Frnst,

Cloaks, Drbssss, Haxtillas, Talmas, Bto.
A Coat for Summer Wear (lUustl
Adolphe Coat (IUu
Bathing Dresses (Illustri
Cambric Bo Hratei),

Children's Dress - !■■, 103, 27

Cloak for a Miss (Illustr
Cloth Cloak for a Lady (Illustrated),
Dress for the Sea-side (Illustrated),
Evening Dress (Illustrated),
Home Jacket
Infant's Short Dress | !
Merino Coat, Braided (Illustrated),
Mobair Robe / (faff r
Morning Robe (Illustrated),
New Cloaks and .Mantles (Illustrated),
New Style of Robe [IUustrated),
Organdy Robe (lUustrat
Pbiue Dress for a little Boy (IV'utrated),
Robe Dress (IUustrated),
Silk Paletot fora Young Lady (IlluM
The Andalusian. from Brndie (IUustrated),
The Artillenr {Illustrated),
The Calpe, from Brodle 1 Illustrated),
The Dinorah (Illustrated),

221

160, it;i
2;, OS

16
230, 865

: >

107

! •■

427

! I

482

17, 4Si
301

20 290

2s7
11 I
238

The Eliane (IUustrated), 377

The Bstramadura, from Rrodie (Illustrated), 197, 3.80

The Kabyle 1 loak (IUustrated), 4-1

The Marie Rose (Illustrated), --■■

The Madeleine Jacket (Illustrated), 10.. 10:1

The Mettenrich (IUustrated), 37 •

The Nevada, from Brodii (IUustrated), 47.1

Walking Suit for a little Girl (Ilhislr,,!,.!). 341

Winter Jacket, in Double Crochet (lUust'd), 881, 482

Coarse Knitting for Mats, Rugs, etc. (IUustrated). 16s

Coiffures (Illustrated), 22, 104, 249, nil, 342

Collars (IUustrated), 340, 342

slona of a Spirit-rapping Medium, 362

Constance, 34

Consumption of Paper in the Bank of England, 361

Cooling Mixtuies, 9 I

Copies of Medals (Illustrated), 20-

Cottages (IUustrated), 92, L93, 27::, 440, 653

Country Residence (Illustrated), 92

Crochet Trimming (lUHStrated), 545

Darning Pattern for Netting Work (Illustrated), 252.

346, 4:!6

Dear Little Nelly, by Annie Herbert. 124

Design tor an Ornamental Cotcage (IUustrated), 273.

419, 553

Design for Naval Table Linen (Hlustr(ded), 258

Dow-drops, by Selma, 70

Diuing in the Middle Ages, 269

DlssuasWea from Despondency, 159

l> Btie Duties of Females, 60

h imestic Help, by Mrs. Dhatiaiit, 243
Dr. John Hale and Margaret Thorue, by Susan Has-

/..//, 3.7

Early Rising and Exercise, 321
Editors Table, containing —

Abonl Childhood, 17.3

A Tew Words with onr Correspondents, 354

A Few Words with our Friends, 544

A .Man's Idea aboiu Novels, 645

A New Authoress: and he Great Saeoeas, 441

B shop Lee Seminary for Youul' Ladles, 441

Christmas, -''41
Deaconesses, S6, 442, 546

Death of Catherine Sinclair, the Authoress, 442
Dress: a Recipe to give it Health,

Drought, by Borah Josepha Hale, 354

Bxcerpta, 264, :::.4

Flowers in a Sick-Room, by Kruna, .".;.".

Hints for Yonng "Wives, 174

Hints from Dr, Hall about Health, 175, 264

Hon 10 Make Things, 264
Indian Superstition,

My Dove, by Mrs Hale, I I

New Christmas Presents, 646

tin the Surface, 175
Our Dwellings.

Our Gold Currency, 17*

Our National Thanksgiving, 440

Onr Scrap Box, 442, 5 6

Photograph Albums, - 1

Bofleringa of English Sewing-girls, -' IS

Thanksgiving Hymn, by //, //., 440

The Burial of Pompeii, 212

The Art Gallery of Vesnar College, s4

The Autograph Bedquill, 36

The Best BeautlBor, S".

