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A  lady 
viz. 
be- 


friend, writing  us  from  Bfoomington,  says :  "  I  only  lack  one  thing  to  make  my  happiness  complete, 
,  Grodey's  Lady's  Book."  We  believe  the  verdict  of  the  world,  of  refined  womanhood  at  least,  would 
-no  happiness  without  Godey. — Democrat,  Vandalia,  111. 


Elegant  Cartes  cLe  Visite 


OF  NOTABLE  PERSONS,  CHOICE  PICTURES,  AND  WORKS  OF  ART. 

(Jgir0  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  extensive  variety  of  these  elegant  photographic  novelties,  now  so  widely  popular.  They 
are  of  the  highest  tone  and  finish,  and  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  the  Army  and  Navy.  General  Dix. 


General  Scott. 

Halleck. 


Eosecrans. 

McClellaii. 

Bar  aside. 

Graut. 

Fremont. 

Anderson. 

Butler. 

Banks. 

Buel. 

Heintzelman. 

Hunter. 

Lyon. 

Sumner. 

Hooker. 

Mitchell. 

Meagher. 

Corcoran. 

Cox. 

Lew.  Wallace. 

Curtis. 

Doubleday. 

McDowell. 

Pope. 

Mansfield. 

Steel. 


Wool.     . 
Admiral  Dupont. 
"        Fari'agut. 
"        Foote. 
"        Goldsborough. 

Civil  Officers. 

President  Lincoln. 
Vice-President  Hamlin. 
Secretary  Chase. 

"  Seward. 

"  Welles. 

"  Stanton. 

Authors-,  Artists,  and  Distin- 
guished Personages. 

Wm.  C   Bryant. 
H.  W.  Long;ellow. 
Tennyson. 
Robert  Browning. 
Mrs.  Browning. 
N.  P.  Willis. 
Theodore  Winthrop. 
Bayard  Taylor. 
Walter  Scott. 
Shakspeare. 


Vandyke. 
Raphael. 
George  P.  Prentice. 
Mad.  De  Stael. 
J.  G.  Whittier. 
Nath.  Hawthorne. 
Edward  Everett. 
Marie  Antoinette. 
Mary  Queen  ofScotts. 
Isabella  of  Spaiu. 
Auna  Boleyn. 
Washington,  from  Stuart. 
"     Peale. 


Madonna  San  Sisto,  from  Ra- 
phael. 
Infaut  Saviour,  from  Murillo. 
Virgin  of  Seville. 
Family  Worship. 
Past  and  Future. 
Ruth. 
Rachel. 
Bathsheba. 
Esther. 

Witch  of  Eudor. 
Miriam. 
Good  Shepherd,  by  Murillo. 


"  "     Trumbull.  The  Young  Chevalier. 

Mrs.  Washington,  by  Stuart.    New  Year's  Gift. 

"  "  at  twenty-  Mother's  Vision. 

live.  Believer's  Vision 

Spring,  by  Thorwa'dsen. 


Napoleon  I. 
Eugenie. 
Queen  Victoria. 

Copies  of  Pictures. 
Mercy's  Dream. 
Evangeline. 
May  and  December. 
Infant  St.  John. 
Longfellow's  Children. 
Madonna,  from  Corregio. 


Summer, 
Autumn,  " 

Winter,  " 

Beatrice  Cenci,  from  Guido. 
The  Motherless. 
Rebecca,  from  Ivanhoe. 
Madge  Wildfire. 
Suffer  little  Children. 
Blessed  that  Mourn. 


At  the  above  low  price  ladies  can  furnish  their  Alburns  at  a  comparatively  small  cost,  with  a 
variety  of  choice  portraits  and  pictures. 

Address  L.  A.  GODEY,  323  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


3D.   T.   PRATT, 

(SUCCESSOR,  TO  PRATT  &   REATH), 
2XTO.   607   GX3Ltt&TNTJT  JSTDELESEST, 

IS  CONSTANTLY  IN  RECEIPT  OF 

ENGLISH,  SWISS,  AND  AMERICAN  WATCHES, 

OF  DESIRABLE  STYLES  AND  QUALITIES, 
TO    SUIT    ALL    CLASSES    OF    BUYERS. 


3STE]ElIDI-.E3e     FOR     L^ZOHES. 

GODEY'S  BIJOU  NEEDLE-CASE. 

We  have  often  heard  of  complaints  made  by  ladies  living  in  the  country  that  they  cannot  procure 
good  needles.  Ever  alive  to  what  may  be  a  convenience  to  our  customers,  we  have  made  arrange- 
ments with  the  celebrated  house  of  John  English  &  Co.,  of  England,  through  their  agents,  E.  C.  Pratt 
&  Brothers,  of  Philadelphia,  to  furnish  their 

PATENT    DIAMOND    DRILLED    EYED     NEEDLES. 

We  have  100  needles  put  up  in  a  very  neat  little  pocket-book.  There  are  four  packages,  each 
containing  25  needles  ;  three  packages  contain  three  different  sized  needles,  and  the  fourth  are  of 
assorted  sizes,  so  that  a  needle  may  be  found  for  any  kind  of  sewing— and  the  price  is  only  30  cents, 
and  one  stamp  to  pay  return  postage.  We  wish  the  ladies  distinctly  to  understand  that  they  cannot 
procure  the  needles  at  this  price  at  any  store  in  Philadelphia.  Purchasing,  as  we  do,  by  the  million, 
a  liberal  discount  is  made  to  us,  so  that  we  can  afford  to  sell  them  so  cheaply. 

Ladies,  send  for  GODEY'S  BIJOU  NEEDLE-CASE.  Price  30  cents,  and  one  three  cent  stamp  to 
pay  postage,  except  to  California,  Oregon,  or  the  British  Provinces;  for  either  of  these  places  a  ten 
cent  stamp  must  be  sent. 


Address 


I   A.  GODEY,  323  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


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VOL.  LXVI. — 33 


417 


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WRITTEN     AND     COMPOSED     FOR     THE      PIANO-FORTE,     FOR     GODEY's     LADY'S      BOOK, 


BY  W.  DELESDERNIER. 


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SPRING  AND  EARLY  SUMMER  COSTUME,  SUITABLE  FOR  VISITING. 


Dress  of  green  taffetas,  with  designs  in  white  sprinkled  over  it.     A  row  of  black  velvet,  braided  with 
white  silk  cord,  is  placed  on  the  edge  of  the  dress,  and  carried  up  one  side.     The  velvet  band  is  edged  with 
black  guipure  lace.     The  body  is  made  with  revers,  trimmed  to  match  the  skirt.     Leghorn  bonnet,  trimmed 
with  buff  ribbons  and  field  flowers. 
420 


SPRING  AND  EARLY  SUMMER  COSTUME. 


Violet  silk  dress,  trimmed  with  bands  of  black  moire,  carried  up  the  right  side  of  the  dress.  The  bands 
are  edejed  with  narrow  guipure  lace.  Corslet  of  black  moiri,  which  is  merely  a  band  at  the  back,  and  finishes 
with  two  long  ends  trimmed  with  guipure  lace.  Cap  of  spotted  white  lace,  trimmed  with  two  shades  of 
green  ribbon. 


33* 


421 


THE  SOUTACHE  ROBE. 


Presented  for  publication  in  the  Lady's  Book  by  Messrs.  A.  T.  Stewart  &  Co.,  of  New  York. 

{See  description,  Fashion  department.) 
422 


■  *••     *    I  ■!■■  ■«»      ***•>    «  ■  »»-  '  "      "     '     '" 


THE  VEGA. 

[From  the  establishment  of  G.  Brodie,  51  Canal  Street,  New  York.     Drawn  by  L.  T.  Voiht,  from  actual 

articles  of  costume.] 


The  above  illustration  will  remind  our  fair  friends  of  the  modes  which  ruled  some  decade  of  years  ago — this 
present  style  consisting  of  a  long  scarf  form,  with  a  flounce  plaited  upon  it  for  a  skirt.  Two  narrow  frills,  en 
suite,  ornament  the  top  and  head  the  skirt.  These  are  graced  with  a  button  at  the  upper  portion  of  each  facing 
plait,  and  the  whole  series  are  edged  with  narrow  guipure  lace.     The  tabs  are  circular,  and  flounced. 

A  more  ample  garment  of  the  talma  shape  is  a  great  beauty  also.  It  is  to  say,  a  circular.  At  each  shoulder 
one  broad  plait,  and  a  very  narrow  one  at  either  side  is  set  on  ;  then  start  from  the  apex  of  the  shoulder,  the  points 
being  arranged  to  form  a  A  head,  the  tops  of  which  are  ornamented  with  brandebourgs.  or  drop  tassels.  The 
fronts  and  bottom  are  richly  embroidered. 

423 


THE  LATEST  PARISIAN  STYLES  FOR  HEADDRESSES,  ETC. 

(See  description,  Fashion  department.) 


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GODEY'S 


00k  mxb 


PHILADELPHIA,  MAY,  1863. 


«  *  •  •  > 


A  MORNING  AT  STEWART'S. 


BY    ALICE     B  .     H  A  V  E  X 


On  the  afternoon  of  a  dull  November  day,  in 
the  late  dull  autumn,  we  were  purchasing  some 
trifle  at  one  of  the  thronged  counters  at  Stew- 
art's, when  we  accidentally  heard  that  it  was 
the  last  week  "  down  town." 

Being  of  the  constant  conservative  tempera- 
ment that  ever  deprecates  change,  whether  it 
is  of  an  article  of  furniture,  a  boot  maker,  or  a 
place  of  residence,  we  strolled  with  a  lingering 
regret,  almost  amounting  to  sadness,  through 
those  noble  saloons  for  "  the  last  time,"  calling 
up  the  changes  that  had  passed  our  individual 
life,  since  our  first  bewildered  glimpse  as  a 
school-girl  fresh  from  the  country,  of  their  gay 
and  animated  scenes — let  us  be  candid,  sixteen 
years  ago  ! — and  the  social  transition  that  called 
for  the  meditated  removal.  Then,  il  Stew- 
art's," opposite  the  Park,  was  in  the  centre  of 
the  retail  trade  ;  above  Canal  was  up  town  for 
general  shopping  purposes.  Now,  no  one  goes 
below,  and  the  great  "  quarter" — in  which  this 
thronged  emporium  of  spring  and  fall  shoppers 
stands— is  given  up,  as  is  "  the  city, "  in  London 
to  the  roar  of  heavy  traffic,  and  the  whirl  of 
vast  commercial  transactions.  They  have  dri- 
ven the  butterflies  frOm  the  haunts  of  trade ; 
the  gay  equipages  and  flashing  harness  give 
place  to  the  solid  dray,  or  the  rattling  express  ; 
boxe#  encumber  the  sidewalk,  so  lately  echoing 
to  the  patter  of  pretty  feet,  and  the  light  toilets 
©four  "lilies  of  the  field"  cease  to  brighten 
the  anxious,  care-worn  crowd  that  throng  the 
public  ways.  Shall  we  live  to  see  "below 
Fourteenth"  voted  out  of  reach,  and  a  new 
Stewart's  arise  fronting  Central  Park? 

On  the  morning  of  Nov.  10th,  a  sunshiny  day 
at  last,  after  a  week  of  storm  and  English  fo<\ 
we  drove  past  the  deserted  palace,  which  must 
vor,.  lxvi.— 34 


have  waked  wonderingly  that  morning  to  its 
echoing  desolation.  Groups  of  surprised  and  dis- 
concerted looking  females  patrolled  the  steps, 
tried  the  various  entrances,  and  at  last  disco- 
vered, from,  the  huge  placards,  that  this  was  a 
feminine  Stewart's  no.  longer.  Henceforth  it 
was  given  over  to  unpicturesque  buyers  of  the 
wholesale. 

We  designed  then,  and  have  recently  put  into 
execution,  an  intention  of  visiting  the  new 
establishment  for  the  benefit  of  our  distant 
readers  who  have  not  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
with  their  own  eyes.  They  may  congratulate 
themselves  on  being  saved  some  physical  fa- 
tigue, if  our  pen  can  photograph  its  scenes  so 
as  to  give  them  some  idea  of  "  up  town  Stew- 
art's." 

The  building  itself,  like  its  predecessor,  is  of 
white  marble,  and  looms  up  purely  at  the  angle 
of  Broadway,  occupied  by  Grace  Church,  be- 
tween Ninth  and  Tenth  Streets.  It  does  not 
yet  occupy  the  whole  block,  that  is  left  for  the 
hereafter.  We  will  enter  on  Ninth  Street,  for 
this  corner  is  built  round,  and  then  have  a 
gradual  interior  view.  We  find  ourselves  in- 
stantly in  the  midst  of  business.  This  entrance 
or  lobby  is  occupied  by  the  package  depart- 
ment, where  many  busy  hands  are  checking, 
tossing  and  bearing  off  for  delivery  the  hundreds 
of  neatly  enveloped  parcels,  stamped,  signed, 
countersigned,  and  registered  to  prevent  mis- 
takes, to  their  various  places  of  destination  ; 
a  most  important  and  beautifully  regulated 
department,  and  one  where  great  strictness  and 
accuracy  are  of  necessity  required,  when  the 
whole  enormous  trade  is  "retail." 

A  wide  staircase,  with  a  neat  mahogany  ba- 
lustrade, apparently  ascends  to  the  top  of  the 

429 


430 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


building  from  this  entrance  ;  but  we  are  going 
below,  and  descending  one  flight,  come  upon 
a  room  where  great  brown  rolls  of  oilcloth, 
twenty,  thirty,  and  forty  feet  long,  are  piled 
like  rows  of  pipes  or  leaders  near  an  aqueduct 
terminus  ;  past  these,  and  we  enter  the  wide 
carpet  room,  below  the  level  of  the  busy  street, 
yet  as  finely  lighted  on  a  sunny  day  as  though 
intended  for  the  sale  of  silks  or  satins.  How 
is  this  managed  ? 

You  noticed  a  pavement  of  glass  running  all 
around  the  building  as  you  stepped  from  the 
sidewalk  ;  knobs  of  little  glass,  but  so  securely 
set  in  its  close  iron  framing,  and  so  thickly 
moulded,  that  you  trod  on  it  as  securely  as  if 
it  had  been  stone.  That  is  the  transparent 
roof  of  the  recess  or  gallery  that  surrounds  the 
room,  and  from  it  comes  this  soft  clear  daylight ; 
no  windows  you  perceive,  unless  these  great 
slabs  of  the  same  substance  underfoot,  in  the 
shape  of  huge  windows,  occurring  at  regular 
intervals  beneath  the  glass  roofing,  can  be 
called  so.  They  are,  indeed,  and  light  a  floor  still 
lower,  thirty  feet  under  ground,  where  carpets 
are  stored  until  required  in  this  the  salesroom 
devoted  to  them  exclusively.  Carpets  of  every 
degree  are  spread  out  upon  the  wide  floor,  or 
ranged  in  regular  order  against  the  wall ;  from 
the  cotton  and  woollen  plaids,  still  found  upon 
the  floors  of  the  farmer's  cheerful  sitting-room, 
to  the  gorgeous  velvet  medallions,  thick  sewn 
with  tropical  blossoming,  or  reproduced  from 
the  bewildering  lenses  of  the  kaleidoscope,  in 
all  their  phantasy  of  form  and  richness  of  color- 
ing. Here,  by  an  ingenious  contrivance,  like 
the  leaves  of  a  huge  volume  slowly  turning, 
we  can  choose  conveniently  from  the  cumber- 
some rolls  of  oilcloth  just  past;  there,  as  we 
make  the  circuit  of  the  room,  and  mark  its  depth 
and  breadth,  and  the  graceful  Corinthian  co- 
lumns of  iron,  pure  in  color  as  marble,  that 
bear  up  the  fearful  weight  above  them,  are 
piled  the  luxurious  hassocks,  on  which  the  rich 
man  kneels  to  pray  in  Grace  Church  yonder ; 
the  soft  Persian  mats  that  muffle  the  footfalls 
of  his  chamber,  or  the  velvet  rugs  on  which 
bask  "dogs  and  game,"  or  an  antlered  deer 
rouchant,  in  the  brilliant  coloring  of  life,  before 
his  glowing  grates. 

We  are  passing  on  to  the  staircase  on  the 
Tenth  Street  side,  and  conveniently  near  it 
is  a  neatly  decorated  ladies'  dressing  room  of 
good  dimensions,  a  most  admirable  thought ! 
©f  which  we  make  special  mention. 

Emerging  from  this  staircase,  we  come  at 
once  upon  the  busy  scene.  This  is  the  main 
saloon,  entered  directly  from  the    street,   and 


lighted  on  all  sides  by  walls  of  plate-glass  win- 
dows, the  light  tempered  by  plain  blue  shades. 
No  array  of  laces,  and  shawls,  and  silks  are 
displayed  temptingly  before  them,  as  in  other 
establishments. 

"Le  bon  viu 

Needs  no  sign." 

Not  even  a  tendril  of  enticement  is  outwardly 
put  forth  here. 

At  first  the  hum,  the  stir,  the  flashing,  chang- 
ing crowd,  prevents  anything  like  a  survey  in 
detail ;  but  presently  we  come  to  see  that  there 
are  four  departments,  or  parallel  ranges  of  low 
shelves,  that  separate  but  do  not  divide  the 
wide  space  which  occupies  all  the  floor,  save 
that  one  division  towards  Ninth  Street,  against 
which  the  principal  staircase  is  placed.  These 
divisions  are  cut  in  two  by  a  central  aisle,  run- 
ning from  Tenth  towards  Ninth  Street,  and  are 
entered  by  doors  from  Broadway  fronting  them, 
As  we  come  from  the  carpet  room,  we  are  hi 
the  first  division,  with  a  long  scarlet-covered 
oval  counter  directly  before  us,  the  glove  de- 
partment. We  know  it  to  our  cost.  We  have 
worn  no  other  gloves  but  Alexandre's  since  those 
schoolgirl  days,  aud  Stewart  monopolizes  his 
manufacture.  Let  us  acknowledge  our  one 
feminine  extravagance — acostly  self-indulgence 
with  gloves  at  $1  50  (they  were  seventy-five 
cents  when  we  made  our  first  investment  in  a 
pair  for  examination  day),  and  those  of  the 
plainest.  "  Stitched  backs"  are  $1  60  ;  thanks 
to  the  rates  of  foreign  exchange  !  We  are  not 
surprised  at  being  told  that  the  business  of  this 
counter  alone  is  $300,000  yearly.  The  other 
half  of  the  first  division  is  occupied  by  muslin 
and  cambric  embroidered  lingerie  of  all  de- 
scriptions, and  laces,  from  the  neat  Valenciennes 
collar  at  $2  50,  to  the  Brussels  points  (shawls) 
at  $100,  or  $1000,  as  required. 

In  the  second  division  we  find,  on  the  right 
as  you  enter  from  Broadway,  merinoes  and  all 
wool  goods  ;  opposite  are  reps,  poplins,  and 
fancy  fabrics  in  woollen  and  cotton,  woollen  and 
silk,  etc.  Beyond  the  dividing  aisle,  cheaper 
mixed  fabrics  ;  and  opposite  them  again,  one 
side  of  the  hollow  square,  which  incloses  the 
cashier's  desk,  divided,  yet  not  concealed^from 
the  crowd  by  a  particularly  light  and  graceful 
screen  of  iron  filagree,  painted  white.  Here  is 
another  kindly  convenience  for  ladies — a  desk 
where  an  order,  a  note,  an  address,  or  a  des- 
patch may  be  written  at  ease,  and  intruding 
upon  the  time  and  attention  of  none.  There 
is  a  corresponding  one  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  inclosure. 

And  here  "cash  boys  most  do  congregate," 


A    MORNING   AT   STEWART'S. 


431 


with  pencils  and  currency  ;  tricks  and  jokes — 
such  as  serve  to  keep  these  ubiquitous  juveniles 
in  good  spirits.  Here  each  purchase  is  remea- 
sured,  and  each  check  certified  to  prevent  mis- 
takes, or  fancied  ones.  This  is  the  main  artery 
of  the  great  "cash"  system,  for  which  Stewart's 
is  distinguished.  In  these  days  six  months' 
accounts  are  out  of  date  ;  a  thing  of  the  past, 
and  the  Reade  Street  dynasty.  Bordering  this 
desk,  or  series  of  desks,  on  the  inner  side,  in 
the  third  division,  we  have  the  silk  depart- 
ment, under  the  immediate  care  of  an  untiring 
and  gentlemanly  guide  through  these  unaccus- 
tomed labyrinths.  And  here  we  are  dazzled  by 
a  display  of  delicate  and  gorgeous  fabrics, 
which  never  meet  the  eye  of  a  passing,  transient 
customer,  reserved  for  the  occupants  of  cush- 
ioned equipages,  which  would  save  them  from 
contact  with  the  dust,  and  whose  owners  count 
their  incomes  by  tens  of  thousands.  Some  of 
these  could  only  be  seen  in  their  full  perfec- 
tion by  the  aid  of  artificial  light,  under  which 
they  are  intended  to  be"  worn.  They  were 
shown  to  us  in  a  separate  apartment,  from 
which  the  daylight  is  entirely  excluded,  lighted 
brilliantly  by  jets  of  gas,  and  arranged  for  an 
effective  display  of  drapery.  But  we  must  not 
trench  on  the  borders  of  the  "  fashion  chit- 
chat," wherein  all  these  beauties  will  be  found 
in  detail,  but  pass  around  the  several  counters 
of  this  department,  to  which  the  upper  end  of 
two  divisions  is  assigned,  not  failing  to  notice 
"the  remnant  counter" — dear  to  a  woman's 
heart,  be  she  rich  or  poor,  for  the  love  of  bar- 
gains is  inherent  with  the  sex. 

A  similar  arrangement  is  noticeable  in  the 
department  of  woollens  ;  and  thus  the  stock 
is  kept  "clear,"  and  customers  are  made  happy. 

Opposite  the  first  portion  of  the  silk  depart- 
ment is  the  stock  of  cotton  goods — muslins, 
cambrics,  etc.  ;  and  adjoining  it,  just  at  the 
present  season,  the  popular  stock  of  the  house- 
keeping department  ;  that  is,  table  linen,  etc., 
of  moderate  prices,  in  large  demand.  Passing 
through  to  the  one  remaining  division,  also 
entered  from  Broadway,  we  find  cloths  or  ma- 
terials for  the  wear  of  men  and  boys  opposite  to 
a  gmeral  gentlemen's  furnishing  department, 
and  at  the  other  end,  a  long  range  of  gentle- 
men's hosiery  on  one  side,  and  ladies'  on  the 
other. 

To  return  to  the  staircase  rising  from  the 
last  division  ;  it  is  broad,  with  shallow  steps 
and  a  plain  but  handsome  balustrade.  On  the 
landing,  half  way  up,  We  pause  for  a  coup  cVceil 
of  the  busy  sparkling  scene  below.  Now  we 
have  a  full  view  of  the  saloon  itself ;  the  light 


and  tasteful  frescoes  on  wall  and  ceiling ;  the 
gilded  chandeliers  with  grand  glass  globes  ;  the 
graceful  Corinthian  columns,  all  of  iron,  that 
support  the  floor  above  ;  the  innumerable  plate- 
glass  windows,  with  the  pale  blue  tint  per- 
vading the  light  that  painters  seek  to  soften  an 
atmosphere,  or  tone  down  color ;  the  gayly 
dressed,  restless,  ever-changing  throng,  like  a 
waving  tulip-bed,  or  the  glittering  of  a  kaleido- 
scope, with  an  ascending  hum  that  marks  a 
hive"  of  human  activity  and  industry. 

The  second  floor  resembles  the  first  in  its 
essential  features,  save  that  there  are  fewer  de- 
partments and  more  space.  We  enter  the  cloak 
room,*  from  the  staircase  where  are  displayed 
cloaks  of  every  grade  and  description,  from  the 
street  wrap  to  the  delicate  cloth  or  cashmere 
opera  cloaks,  of  snowy  white,  crimson  lined, 
and  gayly  tasselled,  that  hang  in  the  convenient 
wardrobes  with  sliding  doors,  that  line  the 
wall. 

Next  to  this  are  shawls  of  lower  grades,  the 
neat  stella  and  the  comfortable  plaid  ;  beyond, 
in  the  inner  shrine,  and  exposed  to  the  best 
light,  those  marvels  of  Eastern  industry,  and 
Western  expenditure,  camels'  hair  shawls  and 
scarfs.  Here  are  displayed  to  our  delighted 
eyes  the  graceful  combinations  of  the  French 
looms,  and  the  prouder  glories  of  the  "  real 
India,"  the  cost  commencing  in  price  at  $100 
and  reaching  a  climax  in  this  heavy  drapery 
of  quaint  design  valued  at  $2000.  Here  we 
longed  to  share  our  morning's  experience  with 
other  friends,  who  have  an  instinctive  love  for 
shawls  as  well  as  bargains  ;  here  we  craved, 
with  the  last  trace  of  feminine  malice,  to  prove 
to  Mrs.  White  that  her  boasted  India  was  only 
French,  and  to  show  Mrs.  Black,  who  had 
strained  her  allowance  and  curtailed  her  chil- 
dren's winter  wardrobes  for  her  one  hundred 
and  fifty  dollar  shawl,  how  coarse  and  inferior 
it  was  after  all,  by  the  side  of  five  and  seven 
hundred  dollar  cashmeres.  How  much  better 
it  would  have  been,  considering  her  own  posi- 
tion and  her  husband's  means,  to  have  satisfied 
herself  with  one  of  those  soft  graceful  French 
cashmeres  at  $50,  either  that  bride-like  white 
centre  with  its  deep  gray  and  black  border,  or 
this  rich  combination  of  gold  and  green,  and 
brown  and  scarlet,  in  such  wondrous  toning  a«d 
perfect  harmony,  leaving  to  Mrs.  Smith  and 
Jones,  whose  husbands  are  mining  gold  in  Wall 
Street  or  California,  the  triumph  duly  belonging 
to  an  immoderate  unstinted  income. 

Their  fairy  like  frostings  of  lace  draperies 
indicate  an  approach  to  the  upholstery,  but 
first  we  have   furs,  ermine,  sable,  mink   and 


432 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


Siberian  gray,  then  we  come  upon  the  heavier 
stuffs  for  curtains,  the  reps,  drougets,  the  satin 
laine,  the  pure  satin,  the  rich  brocade,  and  the 
wonderful  "cloth  of  gold,"  produced  from  its 
hidden  niche,  of  real  bullion  garlanded  with 
silken  blossoms  such  as  we  find  in  "kings' 
houses,"  or  the  Fifth  Avenue  and  Walnut 
Street  palaces  of  the  ladies  just  alluded  to. 
Only  $50  a  yard  !  and  how  many  yards  to  a 
lounge,  a  sofa,  or  fauteuil !  There  is  a  sense  of 
freshness  and  simplicity  in  the  neat  furniture 
chintzes,  and  twilled  stripes  for  covers,  in  the 
immediate  neighborhood,  and  we  pass  to  the 
housekeeping  department  beyond,  with  its 
dainty  wealth  of  table  damask  and  luxurious 
blankets,  or  the  plainer  grades  of  every  article. 
Flannels  opposite.  And  now  we  beg  as  an  espe- 
cial favor,  since  we  have  reviewed  this  large 
display  of  selections  for  the  daily  wants  of  do- 
mestic life,  that  we  may  be  admitted  to  the 
great  work  rooms  we  have  heard  exist  above 
us,  yet  so  silent  and  secluded  in  their  opera- 
tions that  not  one  in  ten  of  the  "  oldest  custo- 
mers" guesses  their  existence. 

Oar  amiable  conductor  kindly  procures  for 
us  the  desired  permission,  and  leads  to  the 
story  above,  which  is  occupied  as  a  store-room 
for  the  reserved  stock,  to  the  next,  where  we 
enter  a  vestibule,  or  long  narrow  apartment, 
where  are  tables,  a  stove  surrounded  by  irons 
required  in  pressing,  and  a  flock  of  girls  and 
women  busily  engaged  in  that  employment. 
Here,  also,  are  piles  of  finished  garments,  cloaks, 
sacques,  etc.  ready  for  the  early  trade  ;  beyond 
they  are  stamping  the  braiding  patterns  with 
which  they  are  to  be  ornamented.  Passing 
through,  we  enter  the  finest  work-room  we 
have  ever  yet  seen;  and  in  our  vocation  and 
desire  to  see  the  employment  of  working  women, 
we  have  visited  some  of  the  largest  in  New  York. 
This  is  neither  "  under  ground'"nor  in  "  an  at- 
tic," but  a  saloon,  spacious  and  neat  enough  for 
a  court  ball,  occupying  the  entire  space  covered 
by  the  various  departments  below,  and  lighted 
by  windows  the  same  size,  with  no  check  to 
perfect  ventilation.  Here  are  ranged  work- 
tables,  seating  from  two  hundred  and  fifty  to 
five  hundred  girls,  as  the  work  demands.  Our 
visit  was  paid  in  the  "dull  season,"  yet  the 
two  hundred  and  fifty  grouped  over  their  work 
under  the  superintendence  of  a  careful  matron, 
was  no  insignificant  sight. 

Another  staircase  still— the  fifth  we  have 
ascended — and  a  busier,  more  picturesque  scene 
still,  presents  itself.  In  the  long  room  or  ves- 
tibule are  piled  bales  of  black  rope,  the  curled 
hair,  which  is  to  be  used  in  the  manufacture  of 


mattresses,  like  those  finished  piles  ;  here  are 
women  and  girls  busy  in  unravelling  it ;  there 
are  great  waves  and  heaps  of  the  picked  hair 
darkening  the  room — a  sight  more  picturesque 
than  alluring  ;  so  we  hasten  to  the  light,  cheer- 
ful saloon  beyond,  full  of  work-tables,  full  of 
busy  groups,  of  great  wicker  crates  moved  on 
wheels,  and  piled  with  orders  for  house  or 
steamship  furnishing — from  blankets  to  kitchen 
towels.  Here  the  hum  of  sewing  machines 
where  they  are  hemmed  ;  they  are  marked 
yonder  ;  they  are  reconsigned  to  a  wicker  crate 
again,  ready  for  delivery  and  use.  One  may 
safely  say  hundreds  of  dozens  of  sheets,  pil- 
low-cases, towels  and  napkins,  dozens  of  blan- 
kets, counterpanes,  etc.,  pass  through  these 
busy  hands  in  a  day.  There  are  the  costly 
curtains  of  the  house  this  order  is  being  exe- 
cuted for ;  here  the  carpets,  from  the  Brussels 
ticketed  "Mr.  Smith,  Fifth  Avenue,  front  base- 
ment," to  the  plain  ingrain,  "Smith,  fifth 
story,  rear  hall  bedroom;"  it  is  the  cook's, 
probably — and  a  very  good  carpet  she  is  to 
have  ! 

We  are  certainly  lifted  "above  the  world" 
for  once  in  our  mortal  life  ;  face  to  face  and  on 
a  level  with  the  delicate  carving  of  Grace  Church 
upper  spire.  Mark  the  belfries  and  spires 
around  ;  the  quaint  chimney  tops  ;  the  flat, 
pointed,  square-peaked,  gable-roofed  houses 
below  ;  the  thread-like  openings  among  them, 
which  are  streets  and  avenues  ;  the  jostling 
crowd  of  houses  stretching  out  for  miles  beyond 
the  limit  of  the  eye  ;  the  hum  of  eager  life 
from  the  far  off  noisy  street ;  then  look  back 
to  the  busy  throng  of  workers  around  you  ; 
think  of  the  reservoirs  of  material  below  ;  the 
great  warehouse  that  pours  its  tide  of  fabrics 
and  manufactures  into  this  broad  outlet ;  here 
are  the  procurers,  the  producers  ;  there  all 
around  you  lie  the  homes  of  the  consumers  of 
this  vast  centre  of  industry ;  even  out  to  the 
glittering  thread  of  silver  that  marks  the  ocean, 
bearing  the  floating  transient  houses  "Stew- 
art's" has  furnished  I 

We  moralize  ;  it  is  a  sign  of  advancing  age, 
and  one  is  not  ready  to  confess  that  there  is  a 
point,  or  amoral  in  a  morning  spent  amid  the  tri- 
fles that  go  to  make  up  the  sum  of  household  ne- 
cessities and  embellishments  ;  but  we  thought, 
as  we  came  back  leisurely  through  the  scenes 
we  have  attempted  to  describe,  how  harmoni- 
ous was  their  arrangement,  and  how  those  err 
who  break  the  harmony  of  social  life  by  vain 
and  ambitious  longings  for  elegancies  beyond 
their  stations,  and  crowd  into  "  a  department" 
where  they  find  only  heart-burnings  and  mali- 


POETRY. 


433 


cious    sarcasms  for  their  straining  after  dress 
and  equipage. 

Let  us  be  content,  my  sisters,  with  our  neat 
muslins  and  our  simple  merinoes,  and  admire 
Mrs.  Smith  and  Mrs.  Jones  in  their  moires  and 
cashmeres.  Let  us  repress  the  bitter  slander 
of  "extravagance"  and  "  worldliness"  when 
we  speak  of  them.  It  is  not  extravagance  for 
them,  but  proper  expenditure  of  ample  means  ; 
and  if  it  could  but  be  realized,  you  have  had 
far  more  pleasure  and  enjoyment  in  the  service- 
able black  silk,  so  neat,  so  becoming,  that 
hangs  now  in  your  wardrobe,  than  they  have 
realized  from  the  costly  brocade,  or  the  dainty 
lace,  that  they  purchased  the  morning  you  so 
envied  them.  "  Each  in  their  own  sphere,  and 
happiness  to  each." 


A   SUNSET  VISION. 

BY    JULIA. 

One  time,  in  the  autumn  sober, 
When  the  leaves  lay  crisped  and  sere, 

And  the  evening  light  fell  faintly 
On  the  hill-tops  far  and  near, 

I  walked  with  a  full  ovbed  maiden 

In  the  dim  and  shadowy  wood, 
Where  the  oak  and  maple  closely 

In  silent  grandeur  stood. 
And  her  voice  was  sweet  and  silver, 

While  her  laughter,  free  aud  wild, 
Gashed  forth  from  her  soul  like  music 

From  the  lips  of  a  sinless  child. 

At  length  her  feet  grew  weary, 
As  the  shadows  came  and  died 

Across  the  meadows  slowly, 
And  up  the  dark  hill-side. 

And  we  sank  on  a  bed  of  mosses, 

While  I  vainly  tried  to  trace 
The  holy  thoughts  uprising 

From  her  white,  unshadowed  face. 
Afar  in  the  purple  distance, 

From  the  mountain's  slow  descent, 
Above  the  lake's  still  bosom, 

The  light  clouds  came  and  went. 

The  last  gleam  faintly  trembled 
On  the  verge  of  space— and  then 

A  vast  unfathomed  ocean 
Lay  where  the  sun  had  been. 

No  breeze  fell  on  its  stillness, 
While  its  tideless  billows  grew 

Up,  up  to  the  far  Infinite, 
And  mingled  with  the  blue. 

Then  the  clouds  like  sunset  islauds, 

Crept  slowly  back  again, 
And  softly  sank  to  slumber 

Jast  where  the  light  had  lain. 

And  ,tho  solemn  silence  deepened 
With  a  power  that  might  be  felt, 

Till,  before  its  mighty  presence 
My  soul  in  worship  knelt. 


Then  her  laughing  eyes  grew  dreamy, 
Like  the  fall  of  summer  rain, 

And  her  parted  lips  devoutly 
Essayed  to  speak  in  vain. 

And  her  small  hands  slowly,  gently, 
Clasped  softly  round  my  arm, 

And  I  felt  their  thrilling  presence 
Steal  o'er  me  like  a  charm. 

And  when  the  last  gleam  faded, 
My  heart  in  transport  said, 

That  it  fell  a  golden  glory 
Around  her  radiant  head. 

And  now  the  dream  is  over, 

I  feel  a  quickening  thrill, 
When  the  vision  of  that  evening 

Comes  o'er  me  calm  and  still. 

For  when  my  eye  is  clearest, 

My  heart  is  full  of  tears, 
And  a  vague,  uncertain  whisper 

Floats  down  the  tide  of  years. 

And  I  think  of  evenings  coming 

When  I  shall  list  in  vain, 
The  fall  of  one  light  footstep 

Within  my  room  again. 

The  stars  will  smile  on  sweetly 
From  their  shores  of  belted  blue, 

But  their  light  will  bring  no  longer 
The  eyes  I  once  looked  through. 

And  when  with  throbbing  temples 
And  quickened  pulse  I  stand, 

I  shall  miss  the  cooling  presence 
Of  one  little  loving  hand. 

My  life  is  like  those  islands, 

My  love  that  purple  sea, 
Which  like  the  clouds  returning, 

Flows  backward  silently. 

Yet  I  know  that  misty  ocean 
Leads  toward  a  golden  shore, 

Where  her  laugh  shall  ring  forever, 
And  my  tears  shall  fall  no  more. 


34* 


Courtesy  At  Home. — Almost  any  one  can  be 
courteous  in  a  neighbor's  house.  If  anything 
goes  wrong,  or  is  out  of  time,  or  is  disagreeable 
there,  it  is  made  the  best  of,  not  the  worst ; 
even  efforts  are  made  to  excuse  it,  and  to  show 
it  is  not  felt ;  it  is  attributed  to  accident,  not 
to  design  ;  and  this  is  not  only  easy  but  natural 
in  the  house  of  a  friend.  I  will  not,  there- 
fore, believe  that  what  is  so  natural  in  the 
house  of  another,  is  impossible  at  home,  hut 
maintain,  without  fear,  that  all  the  courtesies  of 
social  life  maybe  upheld  in  domestic  society. 
A  husband  as  willing  to  be  pleased  at  home  as 
he  is  anxious  to  be  pleased  in  a  neighbor's 
house,  and  a  wife  as  intent  on  making  things 
comfortable  every  day,  to  her  family,  as  on  set 
days  to  her  guests,  could  not  fail  to  make 
home  happy. 


EOXY  CROFT. 


Nestled  among  the  hills  of  New  England, 
yet  in  these  days  of  locomotion  not  far  distant 
from  the  great  metropolis,  is  the  little  town  of 
Oakfield.  To  a  stranger  entering  the  village, 
the  only  conspicuous  objects  are  the  church 
and  meeting-house,  as  still  designated,  in  spite 
of  the  remonstrances  of  the  younger  portion  of 
the  community,  who  consider  the  latter  appel- 
lation, however  honored  in  former  times,  alto- 
gether too  primitive  for  these  days.  The  edifices 
stand  on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  facing  each  other  ; 
and  the  church,  with  its  lofty  spire,  its  glisten- 
ing coat  of  white,  and  strikingly  green  blinds, 
looks  down  most  benignantly  upon  its  inferior 
neighbor,  whose  steeple,  surmounted  by  a  huge 
gilded  cock,  bearing  upon  its  sides  the  impress 
of  British  bullets,  was  the  wonder  and  admira- 
tion of  my  childish  eyes.  As  a  proof  that  the 
benevolence  of  the  church  was  not  confined  to 
appearances,  it  has  repeatedly  relieved  its  less 
prosperous  rival  of  pecuniary  difficulties,  events 
which  have  caused  the  oldest  inhabitants  to 
affirm  they  distinctly  remembered  when  the 
balance  of  power  was  reversed,  and  the  cock 
crowed  most  lustily  over  the  feeble  demonstra- 
tions of  the  infant  church,  which,  but  for  an 
unseen  Power,  had  been  silenced  forever.  But 
those  days  were  gone  by,  and  the  good-natured 
people  wisely  and  generously  determined  to 
forget  past  grievances. 

A  little  south  of  the  church  formerly  stood 
the  mansion  of  Miss  Celia  Croft,  sole  survivor 
of  the  family  of  old  Doctor  Croft,  as  she  inva- 
riably announced  herself.  The  old  Doctor, 
after  a  pilgrimage  of  ninety-nine  years,  whose 
available  portion  was  wholly  absorbed  in  hoard- 
ing up  filthy  lucre,  reluctantly  "shuffled  off 
this  mortal  coil,"  leaving  an  ample  fortune  to 
his  "sole  survivor,"  with  a  strict  injunction 
she  should  not  allow  herself  to  be  defrauded  of 
it  by  her  neighbors — advice,  however,  little 
needed,  for  the  mantle  of  avarice,  which  for 
three  successive  generations  had  "waxed  not 
old,"  fell  upon  shoulders  early  trained  to  wear 
it.  Together  with  her  parent's  avaricious  dis- 
position, she  had  also  inherited  an  inveterate 
dislike  to  children  ;  and  yet,  by  a  strange  con- 
trariety, she  had  picked  up,  none  knew  where, 
a  poor  orphan  girl,  to  relieve  her  solitude  and 
minister  to  her  necessities  ;  but  upon  whom 
she  wreaked  all  her  ill-humor. 

In  close   proximity  to  Miss    Croft  lived  the 
434 


family  of  Mr.  Jones,  not  less  noted  for  their 
benevolence  than  was  their  neighbor  for  its  op- 
posite quality ;  farther  down  the  street,  and  just 
within  sight  of  Miss  Croft's  front  windows,  stood 
the  mansion  of  Esquire  Wentworth,  which, 
having  been  destitute  of  a  mistress  for  more 
than  a  year,  had  become  an  object  of  special 
interest  to  the  eyes  of  Miss  Celia ;  and  several 
times  a  day  would  she  put  on  her  spectacles, 
and  trip  from  the  back  sitting-room  to  her  par- 
lor window,  as  if  to  assure  her  vision  that  there 
was  in  reality  an  anchorage  ground  for  her 
golden  hopes. 

"Come  in,  Roxy !"  said  Miss  Celia,  in  her 
shrillest  tone,  one  frosty  morning,  as  she  tapped 
on  the  window-pane,  and  at  the  same  time 
beckoning  with  her  finger  to  the  little  shivering 
figure,  who  stood  with  broom  in  hand  on  the 
door-steps.  "Hav'n't  I  told  you  repeatedly 
when  I  send  you  to  sweep  off  my  steps,  never 
to  speak  to  any  one  passing  ?  Answer  me,  you 
little  vixen  !"  exclaimed  her  mistress,  seizing 
her  roughly  by  the  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Croft !"  said  the  frightened  child, 
"I  did  not  mean  to  do  it;  but  Squire  Went- 
worth called  me  to  the  gate,  and  asked  if  you 
were  at  home  ;  he  told  me  to  say  he  would  call 
in  this  afternoon  or  evening,  for  he  wished  to 
see  you  on  special  business." 

"Oh  !  he  wishes  to  see  me  on  business,  does 
he  ?"  Her  hand  suddenly  relaxing  its  gripe, 
and  an  evident  smile  of  satisfaction  playing 
over  he  features.  "  Very  well,  Roxy  !  as  Squire 
Wentworth  called  you,  I  shall  not  punish  you 
this  time ;  but  mind  you  don't  disobey  me 
again.  Now  go  to  your  work  ;  wash  the  dishes, 
scour  the  knives  bright  as  you  can,  and  then 
come  and  I  '11  tell  you  what  next  to  do.  I  don't 
believe  in  a  girl's  being  idle  !  Satan  always 
finds  mischief  for  idle  hands."  So  with  this 
invariable  finale  to  all  her  instructions,  Roxy 
retreated,  leaving  Miss  Celia  to  herself  and  her 
reflections. 

"So  he  wishes  to  see  me  on  business,  does 
he  ?"  soliloquized  our  heroine.  "  I  should  like 
to  know  for  a  certainty  upon  zrhat  business  ; 
but  then  it  does  not  require  much  shrewdness 
to  conjecture.  Poor  man  !  how  I  pity  him  ! 
How  gladly  would  I  pour  consolation  into  his 
wounded  heart !  How  joyfully  would  I  share 
his  griefs  and  cheer  his  solitude  !  And  then, 
those  harum  scarum  girls  of  his  are  sadly  in 


ROXY    CROFT. 


435 


need  of  a  mother's  oversight !  Now,  who  is 
there  better  adapted  to  this  responsible  situ- 
ation than  the  daughter  of  old  Doctor  Croft  ? 
Surely  no  one  !  But  if  ever  I  am  mistress  of 
that  house,  won't  I  teach  those  girls  better 
manners  !  I  '11  very  soon  let  them  know  that 
Mrs.  Celia  Wentworth  is  not  a  woman  to  be 
despised  or  ridiculed  !" 

So  absorbed  was  Miss  Celia  in  her  medita- 
tions, that  she  became  no  less  oblivious  to  the 
flight  of  time,  than  to  her  own  actual  condition. 
Roxy,  having  completed  her  task,  had  twice 
knocked  at  her  door  for  orders  ;  but  receiving 
no  answer,  had  crept  cautiously  back  to  the 
kitchen.  Another  hour  passed  ;  and  still  was 
she  deafly  absorbed  in  arranging  and  remodel- 
ling the  habitation  of  which  she,  in  imagina- 
tion, had  been  installed  mistress  for  more  than 
six  months.  And  now  those  girls,  to  whom 
she  had  so  long  owed  a  grudge,  were  to  be  dis- 
ciplined ;  and  she  was  actually  standing  erect 
on  the  floor,  haranguing  Miss  Alice,  the  most 
guilty  Oi  the  lawless  trio,  when  the  clock  struck 
loud  and  clear  the  hour  of  twelve.  At  which 
Roxy,  with  dilated  eyes,  rushed  in,  imagining 
from  the  unusual  respite  to  her  labors,  that 
something  fearful  had  befallen  her  mistress. 
But  no!  there  she  stood  safe  and  sound,  but 
with  compressed  lips  and  upraised  hand,  which 
dealt  a  succession  of  violent  blows  upon  the 
luckless  head  that  moment  presenting  itself. 

"  You  saucy  little  brat !  Hav'n't  I  told  you 
repeatedly  never  to  enter  this  room  without 
knocking?  I  HI  teach  you  to  know  your 
place  !" 

"Oh,  please  don't,  ma'am.  I  did  knock  at 
the  door  twice  ;  but  you  didn't  answer,  and  I 
thought  you  were  busy,  or  perhaps  asleep, 
and  so — " 

"Asleep!  you  little  wretch!  You  know  I 
never  sleep  in  the  daytime.  Since  you  came 
here  I  've  had  something  else  to  do.  So  don't 
repeat  that  lie." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Croft  !"  said  the  terrified  child, 
"it  was  so  still  in  here  I  thought  something  had 
happened.  I  thought — I  thought  perhaps  you 
had  a  fit." 

"  A  fit !"  fairly  shrieked  Miss  Croft.  "  Who 
ever  said  I  had  a  fit  ?" 

"  Why,  I  heard  Miss  Alice  say  you  had  one 
once,  and — " 

"  Go  on  child,  go  on— tell  me  every  word  she 
said  ;  if  you  don't  you  '11  be  sorry." 

"  Well,  she  said,  ma'am,  she  was  in  hopes 
'twould  have  made  you  better  ;  but  she  didn't 
see  that  it  had." 

"  There,  take  that  for  your  impudence  and 


for  listening  to  /ier" — giving  her  a  severe  blow 
— "and  never  let  me  hear  you  repeating  her 
falsehoods  again.  Now  be  off;  split  up  some 
kindlings,  for  I  am  going  to  have  a  fire  put  in 
the  front  room  this  afternoon — I  do  wish  I  knew 
exactly  when  the  Squire  would  come.  But  if  I 
don't  have  the  fire  kindled  early,  he  '11  be. sure 
to  come  when  I  'm  unprepared  for  him  ;  and 
if  I  havo  it  lighted  this  afternoon,  he  won't  be 
likely  to  come  till  evening,  and  then  all  that 
wood  will  be  consumed  for  nothing.  With  all 
my  economy  I  find  it  impossible  to  get  along 
without  great  waste.  Roxy,"  said  she,  looking 
up,  "what  on  earth  are  you  standing  there 
for  ?  I  'm  not  talking  to  you — hurry  and  get 
your  kindlings,  and  I  '11  run  into  Mr.  Jones's 
yard  and  borrow  an  armful  of  hard  wood  from 
his  pile,  and  that  will  last  for  the  evening. 
Come,  be  off  with  yourself." 

Roxy  disappeared  on  her  errand. 

Forthwith  the  fire  was  lighted  ;  but  not  with- 
out many  precautions  against  its  burning  too 
briskly.  Miss  Croft  arrayed  herself  in  her 
second  best  dress  of  snuff-colored  merino, 
which,  having  with  commendable  prudence 
been  turned  inside  out,  upside  down,  and  back- 
side in  front,  was  pronounced  by  its  owner 
fully  equal  to  a  new  one.  A  black  lace  cap  of 
ancient  device,  lavishly  trimmed  with  pink 
ribbon,  dyed  with  balsam  leaves  from  the  gar- 
den, contributed,  in  her  opinion,  not  a  little  to 
the  stylishness  of  her  appearance.  Her  easy- 
chair  aud  basket  of  patchwork  brought  in  from 
tho  adjoining  room,  she  seated  herself  most 
complacently  to  await  the  co'ming  of  her  visitor. 
As  sho  had  sorrowfully  predicted,  it  was  not 
until  dusk  she  heard  tho  well-known  sound  of 
the  gate  latch.  Wanting  no  further  proof  her 
guest  was  at  hand,  she  rushed  precipitately 
into  the  kitchen,  and  placed  a  candle  and  match 
within  reach  of  Roxy,  giving  her  strict  orders 
to  bring  in  the  light  precisely  at  the  hour  of 
six.  In  a  flutter  of  delight  sho  hastened  back 
to  the  door,  and  opening  it,  exclaimed  : 

"Ah,  Squire  Wentworth  !  How  delighted  I 
am  to  see  you  !  Walk  in,  walk  in,  sir  !  You 
find  me  enjoying  the  twilight  all  by  myself." 

The  Squire  bowing  his  thanks,  modestly  en- 
tered, and  seated  himself,  utterly  unconscious 
of  the  imagined  import  of  his  visit. 

"  Do  take  this  arm-chair,  and  be  seated  nearer 
the  fire.  I  fear  my  room  is  not  as  warm  as  you 
are  accustomed  to ;  but  my  poor  lamented 
father  used  to  consider  hot  rooms  very  un- 
healthy. Roxy  !  Roxy  !"  said  she,  going  to 
the  door,  "  bring  in  another  stick  of  wood,  and 
see  if  you  can't  make  this  fire  burn  more  briskly. 


436 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


Is  jour  general  health  good,  Squire  ?  You  ap- 
pear to  have  a  cold." 

"Yes,  madam,  a  slight  cold,  nothing,  how- 
ever, of  any  importance." 

"  Ah !  hut  these  alight  colds,  poor  father  used 
to  say,  ought  never  to  he  neglected — they  often 
lead  to  fatal  consequences.  I  have  the  receipt 
for  a  syrup,  which  is  an  infallible  cure  for  one, 
at  least  poor  father  thought  so,  for  he  used  it 
with  success  above  fifty  years.  Poor  man  ! 
how  often  he  regretted  I  was  a  daughter,  in- 
stead of  a  son,  that  he  might  have  taught  me 
his  profession.  My  sex,  however,  could  not 
prevent  my  becoming  a  most  skilful  nurse  ; 
and,  I  doubt  not,  poor  father  owed  at  least  a 
dozen  years  of  his  life  to  my  prescriptions  and 
tender  watchfulness.  There,  Roxy,  that  is 
sufficient  ;  the  fire  will  burn  now." 

"I  perceive  you  are  not  quite  alone,"  re- 
marked the  Squire,  as  he  glanced  at  the  re- 
treating figure — "  a  child  like  that  affords  one 
company  as  well  as  employment." 

"  I  agree  with  yau  in  thinking  they  afford 
employment.  This  is  a  poor  orphan  girl  I  took 
entirely  out  of  charity.  She  is  a  very  peculiar 
child  and  a  great  trial  to  me.  I  fear  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  train  her  up  in  the  right  way. 
I  :m  often  led  to  exclaim,  Who  is  sufficient  for 
these  things?" 

"  Very  true,  Miss  Celia;  yet,  in  my  view,  the 
cares  and  anxieties  of  guardians  are  more  than 
compensated  in  anticipating,  if  not  in  viewing, 
the  happy  result  of  their  labors.  If  we  sow 
tjood  seed  we  may  reasonably  hope  for  a  desira- 
ble harvest.  True,  there  are  exceptions  to 
such  results,  but,  thank  Heaven !  they  are 
rare.  Some  of  my  happiest  hours  are  those 
spent  with  my  children  ;  and  to  mark  their 
mental,  moral  and  physical  development  is  a 
source  of  never  failing  satisfaction." 

"  I  readily  believe  you,  sir  ;  and. yet,  with  all 
your  efforts,  you  can  never  supply  to  them  a 
mother's  loss.  Those  poor  girls  are  constantly 
on  my  mind.  They  have  sustained  an  irrepa- 
rable loss  ;  and  at  an  age,  too,  when  they  most 
need  a  mother's  oversight.  I  don't  wish  to 
flatter  you,  Squire  ;  but  I  must  say  I  never 
knew  three  more  interesting  girls  than  yours. 
They  have  my  deepest  sympathies,"  said  Miss 
Celia,  taking  off  her  spectacles  and  wiping  her 
eyes. 

"  I  am  fully  sensible  of  my  double  responsi- 
bility, ma'am  ;  and  my  intention  is,  to  secure 
the  services  of  some  worthy  person,  who  will 
act  as  Mentor  to  them." 

"You  could  not  adopt  a  more  judicious 
course,  sir." 


"Meanwhile,  I  shall  write  to  their  aunt  in 
Clayton,  to  come  and  stay  with  them,  until  I 
can  make  a  more  permanent  arrangement." 

Miss  Celia  smiled  her  approbation. 

"  Do  you  not  sometimes  find  your  solitude 
wearisome?"  continued  the  Squire. 

"  Oh  very  much  so  !  To  one  endowed  with  a 
sympathetic  nature  like  my  own,  it  is  a  most 
unnatural  mode  of  life.  I  have  felt  it  keenly, 
since  poor  father's  death.  But  the  Crofts  being 
naturally  of  a  literary  turn,  I  am  enabled  to 
endure  solitude  better  than  most  of  my  sex." 