Tiie Daughters of America. S4

Sreat Central Pair ! Philadelphia, 212

The Health ofSpeech, .146

The Medical Education of Woman. 8.5

The s or Title of Saviour, 645

The Theory of small Men, 264

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

True Love in its Heroism and Humility, 86

Vassal* College, 353

Weariness of the World aud its "Work, 173

" W.iraau and her Era," 175

Words, 516

Work for Christian Women, 442

Embroidered Note-C ise (7 llicstrated), 24

Embroidery, Inserting;, etc., 24, 77, 10S, 100, 112, 16S,
lUO, 202, 203, 252. 254, 255, 25S, 292, 293,
294, 342, 344, 347, 3S2, 3S3, 3S4, 531, 535
Epitaphs, 271

Etiquette in Munich, 357

Fancy Chemise (Illustrated), 113

Fancy Comb (Illustrated). 251

Fancy Letters lor Marking (Illustrated), 257, 34S, 345, 535
Fancy Tatting for a Chemise Band [Illustrated), 77

Fanny's Engagement ; or, How Ifews is Manufac-
tured, by Mary WsJanvrin, 507
Fashionable Bonnets (Illustrated), 200, 275, 4SS, 555
Fashionable Sleeve (Illustrated), 163
Fashions, 94, 1S4, 274, 364, 451, 554
Flowers in Wool (Illustrated), 253, 346
Fourth of July (Illustrated), 13
Gentleman's Dressing or Lounging Boot (Illustrated), 78
Godey's Arm-Chair, 89, 17S, 266, 356, 444, 549
Good Manners, by Rev. F. S. Cassady, S33
Gradations in Mourning, 271
Hair Set (Illustrated), 75
Half of a Linen Cuff (Illustrated), 348
Half Wreath (illustrated), 164, 342
Haugiug Portfolio on Stand (Illustrated) 432
Heaven, by Era. Evans, 421
Heroism, by Una, 318
Hints for Fairs, 1S2
Hints for the Cultivation of Winter Flowering Bulbs,

by Henry A, Drew, 446

Housewife Embroidered on Ticking (Illustrated), 430

I Ask no More, by J. William Van Names, 144

Iced Liquors, 270

Illinois Central Railway, 91

Infant's Crochet Boot (Illustrated), 538

Influence of a Smile, 402

Initial Letters for Marking (Illustrated), SO. 167, 16S,

169, 202, 256, 257, 34S, 383, 431, 434, 525

Initials for Marking Pillow-cases, etc. (Illustrated), 169

Initial Mouogram (Illustrated), 431

Innocent Pleasures, 332

In Search of an Owner, by Charles D. Gardette, 40

Inserting (Illustrated), 169, 535

John Sterne's Disappointment, by Carroll West, 229

Juvenile Department (Illustrated), containing —

Love the Bible, 91

Metallic Trees, 363

Miscellaneous Amusements, 1S2, 363

Needle-Books, 363

Obedience to Parents, 272

The Witch Penwiper, 448

The Wrestlers, 553

Knitted Jacket for Wearing under Mantles or Dresses

(Illustrated), 343
Knitted Stays for Children (Illustrated), 78

Knitted Sleeve (Illustrated), 431

Leap Year, 360

Lady's Knitted Under Petticoat (Illustrated), 533

Lady's Travelling-Bag (Illustrated), 537

Lamp C.ip (Illustrated!, 257

Leaf Penwiper (Illustrated), 435

Leap Year (Illustrated), 2S3, 360

Linen Cuff (Illustnded), 74

Lines, by Mrs. Caroline St. diaries, 395

Literary Notices, 87, 176, 265, 355, 443, 547

Little Sarah, by Florence Earthtad, 236

Mechanical Paradox, t 359

Medical Items, 361

Memory, by Charles Morris, 155

Morning Sleeve (Illustrated), 531

Minnie, by Mrs. Clara B. Heath, 338

Mrs. Vanriper's Experience at the New York Fair, 123
Mrs. Ward's Visit to Niagara ; and Her Acquaintance

with the Shoddy t amily, by Mary W. Janv^n, 145
Music —

Grand March Funebre, by 7?. Ehollo, 4S6

Heart of Mine, by Jules Leuharl. 101

Home Schottische, by "Atsilac," 194

Marion Schottische, by Charles W. Ohm, 14

Now and Then, by It. RhnUo, 374

Silver Spring Mazourka, by II". H. Wilkinson, 284

Muslin Sleeve (Illustrated), 250, 340, 428

Muslin Undersloeve (Illustrated), 428

Mv First Attempt, 501

My Summer Visit, by Belle Rulledge, 396

.My Theme, by Henry Aslen, 22K

Names for Marking (Illustrated), 111, 169, 256, 344, 540
Netted Mitten (Illustrated), 75