"  Well,  Miss  Celia,  you  are  probably  aware 
that  our  new  minister  and  his  wife  are  expect- 
ed here  next  week,  and  upon  me  devolves  the 
duty  of  providing  them  a  suitable  boarding- 
place.  It  occurred  to  me,  as  your  house  is  so 
convenient  to  the  church,  and  you  have  so 
many  unoccupied  apartments,  you  might  be 
induced  to  accommodate  them." 

Poor  Miss  Celia,  thunderstruck  at  this  un- 
looked  for  proposition,  remained  for  a  moment 
speechless.  "Boarders!  boarders!"  she  at 
length  ejaculated  ;  "who  ever  heard  of  a  Croft's 
keeping  boarders  ?" 

"Pardon  me,  if  I  have  offended,"  said  the 
Squire,  marking  the  sudden  change  in  her 
countenance. 

"Not  the  least  offence,"  she  replied,  quickly 
regaining  her  composure.  "  But  your  propo- 
sition is  so  novel  and  so  unexpected,  that  I 
scarcely  know  how  to  reply  to  it." 

"  Mr.  Thorne,"  continued  the  Squire,  "  being 
the  son  of  an  old  friend  of  mine,  I  feel  particu- 
larly interested  in  securing  him  a  pleasant 
home." 

"  Of  course  you  do,  sir ;  and  I  would  gladly 
do  all  in  my  power  to  aid  you.  I  don't  mean 
to  live  for  myself  alone,  Squire'!  I  am  willing 
to  make  any  sacrifice  for  the  sake  of  doing  good. 
But  you  must  be  conscious  that  to  board  a  cler- 
gyman and  his  wife  will  subject  me  to  great  in- 
convenience/' . 

"  True,  but  for  which  you  will  be  most  liber- 
ally remunerated." 

"  That  would  be  quite  a  consideration  witli 
many,  but  if  I  consent  to  take  them,  it  will  be 
entirely  from  a  sense  of  duty  and  a  desire  to 
gratify  my  friend.'''' 

"  Very  well,  Miss  Celia,"  said  the  Squire,  as 
he  took  his  leave,  "  you  may  consider  the  mat- 
ter and  give  me  your  earliest  decision." 

Miss  Croft  carefully  secured  the  door  after  her 
visitor,  and  proceeded  to  the  kitchen,  where,  to 
her  utter  dismay,  she  found  Roxy  fast  asleep 
before  the  comfortable  fire.  "  Wake  up,  Roxy  ! 
Wake  up,  you  gypsy  !  Why  are  you  not  in  bed  ? 


ROXY    CROFT. 


437 


How  dare  you  sit  here,  burning  out  my  wood 
and  candles  ?  I  believe  you  are  the  most  pro- 
voking child  living  !"  Roxy  involuntarily  rais- 
ed her  hand  to  ward  off  the  expected  blow. 
"  You  needn't  try  to  dodge  me.  child  ;  I  'in  not 
going  to  whip  you,  as  you  deserve  ;  but  now 
mind  what  I  say.  You  sha'n't  eat  a  morsel 
to-morrow  !  What  you  waste  in  one  way,  I  '11 
teach  you  to  save  in  another.  Come,  be  off  to 
bed." 

"  Sister  Mary !"  said  Alice  Wentworth,  as  she 
looked  out  of  the  window  next  morning,  "  here 
comes  Miss  Croft ;  do  promise  me  you  '11  be 
very  entertaining,  for  half  an  hour  at  least." 

"  Why  so  anxious,  sis  ':  I  thought  you  and 
Miss  Croft  were  not  on  very  good  terms." 

"  Neither  are  we,  nor  do  I  intend  to  share 
your  disagreeable  task  ;  but  I  have  a  project  in 
my  head  which  I  can't  stop  now  to  explain." 
And  out  she  ran,  just  as  Miss  Croft  was  ad- 
mitted. 

"  Here,  Uncle  Jack,"  said  she,  calling  to  an 
old  negro  in  the  yard,  "take  this  basket  and 
carry  it,  quick  as  you  can,  to  Roxy  Croft.  She 
won't  open  the  door,  if  you  knock  ever  so  long  ; 
for  that  's  against  her  orders  ;  so  you  must  go 
directly  in  ;  and  if  you  don't  see  her,  you  must 
call  to  her,  and  if  she  isn't  locked  up  some- 
where, she  '11  come  to  you  Be  quick  as  you 
can,  for  Miss  Croft  is  here  now,  and  she  must 
not  see  you  coming  out  ot  her  house  with  a 
basket." 

"Yes,  Miss,  jess  so  exactly,"  said  Uncle 
Jack  ;  and  off  he  started  on  his  errand. 

Obeying  Miss  Alice's  directions,  he  entered 
the  house  unheralded;  and,  guided  by  the  sound 
of  a  saw,  he  opened  the  cellar  door,  and  beheld 
the  object  of  his  search,  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
vigorously  sawing  on  a  stick  of  wood.  "  Well ! 
now,  if  that  don't  beat  all  natur  !"  said  he, 
with  a  prolonged  whistle.  "  Now  do  tell,  Roxy, 
if  the  old  gal  set  ye  'bout  this  ere  work  ?" 

Roxy  looked  up,  and  seeing  the  good-natured 
face  of  Uncle  Jack,  dropped  her  saw,  and  hast- 
ened to  meet  him.  "  Yes,  I  saw  the  wood  ! 
but  we  don't  burn  much  ;  and  Miss  Croft  says 
it 's  good  exercise  for  me." 

"  Well,  I  '11  be  hanged,  if  she  ain't  too  all- 
fired  mean  for  anything  !  Roxy,  I  '11  saw  that 
ere  wood  for  ye,  the  very  first  chance  I  git. 
I  've  got  some  feelin',  if  I  am  a  nigger!  But  I 
can't  stop  a  minit  now.  Here  's  a  basket  Miss 
Alice  sent  ye  ;  take  and  empty  it  quick  ;  for  I 
promised  her  to  be  back  in  less  than  no  time." 

"Oh,  Uncle  Jack,  how  kind,  how  good  she 
is  !"  exclaimed  Roxy,  peering  into  the  basket. 
"  I   never   can   thank  her  enough  !     I   didn't 


expect  to  eat  a  mouthful  to-day  ;  and  here  's  a 
real  Thanksgiving  dinner  for  me  !  Chicken  pie  ! 
cold  ham  !  biscuit  !  cake  !  and  I  don't  know 
what  else  !  Oh,  Uncle  Jack,  she  's  an  angel  !  I 
know  she  is."  And  the  famished  child  danced 
about  the  room  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 

"  Come,  Roxy,  you  hain't  got  much  time  for 
dancin'.  Ef  your  missus  comes  in,  and  ketches 
me  here,  you  '11  have  a  sorry  timeon't." 

The  child,  recalled  to  her  senses,  hastily 
seized  the  basket  and  ran  into  the  garret  to  se- 
crete her  treasures. 

"Uncle  Jack,"  said  she,  upon  returning, 
"I  've  been  thinking  you  'd  better  go  through 
the  back  gate  into  Mr.  Jones's  yard,  and  out  of 
his  gate  into  the  street,  for  if  Miss  Croft  sees 
you  coming  out  of  ours,  she  '11  ask  if  you  've 
been  here  ;  and  then  she  '11  find  out  all  about 
it,  for  I  can't  tell  a  lie,  if  it  does  save  me  from 
a  beating." 

Poor  child  !  fast  becoming  an  adept  in  arti- 
fice ;  although  as  yet,  she  revolted  at  the  idea 
of  uttering  a  falsehood.  Her  suggestion  proved 
a  fortunate  one,  for  no  sooner  had  Uncle  Jack 
readied  neighbor  Jones's  gate,  than  he  spied 
Miss  Croft  about  entering  her  own.  She  stood 
and  awaited  his  approach. 

"Uncle  Jack,"  said  she,  "you  're  the  very 
one  I  was  in  search  of.  The  new  minister  is 
coming  to  board  with  me  ;  and  I  've  got  furni- 
ture to  move,  carpets  to  shake,  stoves  to  set 
up,  and  only  three  days  to  do  it  in  ;  and  I  must 
have  your  help." 

"  Jess  so  ma'am.  I  've  got  an  errand  down 
to  the  Squire's,  and  if  he  don't  want  me,  I  '11 
be  back  right  away,  ma'am,  in  less  than  no 
time." 

Uncle  Jack,  who  deserves  a  particular  in- 
troduction to  the  reader,  was  considered  one  of 
the  fixtures  of  the  village,  and  as  indispensable 
to  its  inhabitants  as  the  Town  Clock,  or  any 
other  public  property.  An  inveterate  habit  of 
whistling  betrayed  his  whereabouts  at  all  hours 
of  the  day.  It  was  the  first  sound  that  greeted 
the  ear  at  daybreak  ;  and,  for  loudness  and 
shrillness,  had  no  competitor.  On  Sunday,  ar- 
raying himself  in  holiday  attire,  he  was  invari- 
ably at  his  post  in  church  ;  where,  in  harmony 
with  his  musical  propensities,  he  held  the 
responsible  office  of  organ-blower.  It  was  here 
that  he  first  made  the  acquaintance  of  Roxy  ; 
who,  to  escape  the  ridicule  of  the  boys  and 
girls  in  the  gallery,  had  taken  refuge  at  his 
side  in  the  organ  loft.  At  the  present  time  he 
was  domiciled  in  the  Squire's  carriage  house  ; 
and,  consequently,  felt  under  particular  obliga- 
tions to  serve  its  owner. 


438 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


At  the  expiration  of  the  three  days,  Miss 
Celia  pronounced  her  arrangements  complete. 

"Uncle  Jack,"  said  she,  "you 'Me  worked 
for  me  now  three  days." 

"  Jest  exactly  so,  ma'am." 

"And  I'm  going  to  pay  you  well  for  it. 
Now,  here  's  a  hat  poor  father  used  to  wear. 
To  he  sure  it's  a  little  soiled  and  worn,  but 
'twill  last  a  long  time  yet.  That  hat  cost  poor 
father  not  less  than  five  dollars  ;  but  you  've 
been  so  faithful  that  I  've  concluded  to  let  you 
have  it  for  your  work." 

Uncle  Jack  took  the  old  hat,  which  had  once 
been  white,  and  examined  it  rather  dubiously. 

"  Dunno,  ma'am,  as  I  know  exactly  what  to 
do  with  it.  The  Squire  's  jest  gin  me  one  as 
good  as  new." 

"  Why,  then,  lay  it  by,  Uncle  Jack  ;  you  '11 
want  it  some  time,  if  you  don't  want  it  now." 

"  Jess  so,  ma'am;  but  couldn't  you  let  me 
have  a  quarter  rr  I  've  been  out  of  tobaccer  all 
day,  and  I  wus  reck'nin'  of  buyin'  some  when 
you  paid  me  up." 

"  Well,  if  you  must  have  tobacco,  here  's  two 
cents.  I  can't  give  you  any  more.  My  ex- 
penses are  very  great.  Here  's  Roxy,  she  eats 
full  as  much  as  a  man,  and  isn't  worth  a  cent 
to  me ;  so,  you  see,  I  am  obliged  to  be  very 
saving." 

"  I  see,  ma'am,"  said  Uncle  Jack,  as  he  took 
up  the  hat  and  made  his  exit. 

Late,  Saturday  afternoon,  the  merry  sound 
of  a  horn  announced  the  approach  of  the  Oak- 
field  stage — an  event  which,  although  occurring 
three  times  per  week,  never  failed  to  produce 
a  commotion.  First,  old  Skilton,  the  driver, 
reined  his  prancing  steeds  up  to  the  post-office, 
and  handed  out  the  mail-bag ;  while  a  group 
of  idlers  sauntered  out  to  the  stage,  and  took 
a  survey  of  the  passengers  and  an  inventory  of 
their  baggage.  Then,  gathering  up  the  reins, 
he  was  this  day  seen  to  drive  with  an  extra 
flourish  around  to  Miss  Crofts,  where  he  de- 
posited a  couple  of  passengers,  and  no  small 
quantity  of  luggage.  Before  night,  the  intelli- 
gence that  the  new  minister  had  arrived,  reached 
the  remotest  corner  of  the  town. 

The  next  morning,  long  before  the  hour  of 
service  arrived,  lines  of  vehicles  were  seen  en- 
tering the  town  in  all  directions  ;  for  people 
who  never  entered  the  sanctuary  except  on 
Christmas  Eve,  now  felt  it  an  imperative  duty 
to  come,  and  pronounce  upon  the  merits  of  the 
new  minister.  As  the  bell  began  to  ring,  the 
villagers  issuing  from  their  dwellings  swelled 
the  motley  throng,  until  the  good  old  church 
was  filled  to  its  utmost  capacity.     At  last  Mr. 


and  Mrs.  Thorne  entered,  preceded  by  the  sex- 
ton, who,  passing  up  the  broad  aisle,  quietly 
ushered  the  latter  into  the  "minister's  pew," 
and  then  conducted  his  remaining  charge  to 
the  vestry-room.  Meanwhile,  Miss  Marintha 
Tufts,  who  for  the  last  hour  had  been  purposely 
located  in  an  eligible  position,  after  taking  a 
critical  survey  of  the  new  comers,  looked  over 
to  Phebe  West  with  a  decided  nod  of  approval, 
and  then  turned  and  bestowed  a  second  on 
Sally  Doolittle,  who  sat  a  little  in  her  rear. 
Both  met  with  a  hearty  response — an  occurrence 
noted  with  satisfaction  by  many  ;  for  these  three 
individuals  were  known  to  be  no  other  than  the 
president,  vice-president,  and  secretary  of  a 
clique  who,  having  nothing  else  to  do,  had 
within  the  last  few  years  taken  upon  them- 
selves the  responsibility  of  settling  and  unset- 
tling the  minister,  ad  libitum.  Everything  had 
proceeded  satisfactorily  until  Mr.  Thorne  had 
finished  reading  the  first  hymn  ;  then  the  pro- 
found silence  which  succeeded  revealed  a  fact 
before  unnoticed,  that  the  choir  had  deserted 
their  post.  In  vain  Miss  Marintha  stretched 
her  long  neck  from  side  to  side  in  her  efforts  to 
spy  out  the  deserters  ;  but  her  eye  fell  upon  one 
only,  who,  to  her  repeated  nods  and  gesticula- 
tions, only  returned  a  vacant  stare.  At  length 
Mr.  Jonathan  Vamp  arose  from  his  seat,  in  a 
remote  corner,  and  broke  the  uncomfortable 
silence  by  giving  out,  in  a  shrill,  piping  voice, 
the  good  old  tune  of  "Peterborough." 

After  several  attempts  to  bring  his  voice  to 
tho  proper  pitch,  he  commenced  on  a  key 
which  allowed  no  one  to  join  him ;  although, 
during  the  singing  of  the  eight  verses,  two  or 
three  modestly  made  the  attempt.  As  Mr. 
Thorne  gave  out  no  more  hymns  that  day, 
some  people  came  to  the  uncharitable  conclu- 
sion that  he  did  not  appreciate  Mr.  Vamp's 
musical  abilities.  But  of  this  Mr.  Vamp  did 
not  harbor  an  idea. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  sermon  there  was 
another  interchange  of  approving  signals  ;  and 
Miss  Marintha  was  heard  to  exclaim  loudly,  as 
she  passed  out  of  church,  that  "the  sermon 
was  the  most  evangelical  that  had  ever  been 
preached  from  that  pulpit."  To  this  remark  a 
bevy  of  "single  sisters"  as  loudly  assented. 
Mr.  Simon  Quint,  who  had  slept  soundly  dur- 
ing the  entire  sermon,  not  wishing  to  remain 
silent,  conscientiously  remarked  that  "Mr. 
Thorne  had  a  head  of  the  finest  black  hair  he 
ever  set  eyes  on."  Even  the  most  cautious  of 
the  congregation  wore  a  look  of  complacency. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thorne  were  so  overwhelmed 
with  introductions,  congratulations,  and  invi- 


EOXY    CROFT. 


439 


tations  that  they  were  glad  to  escape  from  the 
crowd,  and  take  refuge  in  their  own  quiet 
apartments. 

Six  months  passed  ;  during  which  Mr.  Thome 
and  his  wife  had  exchanged  calls  with  all  their 
widely  scattered  flock,  and  the  great  excitement 
of  their  first  arrival  had  given  place  to  a  corre- 
sponding calm. 

"  What !  my  little  wife  in  tears  !"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Thorne,  as  he  abruptly  entered  the  room 
one  day.  "Now,  tell  me,"  said  he,  seizing 
both  her  little  hands,  and  looking  down  into 
her  face.  "  Are  you  sick  or  homesick,  or  has 
Miss  Marintha  been  giving  you  another  lecture 
on  the  duties  of  a  clergyman's  wife  ?" 

"  Not  one  of  them,"  replied  she,  with  a  faint 
smile;  "but,  to  tell  the  truth,  I'm  in  danger 
of  becoming  miserable  for  want  of  something  to 
do.  If  I  could  only  write  sermons  like  your- 
self, I  should  be  the  happiest  of  mortals.  But 
my  lack  of  brains  will  forever  exclude  me  from 
the  study." 

"  Well,  if  my  little  wife  does  not  aspire  to 
the  title  of  'Reverend,'  like  some  of  her  sex, 
her  life  may  not  necessarily  be  a  useless  one." 

"Oh,  you  are  laughing  at  me,  I  see  !  I  do 
not  aspire  to  titles  of  any  description  ;  nor  will 
my  ambition  ever  lead  me  beyond  my  province. 
I  only  desire  to  be  useful ;  in  that  way  alone  I 
feel  I  shall  be  happy." 

"  Yes,  I  understand  you.  Your  life  is  a  mo- 
notonous one — strange  I  never  thought  of  it 
before.  But  my  time  is  so  absorbed  in  official 
duties,  that  it  has  never  occurred  to  me  you 
were  not  as  busy  as  myself." 

"In  all  our  parish  visits,"  continued  Mrs. 
Thorne,  "  I  have  never  met  with  a  needy  per- 
son ;  I  seem  to  be  as  strictly  debarred  from 
charitable  efforts  as  from  literary  ones.  I  often 
thinu  I  'm  the  most  useless  person  living." 

'Our  parish  is,  indeed,  most  prosperous; 
but  since  you  eschew  titles,  and  only  desire  a 
field  for  your  charity,  I  think  I  can  direct  you 
to  one,  without  going  from  our  home." 

"What!  Do  you  refer  to  Roxy  ?  Do  you 
think  I  can  do  anything  for  her  ?" 

"  I  think  you  can  do  much  for  her.  Her  little 
pitiful  face  haunts  me  continually  ;  and  the 
shrieks  forced  upon  our  ears  are  enough  to 
tlrivre  one  distracted." 

"Yes,  I  acknowledge  it.  Miss  Croft  has 
several  times  apologized  for  the  disturbance. 
She  says  Roxy  is  perfectly  incorrigible  ;  that 
she  is  in  the  habit  of  screaming  out  of  spite 
when  she  is  not  being  corrected." 

"  Roxy's  face  indicates  no  such  disposition. 
She  looks  to  me  like  a  little  crushed  flower,  so 


trodden  under,  that  she  hasn't  power  to  raise 
her  head.  I  don't  suppose  the  child  has  ever 
been  to  school,  and,  very  likely,  has  never  yet 
been  taught  to  read.  If  you  are  willing  to 
devote  your  evenings  to  her  instruction,  you 
will  be  conferring  upon  her  a  lasting  benefit. 
She  is  a  child  susceptible  of  great  improve- 
ment." 

"If  I  can  obtain  Miss  Croft's  consent,  I  will 
do  so  with  all  my  heart.  The  plan  has  often 
occurred  to  me  ;  but  Miss  Croft  seems  so  an- 
noyed, if  I  express  any  interest  in  Roxy,  that 
I  've  been  deterred  from  mentioning  it  to  her. 
But  I  will  delay  no  longer." 

"I  tell  you  plainly,  Mrs.  Thorne,  you  can't 
make  anything  of  Roxy  if  you  devote  all  your 
time  to  her.  She  's  just  fit  for  a  servant,  and 
nothing  else.  If  you  try  to  teach  her,  she  '11 
get  above  her  place,  and  make  me  more  trouble 
than  ever.  Why,  even  now,  when  she  hears 
the  sound  of  your  piano,  she  begins  to  sing  and 
dance  about  the  kitchen  just  as  though  I  were 
not  there  ;  although  she  understands  I  never 
allow  anything  of  the  kind  about  my  premises." 

"But,  my  dear  Miss  Croft, "  said  Mrs.  Thorne, 
persuasively,  "  I  think  it 's  your  duty  to  have 
her  taught  to  read  and  write,  at  least ;  and  as 
you  can't  spare  her  to  go  to  school,  I  thought 
you  would  gladly  accept  my  offer." 

"  I  have  no  objections  to  her  learning  to  read 
and  write  ;  but  if  she  can't  do  it  without  get- 
ting her  head  filled  with  notions,  she  's  better 
off  without  them.  She  's  a  strange  child  !  I 
can't  trust  her  out  of  my  sight  an  instant." 

"  Do  promise,  Miss  Croft,  that  I  may  make 
a  trial  01  her;  then,  if  you  find  her  becoming 
any  more  unmanageable  for  it,  I  will  say 
nothing  farther  about  teaching  her  ;  but  I  must 
consult  Roxy,  too ;  for,  perhaps,  she  has  no 
desire  to  be  taught." 

"  No  danger  of  that :  she  likes  anything  that 
will  bring  her  into  notice." 

"  Very  well  ;  then  you  may  send  her  to  my 
room  this  evening,  as  soon  as  she  has  finished 
her  work  ;  but  first,  let  her  put  on  a  clean  dress 
and  make  herself  tidy." 

"  She  hasn't  any  except  her  Sunday  dress," 
said  Miss  Croft,  gruffly. 

"No  matter  for  that;  I  'II  alter  a  dress  of 
mine  for  her,  so  that  she  '11  have  one  to  wear 
by  Sunday." 

"  I  see  plainly,  Mrs.  Thorne,  yon  're  going  to 
ruin  that  child.  I  've  had  a  hard  task  to  make 
her  know  her  place  as  well  as  she  does." 

"Never  fear,  Miss  Croft,  of  my  making  her 
anv  worse  ;  I  trust  I  shall  make  her  a  great 


44:0 


godey's 


lady's 


BOOK    AND    MAGAZINE. 


deal  better."  And  good  Mrs.  Thorne,  closing 
the  door,  ran  back  to  her  room  to  congratulate 
with  her  husband  on  the  success  of  her  mission. 

At  night  Roxy  appeared  at  Mrs.  Thome's  door 
arrayed  in  a  clean  calico  dress,  which  had  once 
belonged  to  her  robust  mistress,  but  was  now 
adapted  to  her  slight  form  by  a  simple  shorten- 
ing of  the  skirt  and  sleeves.  Mrs.  Thorne 
could  scarcely  repress  a  smile  at  her  ludicrous 
appearance  ;  but  she  kindly  bade  her  come  in 
and  be  seated. 

"Roxy,"  said  she,  "I  suppose  Miss  Croft 
has  told  you  why  I  sent  for  you  this  evening  ?" 

"No,  ma'am,"  she  timidly  replied. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  to  school  ?"  continued 
Mrs.  Thorne. 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  Can  you  read?" 

"  I  can  read  a  little." 

"You  have  never  tried  to  write  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  she,  eagerly,  "I  can 
make  all  the  letters.  I  found  an  old  copy- 
book in  the  garret  where  I  sleep,  and  I  got 
Tncle  Jack  to  bring  me  a  nice  wide  shingle  and 
a  piece  of  chalk,  and  I  've  learned  to  make 
every  one  of  them." 

"How  would  you  like  to  come  and  sit  with 
me  evenings,  and  learn  to  read  and  write  a  little 
better?"  * 

"Oh  I  should  like  it  so  much!  But  I'm 
afraid  Miss  Croft  won't  let  me." 

"  Yes,  Roxy,  she  's  promised  to  let  you  come, 
so  long  as  it  doesn't  interfere  with  your  work, 
and  you  behave  well." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Thorne,  I  'm  afraid  then  I  sha'n't 
come  any  more,  for  I  can't  please  her  if  I  try 
ever  so  hard." 

"  Only  do  your  best,"  said  Mrs.  Thorne,  en- 
couragingly. 

"Yes.  ma'am,  I  shall  try  to." 

"  Here  's  a  dress  I  'm  going  to  give  you  for 
your  best  one.  Now  stand  up  by  me  while  I 
fit  it  to  you.  The  one  you  have  on  you  must 
keep  to  wear  evenings." 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I'll  do  everything  you  want 
me  to." 

"  Have  you  a  book  to  read  in  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am  ;  I  've  several  real  nice  ones 
Miss  Alice  sent  me.  Oh,  Mrs.  Thorne,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  her  and  Uncle  Jack,  I  don't 
know  what  I  should  have  done  ;  and  now  you 
are  going  to  be  my  friend  too  !" 

"  Yes,  Roxy,  I  'm  going  to  be  your  friend  ; 
and  in  return,  you  must  try  and  see  how  fast 
you  can  improve.  Now  go  and  bring  in  your 
books,  and  we  '11  commence  with  a  reading 
lesson." 


Roxy  quickly  returned  with  them.  And  the 
two  became  so  absorbed  in  their  new  duties, 
that  it  was  not  until  Mr.  Thorne  entered  from 
his  study  that  they  became  aware  the  evening 
was  drawing  to  a  close. 

"  Come,  Cora,"  said  he,  "  it 's  time  you  had 
dismissed  your  pupil ;  you  forget  she  's  obliged 
to  be  an  early  riser." 

"  True.  I  had  forgotten  it ;  but  I  must  de- 
tain her  a  few  moments  yet."  Mrs.  Thorne 
arose,  opened  the  piano,  and  seating  herself  at 
it  called  Roxy  to  her  side.  "  I  believe  you 
sing,  do  you  not,  Roxy  ?" 

"  Sometimes,  ma'am,"  said  she,  bashfully. 
"Can  you  sing  this  ?"  pointing  to  the  Eve- 
ning Hymn. 

Roxy  glanced  at  Mr.  Thorne  and  hesitated. 
"You  will  sing  to  please  me,  won't  you?" 
whispered  Mrs.  Thorne. 

Roxy  needed  no  farther  solicitation,  but  in- 
stantly joined  Mrs.  Thorne,  at  first,  low  and 
tremulously,  but  as  she  gained  courage,  in  a 
voice  so  sweet  and  plaintive  as  to  excite  their 
deepest  admiration.  At  the  close  of  the  hymn, 
Mrs.  Thorne  dismissed  her,  cautioning  her  at 
the  same  time  against  oversleeping  in  the 
morning. 

"Cora,"  said  Mr.  Thorne,  as  soon  as  they 
were  left  alone,  "I  think  you  will  find  Roxy 
no  ordinary  child." 

"I  am  convinced  of  it,"  she  replied  ;  "  and 
I  feel  she  's  worthy  of  a  higher  position  than 
she  's  likely  to  occupy.  Is  not  her  voice  a  re- 
markable one  ?" 

"  It  is,  indeed  !  I  could  scarcely  restrain  my 
admiration  while  she  was  singing.  But  what 
induced  you  to  ask  her  to  sing  ?" 

"Because  the  Wentworths  have  so  often 
spoken  to  me  of  her  voice.  You  know  they 
sit  in  the  choir  at  church  ;  and  Roxy,  they  tell 
me,  stations  herself  in  the  organ  loft— out  of 
sight,  it  is  true,  but  not  out  of  hearing." 

"Hereafter,  I  suppose  you  will  take  her 
under  your  protection  ?" 

"Most  assuredly  I  shall;  and  I've  already 
commenced  preparing  a  decent  suit  for  her  to 
wear." 

"  What  course  do  you  intend  to  pursue  re- 
garding her  studies  ?" 

"That  is  what  I  wish  to  advise  with  you 
about.  But  if  I  had  the  entire  control  of  her, 
I  think  I  should  be  inclined  to  give  her  a  mu- 
sical education.  With  her  natural  talent,  she 
could  not  fail  of  becoming  an  accomplished 
performer ;  and  besides,  as  a  music  teacher, 
she  would  always  obtain  a  good  support." 
"It  she  could  have  the  necessary  time  for 


EOXY    CROFT. 


44:1 


practice,  I  should  advise  you  to  commence  with 
music  at  once." 

"  There  is  no  time  for  it,  unless  she  gets  up 
at  daylight  and  practices  until  her  usual  time 
for  rising — that,  1  fear,  would  he  somewhat  an- 
noying to  those  accustomed  to  a  morning  nap." 

"For  her  sake,  I  am  quite  willing  to  forego 
mine,"  said  Mr.  Thorne. 

"And  I  mine,"  echoed  Mrs.  Thorne.  "And 
as  for  Miss  Croft,  her  room  is  so  remote  from 
ours  that  I  don't  think  she  can  be  in  the  least 
disturbed." 

So  it  was  finally  decided  that  Roxy  should 
be  taught  music  in  addition  to  tile  simple 
English  branches. 

"  How  comes  on  your  ■proUytV  asked  Squire 
Wentworth  of  Mrs.  Thorne,  one  day. 

"Oh,  admirably  !  It  is  less  than  a  year  since 
I  commenced  teaching  her,  and  she  's  made 
double  the  progress  an  ordinary  girl  would 
have  done." 

"You  have  hit  upon  an  inexhaustible  theme," 
said  Mr.  Thorne,  laughingly.  "  Mrs.  Thorne  is 
so  interested  in  Roxy,  that  nothing  but  the 
fear  of  Miss  Croft  prevents  her  from  going  into 
the  kitchen  to  share  her  domestic  duties  also." 

"But,"  said  Mrs.  Thorne,  "if  you  could 
only  witness  her  ambition,  and  knew  what 
daily  sacrifices  she  makes  to  prosecute  her  stu- 
dies, you  would  not  wonder  at  the  interest  I 
take  in  her.  Only  think,  Squire  Wentworth, 
she  has  never  yet  failed  to  rise  at  daybreak  to 
practice  her  music  lesson.  Then,  after  working 
hard  all  day,  she  studies  till  late  in  the  evening. 
I  think  you  will  agree  with  me,  that  a  girl  of 
her  age  and  position,  who  thus  perseveres,  is 
really  a  prodigy,  and  justly  entitled  to  the 
sympathies  of  every  one." 

"  Most  truly;  but  I  must  relieve  you  of  a 
portion  of  your  duties,  by  sending  Savelli  to 
instruct  her  in  music." 

"  I  am  very,  very  grateful  to  you  for  an  offer 
so  much  to  her  advantage  ;  for  her  genius  -in 
that  department  merits  a  teacher  superior  to 
myself." 

11  He  will  be  at  my  house  to-morrow  ; — shall 
I  send  him  to  you  then  ?" 

"  She  will  not  be  at  leisure  until  evening." 

"  Very  well  !  then  I  will  arrange  to  have  him 
come  at  that  time." 

"My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Thorne,  "what  think 
you  Miss  Croft  will  say  to  this  new  arrange- 
ment ?" 

"Oh,  nothing  at  all,"  said  she,  archly; 
"when  I  tell  her  it  's  Squire  Wentworth's  pro- 
position." 

vol.  lxvi. — 35 


"  If  there  is  likely  to  be  any  trouble  about  it, 
you  must  refer  her  to  me,"  said  the  Squire, 
blandly,  as  he  took  his  leave. 

"  This  is  a  world  full  of  trouble,  Miss  Croft. 
I  have  my  trials,  and  I  suppose  you  have  yours," 
said  Miss  Marintha,  one  day,  in  a  suggestive 
tone. 

"You  would  think  you'  had  trials  if  you 
were  in  my  place,"  sighed  Miss  Croft.  "  Have 
you  heard  how  that  book  peddler  swindled  me 
out  of  his  board  bill  ?" 

"  Why  no  !  I  haven't  heard  a  word  about 
it." 

"  Well,  he  came  here  with  a  parcel  of  books 
to  sell.  I  told  him  I  shouldn't  buy  any ;  but 
he  insisted  on  my  looking  at  them.  He  said 
it  wouldn't  cost  anything  to  do  that.  So,  at 
last,  I  sat  down  and  examined  them.  I  found 
two  elegantly  bound  volumes,  that  suited  me 
exactly ;  and  in  exchange  for  them,  I  offered 
him  a  razor  and  lancet  for  which  poor  father 
paid  double  the  price  he  asked  for  the  books  ; 
but  he  refused  everything  but  cash.  As  he 
was  preparing  to  leave,  he  asked  me  if  I  knew 
of  a  private  family  who  would  board  him  a 
couple  of  weeks.  He  said  he  needed  quiet  as 
well  as  rest,  and  on  that  account  avoided  a 
hotel.  I  told  him,  as  I  had  already  two  board- 
ers, perhaps  I  would  accommodate  him,  if  we 
could  agree  upon  the  terms.  Well,  we  made 
a  bargain  without  difficulty.  He  proved  to  be 
a  very  light  eater,  and  agreeable  in  every 
respect.  After  staying  nearly  a  fortnight,  he 
took  his  books  one  day,  and  walked  out ;  and 
that  's  the  last  I  've  seen  of  him." 

"  Why  !  do  tell,  if  he  did  ?  Well  it 's  aston- 
ishing to  see  how  wicked  people  are  in  these 
days.  They  're  a  great  deal  worse  than  they 
used  to  be." 

"  Yes,  poor  father  often  made  the  same  re- 
mark. Then  it  's  a  great  undertaking  for  me  to 
board  the  minister  and  his  wife.  There  isn't 
another  one  in  the  parish  who  would  make  the 
sacrifices  for  them  that  I  do." 

"But  they  say  he  pays  you  an  enormous 
price  for  it." 

"  Well,  it  costs  me  a  great  deal !  Mr.  Thorne 
is  an  enormous  eater  ;  and  it 's  worth  a  dollar 
more  a  week  to  board  him  than  I  had  calcu- 
lated on." 

"I'm  not  surprised  to  hear  it.  He  always 
looked  to  me  like  a  great  eater." 

"  It  would  astonish  you,  I  am  sure,  to  see 
him  at  the  table.  At  breakfast,  he  always 
takes  four  cups  of  coffee — and  you  know  the 
size  of  my  cups  ? — besides  eating  as  much  bread 
and  meat  as  would  last  me  a  week." 


442 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


"Is  it  possible  !"  exclaimed  Miss  Marintha. 

"  And  at  dinner,  he  eats  twice  as  much  as  at 
breakfast ;  and  at  supper,  he  devours  every- 
thing on  the  table,  except  a  cracker  and  cup  of 
tea,  which  Mrs.  Thome  takes.  Roxy  and  I 
don't  eat  anything  at  night — we  don't  consider 
it  healthy." 

"  Well,  it  does  seem  incredible  !" 

"And  takes  so  little  exercise, "  continued 
Miss  Croft,  that 's  what  troubles  me.  I  fear  he  's 
inclined  to  apoplexy  ;  and  I  've  felt  it  my  duty 
to  recommend  to  him  a  low  diet,  and  plenty  of 
exercise." 

' '  It  was  very  kind  in  you,  I  am  sure  !  What 
did  he  say  to  your  advice  ?" 

"He  said  very  little;  but  I  thought  he  eat 
rather  more  afterwards  than  he  did  before." 

"  Strange  that  he  '11  be  so  perverse  !" 

"I  think,  too,  he 's  naturally  very  indolent." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  said  Miss  Marintha.  "  I 
have  observed  he  keeps  very  much  in  his 
study." 

"Yes  !  he  never  allows  himself  but  one  day 
in  the  week  for  visiting." 

"  If  he  visited  his  parishioners  as  often  as 
he  should,  he  wouldn't  suffer  for  want  of  exer- 
cise." 

"  But  how  much  better  still,  "said  Miss  Croft, 
"  if  he  would  only  take  a  hoe  and  work  a  cou- 
ple of  hours  every  day  in  my  garden.  I  've  often 
hinted  to  him  there  was  plenty  to  do  there ; 
but  he  never  profits  by  my  suggestion." 

"That's  a  very  sensible  idea;  I  never  thought 
of  it  before.  But  I  should  think  he  would  be 
delighted  with  the  charge  of  your  garden." 

"No!  nothing  like  work  delights  him;  he 
has  never  even  chopped  a  stick  of  wood  for 
himself,  since  he  came  here." 

"  Is  it  possible  he  's  so  inefficient !" 

"Yes!  it's  a  fact." 

"Well,  Miss  Croft,  we  pay  our  minister  a  lib- 
eral salary  ;  and  we  expect  him  to  devote  his 
whole  time  to  us.  An  energetic  man  would 
write  two  sermons  a  day,  and  devote  the  re- 
mainder of  the  week  to  visiting  the  Parish  ; 
besides  chopping  wood  or  cultivating  a  garden 
at  'odd  spells.'  Deacon  Billsby  and  I  have 
been  talking  over  this  matter ;  and  he  agrees 
with  me  precisely." 

"Now,  Marintha,"  said  Miss  Croft,  drawing 
her  chair  a  little  nearer  her  friend,  "  I  'm  telling 
you  confidentially  a  few  of  my  trials.  There  's 
Mrs.  Thorne—  she  has  her  faults,  as  well  as  the 
rest  of  us.  As  she  has  no  business  of  her  own, 
she  seems  to  think  she  must  attend  to  other 
people's.  You  've  heard,  I  suppose,  what  a  fool 
she  's  making  of  my  Roxy  ?" 


"  I  've  only  heard  she  was  trying  to  educate 
her." 

"Well,  I  promised  Mrs.  Thorne  she  might 
learn  her  to  read  and  write  ;  but  she  wasn't 
long  satisfied  with  that.  She  went  on  teaching 
her  everything  she  could  think  of,  until  at  last 
she  got  that  Italian  music  master  to  give  her 
lessons  on  the  piano.  You  know  if  you  give 
some  people  '  an  inch  they  '11  take  an  ell.'  " 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Thorne  looks  to  me  like  just  such 
a  woman." 

"Roxy  has  no  time  for  study,  except  she 
gets  up  before  daylight,  and  sits  up  late  in  the 
evening  ;  and  you  don't  know  what  a  trial  it  is 
to  me  to  see  her  deprived  of  her  needful  rest — 
girls  of  her  age  require  a  great  deal  of  sleep." 

"It  must  be  a  dreadful  trial  to  you;  can't 
you  put  a  stop  to  it  ?" 

"  No,  not  as  long  as  she  has  Mrs.  Thorne  to 
encourage  her  ;  but  I  '11  tell  you  in  confidence 
that  I  sha'n't  board  them  much  longer,  just  on 
her  account.  I  can't  afford  to  have  my  help 
spoiled  in  that  way." 

"I  don't  blame  you  in  the  least,"  said 
Marintha.  ' '  I  think  somebody  ought  to  advise 
them  both ;  and  if  nobody  else  does,  I  believe 
/shall  undertake  the  task." 

Roxy  had  now  reached  her  fourteenth  year. 
In  every  respect  she  had  thus  far  exceeded  the 
most  sanguine  expectations  of  her  friends. 
Still,  she  was  like  a  plant  reared  in  an  uncon- 
genial locality.  To  Mrs.  Thorne,  as  to  the 
warm  sunlight,  she  turned  with  all  her  wealth 
of  affection  and  talent ;  while  in  the  atmosphere 
of  a  tyrannical  mistress,  the  tree  of  promise 
displayed  but  sickly  leaves  and  blighted  buds. 
Her  face,  once  so  wan  and  pitiful,  might  now, 
in  its  rounded  outlines,  be  styled  almost  beau- 
tiful ;  and  in  the  lithe  figure,  so  neatly  clad, 
the  Roxy  of  old  can  scarcely  be  recognized. 
Her  dark,  mournful  eyes  alone  remained  un- 
changed ;  yet  even  these  in  the  presence  of 
her  benefactress  seem  to  forget  their  habitual 
expression. 

"Roxy,"  said  Mrs.  Thorne  one  evening,  as 
the  former  entered  her  room,  "  Mr.  Thorne  and 
myself  are  going  to  Boston  to-morrow." 

"  To  Boston  !"  exclaimed  Roxy  in  great  dis- 
may.    "  How  long  shall  you  be  absent  ?" 

"About  a  fortnight;  but  Mr.  Thorne  will 
return  sooner.  I  shall  not  be  able  to  hear  your 
usual  recitations  this  evening  ;  but  you  may 
sit  here  and  study  if  you  wish." 

Roxy  sat  down  and  opened  a  book.  Mrs. 
Thorne  glanced  at  her,  and  saw  her  eyes  were 
filled  with  tears. 

"Why,  Roxy,"  said    she,   "do   you  think 


EOXY    CROFT. 


443 


I  'm  going  so  far  that  I  shall  never  get  back 
again." 

"No,  ma'am,"  she  sadly  replied.  "I'm 
getting  very  selfish,  I  know  ;  but  I  feel  I  can't 
live  a  day  without  you  ;  and  a  fortnight  seems 
such  a  very  long  time." 

"It  will  soou  pass,  my  child.  You  must 
practise  every  morning  while  I  'm  gone,  and  as 
much  more  as  Miss  Croft  will  allow.  I  dare 
say  you  will  have  plenty  of  leisure  when  we 
are  away." 

Roxy  shook  her  head,  doubtingly. 
"Mr.  Savelli  says  he  can  give  you  but  one 
more  lesson,  as  he  is  about  to  leave  town." 

"  He  is  !"  exclaimed  she  with  surprise.  "  He 
has  never  mentioned  it  to  me,  though  that  is 
not  strange  ;  for  he  seldom  speaks  except  about 
my  lesson.  But  I  'm  sorry  he  is  going  ;  for 
although  he  looks  so  stern  and  sad,  I  can't  help 
liking  him." 

"He  speaks  very  flatteringly  of  your  pro- 
gress and  ability  ;  and  I  am  sorry  to  have  him 
leave  us  ;  but  Esquire  Wentworth  will  employ 
another  teacher  in  his  place  ;  so  that  you  will 
not  be  interrupted  in  your  music." 

"You  are  all  too  kind,  Mrs.  Thorne  ;  and  I 
only  wish  I  could  do  something  to  show  you 
how  grateful  I  am." 

She  then  resumed  her  study,  but  evidently 
her  mind  was  not  upon  it ;  for  soon  closing  the 
book,  she  said : 

"  Mrs.  Thorne,  has  Miss  Croft  ever  told  you 
how  I  came  to  live  with  her?" 

"  No,  Roxy,  she  has  never  told  me  anything 
about  you." 

"  I  thought  she  had  not ;  and  I  've  felt  lately 
I  was  doing  wrong  to  keep  any  secret  from  you 
who  are  so  good  and  kind  to  me.  Hav'n't  you 
sometimes  heard  her  call  me  a  gypsy  ?" 

"Yes;  but  only  when  she  was  scolding 
you." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Thorne,  do  not  despise  me  when 
I  tell  you  I  am  one  !  I  almost  hate  myself  for 
belonging  to  such  a  race.  I  never  thought  I 
should  tell  any  one  my  secret,  for  I  know  Miss 
Croft  never  has  ;  but  I  couldn't  endure  the 
thought  of  deceiving  you  any  longer."  And 
Roxy,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands,  burst  into 
an  uncontrollable  flood  of  tears. 

"  Be  assured,"  replied  Mrs.  Thorne,  "  that  I 
shall  never  think  the  less  of  you  for  your 
origin  ;  as  long  as  your  conduct  is  praiseworthy, 
you  will  have  my  sympathy  and  affection. 
Now  compose  yourself,  and  tell  me  your  whole 
story." 

"  Only  one  person,  I  think,"  continued  Roxy, 
41  ever  suspected  me,  and  that  is  Mr.  Savelii. 


Didn't  you  notice,  the  first  time  he  came  here, 
how  keenly  he  looked  at  me  ?  I  was  so  con- 
fused, I  would  have  gladly  quit  the  room,  and 
nothing  but  the  fear  of  displeasing  you  pre- 
vented me  from  doing  so.  As  soon  as  you  left 
us,  he  said,  l  Roxy,  you  are  not  an  American  !' 
I  told  him  I  was  ;  but  I  think  he  doubted  me, 
for  he  looked  at  me  a  long  time  very  sus- 
piciously. I  think  he  must  have  seen  me 
somewhere  with  the  gypsies." 

"  Very  possibly  he  has.  But  were  not  they 
foreigners  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  ma'am;  I  never  thought 
though  but  that  they  were  Americans.  When 
I  was  between  three  and  four  years  old,  Annita 
told  me,  my  mother  died,  and  my  father  died 
before  she  ever  knew  us.  I  was  very  sick,  too, 
at  that  time,  and  for  a  long  while  after ;  but, 
finally,  I  began  to  get  better,  and  as  there  was 
no  one  who  wanted  me,  she  said  she  coaxed 
her  husband,  Pietro,  to  let  her  keep  me  ;  for 
she  had  just  lost  a  child  of  my  age,  and  was 
very  sad  and  lonesome." 

"  Where  were  you  before  Annita  took  you  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Thorne. 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am  ;  I  never  could  re- 
member— I  seemed  to  forget  everything  that 
happened  before  I  was  sick.  The  first  that  I 
do  remember  was  Annita's  taking  me  to  the 
encampment.  Everything  seemed  so  different 
from  what  I  had  seen  before,  that  I  could  never 
forget  it.  I  was  so  weak  that  I  couldn't  walk 
much  ;  so  Annita  carried  me  most  of  the  way 
in  her  arms.  We  seemed  to  go  a  great  distance  ; 
then  we  came  to  a  thick  wood.  Right  in  the 
midst  of  it  was  a  tent,  and  a  great  fire  burning 
on  the  ground  before  it,  where  two  women  were 
cooking  supper.  Close  by  stood  a  wagon  with 
a  horse  tied  to  it,  and  ever  so  many  people 
were  lounging  about.  Annita  went  right  into 
the  tent  with  me,  and  they  came  flocking  in  to 
see  us.  They  laughed  and  talked  so  loud  I 
was  afraid  of  them  ;  so  I  got  into  Annita's  lap, 
and  hid  my  face  under  her  arm.  Finally,  Pietro 
came  in  ;  when  he  saw  me  he  was  very  angry. 
He  didn't  expect,  he  said,  Annita  was  going  to 
bring  home  such  a  little  skeleton  as  I  was.  He 
told  her  she  must  carry  me  back  ;  but  she  re- 
fused, and  then  he  tried  to  force  me  from  her  ; 
but  she  held  me  fast,  and  I  clung  to  her  in  such 
terror  that  he  couldn't  separate  us.  I  could 
never  afterward  get  over  my  fear  of  him  ;  and 
whenever  I  saw  him  coming,  if  Annita  wasn't 
with  me,  I  always  ran  and  hid  myself.  We 
stayed  here  some  weeks  ;  then  they  packed  up 
their  things  and  moved  on.  Annita  and  I  rod'e 
in  the  wagon  with  the  baggage,  while  the  rest 


±±± 


GODEY'S  LADY'S  BOOK  AKD  MAGAZINE. 


followed  on  foot.  There  were  eight  of  us  in 
all.  In  a  few  days  we  came  to  a  large  town. 
Here  Pietro  and  his  wife  left  the  company,  tak- 
ing me  with  them,  bnt  not  without  another 
dispute  about  me  ;  for  Pietro  was  determined 
not  to  take  me  any  farther.  But  Annita  would 
not  give  me  up  ;  so  we  all  went  on  board  a 
ship.  I  never  knew  how  long  we  stayed  there 
or  where  we  went,  for  I  fell  sick  again,  and 
when  I  got  well  enough  to  notice  things,  we 
were  riding  about  the  country,  just  as  we  did 
before.  Whenever  we  came  near  a  town  we 
would  stop,  sometimes  for  several  days.  Pietro 
and  his  wife  made  baskets,  which  he  sold ; 
while  she,  taking  me  by  the  hand,  went  from 
house  to  house  begging  and  telling  fortunes. 
In  this  way  we  got  along  very  well  through  the 
summer ;  but  when  winter  came,  I  used  to 
suffer  very  much  from  the  cold,  and  so  often 
fell  sick  that  I  must  have  been  a  great  trouble 
to  Annita ;  although  she  never  complained, 
and  always  treated  me  with  the  greatest  kind- 
ness. Sometimes  Pietro  would  drink  too  much, 
and  then  he  was  very  cruel  to  us  both.  He 
would  steal,  too,  whenever  he  had  a  chance  ; 
and  once  he  was  put  into  prison  for  it.  Then 
they  took  away  our  horse  and  wagon;  and 
Annita  and  I  wandered  around  the  country  till 
they  let  him  out.  I  lived  in  this  way  until  I 
was  eight  years  old.  At  last,  we  came  to  this 
place.  We  stayed  at  night  in  Uncle  Simon 
Quint's  barn.  In  the  morning  Annita  woke 
me,  and  told  me,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  that 
she  'd  promised  Pietro  not  to  keep  me  any 
longer ;  and  she  was  going  out  to  see  if  she  could 
find  a  good  home  for  me.  She  then  went  out, 
leaving  me  alone,  for  Pietro  had  gone  before  I 
was  up.  She  didn't  get  back  till  noon.  She 
brought  a  bundle  with  her,  which  she  opened  ; 
and  taking  out  some  clean  clothes,  stripped  off 
the  rags  that  covered  me,  and  put  them  on  me. 
Then  she  combed  my  hair,  which  hung  in  long 
curls  over  my  shoulders,  and  tying  on  me  a 
bonnet  I  had  never  seen  before,  we  set  out  to- 
gether for  the  village.  When  we  came  to  the 
Cross  Roads,  which  you  know  is  just  a  mile 
from  here,  we  sat  down  on  the  great  rock  to 
rest  ourselves.  Annita  then  told  me  she  had 
found  a  lady  who  would  take  me  to  live  with 
her,  where  I  should  have  a  nice  pleasant  home, 
and  where  I  should  be  a  great  deal  better  off 
than  I  had  ever  been  with  her.  But  she  said, 
if  'twere  not  for  Pietro,  she  could  never  be 
willing  to  part  with  me.  I  loved  Annita  ;  and 
yet  I  wasn't  sorry  to  quit  my  wandering  life  ; 
for,  young  as  I  was,  I  disliked  it,  and  always 
envied  the  well-dressed  children  I  saw  in  their 


comfortable  homes.  While  we  were  sitting 
there,  Annita  took  a  little  packet  she  had  con- 
cealed about  her,  and  opening  it,  took  out  a 
gold  chain  with  a  miniature  fastened  to  it. 
1  Teresa, '  said  she,  putting  it  around  my  neck, 
'this  is  your  mother's  picture.  I've  kept  it 
safe  from  you  ever  since  she  died.  I  hav'n't 
even  let  Pietro  see  it,  for  fear  he  would  take  it 
from  me.  Promise  me  you  '11  take  care  of  it.' 
I  took  the  picture  in  my  hand,  and  as  I  looked 
at  it,  I  seemed  all  at  once  to  remember  my 
mother,  as  distinctly  as  though  I  had  seen  her 
but  yesterday.  '  Oh,  Annita  !'  I  cried,  '  do  tell 
me  something  about  her.'  f  I  can't  tell  you 
anything,'  she  said;  'I  only  know  she  died 
and  left  you  a  little  sickly  thing  that  nobody 
cared  for,  and  so  I  took  you  for  my  own ;  but 
keep  the  picture,  Teresa,  it  may  be  of  use  to 
you  some  time.' 

"  While  we  were  talking,  we  saw  Pietro 
coming  down  the  road.  Annita  seized  me  by 
the  hand,  and  we  hurried  on.  We  were  not 
long  in  coming  to  Miss  Croft's  ;  for  she  was  the 
lady  I  was  going  to  live  with.  Miss  Croft  met 
us  at  the  door.  Annita  led  me  in,  and  throw- 
ing her  arms  around  me,  kissed  me  repeatedly  ; 
then,  without  saying  a  word,  she  darted  out  of 
the  house,  and  I  never  saw  her  any  more.  I 
was  so  grieved  when  I  found  she  had  really 
left  me  that  I  threw  myself  on  the  floor,  and 
cried  as  though  my  heart  would  break.  Miss 
Croft,  at  first,  tried  to  pacify  me,  but  finding 
nothing  would  quiet  me  she  concluded  to  send 
me  to  bed.  It  was  scarcely  dark  when  she  led 
the  way  tip  into  the  garret  where  I  was  to 
sleep.  I  had  always  been  cowardly ;  but  I 
shall  never  forget  my  terror  at  finding  myself, 
for  the  first  time  in  Day  life,  alone  at  night  in 
a  strange  place.  I  would  have  given  worlds  to 
have  been  once  more  with  Pietro  and  his  wife. 
I  took  my  picture,  which  seemed  to  console  me 
a  little,  and  when  it  became  too  dark  for  me  to 
see  it  any  longer,  I  put  it  under  my  pillow  and 
cried  myself  to  sleep. 

"  Early  next  morning  I  heard  Miss  Croft  call- 
ing me.  I  got  up  and  dressed  myself  as  quick 
as  I  could,  and  taking  my  picture  from  the 
chain  laid  it  carefully  away  ;  then,  putting  the 
chain  around  my  neck,  I  went  down  stairs. 

"  After  I  had  eaten  my  breakfast,  she  called 
me  to  her,  and,  taking  the  scissors  from  her 
work-basket,  cut  off  my  hair  as  short  as  she 
could.  I  felt  very  bad  ;  for  Annita  had  always 
taken  so  much  pains  with  it,  that  I  was  rather 
vain  of  it.  Next  she  took  off  my  chain,  and 
though  I  told  her  it  was  my  mother's,  and 
begged  her  to  let  me  keep  it,  she  wouldn't  lis- 


KOXY    CROFT. 