Netted Window-Curtains (Illustrateil), 23, 76

New Embroidery and Braiding Patterns (Illustrated), 77
New Style of Infant's Bib (Illustrated), 293

" Nobody to Blame," by Marion Harland, 25

Not to be too Ha«ty in our Opinions, 60

Novelties for the Month (Illustrated), 71, 160, 249. 339,

426, 529
Only a Mechanic, by Mary W. Janvrin, 46

"Only," by J. W., 52

Ou Reading the Last Book of Alice B. Haven, by

Mary A.Denismi, 144

Our Musical Column, 89, 179, 267, 35S, 4-16, 551

Out of Town, by Alexander Allen, 1S1

Paris Items, ISO, 269

Pattern for a Tidy or Counterpane {Illustrated), 111, 165
Pelerine (Illustrated), 427

Penwiper (Illustrated), 256

Photographs, 421

Pins, 361

Plan for an Autograph Quilt (Illustrated), 80

Portuguese Lace (Illustrated), 166

Power of Example, by Rev.' F. S. Cassady, 425

Quilted House Jacket (Illustrated), 428

Receipts, etc., SI, 170, 259, 349, 437, 541

Retta's Christmas Eve, by S. Annie Frost, 515

Ruined Castles, 514

Rustic Frames, by Til. r. B., 252

Sash, with Postilion Basque (Illustrated), 430

Scissors Case (Illustrated), 253

Scraps, 133, 341

Seventeen, by the author of " The Vertical Railway,"

etc. etc., ' 134

Seven Years, by Marion Harland, 489

Shadows and Suushine, by Alma A. Crawford, 238

Short Night-dress (Illustrated), 531

Simple Breakfast Cap (Illustrated), 74

Simple Pattern in Point Russe (Illustrated), 254

Sleep, by Monroe Guy Carlton, 142

Sleeves (Illustrated), 163, 250, 340, 428, 531

Smoke, by Melicent Irwin, 506

Suburban Residence (Illustrated), 1S3

Summer Balmoral (Illustrated), 73

"Taking Boarders for Company," by Marion Har-
land, 115, 205, 295, 3S5
Tape-work Edging (Illustrated), 255
Tailing Insertion (Illustrated), 168
The Butterfly, 39
The Casket of Temperance, by Willie E. Pahnr, 45, 133,

24S, 322, 402, 502
The Departed Wife, by E. Crash/, 305

The Dew-drop, by Cora, 334

The Family Drawing Master (Illustrated), 59, 143, 237,

332, 410, 525
The Force of Habit, 247

The Marguerite, Pouch, or Aumoniere (Illustrated), 165
The Minister's Wife, bv Mary Kyle Dallas, 306

The Mounted Rifleman, by 8. F. Flint, 52

The Phantom Skater, by Charles D. Gardette, 503

The Same Old Story (Illustrated), 103

The Sanitary Fair, 179

The Shepherd's Dog, 124

The Things Required, 274

The Two Sexes, 24S

The Veteran's Last Reveille, by Palierce Perkins

(late Price) (Illustrated), - 61

The Way to Wealth, 338

The Wife, 159

The Yrear 1S59 : a Storv, by the author of "B. Umber,

Artist," 323

The Young Artist (Illustrated), 373

Three Summer Quilts, 79

To , by Malm, 402

Toilet Cushion (Illustrated), 292, 535

• Tom Snuggery's Marriage, by J. Bunting, 403

To my Mother, 411

Treatment of Diphtheria by Ice, % 2

Unto the End, by Margaret Hunter Grant, 53

Ventilated Night-cap (Illustrated), 429

Wait, by J. H. G., 213

Want of Energy, 70

Wanted, a Companion, by Mary Forman, 239

Wants and Wishes, 219

What Leonard Watson found in the Post-Office, by

Amy Graham, 319

When this Old Hat was New, . 359

White Muslin Apron (Illustrated). 250

White Muslin Garibaldi Waist (Illustrated), 73

Winter Shawl, in Plain Knitting (Illustrated), 3S2

Woollen Ball for the Nursery (Illustrated), 166

Yankee Doodle, by Ezekiel. Jones, Esq., 90

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Full text of "Godey's lady's book 1864 Jan -June; Jul - Dec"

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