445 


ten  to  me  ;  and  I  didn't  see  it  again,  until  one 
day  a  peddler  called  here,  and  I  saw  her  swap  it 
away  for  those  gold  spectacles  she  wears  and  a 
silver  thimble.  After  this  I  took  good  care  of 
the  miniature  ;  for  I  knew  if  she  saw  it,  she 
would  take  that  too.  I  hadn't  lived  here  long 
before  I  found  that  Miss  Croft  was  quite  as 
much  to  be  feared  as  Pietro,  and  perhaps  more  ; 
for  here  there  was  no  one  to  protect  me  when 
she  ill-used  me.  You  know  something,  Mrs. 
Thome,  of  the  life  I  lead  here.  If  it  were  not 
for  your  kindness,  I  don't  tbink  I  could  endure 
it ;  and  do  you  wonder,  ma'am,  tbat  I  dread  to 
have  you  leave  me  even  for  a  visit  ?  I  believe, 
now,  my  story  is  ended.  Shall  I  show  you  my 
mother's  picture  ?" 

"  By  all  means,  Roxy ;  I  am  very  desirous  of 
seeing  it." 

Roxy  left  the  room  for  it.  When  she  re- 
turned, finding  Mr.  Thorne  present,  she  hesi- 
tated about  showing  it ;  but  Mrs.  Thorne,  ex- 
tending her  hand,  she  silently  placed  in  it  the 
much-prized  treasure. 

"Beautiful!  beautiful!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Thorne,  the  instant  her  eye  fell  upon  the  pic- 
ture. "  Look,  Mr.  Thorne,  was  there  ever  any- 
thing more  exquisite  ?" 

"It  is  truly  exquisite  !"  said  he,  examining 
it  witli  curiosity.  "  The  face,  though,  seems 
to  be  of  foreign  cast ;  and  this  costly  setting  is 
evidently  of  foreign  workmanship.  But  whose 
miniature  is  it  ?" 

"It  is  that  of  Roxy's  mother,"  said  Mrs. 
Thorne.    ' 

"And  her  name  was  Theresa,"  said  he, 
deciphering  the  faintly-traced  characters  be- 
neath. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Roxy,  modestly;  "and 
it 's  my  name,  too.  But  Miss  Croft  didn't  like 
it,  so  she  changed  it  to  Roxy." 

Both  gazed  long  and  ardently  upon  the  face, 
whose  matchless  beauty  seemed  rather  the  em- 
bodiment of  an  artist's  dream  than  a  sketch 
from  reality. 

'•  Roxy,"  said  Mrs.  Thorne,  with  enthusiasm, 
"if  this  is  truly  your  mother's  picture,  you 
need  no  longer  lament  your  origin.  This  is  not 
one  of  the  forest  flowers,  beautiful  as  they  often 
are.  In  every  lineament,  I  trace  high  "birth 
and  breeding." 

"It  is  my  mother,  I  know,"  said  she, 
earnestly.  ' '  When  Annita  gave  me' the  picture, 
I  knew  at  once  the  face  that  had  always  looked 
so  kindly  on  me  in  my  dreams,  but  I  never 
knew  till  then  that  it  was  my  mother's.  Oh, 
Mrs.  Thorne,  if  I  could  only  believe  I  were  not 
a  gypsy,  I  should  be  too  happy  !     Miss  Croft 

35* 


says  every  day  nobody  can  make  anything  of 
them  ;  and  I  know  myself  everybody  despises 
them.  Annita  was  the  only  one  I  could  ever 
love." 

"  I  cannot  think  you  are  one  ;  but  even  if  it 
be  so,  you  have  nothing  to  discourage  you. 
Your  friends  will  never  desert  you  on  that 
account.  Here,  take  your  picture,  but  bring 
it  to  me  again  some  time,  for  I  am  not  half 
satisfied  with  looking  at  it." 

At  four  o'clock  the  next  morning  Roxy  bade 
her  kind  friends   good-by.     She  watched   the 
stage  until  out  of  sight,  and  then  with  a  heavy 
heart  obeyed  the  summons  to  the  kitchen. 
(To  be  continued.) 


«■••»» 


OBSTINACY. 
An  obstinate  man  does  not  hold  opinions, 
but  they  hold  him ;  for  when  he  is  once  pos- 
sessed with  an  error  it  is  like  a  devil,  only 
cast  out  with  great  difficulty.  Whatsoever 
he  lays  hold  on,  like  a  drowning  man,  he 
never  looses,  though  it  do  but  help  to  sink  him 
the  sooner.  His  ignorance  is  abrupt  and  inac- 
cessible, impregnable  both  by  art  and  nature, 
and  will  hold  out  to  the  last,  though  it  has 
nothing  but  rubbish  to  defend.  It  is  as  dark 
as  pitch,  and  sticks  as  fast  to  anything  it  lays 
hold  on.  His  skull  is  so  thick  that  it  is 
proof  against  any  reason,  and  never  cracks  but 
on  a  wrong  side,  just  opposite  to  that  against 
which  the  impression  is  made,  which  surgeons 
say  does  happen  very  frequently.  The  slighter 
and  more  inconsistent  his  opinions  are  the 
faster  he  holds  them,  otherwise  they  would  fall 
asunder  of  themselves  ;  for  opinions  that  are 
false  ought  to  be  held  with  more  strictness  and 
assurance  than  those  that  are  true,  otherwise 
they  will  be  apt  to  betray  their  owners  before 
they  are  aware.  He  delights  most  of  all  to 
differ  in  things  indifferent ;  no  matter  how  friv- 
olous they  are,  they  are  weighty  enough  in  pro- 
portion to  his  weak  judgment ;  and  he  will 
rather  suffer  self-martyrdom  than  part  with  the 
least  scruple  of  his  freehold  ;  for  it  is  impos- 
sible to  dye  his  dark  ignorance  into  any  lighter 
color.  He  is  resolved  to  understand  no  man's 
reason  but  his  own,  because  he  finds  no  man 
can  understand  his  but  himself.  His  wits  are 
like  a  sack,  which  the  French  proverb  says  is 
tied  faster  before  it  is  full  than  when  it  is  ;  and 
his  opinions  are  like  plants  that  grow  upon 
rocks,  that  stick  fast  though  they  have  no 
rooting.  His  understanding  is  burdened  like 
Pharaoh's  heart,  and  is  proof  against  all  sorts  of 
judgments  whatsoever. 


A  BAIL  WAY  JOURNEY:  AND  WHAT  CAME  OF  IT. 


BY    BELLE    B.UT  LEDGE. 


Upon  a  sunny  morning  in  early  June,  the 
post-boy  rapped  at  the  door  of  Judge  Marston's 
dwelling,  and  left  a  letter  for  his  pretty  daughter 
Hattie. 

Now  this  letter  was  nothing  remarkable  of 
itself,  not  being  a  love-letter,  and  not  even 
coming  from  a  gentleman  correspondent.  It 
simply  bore  a  western  post-mark,  but  it  set 
little  Hattie  Marston  all  in  a  flutter  after  she 
had  eagerly  perused  its  contents  ;  and,  with  it 
in  her  hand,  she  hastily  sought  her  mother, 
who  was  superintending  dinner. 

"  Oh,  mother,  a  letter  from  Cousin  Lizzie, 
from  Cleveland  !  Uncle  and  aunt  wished  her 
to  write  for  me  to  visit  them  next  month. 
There  is  a  gentleman  of  their  acquaintance 
coming  east  in  a  week  or  two,  who  will  call 
for  me — a  Mr.  Farlow — who,  Lizzie  writes,  is 
the  son  of  an  old  college  friend  of  uncle's  and 
father's.  Lizzie  has  told  him  about  me,  and 
he  politely  offers  to  be  my  travelling  com- 
panion on  his  return.  What  a  grand  opportu- 
nity it  will  be  !  won't  it,  mother  ?  You  know 
I  have  been  wishing  to  go  West  for  a  year  or 
more  ;  and  father  is  so  much  engaged  that 
he  cannot  accompany  me.  I  can  go,  can't  I, 
mother?"  said  Flattie,  eagerly. 

"  Wait,  and  see  what  your  father  says.  I 
know  we  have  long  promised  you  a  western 
visit ;  and  now,  if  the  Judge  thinks  it  best, 
and  this  young  man  is  a  proper  escort,  I  shall 
be  willing  for  you  to  leave  lis  for  awhile.  When 
your  father  returns  to  dinner,  read, the  letter 
to  him,  and  see  what  his  opinion  is." 

At  dinner,  Judge  Marston,  with  his  dignified 
mien,  silvery  hair,  and  frank,  genial  counte- 
nance, was  met  by  his  daughter.. 

"  What  is  it,  Hattie  ?  what  has  happened  ?" 
he  asked,  as  he  noted  her  eager,  flushed  face, 
and  the  open  letter  in  her  hand. 

"Oh,  father,  a  letter  from  Cousin  Lizzie, 
wishing  me  to  pay  them  a  visit !  I  will  read  it 
to  you  ;  and  shall  expect  you  will  gladly  say 
that  I  may  go  forthwith."  And  Hattie  pro- 
ceeded to  read  aloud  her  cousin's  letter. 
"There,  father,  what  do  you  think?  May  I 
not  go?"  she  asked,  as  she  finished  reading. 

"  Why,  what  a  girl,  Hattie  !  so  eager  to  leave 
your  old  father  and  mother  !"  said  the  Judge, 
teazingly,  "and  with  a  strange  young  gentle- 
man, too  !  I  don't  know  about  trusting  my 
Hattie  to  the  care  of  this  handsome  friend  of 
446 


Cousin  Lizzie's.  Who  knows  what  might  come 
of  it,  eh,  Hattie?"  and  the  Judge  laughed  pro- 
voking! y. 

"  Don't  talk  so,  father!"  said  Hattie.  "You 
forget  that  Lizzie  says  his  father  is  an  old  friend 
of  yours,  and  that  he  is  one  of  the  ablest 
lawyers  of  Cleveland." 

"  Well,  if  Robert  Farlow  inherits  any  of  his 
father's  qualities,  he  is  a  noble  young  man. 
His  father  was  my  most  intimate  college  friend, 
and  many  a  scrape  did  he  save  me  from  while 
there.  I  should  like  to  see  the  young  man 
right  well,  and  hope  he  has  the  same  traits  of 
character  which  distinguished  his  father.  You 
can  write  your  Cousin  Lizzie  that  your  mother 
and  I  give  our  consent,  and  that  she  may  ex- 
pect 'our  plague'  at  the  time  appointed,"  and 
the  Judge  turned  to  his  dinner. 

Two  weeks  later,  Robert  Farlow  arrived  in 

W ,  and  stopped  at  the  village  hotel.    On 

the  evening  after  his  arrival  he  called  at  Judge 
Marston's,  with  a  letter  of  introduction  from 
the  Judge's  brother,  Mr.  Marston,  of  Cleveland. 

A  frank,  manly  bearing — like  that  of  his 
father's  in  youth — quickly  won  the  Judge's 
favor  ;  and  he  cordially  proffered  the  hospi- 
talities of  his  house  to  the  young  lawyer  during 
his  stay  in  the  place,  remarking  laughingly  to 
his  wife,  "That,  now,  he  had  no  fears  of  in- 
trusting Hattie  to  his  care  !" 

And  Hattie,  what  did  she  think  of  her  escort? 
Ah,  methinks  if  the  pillow  whereon  she  pressed 
her  golden  head  could  tell  tales,  it  would  speak 
of  a  stroug  prepossession  in  the  young  lawyer's 
favor. 

A  week  later,  and  the  westward  train  bore 
Hattie  Marston  and  Robert  Farlow  among  its 
passengers. 

It  was  something  new  for  Hattie  to  travel, 
having  never  been  farther  from  home  than  a 
neighboring  boarding-school ;  and  everything 
was  fresh  and  delightful  to  her.  The  varied 
scenery  of  lake  and  forest  delighted  her  ;  and 
her  fresh,  childish  remarks  pleased  her  com- 
panion, who  had  hitherto  been  accustomed 
only  to  the  society  of  fashionable  ladies.  He 
discovered  in  her  a  true  child  of  nature,  whos« 
unhackneyed  guilelessness  attracted  and  grati- 
fied him.  But,  as  night  drew  on,  poor  Hattie 
became  tired  of  asking  questions  and  looking 
from  the  window.  She  gradually  grew  silent ; 
and  after  many  vain  efforts  to  keep  her  eyes 


A    RAILWAY    JOURNEY:    AND    WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 


447 


open,  they  unconsciously  closed,  and  she  was 
really  fast  asleep,  while  a  gentle  hand  drew  her 
head  down  against  a  manly  shoulder,  and  tender 
eyes,  in  which  beamed  a  new  light,  gazed  upon 
the  sweet  face  nestling  there  in  quiet  security. 
The  succeeding  two  days  and  nights  were 
similar  to  the  first  to  our  travellers,  save  that 
the  manner  of  Robert  Farlow  grew  more  tender 
and  thoughtful  for  his  cbarge.  On  the  third 
eve  they  arrived  at  their  journey's  end,  and 
Hattie  was  safely  transferred  to  her  uncle's 
house. 

"And  how  did  you  like  your  escort,  Cousin 
Hattie  ?"  asked  Lizzie  Marstou,  as  the  two  girls 
sat  in  the  latter's  room  late  that  night. 

"Oh  I  think  he  is  splendid!"  answered  Hattie, 
while  a  blush  unconsciously  stole  up  her  face. 
"  He  was  so  polite  and  gentlemanly !  It  seemed 
as  if  he  could  not  do  enough  to  make  me  com- 
fortable." 

"  I  thought  you  'd  like  him  ;  and  I  knew  he 
couldn't  help  liking  Cousin  Hattie,  as  I  told 
him  he  would  !  He  is  usually  averse  to  mak- 
ing himself  agreeable  to  ladies  ;  though  they, 
dear  creatures,  perfectly  dote  on  him  when  in 
his  society,"  said  Lizzie,  laughingly.  "Now 
I  '11  tell  you  a  little  secret,  Hattie,  if  you  '11 
promise  not  to  scold  me.  Do  you  want  to  hear 
it,  Hattie?     If  so,  promise  not  to  look  cross." 

"  Yes,  I  '11  promise,  if  it  is  anything  that  I 
ought  to  know." 

"  Well,  it  is  ;  and  so  here  's  the  story  !  You 
see,  for  a  year  or  more,  I  've  been  wanting  a 
certain  gentleman  and  a  certain  cousin  of  mine 
to  become  acquainted  ;  and,  for  awhile,  I  really 
despaired  of  effecting  a  meeting.  But  one  day 
a  bright  idea  occurred  to  me.  I  had  just  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  this  cousin  of  mine,  who 
shall,  for  the  present,  be  nameless  ;  and  it  so 
chanced  that  the  gentleman  in  question,  who 
also  shall  be  without  a  name,  happened  in  as 
I  was  reading  the  letter,  when  what  could  I  do 
but  read  aloud  a  few  passages,  and  then  tell 
him  of  the  writer?  Of  course  I  had  never 
mentioned  her  before  !  Then  I  hinted  that  a 
journey  east  would  do  him  no  harm,  and  that 
one  west  would  do  the  lady  heaps  of  good  ;  so, 
very  naturally,  he  took  the  hint,  and  offered  to 
be  your  escort,  Cousin  Hattie.  There,  now, 
aren't  I  nice  for  planning  ?" 

"  0  you  cruel,  wicked  girl !  how  could  you  ?" 
exclaimed  Hattie,  hiding  her  glowing  face, 
which  had  gradually  grown  a  deeper  hue,  till 
her  cousin  finished,  when  it  seemed  a-blaze 
with  fire — "  How  could  you  do  it,  Hattie?  I 
never  would  have  come  one  step,  had  I  known 


of  your  plans !"  And  Hattie's  voice  really 
betrayed  injured  feeling  and  wounded  pride. 

"  There,  don't  be  angry,  dear  Hattie,  or  I 
shall  regret  having  told  you  !"  said  her  cousin, 
putting  her  arm  around  her  and  kissing  her. 
"  There  is  no  harm  done  ;  for  I  know  Robert 
Farlow  doesn't  regret  his  journey,  if  I  can  judge 
from  his  countenance  this  evening  ;  and  you, 
Hattie,  you,  of  course,  hav'n't  been  foolish 
enough  to  fall  in  love  with  him  ;  so,  my  dear, 
kiss  me  forgiveness,  and  let 's  seek  our  pillows, 
for  I  know  you  must  be  fatigued  enough  with 
the  journey  !" 

But  little  slumber  refreshed  Hattie  Marston's 
eyes  that  night,  for  her  cousin's  words  rang  in 
her  ears  :  "  You  hav'n't  been  foolish  enough  to 
fall  in  love  with  him  ?"  Had.  she?  She  hid 
her  face  in  the  pillow,  and  tears  of  shame 
dimmed  her  blue  eyes. 

The  next  morning  Robert  Farlow  called,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  to  inquire  after  the  health 
of  his  compagnon  du  voyage.  Hattie's  manner 
was  cool  and  reserved  toward  him,  a  marked 
change  from  what  it  had  previously  been  ;  and 
he  felt  it. 

"Are  you  ill,  Miss  Marston  ?"  he  asked, 
anxiously,  as  he  noted  her  pale  face  and  heavy 
eyes. 

"  No,  oh  no,  not  in  the  least,"  she  answered, 
quickly,  the  color  rapidly  mantling  her  cheek. 

"I'm  afraid,  Mr.  Farlow,  the  journey  has 
made  her  ill.  It  was  almost  too  long  to  take 
without  stopping  to  rest  upon  the  way,"  said 
her  aunt,  Mrs.  Marston. 

"0  no;  Cousin  Hattie  is  only  a  little  fa- 
tigued ;  she  will  recover  in  a  day  or  two,"  said 
Lizzie,  demurely. 

The  wicked  g#l  knew  all  the  while  that  her 
words  of  the  previous  night  had  caused  the 
change  in  her  cousin's  manner  toward  their 
visitor  ;  but  she  had  a  plan  in  her  bead,  which 
she  was  determined  should  be  fulfilled. 

Time  passed,  and  Hattie  Marston  enjoyed 
her  visit  exceedingly.  A  gay  summer  and  fall 
she  had  at  her  cousin's  in  the  West,  cantering 
over  the  flowery  prairies,  or  sailing  upon  the 
lakes  ;  and  her  time  was  fully  occupied.  Her 
beauty  and  grace  attracted  much  attention, 
and  many  suitors  were  at  her  side  ;  but  to  all 
she  turned  a  deaf  ear. 

But  there  was  one  whom  she  saw  daily — yet 
who  stood  aloof  when  others  flocked  around 
her — one  word  from  whose  lips  would  have 
sent  fullest  happiness  to  her  heart.  But  this 
word  was  not  spoken  ;  for  her  guarded  manner, 
since  the  night  of  their  arrival,  had  continued  ; 


448 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


and  so  they  two,  so  near,  walked  apart,  each 
mistaken  in  the  other.  Ah,  Lizzie  Marston, 
your  plan  should  not  have  been  told  so  soon  ! 
You  made  a  sad  mistake  in  its  betrayal ;  for 
Hattie  guards  her  heart  with  a  double  bolt  and 
lock,  and  Robert  Farlow,  equally  watchful  over 
his  own,  catches  no  glimpse  of  what  is  hidden 
so  securely  within  hers  whom  he  deems  he 
loves  in  vain. 

As  the  autumn  days  deepened  and  the  beauty 
of  the  season  departed,  one  morning,  at  break- 
fast, Hattie  avowed  her  intention  of  returning 
home,  and  would  not  listen  to  entreaties  to 
remain  longer. 

"  But  you  cannot  go  until  the  last  of  next 
month,  Hattie,"  said  her  uncle,  "for  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  go  East  until  then,  and  your 
father  cannot  come  for  you  now." 

"But  I  must  go,  uncle  !  I  have  made  you 
a  long  visit  already.  I  can  go  in  charge  of  the 
conductor,  and  shall  arrive  safely ;  never  fear 
for  that,"  she  replied,  stoutly. 

"Hattie  homesick?  why,  child!"  said  her 
aunt,  looking  at  her  scrutinizingly.  "  Well,  I 
don't  much  wonder  at  it,  for  I  expect  Lizzie 
would  be  if  she  were  on  east.  But  try,  dear, 
and  content  yourself  until  your  uncle  can  go 
on  with  you.  I  shouldn't  feel  right  to  have 
you  go  without  a  companion." 

"  Hattie,  dear,  you  mustn't  go  a  step  now ; 
so  don't  say  another  word  about  it,"  said  her 
Cousin  Lizzie.  "Here  we  have  just  begun  to 
enjoy  ourselves,  and  you  must  take  this  freak 
into  your  head  to  return  home.  I  sha'n't 
allow  it !  so  don't  give  it  another  thought,  but 
content  yourself  to  remain  until  uncle  comes 
for  you  ;  and  then,  if,  of  your  own  accord,  you 
do  not  wish  to  remain  longer,  why,  I  won't  say 
another  word  against  it.  Will  you,  Mr.  Far- 
low  ?"  said  Lizzie,  turning  to  that  gentleman, 
who  had  just  entered. 

"Against  what,  Miss  Lizzie?  What  is  it  I 
am  expected  to  influence  your  cousin  in  favor 
of?  I  must  know  the  case  in  question  before 
I  give  my  decision,  he  answered,  smilingly." 

"Oh,  of  course,"  answered  Lizzie.  "I  did 
not  realize  but  that  you  were  here  just  now, 
when  Hattie  made  known  her  intention  of  re- 
turning home  immediately.  Now,  what  we 
want  is,  that  you  should  try  your  powers  of 
persuasion  in  behalf  of  her  remaining  until 
her  father  comes  for  her,  which  will  be  only 
too  soon  for  us  to  lose  her." 

"  I  hardly  natter  myself  that  anything  I  can 
say  will  have  the  desired  effect  if  you  all  have 
failed, "  he  answered  ;  "but  if,  on  the  contrary, 
your  cousin  wishes  to  go,  perhaps  I  might  be 


of  benefit  to  her  on  the  journey,  as  the  duties 
of  my  profession  call  me  to  New  York  next 
week.  If  she  will  again  accept  my  escort,  I 
shall  be  but  too  happy  in  rendering  it." 

"Just  the  thing!"  said  Mr.  Marston  and 
Lizzie  in  a  breath  ;  the  latter  continuing,  with 
a  smile  lurking  in  the  corners  of  her  mouth : 

"  Well,  Hattie,  if  you  are  determined  to  go, 
why,  you  can  have  your  old  travelling  com- 
panion !" 

Poor  Hattie  blushed,  and  murmured  out  a 
few  words  in  thanks  ;  and  then,  pleading  a 
headache,  retired. 

A  week  later  found  our  travelling  companions 
upon  the  return  route.  Hattie  still  maintained 
her  old  reserved  manner  ;  and  Robert  Fallow 
despaired  of  obtaining  her  love  ;  so  he  wrapped 
himself  in  a  reserve  equal  to  her  own.  But 
accident  was  destined  to  place  that  happiness 
within  the  young  lawyer's  grasp,  which,  other- 
wise, would  never  have  been  given  him. 

It  waf  the  last  night  of  their  journey.  Hat- 
tie had  sunk  into  a  deep  slumber,  unbroken  by 
the  jolt  of  the  cars  or  the  hoarse  breathing  of 
the  engine.  She  slept ;  and  the  eyes  of  the 
young  lawyer  rested  upon  her  with  tenderness 
beaming  from  their  depths.  He  felt  that  the 
time  was  fast  nearing  when  he  would  be  ob- 
liged to  yield  his  lovehy  charge  to  her  parents  ; 
and  he  found  himself  unconsciously  wishing 
that  something  might  occur  to  prolong  their 
journey.     This  desired  "something"  came. 

A  sharp,  shrill  whistle — a  sudden  crash, 
mingled  with  loud  shrieks — told  that  a  fright- 
ful accident  had  occured  to  the  train  ;  and 
Robert  Farlow  felt  himself  whirled  rapidly 
down  a  steep  embankment.  Unconsciously, 
at  the  first  jar,  he  had  grasped  the  sleeping  girl 
in  his  strong  arms,  and,  with  her  clasped  to  his 
heart,  had  been  borne  down  amid  the  crashing 
seats  of  the  car.  Very  fortunate  it  was  that 
they  had  taken  passage  in  the  last  car,  and  in 
the  rear  of  that ;  otherwise,  neither  would 
have  been  saved  the  sad  fate  of  mangled  limbs 
met  by  so  many  of  their  fellow-passengers. 

Five  minutes  after  that  terrible  crash  of  the 
two  fiery  engines  that  came  in  collision,  Robert 
Farlow,  with  pale  face  and  one  hand  bleeding 
and  crushed,  arose  from  the  ruin  around  him, 
with  Hattie  still  clasped  to  his  breast.  Faint 
and  stunned  from  the  shock,  moments  had 
passed  before  he  recovered  his  senses ;  but 
awakening  to  a  realization  of  his  situation,  he 
rose  with  his  unconscious  burden,  and  stood 
out  in  the  clear  moonlight. 

A  crimson  mark  stained  Hattie  Marston's 
white   forehead,    and   her   eyes    were    closed ; 


WHAT    PRECIOUS    STONES    ARE    MADE    OF. 


449 


while  the  moonbeams  showed  the  otherwise 
deathly  pallor  of  her  face  framed  in  her  loosened 
golden  hair  which  floated  around  her. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  exclaimed  Robert  Farlow, 
as  he  gazed  upon  her  and  saw  that  she  did  not 
revive.  u  Oh,  Hattie  !  my  beloved  !  my  angel, 
is  dead!"  he  cried,  passionately,  as  he  pressed 
his  lips  to  hers  in  a  first  long  kiss. 

The  lips  of  the  young  girl  trembled  at  the 
pressure  of  his,  and  her  eyelids  slowly  unclosed, 
while  she  murmured  softly  : 

"  Where  am  I  ?  Am  I  dreaming?"  and  she 
paused  in  confusion,  putting  her  hand  to  her 
head. 

"  No,  you  are  not  dreaming,  dearest  Hattie  ! 
It  is  true  that  I  love  you  better  than  life,  that 
I  would  gladly  meet  death,  if  thereby  I  might 
save  you  a  pang  !"  he  answered,  tenderly  and 
rapidly. 

"But  where  am  I  ?  and  what  is  the  matter 
with  your  hand  ?  There  is  blood  upon  my  face 
too  !"  she  said,  as  she  put  her  hand  to  her 
head. 

"  We  have  met  with  a  fearful  accident,  Hat- 
tie," he  answered,  "  and  many  are  seriously 
injured.  I  was  afraid,  at  first,  that  you  were  ; 
but,  thank  God,  it  is  not  so  !  My  hand  is 
slightly  injured,  and  the  blood  must  have 
touched  your  forehead,  for  there  is  no  wound 
there.  You  are  not  harmed.  Oh  how  thankful 
I  am  that  you  are  safe  !" 

It  was  a  strange  place  for  an  avowal  of  love  ; 
there,  at  that  midnight  hour  and  in  the  moon- 
light, with  the  sound  of  the  sufferers  still  in 
their  ears.  But  a  moment  they  lingered  ;  yet 
that  was  sufficient  for  Robert  Farlow  to  read  an 
answer — not  only  in  the  eyes  of  his  companion, 
but  in  her  few  spoken  words  : 

"  You  have  saved  my  life,  Robert  ;  hence- 
forth it  shall  be  given  to  its  preserver  !"  Then 
they  turned  to  assist  the  unfortunate  sufferers 
around  them. 

A  few  hours  of  detention,  and  they  were  again 
on  the  road,  and  arrived  safely  the  next  night- 
fall at  Flattie's  home,  where  they  were  tearfully 
welcomed  by  her  parents,  who  had  just  read 
the  news  of  the  accident. 

A  month  later,  a  wedding  was  celebrated  at 
Judge  Marston's  mansion  ;  and  when  Hattie 
again  left  the  home  of  her  girlhood  for  another 
western  journey,,  it  was  as  the  wife  of  Robert 
Farlow. 


WHAT  PRECIOUS  STONES  ARE  MADE  OF. 

First,  as  to  the  diamond,  which,  though  the 

king  and  chief  of  all,  may  be  dismissed  in  two 


words — pure  carbon.  The  diamond  is  the  ulti- 
mate effort,  the  idealization,  the  spiritual  evo- 
lution of  coal — the  butterfly  escaped  from  its 
antenatal  tomb,  the  realization  of  the  coal's 
highest  being.  Then  the  ruby,  the  flaming 
red  oriental  ruby,  side  by  side  with  t\e  sap- 
phire, and  the  oriental  topaz — both  rubies  of 
different  colors — what  are  they  ?  Crystals  of 
our  commonest  argillaceous  earth,  the  earth 
which  makes  our  potters'  clay,  our  pipe-clay, 
and  common  roofing  slate — mere  bits  of  alumi- 
na. Yet  these  are  among  our  best  gems,  these 
idealizations  of  our  common  potters'  clay.  In 
every  one  hundred  grains  of  beautiful  blue 
sapphire,  ninety-two  are  pure  alumina  with  one 
grain  of  iron  to  make  that  glorious  light  within. 
The  ruby  is  colored  with  chromic  acid.  The 
amethyst  is  only  silica  or  flint.  In  one  hun- 
dred grains  of  amethyst,  ninety-eight  are  pure 
flint — the  same  substance  as  that  which  made 
the  old  flint  in  the  tinder-box,  used  before  our 
phosphorus  and  sulphur-headed  matches ;  of 
this  same  silica  are  also  cornelian,  cat's-eye, 
rock  crystal,  Egyptian  jasper  and  opal.  In  one 
hundred  grains  of  opal,  ninety  are  pure  silica, 
and  ten  water.  It  is  the  water,  then,  which 
gives  the  gem  the  peculiarly  changeable  and 
iridescent  coloring  which  is  so  beautiful,  and 
which  renders  the  opal  the  moonlight  queen 
of  the  kingly  diamond.  The  garnet,  the  Bra- 
zilian topaz,  but  not  the  oriental — the  oriental 
emerald  which  is  of  the  same  species  as  the 
beryl ;  all  are  compounds  of  flint  and  alumina. 
But  the  beryl  and  emerald  are  not  composed 
exclusively  of  silica  and  alumina  ;  they  con- 
tain another  earth  called  glucina — from  ghil-os, 
sweet,  because  its  salts  are  sweet  to  the  taste. 
The  hyacinth  gem  is  composed  of  the  earth 
called  zirconia,  first  discovered  in  that  species 
of  stone  called  zircon,  found  in  Scotland.  A 
chrysolite  is  a  portion  of  pure  silicate  of 
magnesia.  Without  carbonate  of  copper  there 
would  be  no  malachite  in  Russia,  or  in  the 
Burra  Burra  mines  in  Australia  ;  without  car- 
bonate of  lime  there  would  be  no  Carrara  mar- 
ble. The  turquoise  is  nothing  but  a  phosphate 
of  alumina  colored  blue  by  copper.  Lapis  La- 
zuli is  only  a  bit  of  earth  painted  throughout 
with  sulphuret  of  sodium. 


■<■»»»>. 


Let  us  consider  that  youth  is  of  no  long 
duration,  and  that,  in  mature  age,  when  the 
enchantments  of  fancy  shall  cease,  and  phan- 
toms of  delight  dance  no  more  about  us,  we 
shall  have  no  comfort  but  the  esteem  of  wise 
men,  and  the  means  of  doing  good. 


450 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine 


PRACTICAL  LESSONS  IN  DRAWING. 

SECOND    LESSON. 

As  you  have  learned  to  draw  straight  lines 
parallel  to  one  another,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
make  you  connect  them  in  some  way,  so  as  to 
form  the  outline  of  an  object. 

Draw  two  straight  lines  parallel  to  one  another 
like  a,  in  Fig.  3  ;  then  connect  the  ends  of  them 

Fig.  3. 


CL 

) 

O 

I 

| 

by  a  small  curved  line,  and  from  that  draw  a 
short  perpendicular  and  a  short  horizontal  line 
(as  ft,  in  Fig.  3)  ;  repeat  until  the  outline  of  a 
set  of  steps  is  complete. 

Draw  a  horizontal  straight  line,  and  from 
either  extremity  of  it  draw  two  perpendicular 
straight  lines  as  in  c,  Fig.  3. 

Draw  two  oblique  lines,  so  that  their  lower 
extremities   shall   meet,  as   a,  Fig.   4.     Then 

Fig.  4. 


draw  two  parallel  straight  lines,  so  that  the 
beginning  of  the  upper  one  shall  be  almost  im- 
mediately over  the  end  of  the  lower  one,  and 
join  the  ends  of  these  lines  with  oblique  lines, 
as  b,  in  Fig.  4. 

Draw  a  perpendicular  straight  line,  and  from 
the  upper  end  of  it  an  oblique  line  from  right 
to  left,  then  unite  the  end  of  the  oblique  line 
to  another  oblique  line,  as  in  c,  Fig.  4. 

Fisr.  5. 


CL 


I 


Draw   a  perpendicular  line,   and   from   the 


lower  part  of  it  draw  a  horizontal  line  from 
right  to  left,  as  b,  in  Fig.  5. 

Draw  four  horizontal  lines,  and  then  join 
their  extremities  by  four  perpendicular  lines, 
as  in  a,  Fig.  5.  This  will  represent  a  block  of 
wood  (called  a  cube  in  geometry),  having  six 
faces,  and  eight  corners  or  angles,  like  a  die. 

Here  is  another  geometrical  figure  which  you 
are  requested  to  copy.  To  do  so  correctly,  be- 
gin by  making  two  dots,  and  then  forming  the 
upper  line  ;  then  calculate  that  the  distance  of 
the  second  line  is  twice  the  depth  of  the  fore 
part  of  the  stone  (which  is  represented  in  Fig. 
6),  and  draw  a  very  faint  short  stroke  to  fix  the 

Fig.  6. 


^///////////'- 


distance.  You  must  now  fix  the  place  to  com- 
mence the  second  line,  and  you  therefore  place 
a  dot  at  about  the  same  depth  as  the  fore  part 
of  the  stone  towards  the  right,  and  another  dot 
at  about  one  and  a  half  of  the  depth  from  the 
right  of  the  end  of  the  upper  line  ;  then  draw 
a  line  between  the  two  dots.  Join  the  ends  of 
these  two  lines  by  oblique  lines,  as  represented 
in  the  figure  above,  and  proceeding  in  the  same 
manner  to  place  dots  upon  the  paper  for  the 
other  parts,  draw  the  short  perpendicular  lines 
and  the  oblique  and  horizontal  lines.  The 
figure  is  now  complete  in  outline,  and  you 
must  therefore  finish  it  by  the  addition  of  a  few 
strokes  and  dots  as  shown  in  the  figure. 

To  form  the  outline  of  the  figure,  use  a  F 
pencil,  and  a  HB  to  fill  in  the  other  strokes. 

Here  is  another  figure  that  you  must  prac- 
tise frequently,  because  it  will  give  you  a  fair 

Fig.  7. 


•0k 


knowledge  of  the  combination  of  form  and  pro- 
portion, and  will  school  your  eyes  to  the  per- 
spective of  solids.  In  this,  as  in  all  cases, 
proceed  by  making  dots  before  you  commence 
drawing  your  lines  ;  and  we  merely  repeat  this 
again  because  we  wish  our  pupils  to  under- 


PRACTICAL    LESSONS    IN    DRAWING. 


451 


stand  most  distinctly  that  no  line  should  be  drawn 
until  the  length  of  it  has  been  marked  upon  the 
jjaper  by  dots.  When  you  have  drawn  the  upper 
horizontal  line  of  a,  in  Fig.  7,  draw  a  perpen- 
dicular line  from  each  end  of  it,  and  let  each 
of  these  lines  be  one  and  a  half  the  length  of 
the  horizontal  line  ;  then  unite  the  two  lower 
ends  of  the  perpendicular  lines.  Now  draw  a 
faint  horizontal  line  along  the  base  of  a,  and  at 
about  half  the  height  of  the  oblong  a  place  a 
dot  on  the  faint  horizontal  line,  and  another 
dot  at  rather  more  than  a  third  of  the  length  of 
the  dot  just  placed  upon  the  line  from  the  left 
lower  angle  of  the  oblong.  You  must  then 
place  a  dot  at  about  half  the  length  of  the  above 
distance  above  the  horizontal  line,  and  the 
same  distance  from  the  second  dot  as  the  width 
of  the  base  a.  From  these  several  dots  draw 
oblique  lines  as  in  b,  Fig.  7,  and  join  them  by 
other  lines  as  shown  in  the  figure.  You  must 
now  draw  other  short  lines  from  the  oblique 
ones  to  the  face  of  the  oblong,  and  finish  the 
figure  by  a  few  short  strokes  at  the  base,  as 
shown  in  the  figure. 

It  is  required  to  represent  the  two  sides  of  a 
pyramid.  Draw  two  faint  horizontal  lines  b  c, 
and  another  one  a,  perpendicular  to  them  ; 
then  draw  a  line  from  c  to  b,  commencing  at 

Fig.  8. 


the  place  where  a  cuts  c;  then  draw  another 
line  from  c  to  b,  one-third  longer  than  the  line 
on  the  right  of  a,  commencing  at  the  point  of 
junction  between  a  and  c.  Place  a  dot  on  the 
left  of  the  perpendicular  a,  at  nearly  the  same 
distance  from  it  as  the  space  between  the  lines 
b  and  c,  and  twice  the  length  of  the  oblique 
line  on  the  right  of 'its  base,  between  the  line 
c  b.  From  this  point  or  dot  draw  lines  to  meet 
those  drawn  before,  and  the  figure  will  be 
complete. 

Draw  a  horizontal  line,  a  6,  and  then  draw  a 
perpendicular  line,  c  d,  across  it,  as  iu  Fig.  9. 

You  will  have  formed  four  right  angles,  a  e  c, 
c  e  b,  bed,  d  e  a;  but  we  are  not  going  to  study 
angles  now  ;  that  is  not  our  object.  We  wish 
you   to   notice  our   remarks  and  practise  the 


figure  ;  then,  when  you  can  draw  this  well,  you 
should  draw  the  lines  in  different  directions  so 

Fig.  9. 
C 


near  that  c  may  be  brought  nearer  to  b,  and  d 
to  a;  by  this  means  you  will  form  various 
kinds  of  angles. 


THE  BROKEN   TENDRIL, 

BY    MRS.     WOLVERTOJT. 

The  twilight  dew  is  falling, 
The  soft  moon  sailing  near, 

Within  her  court  of  beauty 
The  starry  lights  appear. 

They  waken  sleeping  memory, 

Unfold  a  view  for  me : 
A  mother  wildly  weeping, 

A  dying  babe  I  see. 

God's  guardian  angel  waiting, 

In  robe  of  holy  love, 
To  bear  that  precious  infant 

Up  to  the  home  above. 

Then  quick  I  go  in  spirit 

Through  all  tbat  shadow  dim, 

Enfold  that  stricken  mother, 
And  whisper  words  of  Him. 

My  tears  with  hers  are  falling, 
Her  head  upon  my  breast ; 

To  still  the  wild  heart  tumult, 
Her  cheek  to  mine  is  prest. 

None  see  us  but  Our  Father 
Beneath  this  cloud  of  grief, 

Nor  hear  the  words  I  utter 
To  give  that  heart  relief. 

And  He,  unseen,  is  bending 
Within  that  lonely  room, 

His  faith  light  gently  holding 
To  break  the  night  of  gloom. 

Most  dear  the  one  He  chastens-! 

That  one  he  calls  "  His  own," 
His  angel  bears  the  infant, 

The  mother  follows  on. 

United  iu  his  heaven,  on 
Its  bright  and  happy  shore, 

Will  be  the  earthly  parted 
Forever,  ever  more. 


Self-knowledge  gives  a  man  the  truest  and 
most  constant  self-possession. 


"HUSKS." 


**  And  he  would  fain  have  filled  himself  with  the  husks  that  the  swine  did  eat  ;  and  no  man  gave  unto  him." 

BY    MAKION    HARLAND. 

[Entered,  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863,  by  Louis  A.  Godet,  in  the  clerk;s  office  of  the  District 
Court  of  the  United  States,  in  and  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania.] 

(Continued  from  page  365.) 


CHAPTER    IX. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  an  evening  party  which 
both  the  Hnjits  attended,  and  where  Mr.  Ham- 
mond's devotion  was  as  marked  as  anything  so 
modest  could  be,  that  Sarah  felt  him  slip  an 
envelope  in  her  hand,  as  he  put  her  into  the 
carriage.  Surprised  as  she  was  at  the  singu- 
larity of  the  occurrence,  and  disposed  to  take 
offence  at  the  familiarity  it  implied,  she  had 
yet  the  presence  of  mind  to  conceal  the  missive 
from  Lucy,  and  talk  about  other  things,  until 
they  were  set  down  at  home.  In  the  privacy 
of  her  chamber,  she  broke  the  seal  and  read 
her  first  love-letter. 

It  was  a  characteristic  composition.  If  the 
Strong  hand  had  trembled  above  the  lines,  the 
clear,  clerkly  penmanship  did  not  witness  to  the 
weakness.  Nor  was  there  anything  in  the  sub- 
ject matter  that  did  not  appear  to  Sarah  as 
business-like  and  unimpassioned.  It  was  a 
frank  and  manly  avowal  of  attachment  for  her  ; 
a  compliment  implied,  rather  than  broadly 
stated,  to  her  virtues  ;  the  traits  that  had  gained 
his  esteem  ;  then  his  love — a  deprecatory  sen- 
tence as  to  his  ability  to  deserve  the  treasure 
he  dared  to  ask — and  then  the  question!  in 
plain  black  and  white,  unequivocal  to  blunt- 
ness,  simple  and  direct  to  curtness. 

"As  he  would  ask  the  price  of  a  bale  of 
goods  !"  burst  forth  Sarah,  indignant,  as  she 
threw  the  paper  on  the  floor,  and  buried  her 
burning  face  in  her  hands. 

"Hiat  there  comes  sometimes  a  glory  to  the 
Present,  beside  which  the  hues  of  Past  and 
Future  fade  and  are  forgotten,  I  must  and  will 
believe.  Such,  it  seems  to  me,  must  be  the 
rapture  of  acknowledged  and  reciprocal  affec- 
tion !"  This  was  the. echo  memory  repeated  to 
her  soul.  She  saw  again  the  gently  gliding 
river,  with  its  waves  of  crimson  and  gold ; 
breathed  the  pure  fragrance  of  the  summer 
evening ;  floated  on,  towards  the  sunset,  with 
the  loved  voice  in  her  ear  ;  the  dawn  of  a 
strange  and  beautiful  life,  shedding  blissful 
calm  throughout  her  being. 

And  from  this  review,  dangerous  as  it  was, 
452 


for  one  fleeting  instant  sweet,  she  returned  to 
the  proposal  that  had  amazed  and  angered  her. 
Lewis's  undemonstrative  exterior  had  misled 
her,  as  it  did  most  persons,  in  the  estimate  of 
his  inner  nature.  Kind  she  was  compelled  to 
confess  that  he  was,  in  the  remembrance  of  his 
goodness  to  her  father ;  his  demeanor  was 
always  gentlemanly,  and  she  had  caught  here 
and  there  rumors  of  his  generosity  to  the  needy 
that  prevented  a  suspicion  of  sordidness.  No 
doubt  he  was  very  well  in  his  way  ;  but  he 
wanted  to  marry  her!  With  the  intensity  of 
her  fiery  spirit,  her  will  arose  against  the  pre- 
sumptuous request.  It  was  the  natural  recoil 
of  the  woman  who  already  loves,  at  the  sugges- 
tion of  a  union  with  another  than  the  man  of 
her  choice  ;  the  spontaneous  outspeaking  of  a 
heart  whose  allegiance  vows  have  been  pledged 
and  cannot  be  nullified.  But  she  would  not 
see  this.  Upon  the  unfortunate  letter  and  its 
writer  descended  the  storm  of  passionate  re- 
pugnance aroused  by  its  contents.  With  the 
reaction  of  excited  feeling  came  tears — a  plenti- 
ful shower  that  relaxed  the  overwrought  nerves, 
until  they  were  ready  to  receive  the  benediction 
of  sleep. 

Lewis  had  not  asked  a  written  or  verbal 
reply. 

"  I  will  call  to  take  you  to  drive  to-morrow 
afternoon,"  he  wrote.  "  Should  your  decision 
upon  the  question  I  have  proposed  be  favorable, 
your  consent  to  accompany  me  in  my  ride  will 
be  understood  as  a  signal  that  you  have  ac- 
cepted my  graver  suit.  If  your  conclusion  is 
adverse  to  my  hopes,  you  can  signify  the  same 
to  me  in  a  letter,  to  be  handed  me  when  I 
ask  for  you.  This  course  will  spare  us  both 
embarrassment — perhaps  pain.  In  any  event, 
be  assured  that  you  will  ever  have  a  firm  friend 
in  Yours  truly,         Lewis  Hammon^." 

Sarah's  lip  curled  as  she  reperused  this  clause 
of  the  letter  on  the  following  morning. 

"  It  is  a  comfort  to  know  that  I  have  not  to 
answer  for  the  sin  of  breaking  my  ardent  suit- 
or's heart !"  she  said,  as  she  drew  towards  her 


u 


HUSKS. 


n 


453 


the  sheet  upon  which  she  was  to  indite  her 
refusal.  It  was  brief  and  courteous — freezing 
in  its  punctilious  civility,  and  prepared  with- 
out a  pang,  or  a  solitary  misgiving  that  its 
reception  would  not  be  philosophically  calm. 
Her  design  was  to  intrust  it  to  the  footman,  to 
be  delivered  when  Mr.  Hainmocd  called ;  and 
as  the  hour  approached  at  which  the  expectant 
was  to  present  himself,  she  took  the  note  from 
the  desk,  and  started  down  stairs  with  it. 

The  sitting-room  door  was  open,  and  aware 
that  Victoria  West  was  in  there  with  Lucy, 
Sarah  trod  very  softly  as  she  neared  it.  Her 
own  name  arrested  her  as  she  was'  going  by. 
She  stopped  involuntarily. 

"  I  thought  Sarah  a  girl  of  better  regulated 
mind,"  said  Victoria,  in  a  tone  of  censorious 
pity.  "Of  course  she  suffers!  It  is  the  in- 
evitable consequence  of  an  unrequited  attach- 
ment. Such  miserable  folly,  such  unpardonable 
weakness  brings  its  punishment  with  it.  But 
my  sympathies  are  all  yours,  my  dearest.  I 
only  wish  you  were  not  so  sensitive.  You  are 
not  to  blame  for  her  blind  mistake." 

"I  cannot  help  it!"  said  Lucy,  plaintively. 
"  It  seems  so  sad  that  I  should  be  made  the 
means  of  depriving  her  of  happiness.  I  wish 
I  had  never  known  that  she  was  attached  to 
poor  Philip.  I  can't  tell  you  how'  awkward  I 
feel  when  any  allusion  is  made  in  her  hearing 
to  the  dear  fellow,  or  to  our  marriage." 

"  I  meant  it  for  the  best,  dear,  in  telling  you 
of  my  discovery,"  replied  Victoria,  slightly 
hurt. 

"  I  know  that,  my  dear  creature  !  And  it  is 
well  that  I  should  not  be  kept  in  the  dark  as 
to  the  state  of  her  affections.  I  only  hope  that 
Philip  never  penetrated  her  secret.  I  should 
die  of  mortification  for  her,  if  he  were  to  find  it 
out.  It  is  a  lamentable  affair — and  I  am  sure 
that  he  is  not  in  fault.  What  did  you  say 
that  you  gave  for  that  set  of  handkerchiefs  you 
showed  me  yesterday  ?" 

"The  cheapest  things  you  ever  saw!  I -got 
them  at  Stewart's,  and  they  averaged  six  dol- 
lars apiece  !  As  to  Mr.  Benson,  I  trust,  with 
you,  that  he  is  as  unsuspecting  as  he  seems  ; 
but  he  has  remarkable  discernment,  you  know. 
What  I  could  not  help  seeing,  before  I  had  any 
other  proof  than  her  behavior,  is  not  likely  to 
have  escaped  him." 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  twain  were  disturbed 
in  their  confidences  by  the  sound  of  wheels 
stopping  before  the  house,  followed  by  a  ring  at 
the  door.  Victoria,  ever  on  the  alert,  peeped, 
with  feline  caution  and  curiosity,  arounsl  the 
edge  of  the  curtain. 
vol.  lxvi. — 36 


"What  is  going  to  happen?  Look,  Lucy  ! 
Mr.  Hammond  in  aJiandsome  light  carriage, 
and  driving  a  lovely  pair  of  horses  !  I  never 
thought  to  see  him  go  in  such  style.  How  well 
he  looks  !     Take  care  !  he  will  see  you  !" 

Both  dodged  as  he  glanced  at  the  upper  win- 
dows ;  but  resumed  their  look-out  in  time  to 
see  the  light  that  was  kindled  in  his  face 
when  Sarah  emerged  from  the  front  door.  He 
was  at  her  side  in  a  second,  to  lead  her  down 
the  steps,  and  his  manner  in  this  movement, 
and  in  assisting  her  into  the  carriage,  the  more 
striking  in  one  generally  so  self-contained  and 
deliberate,  inspired  the  pair  of  initiated  obser- 
vers with  the  same  conviction.  As  the  spirited 
horses  disappeared  into  the  Avenue,  the  friends 
drew  back  from  their  loop-hole,  and  stared 
each  other  in  the  eyes,  with  the  simultaneous 
exclamation — "  They  are  engaged  !" 

They  were  engaged  !  Lewis  felt  it  with  a  glad 
bound  of  the  heart — but  a  minute  before  sick- 
ening in  deadly  suspense ;  felt,  as  he  seated 
himself  by  her  side,  that  the  sorrows  of  a  lonely 
and  struggling  youth,  the  years  of  manhood's 
isolation  and  unsatisfied  longings  were  swept 
from  memory  by  this  hour  of  abundant,  unal- 
loyed happiness. 

And  Sarah  felt  it !  As  her  hand  touched  his, 
at  their  meeting  upon  the  steps,  a  chill  ran 
through  her  frame  that  told  the  consummation 
of  the  sacrifice  which  was  to  atone  for  past  folly  ; 
to  silence,  and  brand  as  a  lying  rumor,  the  fear- 
ful tale  that  hinted  abroad  the  revelation  of  that 
weakness.  In  her  mad  horror  at  the  knowledge 
of  its  discovery,  she  had  rushed  upon  this 
alternative.  Better  an  estate  of  honorable  mis- 
ery, than  to  live  on,  solitary,  disgraced,  con- 
demned and  pitied  by  her  meanest  foe  !  Now 
that  the  irreversible  step  was  taken,  she  expe- 
rienced no  sharp  regret,  no  wild  impulse  of  re- 
treat, but  a  gradual  sinking  of  spirit  into  hope- 
less apathy. 

Her  veil- concealed  her  dull  eyes  and  stolid 
features,  and  to  Lewis's  happy  mood  there  was 
nothing  surprising  or  discouraging  in  her  dis- 
position to  silence.  With  a  tact,  for  which 
she  had  not  given  him  credit,  and  did  not  now 
value  aright,  he  refrained  from  any  direct  refer- 
ence to  their  altered  relation  until  they  were 
returning  homeward.  Then,  changing  his  tone 
of  pleasant  chat  for  one  of  deeper  meaning,' he 
said :  — 

"  I  have  dared  to  hope  much — everything — 
from  your  consent  to  become  my  companion 
for  this  afternoon.  Before  I  ventured  to  address 
you  directly,  I  had  a  long  and  frank  conversa- 
tion with  your  father." 


V 


454 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


"What  did  lie  say?"  asked  Sarah,  turning 
towards  him  for  the  first  time. 

"  He  referred  me  to  you  for  my  answer, 
which,  he  said,  must  be  final  and  positive,  since 
he  would  never  attempt  to  influence  your  choice. 
In  the  event  of  an  affirmative  reply  from  you, 
he  promised  that  his  sanction  should  not  be 
withheld." 

Sarah  was  silent.  She  comprehended  fully 
her  father's  warm  interest  in  his  friend's  suit, 
which  the  speaker  was  too  diffident  to  imply, 
and  how  this  expression  of  his  wishes  set  the 
seal  upon  her  fate. 

"  We  are  poor  and  proud  !  Mr.  Hammond  is 
rich  and  seeks  to  marry  me  1"  was  her  bitter 
thought.  "It  is  a  fine  bargain  in  the  eyes  of 
both  my  parents.  It  would  be  high  treason  in 
me  to  dispute  their  will.  Mr.  Hammond  has 
conceived  the  notion  that  I  am  a  useful  domes- 
tic character ;  a  good  housekeeper  and  nurse, 
and  he  is  willing  to  bid  liberally  for  my  ser- 
vices. It  is  all  arranged  between  them  !  Mine 
is  a  passive  part,  to  copy  Lucy's  sweet,  sub- 
missive ways  for  a  season,  for  fear  of  frighten- 
ing away  the  game,  afterwards'  to  attend  to  my 
business,  while  he  looks  after  his.  I  have 
chosen  my  lot,  and  I  will  abide  by  it !" 

"  Have  I  your  permission  to  call  this  evening 
and  inform  your  father  of  my  success — may  I 
say  of  our  engagement  ?"  asked  Lewis. 

"  It  is  best,  I  suppose,  to  call  things  by  their 
right  names,"  replied  Sarah,  in  a  cold  voice, 
that  was  to  him  only  coy.  He  smiled,  and  was 
about  to  speak,  when  she  resumed  :  "  Since 
we  are  virtually  engaged" — she  caught  her 
breath,  as  she  brought  out  the  word — "I  see 
no  reason  why  we  should  hesitate  to  announce 
it  to  those  whose  right  it  is  to  know  it." 

"  Thank  you  !  That  was  spoken  like  the 
noble,  unaffected  woman  you  are  \  Will  you 
always  be  equally  sincere  with  me — Sarah  V 
His  accent  trembled  with  excess  of  emotion  in 
calling  the  name. 

Is  it,  then,  an  easy  lot  that  you  have  chosen, 
Sarah  Hunt  ?  You,  whose  pride  and  glory  it 
was  to  be  truthful,  who  spurned  whatever 
assimilated  in  the  least  degree  to  deception, 
what  think  you  of  a  life  where  a  lie  meets  you 
on  the  threshold,  and  must  be  accepted  and 
perpetuated,  if  you  would  preserve  your  name 
and  position  in  his  eyes  and  those  of  the  world. 
"  It  is  the  way  two-thirds  of  the  married  people 
live  !"  you  were  saying  to  yourself,  just  now. 
It  may  be  so ;  but  it  is  none  the  less  a  career 
of  duplicity,  perjury — crime  ! 

"I  will  endeavor  to  please  you!"  she  fal- 


tered, her  face  in  a  flame  of  shame  and  confu- 
sion. 

And  this  was  the  hue  that  met  Lewis's  eye, 
as  her  veil  was  blown  aside,  in  her  descent  to 
the  pavement,  a  blush  he  interpreted  to  suit 
his  own  wishes.  Mr.  Hunt  appeared  in  the 
door-way  as  she  alighted,  and  read  in  Ham- 
mond's smile  and  joyous  salutation  all  that  he 
most  desired  to  learn.  When  the  door  was 
closed  upon  the  departing  suitor,  the  father 
drew  his  best-beloved  child  to  him,  and  kissed 
her,  without  a  word  of  uttered  blessing. 

"  It  would  break  his  heart  were  I  to  recede 
now  !"  thought  Sarah,  as  she  bore  hers — heavy, 
hard — up  to  her  room. 

That  evening  was  the  proudest  era  of  Mrs. 
Hunt's  existence.  Two  daughters  well  engaged 
— unexceptionably  paired  off!  What  mother 
more  blest  than  she  ?  Where  could  be  found 
other  children  so  dutiful  ?  other  sons-in-law  so 
acceptable  ?  By  breakfast  time,  next  day,  she 
had  arranged  everything — Sarah's  trousseau, 
her  house,  and  the  double  wedding. 

Lucy  expostulated  here.  "  But,  mother,  this 
is  the  first  of  November." 

"I  know  that,  my  dear;  but  the  ceremony 
will  not  come  off  until  Christmas,  and  much 
can  be  done  in  six  weeks  for  your  sister — your 
work  is  so  forward.  Then,  again,  'tisn't  as  if 
Sarah  couldn't  get  everything  she  needs  right 
here,  if  she  shouldn't  have  enough.  It  will  be 
tremendously  expensive — awful,  in  fact ;  but 
we  must  make  sacrifices.  We  can  live  econo- 
mical after  you  're  married  and  gone,  and  save 
enough  to  meet  the  bills." 

"  If  you  please,  madam,  I  prefer  a  plain  out- 
fit, and  no  debts,"  said  Sarah's  most  abrupt 
tones. 

' '  If  you  please,  my  dear,  I  understand  my 
affairs,  and  mean  to  do  as  I  think  proper,"  re- 
torted the  no  less  strong-willed  mother. 

Sarah  was  not  cowed.  "And  as  to  the  time 
you  set,  I  cannot" agree  to  it.  I  presume  that 
in  this  matter  I  have  some  voice.  I  say  six 
months  instead  of  six  weeks  !" 

"  Very  well,  my  love."  Mrs.  Hunt  went  on 
polishing  a  tumbler  with  her  napkin.  She 
always  washed  her  silver  and  glass  herself. 
"  You  must  settle  that  with  your  father  and 
Mr.  Hammond.  They  are  crazy  for  this  plan. 
They  were  talking  to  me  about  it  last  night, 
and  I  told  them  that  I  would  engage  to  have 
everything  ready  in  time  ;  but  you  must  be 
consulted.  I  never  saw  your  father  more  set 
upon  anything.  He  said  to  me,  private,  that  he 
did  hope  that  you  wouldn't  raise  any  squeamish 
objections,    and    upset   their    arrangements." 


"HUSKS." 


455 


Mrs.  Hunt  took  up  a  handful  of  spoons  as 
composedly  as  if  she  had  never  stretched  her 
conscience  in  her  life. 

Sarah's  head  drooped  upon  the  table.  She 
was  very,  very  miserable.  In  her  morbid  state 
of  mind  she  did  not  dream  of  questioning  the 
accuracy  of  her  mother's  assertion.  That  a 
marriageable  single  daughter  was  a  burden  to 
one  parent,  she  knew  but  too  well ;  that  to  this 
able  financier  the  prospect  of  getting  two  out 
of  the  way,  with  the  iclat  of  a  double  ceremony 
that  should  cost  no  more  than  Lucy's  nuptials 
would  have  done,  was  a  stupendous  temptation, 
she  also  perceived.  But  that  the  fatlier  whom 
she  so  loved  ;  whose  sick  bed  she  had  tended  so 
faithfully  ;  whose  lonely  hours  it  was  her  pro- 
vince and  delight  to  solace — that  he  should 
acquiesce — nay,  more,  rejoice  in  this  indeli- 
cate haste  to  get  rid  of  her,  was  a  cruel  stab. 
"Very  well,"  she  said,  raising  an  ashy  face. 
"  Let  it  be  as  you  say.  The  sooner  it  is  over, 
the  better." 

This  clause  was  unheeded  by  her  mother  and 
sister.  Had  they  heard  it,  they  might  have 
understood  it  as  little  as  they  did  the  compo- 
sure with  which  she  joined  in  the  work  which 
was  begun,  without  an  hour's  delay.  In  this 
trying  juncture,  Mrs.  Hunt  came  out  in  all  her 
strength.  Her  sewing-machine  (she  was  one 
of  the  earliest  purchasers  of  these  inestimable 
time,  labor,  and  money-savers)  went  night 
and  day  ;  she  shopped  largely  and  judiciously, 
giving  orders  to  tradespeople  with  the  air  of  a 
princess;  "Jewed"  her  butcher ;  watched  her 
pantry,  and  served  up  poorer  dinners  than  ever. 
Jeannie's  winter  outfit  was  ingeniously  con- 
trived from  her  sister's  cast-off  wardrobe  ;  Mr. 
Hunt's  and  the  boys'  shirts  and  socks  were 
patched  and  darned  until  but  a  trifling  quan- 
tity of  the  original  material  remained  ;  and  this 
pearl  of  mothers  had  her  two  year  old  cloak 
and  last  season's  hat  "done  over"  for  this 
year's  wear. 

Foremost  among  the  visitors  to  the  Hunts, 
after  this  latest  engagement  was  made  public, 
was  Mrs.  Marlow,  the  wife  of  Mr.  Hammond's 
benefactor  and  partner.  Sarah  was  out  when 
she  called ;  so  Mrs.  Hunt  received  her,  and 
discovering  very  soon  that,  in  spite  of  her  hus- 
band's wealth  and  her  splendid  establishment, 
she  was  not,  as  Mrs.  Hunt  phrased  it  to  her 
daughters,  "  one  mite  proud,  and  thought  the 
world  and  all  of  Lewis" — the  mother  opened 
her  heart  to  her  so  freely,  with  regard  to  the 
prospective  weddings  and  her  maternal  anxi- 
eties, that  Mrs.  Marlow  was  emboldened  to 
introduce  a  subject  which  had  taken  hold  of  her 


thoughts  as  soon  as  she  heard  from  Mr.  Ham- 
mond of  his  expected  marriage. 

She  had  a  daughter  resident,  for  the  winter, 
in  Paris,  whose  taste  in  female  attire  was  un- 
questionable, and  her  good  nature  as  praise- 
worthy. If  Miss  Sarah  Hunt  would  prepare  a 
memorandum  of  such  articles  as  she  would  like 
to  have  selected  in  that  emporium  of  fashion, 
she  would  promise,  for  her  daughter,  that 
they  should  be  forwarded  in  time  for  "  the  oc- 
casion." 

"  Some  friends  of  mine,  now  abroad,  have 
kindly  offered  to  bring  me  over  any  quantity 
of  fine  dresses  with  their  baggage,"  said  the 
complaisant  old  lady  ;  "  and,  as  I  do  not  need 
their  services  for  myself,  I  can  smuggle  in 
whatever  your  daughter  may  order.  You  would 
be  surprised  at  the  difference  in  prices  here  and 
there — to  say  nothing  of  the  superior  excellence 
and  variety  of  the  assortment  from  which  one 
can  choose.  My  friends  will  return  early  in 
December.  Therefore,  should  you  like  this 
arrangement,  I  ought  to  have  the  list  and  write 
my  letters  to-morrow." 

Energetic,  fussy,  snobbish  Mrs.  Hunt  !  She 
stood  an  inch  taller  in  her  shoes  at  the  imagi- 
nation of  this  climax  to  the  glory  of  the  dual 
ceremony.  "Trousseau  ordered  directly  from 
Paris  !"  She  seemed  already  to  hear  the  en- 
vious and  admiring  buzz  of  her  set ;  saw  herself 
the  most  blessed  of  women — her  daughters  the 
brides  of  the  season.  She  would  order  for  Lucy, 
also  ;  for  the  longer  the  list,  the  more  impor- 
tance would  the  future  Mrs.  Hammond  acquire 
in  the  sight  of  her  husband's  friends.  They 
could  not  know  that  it  was  not  for  her  alone. 
Then,  as  Mrs.  Marlow  intimated,  it  would  be  a 
saving.  Here,  like  a  cold  shower-bath,  came 
the  agonizing  query — "Where  was  the  money 
to  come  from?"  It  would  never  do  to  run  in 
debt  to  such  people  as  the  Marlows.  If  they 
were  hard-pressed  shopkeepers,  who  needed  the 
money,  it  would  be  another  thing.  No  !  the 
cash  in  hand,  or  its  representative,  must  accom- 
pany the  memorandum. 

Sarah  was  secretly  pleased  at  this  obstacle  ; 
for  she  despised  the  ostentation  and  extrava- 
gance going  on  in  their  hungry  household. 
Strive  as  she  did,  with  wicked  pertinacity,  to 
conform  herself  to  the  world's  code,  there  was 
as  yet  too  much  of  the  ancient  and  better  leaven 
left  to  permit  more  than  an  outward  obedience 
to  the  dictates  of  customs  so  irrational  and 
tyrannical. 

That  very  evening  there  arrived  a  letter  that 
settled  the  question,  and  inflated  Mrs.  Hunt's 
collapsed    spirits    to    an    expansion    hitherto 


4©6 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


unequalled.  It  was  from  Aunt  Sarah  to  her 
namesake  niece  ;  a  guileless,  fervent  expres- 
sion of  good  wishes  and  unabated  affection,  and 
a  request  from  "husband"  and  herself  that  she 
would  accept  the  inclosure  as  a  mark  of  that 
hopeful  regard. 

"  Since  our  daughters  died" — wrote  this 
true  and  gentle  mother — "  we  have  always 
intended  to  give  you  just  exactly  what  we 
would  have  done  one  of  them,  as  a  wedding- 
present — as  you  were  named  for  me,  and  I  had 
nursed  you  before  your  mother  ever  did,  and 
you  seemed  in  some  way  to  belong  to  us.  But 
since  you  paid  us  a  visit  we  have  felt  nearer  to 
you  than  ever,  and  seeing  that  the  Lord  has 
prospered  us  iu  this  world's  goods,  we  have 
made  up  our  minds  to  give  you  a  double  por- 
tion, dear,  what  both  of  our  girls  would  have 
had,  if  it  had  pleased  our  Father  to  spare  them 
to  have  homes  of  their  own  upon  earth.  Living 
is  high  in  New  York,  but  we  have  calculated 
that  what  we  send  will  buy  your  wedding- 
clothes  and  furnish  your  house." 

The  inclosed  gift,  to  Sarah's  astonishment, 
was  a  check  upon  a  city  bank  for  a  thousand 
dollars  ! 

""Was  there  ever  such  a  child  for  luck!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Hunt,  clapping  her  hands. 
"  What  a  fortunate  thing  we  sent  you  down 
there  when  we  did  !  That  was  one  of  my  plans, 
you  remember,  Mr.  H.!  Really,  Lucy,  our 
little  Sarah  understands  how  to  play  her  cards, 
after  all  !  I  never  did  you  justice,  my  dear 
daughter.  I  ain't  ashamed  to  confess  it.  This 
puts  all  straight,  and  is  real  handsome  in 
Sister  Benson — more  than  I  expected.  Go  to 
work  right  away  upon  your  list,  girls  !  We  '11 
have  to  set  up  the  best  part  of  the  night  to 
get  it  ready.  Ah,  well !  this  comes  of  putting 
one's  trust  in  Providence  and  going  ahead  !" 

Sarah  thought,  with  aching  heart  and  mois- 
tened eyes,  of  Aunt  Sarah's  mind-pictures  of 
the  neat  apparel  and  snug  dwelling  she  deemed 
proper  for  a  young  couple  just  beginning  house- 
keeping, and  rebelled  at  this  waste,  this  frivo- 
lous expenditure  of  her  love-portion.  Mr.  Hunt 
sided  with  her  so  far  as  to  urge  the  propriety 
of  her  doing  as  she  pleased  with  what  was  her 
exclusive  property  ;  but,  as  in  a  majority  of 
former  altercations,  their  arguments  and  pow- 
ers of  endurance  were  no  match  for  the  deter- 
mination and  mind  of  the  real  head  of  the  fam- 
ily. With  a  sigh  of  pain,  disgust,  and  despair, 
Mr.  Hunt  succumbed,  and,  deserted  by  her  ally, 
Sarah  contended  but  a  short  time  longer  ere 
she  yielded  up  the  cause  of  the  combat  to  the 
indomitable  victress. 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  bridal  day  came  ;  frosty  and  clear,  daz- 
zlingly  bright,  by  reason  of  the  reflection  from 
the  snow,  which  lay  deep  and  firm  upon  the 
ground. 

"  What  a  delightful  novelty  this  is,  coming 
to  a  wedding  in  a  sleigh  !"  lisped  one  of  the 
triad  of  bridemaids,  who  were  to  do  double 
duty  for  the  sisters.  "  How  very  gay  it  makes 
one  to  hear  the  bells  outside !  Have  they 
come,  Vic.  ?" 

Victoria,  whose  marriage  was  but  one  week 
off,  was,  true  to  instinct  and  habit,  on  the  look- 
out behind  the  friendly  curtain. 

She  nodded.  "Yes — both  of  them,  but  not 
together.  What  a  magnificent  sleigh  that  is  of 
the  Marlows  !  They  brought  Mr.  Hammond. 
See  the  bridegrooms  shake  hands  on  the  side- 
walk !  That  looks  so  sweet  and  brotherly  ! 
They  will  be  up  here,  almost  directly  I  sup- 
pose." 

The  attendants  immediately  began  to  shake 
out  their  robes  and  stroke  their  white  gloves. 
They  were  collected  in  the  sitting-room  so 
often  mentioned,  and  the  sisters  were  also 
present.  In  accordance  with  the  ridiculous 
custom  of  very  parvenu  modern  marriages, 
although  the  ceremony  was  to  take  place  pre- 
cisely at  twelve  o'clock,  daylight  was  carefully 
excluded  from  the  parlors  below,  gas  made  its 
sickly  substitute,  and  the  whole  company  was 
in  full  evening  costume. 

"Am  I  all  right  ?"  inquired  Lucy,  with  a 
cautious  wave  of  her  flowing  veil.  "Look  at 
me,  Vic.  !" 

"You  are  perfect,  my  dearest !"  replied  the 
devoted  parasite.  "  How  I  admire  your  beau- 
tiful self-possession  !  And  as  for  you,  Sarah, 
your  calmness  is  wonderful !  I  fear  that  I 
should  be  terribly  agitated" — blushing?  and 
casting  a  meaning  smile  at  Lucy. 

Sarah's  statuesque  repose  was  broken  by  a 
ray  of  scorn  from  the  eye,  and  a  slight  dis- 
dainful sn>ile.  Whatever  were  the  feelings 
working  beneath  her  marble  mask,  she  was 
not  yet  reduced  to  the  depth  of  wretchedness 
that  would  humble  her  to  accept  the  insolent 
pity  couched  under  the  pretended  praise.  She 
vouchsafed  no  other  reply  ;  but  remained  stand- 
ing a  little  apart  from  the  rest ;  her  gloved 
hands  crossed  carelessly  before  her ;  her  gaze 
bent  downwards  ;  her  whole  posture  that  of  one 
who  neither  waited,  nor  hoped,  nor  feared. 

"  Who  would  have  thought  that  she  could  be 
made  such  an  elegant-looking  woman  !"  whis- 
pered one  of  the  bridemaids  aside  to  another. 


f< 


HUSKS.' 


457 


"  She  has  actually  a  high-bred  air  !  I  never 
imagined  it  was  in  her.  So  much  for  a  Paris- 
ian toilette  !" 

"  I  am  so  much  afraid  that  I  shall  lose  my 
color  when  we  enter  the  room,"  said  Lucy, 
surveying  her  pink  cheeks  in  the  mirror. 
"  They  say  it  is  so  trying  to  the  nerves,  and  I 
am  odious  when  I  am  pale." 

"  Never  fear,  my  sweetest.  It  is  more  likely 
that  the  unavoidable  excitement  will  improve 
your  complexion.  There  they  are  !"  returned 
Victoria,  hurriedly,  and — unconsciously,  no 
doubt — the  three  attendants  and  one  of  the  prin- 
cipals in  the  forthcoming  transaction,  '"struck 
an  attitude,"  as  the  sound  of  footsteps  ap- 
proached the  door. 

Lucy  had  only  time  for  a  whisper — a  last  in- 
junction— to  her  faithful  crony.  "  Remember 
to  see  that  my  veil  and  dress  hang  right  when 
we  get  down  stairs."  And  the  masculine  por- 
tion of  the  procession  marched  in  in  order. 

Sarah  did  not  look  up.  She  bent  her  head 
as  the  formal  exchange  of  salutations  was  exe- 
cuted, and  yielded  her  hand  to  the  person  who 
took  it  in  his  warm  pressure,  and  then  trans- 
ferred it  to  his  arm.  It  was  one  of  the  freaks, 
thus  denominated  by  her  acquaintances,  in 
which  she  had  been  indulged,  that  she  desired 
to  have  her  marriage  ceremony  precede  her 
sister's.  She  assigned  what  Lucy  at  least  con- 
sidered a  sufficient  reason  for  this  caprice. 

"  Nobody  will  care  to  look  at  me  after  you 
stand  aside,  Lucy.  Keep  the  best  wine  until 
the  last.  My  only  chance  of  getting  an  approv- 
ing glance  lies  in  going  in  before  you  attract 
and  fix  the  public  gaze." 

She  had  her  way.  A  limited  number  of  select 
friends  were  admitted  to  behold  "the  cere- 
mony ;"  yet  the  parlors  were  comfortably  filled, 
excepting  in  the  magical  semicircle  described 
by  an  invisible  line  in  the  centre  of  which 
stood  the  clergyman  in  his  robes. 

Still  dull  and  calm,  Sarah  went  through  the 
brief  role  that  fell  to  her  share.  "Behaved 
charmingly,"  was  the  unanimous  verdict  of  the 
beholders,  and  surprised  other  people,  as  well 
as  the  complimentary  bridemaid,  by  her  tho- 
rough-bred air  and  Parisian  toilet.  Without 
the  pause  of  a  second,  so  perfect  was  the  drill 
of  the  performers,  the  wedded  pair  stepped 
aside,  and  made  way  for  the  second  happy 
couple.  Lucy's  solicitude  on  the  score  of  her 
complexion  was  needless.  As  the  solemn  words 
were  commenced,  a  rosy  blush  flickered  up  to 
its  appointed  resting-place — another  and  an- 
other— until,  when  Philip  released  her  to  the 
congratulatory  throng,  she  was  the  most  en- 

36* 


chanting  type  of  a  radiant  Hebe  that  poet  ever 
sang,  or  painter  burned  to  immortalize  on 
canvas. 

Philip  stood  beside  her  and  sustained  his 
proportion  of  the  hand-shaking  and  felicitations 
until  the  press  diminished,  then  stepped  hastily 
over  to  where  Hammond  and  his  bride  were 
undergoing  a  similar  martyrdom.  Until  this 
moment  Sarah  had  not  looked  at,  or  spoken  to 
him — had  never  met  him  face  to  face  since  their 
parting  in  the  summer  at  Aunt  Sarah's.  Now, 
not  aware  who  it  was  that  approached  her,  she 
raised  her  eyes  with  the  serious  dignity  with 
which  she  had  received  all  other  salutations, 
and  met  his  downward  gaze — full  of  warm  and 
honest  feeling.  "Sister!"  he  said,  and  in 
brotherly  fondness  he  bent  towards  her,  and 
left  a  kiss  upon  her  mouth. 

A  hot  glow,  the  lurid  red  of  offended  modesty 
or  self-convicted  guilt,  overspread  her  face ; 
the  lips  parted,  quivered,  and  closed  tightly 
after  an  ineffectual  effort  to  articulate ;  the 
room  swam  around  her,  and  Mr.  Hammond 
caught  her  just  in  time  to  save  her  from  falling. 
It  was  Nature's  vengeful  reaction  for  the  long 
and  unnatural  strain  upon  her  energies.  She 
did  not  faint  entirely  away,  although  several 
moments  elapsed  before  she  regained  perfect 
consciousness  of  her  situation  and  surrounding 
objects.  She  had  been  placed  in  an  easy-chair ;  t. 
her  head  rested  against  her  father's  shoulder, 
and  on  the  other  side  stood  Lewis,  almost  as 
pale  as  herself,  holding  a  glass  of  wine  to  her 
lips.  Around  her  were  grouped  her  mother, 
Lucy,  and  Philip.  The  guests  had  withdrawn 
politely  to  the  background,  and  maintained  a 
respectful  silence. 

"What  have  I  betrayed  ?"  was  her  first  co- 
herent reflection  ;  and,  with  an  instinctive  per- 
ception of  the  quarter  where  such  disclosures 
would  do  most  harm,  her  eye  turned  with  a 
sort  of  appealing  terror  to  Lewis.  His  heart 
leaped  at  the  movement,  revealing,  as  he  fan- 
cied it  did,  dependence  upon  his  strength, 
recognition  of  his  right  to  be  with  and  nearest 
to  her. 

"You  are  better,"  he  said,  with  a  moved 
tenderness  he  could  not  and  cared'  not  to  re- 
strain. 

The  words,  the  manner  were  an  inexpressible 
relief  to  her  fears,  and  trying  to  return  his 
smile,  she  would  have  arisen  but  for  her 
father's  interposition. 

"  Sit  still,"  he  advised.  "  Mrs.  Hunt,  Lucy, 
Mr.  Benson,  will  you  entertain  our  friends  ? 
She  will  be  all  right  in  a  little  while,  Mr.  Ham- 
mond." 


4:58 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


"Tableaux  vivants!"  said  Lucy's  soft,  rich 
voice,  as  she  advanced  towards  the  reassured 
guests.  "  This  is  a  part  of  the  performance 
not  set  down  in  the  programme.  Quite  theat- 
rical, was  it  not  ?" 

It  is  very  possihle  that  Philip  Benson  would 
not  have  regarded  this  as  an  apropos  or  refined 
witticism,  had  any  one  else  been  the  speaker  ; 
hut  as  the  round,  liquid  tones  rolled  it  forth, 
and  her  delicious  laugh  led  off  the  instant  re- 
vival of  mirth  and  badinage,  he  marvelled  at  her 
consummate  tact,  her  happy  play  of  fancy  (!), 
and  returned  devout  thanks  to  the  stars  that 
had  bestowed  upon  him  this  prodigy  of  grace, 
wit,  and  beauty.  Sarah  rallied  speedily  ;  and, 
contrary  to  the  advice  of  her  father  and  hus- 
band, maintained  her  post  in  the  drawing-room 
all  during  the  reception,  which  continued  from 
half-past  twelve  to  half-past  two. 

It  was  a  gay  and  shifting  scene — a  sparkling, 
murmuring  tide,  that  ebbed  and  flowed  to  and 
from  the  quartette  who  formed  the  attractive 
power.  Silks,  laces,  velvets,  furs,  and  dia- 
monds ;  faces  young,  old,  and  middle-aged  ; 
handsome,  fair,  and  homely;  all  decked  in  the 
same  conventional  holiday  smile ;  bodies  tall  and 
short,  executing  every  variety  of  bow  and  court- 
esy ;  voices  sweet,  sharp,  and  guttural,  uttering 
the  senseless  formula  of  congratulation — these 
were  Sarah's  impressions  of  the  tedious  ceremo- 
nial. Restored  to  her  rigid  composure,  she  too 
bowed  and  spoke  the  word  or  sentence  custom 
exacted — an  emotionless  automaton  in  seeming, 
while  Lucy's  matchless  inflections  lent  interest 
and  beauty  to  the  like  nothings,  as  she  rehearsed 
them  in  her  turn  ;  and  Philip  Benson,  having 
no  solicitude  for  his  bride's  health  or  ability  to 
endure  the  fatigue,  was  collected  enough  to  com- 
pare the  two,  and,  while  exulting  in  his  selec- 
tion, to  commiserate  the  proprietor  of  the  colder 
and  less  gifted  sister. 

At  last,  the  trial  was  over  ;.  the  hospitable 
mansion  was  closed  ;  the  parlors  deserted  ;  the 
preparations  for  travelling  hurried  through ; 
and  the  daughters  went  forth  from  their  girl- 
hood's home.  Philip  had  cordially  invited 
Sarah  and  Lewis,  by  letter,  to  accompany  Lucy 
and  himself  to  Georgia ;  but  Sarah  would  not 
hear  of  it,  and  Lewis,  while  he  left  the  decision 
to  her,  was  not  sorry  that  she  preferred  to 
journey  instead  with  him  alone.  It  was  too 
cold  to  go  northward,  and  the  Hammonds  now 
proposed  to  proceed  with  the  others  as  far  as 
Baltimore,  there  to  diverge  upon  a  Western 
and  Southern  tour,  which  was  to  occupy  three 
weeks,  perhaps  four. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Dueing  the  month  preceding  his  marriage. 
Lewis  Hammond  had  spent  much  time  and 
many  thoughts  in  providing  and  furnishing  a 
house  for  his  wife.  His  coadjutor  in  this  labor 
of  love  was  not,  as  one  might  have  expected, 
Mrs.  Hunt — but  his  early  friend,  Mrs.  Marlow. 
His  omission  of  his  future  mother-in-law,  in 
his  committee  of  consultation,  he  explained  to 
her  by  representing  the  number  of  duties  al- 
ready pressing  upon  her,  and  his  unwillingness 
to  add  aught  to  their  weight.  But  when  both 
girls  were  married  and  gone,  and  the  work  of 
"  getting  to  rights"  was  all  over,  this  indefati- 
gable woman  paid  Mrs.  Marlow  a  visit,  and 
offered  her  assistance  in  completing  the  arrange- 
ments for  the  young  housekeepers.  "  There  is 
nothing  for  us  to  do, ' '  said  Mrs.  Marlow.  ' '  Lewis 
attended  to  the  purchase  of  everything  before 
leaving  ;  and  the  orders  are  all  in  the  hands  of 
a  competent  upholsterer  whom  he  has  em- 
ployed, as  is  also  the  key  of  the  house.  I 
offered  to  have  the  house-cleaning  done,  but 
Lewis  refused  to  let  me  help  him  even  in  this. 
He  is  very  methodical,  and  rather  strict  in 
some  of  his  ideas.  When  the  premises  are  pro- 
nounced ready  for  the  occupancy  of  the  future 
residents,  you  and  I  will  play  inspectors,  and 
find  as  much  fault  as  we  can." 

Mrs.  Hunt  went  around  by  the  house,  on  her 
way  home.  It  was  new  and  handsome,  a 
brown  stone  front,  with  stone  balconies  and 
balustrades  ;  but  three  stories  high,  it  was  true, 
yet  of  ample  width  and  pitch  of  ceiling,  and — 
as  she  discovered  by  skirting  the  square — at 
least  three  rooms  deep  all  the  way  up.  The 
location  was  unobjectionable  ;  not  more  than 
four  blocks  from  the  paternal  residence,  and  in 
a  wider  street.  On  the  whole,  she  had  no 
fault  to  find,  provided  Mr.  Hammond  had  fur- 
nished it  in  such  style  as  she  would  have  re- 
commended. "She  had  her  fears  lest  his  sober 
taste  in  other  respects  should  extend  to  these 
matters,  and  hinted  something  of  the  kind  to 
her  husband. 

"I  have  confidence  in  Mr.  Hammond  to  be- 
lieve that  he  will  allow  his  wife  every  indul- 
gence compatible  with  his  means,"  was  the 
reply. 

Mr.  Hunt  did  not  deem  it  obligatory  upon 
him  to  state  that  his  son-in-law  had  conferred 
with  him  upon  numerous  questions  pertaining 
to  Sarah's  likes  and  probable  wishes  ;  that  he 
had  examined  and  approved  of  the  entire  col- 
lection of  furniture,  etc.  selected  for  her  use. 
Why  should  he,  how  could  he,  without  engen- 


"  HUSKS." 


459 


dering  in  his  wife's  bosom  the  suspicion  that 
had  accounted  to  him  for  Lewis's  choice  of  the 
father  as  an  adviser  ?  namely,  that  the  newly 
made  husband  had  gained  a  pretty  correct  esti- 
mate of  this  managing  lady's  character,  her 
penny-wise  and  pound-foolish  policy,  and  in- 
tended to  inaugurate  altogether  a  different  one 
in  his  house. 

Regardless  of  Mrs.  Marlow's  polite  insinuation 
that  their  room  was  preferable  to  their  com- 
pany until  all  things  should  be  in  readiness 
for  inspection,  the  ambitious  mother  made  sun- 
dry visits  to  the  premises  while  they  were 
being  fitted  up,  and  delivered  herself  of  divers 
suggestions  and  recommendations,  which  fell 
like  sand  on  a  rock  upon  the  presiding  man  of 
business. 

On  the  day  appointed  for  the  tourists'  return, 
Mrs.  Marlow's  carriage  drew  up  at  Mr.  Hunt's 
door,  by  appointment,  to  take  the  mistress  of 
the  house  upon  the  proposed  visit  of  criticism 
of  her  daughter's  establishment.  Mrs.  Marlow 
was  in  a  sunny  mood,  and  indisposed  to  censure, 
as  was  evinced  by  her  ejaculations  of  pleasure 
at  the  general  effect  of  each  apartment  as  they 
entered,  and  praise  of  its  component  parts. 
Mrs.  Hunt  was  not  so  undiscriminating.  The 
millionaire's  wife  must  not  imagine  that  she 
was  dazzled  by  any  show  of  elegance,  or  that 
she  was  overjoyed  at  the  prospect  of  her  child's 
having  so  beautiful  and  commodious  a  home. 

"The  everlasting  oak  and  green!"  she  ut- 
tered as  they  reached  the  dining-room.  "It 
is  a  pity  Mr.  Hammond  did  not  select  walnut 
and  crimson  instead  !  Green  is  very  unbecom- 
ing to  Sarah." 

"Then  we  must  impress  upon  her  the  im- 
portance of  cultivating  healthy  roses  in  her 
cheeks,  and  wearing  bright  warm  colors.  This 
combination — green  and  oak — is  pretty  and 
serviceable,  I  think.  The  table  is  very  neatly 
set,  Mary,"  continued  Mrs.  Marlow,  kindly, 
to  the  tidy  serving-maid.  "Keep  an  eye  on 
the  silver,  my<  good  girl,  until  your  mistress 
comes.  Mrs.  Hunt,  shall  we  peep  into  the 
china-closets  before  we  go  to  the  kitchen  ? 
I  have  taken  the  liberty,  at  Lewis's  request,  of 
offering  to  your  daughter  the  services  of  a 
couple  of  my  proUgees,  excellent  servants,  who 
hired  for  years  with  one  of  my  own  children — 
Mrs.  Marland,  now  in  Paris.  They  are  honest, 
willing,  and,  I  think,  competent.  The  man- 
servant, if  Lewis  sees  fit  to  keep  one,  he  must 
procure  himself." 

The  china,  glass,  and  pantries  were  in  capi- 
tal order  ;  the  kitchen  well  stocked,  light,  and 
clean,  and  dinner  over  the  fire. 


"  You  will  be  punctual  to  the  minute,  Katy, 
please!"  was  the  warning  here.  "Mr.  Ham- 
mond is  particular  in  the  matter  of  time." 

"And  you  will  see  that  my  daughter  has  a 
cup  of  clear,  strong  coffee!"  ordered  Mrs. 
Hunt,  magisterially.  "She  is  delicate,  and 
accustomed  to  the  very  best  of  cookery."  And 
having  demonstrated  her  importance  and  su- 
perior housewifery  to  the  round-eyed  cook,  she 
swept  out. 

To  an  unprejudiced  eye,  the  whole  establish- 
ment was  without  a  flaw ;  and,  undisturbed 
by  the  captious  objections  of  her  companion  in 
the  survey,  Mrs.  Marlow  saw  and  judged  for 
herself,  and  carried  home  with  her  a  most 
pleasing  imagination  of  Lewis's  gratification, 
and  Sarah's  delighted  surprise  with  the  scene 
that  was  to  closf  their  day  of  cold  and  weariness. 

By  Mr.  Hammond's  expressed  desire  to  his 
father-in-law,  there  was  no  one  except  the  do- 
mestics in  the  house  when  they  arrived.  As 
the  carriage  stopped,  the  listening  maid  opened 
the  door,  and  a  stream  of  radiance  shot  into 
the  misty  night  across  the  wet  pavement  upon 
the  two  figures  that  stepped  from  the  convey- 
ance. 

"  He  sees  the  light  in  happy  homes  I"  The 
mental  quotation  brought  back  to  Sarah  the 
vision  of  that  lonely  evening  ten  months  before, 
when  she  had  moaned  it  in  her  dreary  twilight 
musings  at  the  window  of  her  little  room. 
"  Dreary  then,  hopeless  now  !"  and  with  this 
voiceless  sigh,  she  crossed  the  threshold  of.  her 
destined  abode.  With  a  kindly  greeting  to  the 
servants  in  the  hall,  Lewis  hurried  his  wife 
onward,  past  the  parlor  doors,  into  a  library 
sitting-room,  back  of  the  show  apartments, 
warm  and  bright,  smiling  a  very  home  wel- 
come. Here  he  placed  her  in  a  deep,  cushioned 
chair,  and,  pressing  her  hands  in  his,  kissed 
her,  with  a  heartfelt — "  May  you  be  very  happy 
in  our  home,  dear  wife  !" 

"  Thank  you  !"  she  replied.  "  It  is  pleasant 
here,  and  you  are  too  kind." 

"  That  is  impossible  where  you  are  con- 
cerned. Sit  here,  while  I  see  to  the  trunks. 
When  they  are  carried  up  stairs,  you  can  go  to 
your  room.     Throw  off  your  hat  and  cloak." 

He  was  very  thoughtful  of  her  comfort — too 
thoughtful,  because  his  love  made  him  watch- 
ful of  her  every  look,  word,  and  gesture.  She 
was  glad  of  the  brief  respite  from  this  vigilance 
that  allowed  her  to  bury  her  face  in  her  hands 
and  groan  aloud.  She  had  no  heart  to  look 
around  her  cage.  No  doubt  it  was  luxurious  ; 
the  bars  softly  and  richly  lined ;  the  various 
arrangements  the  best  of  their  kind ;  still,  it 


460 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


was  nothing  but  a  cage — a  prison,  from  which 
death  only  could  release  her. 

The  trim  maid  came  for  her  wrappings,  and 
directly  afterwards  Lewis,  to  take  her  up  stairs. 

"  Not  a  very  elaborate  toilet,  dear,"  he  said, 
as  he  left  her  for  his  dressing-room.  "  You 
will  see  no  one  this  evening  but  our  father  and 
mother,  and  they  will  remember  that  you  have 
been  travelling  all  day." 

When  she  was  ready,  it  lacked  still  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  of  dinner-time,  and  she  acceded 
to  Lewis's  proposal  that  they  should  go  over 
their  dwelling.  By  his  order,  there  were  lights 
in  every  room.  The  graceful  furniture,  the 
well  contrasted  hues  of  the  soft  carpets,  the 
curtains  and  pictures  showed  to  fine  advantage. 
Everything  was  in  place,  from  cellar  to  attic  ; 
not  a  symptom  of  parsimony  fr  cheapness  in 
the  whole ;  and  all  betokened,  besides  excellent 
judgment,  such  conformity  to,  or  unison  with 
lier  taste,  that  Sarah,  with  all  her  heaviness  of 
heart,  was  pleased.  She  was  touched  too  with 
gratitude  or  remorse ;  for,  when  they  were 
back  in  the  cozy  sitting-room,  she  laid  her  hand 
timidly  on  that  of  her  husband,  and  said,  fal- 
teringly : 

"I  do  not  deserve  that  you  should  take  so 
much  pains  to  gratify  me,  Mr.  Hammond." 

Over  Lewis's  face  there,  flushed  one  of  the 
rare  smiles  that  made  him  positively  handsome 
while  they  lasted.  He  grasped  the  shrinking 
fingers  firmly,  and  drew  his  wife  close  to  his 
side. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  how  to  repay  me  for  all  that 
I  have  done,  or  ever  can  do,  to  promote  your 
ease  and  enjoyment  ?" 

"  If  you  please."  But  her  heart  sank,  as  she 
foresaw  some  demands  upon  a  love  that  had 
never  existed — a  treasury  that,  to  him,  was 
sealed  and  empty ;  yet  whose  poverty  she  dared 
not  avow. 

"  Call  me  '  Lewis,'  now  that  we  are  at  home, 
dear.  I  cannot  realize  that  you  are  indeed  all 
mine — that  our  lives  are  one  and  the  same, 
while  you  continue  that  very  proper  '  Mr.  Ham- 
mond.' " 

"  It  comes  more  naturally  to  my  tongue,  and 
don't  you  think  it  more  respectful  than — than 
—the  other?" 

"  I  ask  no  such  form  of  respect  from  you.  I 
do  not  fear  lest  you  should  fail  \  to  honor  and 
obey'  me,  you  little  paragon  of  duty  !  Believe 
me,  dearest,  I  fully  understand  and  reverence 
the  modest  reserve,  that  has  not  yet  ceased  to 
be  shyness,  in  the  expression  of  your  senti- 
ments towards  me.  You  are  not  demonstrative 
by  nature.     Neither  am  I.     But  since  you  are 


my  other  self,  and  there  is  no  living  being 
nearer  to  you  than  myself,  ought  we  not  to 
overcome  this  propensity  to,  or  custom  of  lock- 
ing up  our  feelings  in  our  own  breasts  ?  Let 
me  begin  by  a  confession  of  one  uncomfortable 
complaint,  under  which  I  have  labored  ever 
since  our  engagement.  Do  you  know,  darling, 
that  I  absolutely  hunger — I  cannot  give  any 
other  name  to  the  longing — I  hunger  and  thirst 
to  hear  you  say  that  you  love  me  1  Do  you 
remember  that  you  have  never  told  me  in  so 
many  words  what  you  have  given  me  other 
good  reasons  for  believing?  I  need  but  one 
thing  this  evening  to  fill  my  cup  with  purest 
content.  It  is  to  have  you  say — openly,  fear- 
lessly, as  my  wife  has  a  right  to  do — '  Lewis,  I 
love  you  !'  " 

"  It  need  be  a  source  of  no  unhappiness  to  be 
married  to  a  man  whom  one  does  not  love,  pro- 
vided he  is  kind  and  generous!"  say  match- 
makers and  worldly-wise  mothers.  Perhaps 
not,  after  one's  conscience  is  seared  into  cal- 
losity by  perjuries,  and  her  forehead  grown 
bold  as  brass  ;  but  the  neophyte  in  the  laudable 
work  of  adaptation  to  such  circumstances  will 
trip  in  her  words  and  color  awkwardly  while 
acquiring  this  enviable  hardihood.  sty 

Sarah's  head  fell,  and  her  face  was  stained 
with  blushes.  One  wild  impulse  was  to  throw 
herself  at  the  feet  of  him  whom  she  had  wronged 
so  foully,  and  confessing  her  mad,  wicked  de- 
ception upon  his  holiest  feelings,  pray  him  to 
send  her  away — to  cast  her  adrift,  and  rid  him- 
self of  a  curse,  while  he  freed  her  from  the 
gentle,  yet  intolerable  bondage  of  his  love. 

"  Dinner  is  ready  !"  announced  the  servant. 
Sarah's  senses  returned  and  with  them  self- 
control.  "With  a  strange  smile,  she  glanced  up 
at  him — a  look  he  did  not  understand,  yet  could 
not  guess  was  born  of  anguish — and  said,  with  a 
hesitation  that  seemed  pretty  and  coquettish  to 
him — "Lewis!  do  you  hear?  May  it  please 
your  worship,  I  am  very  hungry  !" 

"  Tease  !  I  will  have  my  revenge  yet !  See 
if  I  do  not!" 

Laughing  lightly,  she  eluded  his  outstretched 
arm,  and  sprang  past  him  into  the  hall  leading 
to  the  dining-room.  She  assumed  the  seat  at 
the  head  of  the  table  with  a  burlesque  of  dig- 
nity, and  throughout  the  meal  was  more  talk- 
ative and  frolicsome  than  he  had  ever  seen 
her  before.  So  captivated  was  he  by  her 
lively  discourse  and  bright  looks,  that  he  was 
sorry  to  hear  the  ring,  proclaiming  the  coming 
of  the  expected  visitors.  The  dessert  had  not 
been  removed,  and  the  girl  was  instructed  to 
show  them  immediately  into  the  dining-room. 


u 


HUSKS. 


461 


A  toast  was  drunk  to  the  prosperity  of  the 
lately  established  household,  and  the  gentle- 
men went  off  to  the  library. 

"Always  see  to  putting  away  your  silver, 
Sarah!"  counselled  the  mother.  "And  you 
had  ought  to  get  a  common  set  of  dinner  and 
breakfast  things.  This  china  is  too  nice  for 
every  day  use.  Of  course,  Mr.  Hammond  can 
afford  to  get  more  when  this  is  broken  ;  but  it 's 
a  first-rate  rule,  child,  as  you  '11  find,  to  put 
your  money  where  it  will  show  most.  That 's  the 
secret  of  my  management.  Mr.  Hammond 
must  give  you  an  allowance  for  housekeeping 
and  pin-money.  Speak  to  him  about'  it  right 
away.  Men  are  more  liberal  while  the  honey- 
moon lasts  than  they  ever  are  afterwards. 
Strike  while  the  iron  is  hot.  You  can't  com- 
plain of  your  husband  so  far.  He  has  set  you 
up  very  handsome.  If  I  had  been  consulted 
about  furnishing,  I  would  have  saved  enough  off 
of  those  third-story  chambers  and  the  kitchen 
to  buy  another  pair  of  mirrows  for  your  par- 
lors. The  mantels  has  a>  bare  look.  I  noticed 
it  directly  I  went  in.  To  be  sure,  the  Parian 
ornaments  are  pretty  and  tasty,  and  expensive 
enough— dear  knows  !  but  they  don't  make 
much  of  a  display." 

" 1  do  not  like  the  fashion  of  lining  walls 
with  mirrows,"  said  Sarah  in  her  old,  short 
way  ;  "  and  am  satisfied  with  the  house  as  it 
is.     Shall  we  join  the  gentlemen  ?" 

Nothing  had  ever  showed  her  more  plainly 
the  degradation  of  her  false  position  than  the 
confident  air  her  mother  wore  in  making  her 
coarse  observations,  and  instructing  her  as  to 
the  method  of  managing  her  generous,  confiding 
husband.  It  was  the  free-masonry  of  a  merce- 
nary wife,  whose  spouse  would  have  been 
better  represented  to  her  mind  by  his  money- 
bag than  his  own  proper  person,  towards 
another  of  the  same  craft,  who  rated  her  law- 
ful banker  by  corresponding  rules. 

"  Will  I  then  really  grow  to  be  like  her  and 
her  associates  ?"  Sarah  questioned  inly.  "  Will 
a  fine  house  and  its  fixtures,  will  dress  and 
equipage  and  pin-money  so  increase  in  impor- 
tance as  to  fill  this  aching  vacuum  in  my 
heart  ?  Will  a  position  in  life,  and  the  envy  of 
my  neighbors,  make  up  to  me  for  the  loss  of 
the  love  of  which  I  used  to  dream,  the  happi- 
ness which  the  world  owes  me  yet?  Is  this 
the  coin  in  which  it  would  redeem  its  pro- 
mises ?" 

Mr.  Hunt's  mild  features  wore  their  happiest 
expression  this  evening.  He  arose  at  the  la- 
dies' entrance,  and  beckoned  his  daughter  to  a 
seat  on  the  sofa  beside  him. 


"You  are  a  little  travel-worn!"  he  said. 
"  Your  cheeks  are  not  very  ruddy." 

"Did  you  ever  see  them  when  they  were  ?" 
asked  Sarah,  playfully. 

"She  was  always  just  that  pale — when  she 
was  a  baby,"  said  Mrs.  Hunt,  setting  herself 
in  the  arm-chair  proffered  by  her  son-in-law. 
"Lucy  stole  all  the  roses  from  her."  Sarah 
may  have  thought  that  other  and  more  grievous 
thefts  had  succeeded  this  doubtful  one,  but 
she  neither  looked  nor  said  this.  "And  that 
reminds  me,  Mr.  H.  !  Did  you  bring  Lucy:s 
letter  for  Sarah  to  read  ?" 

"  I  did."  Mr.  Hunt  produced  it.  "  Keep  it, 
and  read  it  at  your  leisure,  Sarah." 

"They  are  supremely  happy,  I  suppose?" 
remarked  Lewis,  with  the  benevolent  interest 
incident  to  his  fellowship  of  feeling  with 
them. 

"For  all  the  world  like  two  turtle-doves  !" 
Mrs.  Hunt  rejoined.  "  Their  letters  are  a  cu- 
riosity. It  is  'Phil.'  and  'Lucy'  from  one 
end  to  the  other.  I  mean  to  keep  them  to 
show  to  them  five  years  from  now.  Hot  love 
is  soon  cool,  and  by  and  by  they  will  settle 
down  as  sensible  as  any  of  the  rest  of  us.  You 
don't  begin  so,  I  see,  Sarah,  and  I  am  pleased 
at  it.  Between  me  and  you,  it 's  two-thirds  of 
it  humbug  !  There  is  Victoria  West  that  was  ! 
She  looks  ready,  in  company,  to  eat  up  that 
lean  monkey  of  a  George  Bond.  I  don't  believe 
but  she  shows  him  the  other  side  of  the  pic- 
ture in  private." 

Sarah  heard  her  father's  suppressed  sigh, 
and  felt,  without  looking  up,  that  her  husband's 
eyes  sought  hers  wistfully.  The  unobservant 
dame  pursued  her  free  and  easy  discourse. 
Mr.  Hammond  was  "one  of  the  family"  now, 
and  there  was  no  more  occasion  for  choice 
grammar  or  fine  sentiments  before  him. 

"Not  that  I  blame  Victoria  for  taking  him. 
He  was  a  good  offer,  and  she  wasn't  much  ad- 
mired by  the  gentlemen — rich  as  Mr.  West  is. 
Mr.  Bond  is  twenty-five  years  older  than  she 
is,  and  wears  false  teeth  and  a  toupee  ;  but  I 
suppose  she  is  willing  to  overlook  trifles.  She 
watehes  out  for  the  main  chance,  and  will  help 
him  take  care  of  his  money,  as  well  as  spend 
it.     Vic.  is  a  prudent  girl." 

"Lucy — Mrs.  Benson — was  at  home  when 
she  wrote,  was  she  not?"  interrogated  Mr. 
Hammond. 

"Yes,  at  his  father's.  His  mother  keeps 
house,  and  Lucy  has  nothing  to  do  hut  ride, 
visit,  and  entertain  company.  She  says  the 
house  is  crowded  the  whole  time,  and  she  has 
so  many  beaux  that  Philip  stands  no  chanoe 


462 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


of  speaking  a  word  to  her.     She  is  perfectly 
happy." 

Notwithstanding  the  various  feelings  of  the 
listeners,  none  of  them  could  resist  this  picture 
of  a  felicitous  honeymoon,  so  naively  spoken. 
Lewis's  laugh  cleared  the  vapors  from  his  brow, 
and  the  pain  at  Sarah's  heart  did  not  hinder 
her  from  joining  in. 

"  And  the  ousted  bridegroom,  perforce,  seeks 
consolation  in  the  society  of  his  fair  friends?" 
said  Lewis.  "  If  this  is  the  way  young  mar- 
ried people  show  the  love-sickness  you  com- 
plained of  just  now,  Mrs.  Hunt,  I  am  content 
with  our  more  staid  ways — eh,  Sarah  ?" 

"  Quiet  ways  suit  me  best,"  was  the  answer. 

'* '  Still  water  runs  deep,'"  quoted  Mrs. 
Hunt.  "  I  used  to  worry  over  your  stay-at- 
home  habits  and  eternal  study  of  books,  Sarah  ; 
but  I  'm  ready  to  say  now  that  you  was  sen- 
sible to  behave  as  you  did,  as  it  has  turned 
out.  I  don't  mean  to  flatter  Mr.  Hammond, 
but  I  'd  ten  times  rather  you  had  taken  him 
than  a  dried-up  widower  like  George  Bond." 

" Thank  you!"  bowed  Lewis,  desirous  of 
diverting  attention  from  Sarah's  growing  un- 
easiness beneath  her  mother's  congratulations. 

Mrs.  Hunt  held  on  her  way.  "  I  never  had 
a  fear  lest  Lucy  shouldn't  marry  well.  She 
was  pretty  and  attractive,  and  knew  too  much 
about  the  world  to  throw  herself  away  for  the 
sake  of  love  in  a  cottage.  But  now  the  danger 
is  over,  I  will  allow  that  I  used  to  mistrust  Sarah 
"*here  sometimes.  You  was  just  queer  enough  to 
fall  in  love  with  some  adventurer  with  a  foreign 
name,  and  never  a  cent  in  his  pocket — yes,  and 
marry  him,  too,  in  spite  of  all  that  could  be 
said  and  done  to  prevent  it.  I  was  forever  in 
a  '  feaze'  about  you ;  fancying  that  you  was 
born  to  make  an  out-and-out  love-match — the 
silliest  thing  a  girl  can  do,  in  my  opinion." 

"  You  never  dreamed  of  her'' taking  up,'  as 
the  phrase  is,  with  a  humdrum  individual 
like  myself,"  said  Lewis.  "  Nor,  to  be  candid, 
did  I,  for  a  long  time,  Mrs.  Hunt.  Yet  I  cannot 
say  that  I  regret  her  action,  disadvantageous 
to  herself  though  it  was.  I  wrote  to  you  of 
our  visit  to  New  Orleans,  did  I  not,  sir?"  he 
continued  to  Mr.  Hunt,  inwardly  a  little  dis- 
gusted by  the  frank  revelations  his  mamma-in- 
law  was  making  of  her  principles  and  plans. 

The  subject  so  interesting  to  most  wedded 
people,  so  embarrassing  to  one  of  the  present 
party,  was  not  again  introduced*  during  the 
elder  couple's  stay.  When  Lewis  returned  to 
the  library,  after  seeing  them  out,  Sarah  sat 
where  he  had  left  her,  her  hand  shading  her 


eyes — deep  in  thought,  or  overcome  by  weari- 
ness. 

"You  had  better  go  up  to  your  room,  dear," 
said  Lewis.  "  I  wonder  you  are  not  worn  out 
completely." 

She  arose  to  obey  ;  walked  as  far  as  the  door, 
then  came  back  to  him. 

"  It  may  appear  strange  to  you  that  I  should 
speak  openly  of  such  a  suspicion  ;  but  I  must 
beg  you  not  to  suppose  for  an  instant  that  in 
my  acceptance  of  your  offer  of — marriage,  I  was 
actuated  by  mercenary  motives.  You  look  sur- 
prised"— she  hurried  on  yet  faster  while  her 
resolution  lasted — "  but  I  could  not  rest  with- 
out doing  myself  this  act  of  justice.  Much 
that  mother  said  to-night  might — must  have 
led  you  to  this  conclusion.  I  would  not  have 
you  think  worse  of  me  than  I  deserve,  and  of 
this  one  act  of  baseness  I  am  innocent." 

"My  precious  little  wife,  how  excited  you 
are  !  and  over  what  a  nonsensical  imagination  ! 
Suspect  you — the  noblest  as  well  as  the  dearest 
of  women — of  selling  yourself,  body  and  soul, 
for  money?  Listen  to  my  speech  now,  dear 
Sarah  !" 

He  sat  down  and  pulled  her  to  his  knee. 
"  I  esteem  you,  as  I  love  you  above  all  the  rest 
of  your  sex — above  any  other  created  mortal. 
I  know  you  to  be  a  pure,  highminded  woman. 
When  I  part  with  this  persuasion,  may  I  part 
also  with  the  life  that  doubt  on  this  point  would 
render  wretched  !  Judge,  then,  whether  it  be 
possible  for  me  to  link  this  holy  realization  of 
womanhood  with  the  thought  of  another  cha- 
racter, which  I  will  describe.  I  hold  that  she  who 
enters  the  hallowed  state  of  wedlock  through 
motives  of  pecuniary  interest,  or  ambition,  or 
convenience — indeed,  through  any  considera- 
tion save  that  of  love,  single  and  entire,  for  him 
to  whom  she  pledges  her  vows,  stands,  in  the 
sight  of  her  Maker  and  the  angels,  on  a  level 
with  the  most  abandoned  outcast  that  pollutes 
the  earth  she' treads.  I  shock  you,  I  see  ;  but 
on  this  subject  I  feel  strongly.  I  have  seen 
much,  too  much,  of  fashionable  marriages 
formed  for  worldly  aggrandizement — for  riches  ; 
sometimes  in  pique  at  having  lost  a  coveted 
lover.  With  my  peculiar  sentiments,  I  feel 
that  I  could  endure  no  heavier  curse  than  to 
contract  an  alliance  like  any  of  these.  I  repeat 
it,  I  believe  in  Woman  as  God  made  her  and 
intended  she  should  live,  if  for  no  other  reason 
than  because  I  recollect  my  mother,  boy  as  I 
was  when  she  died  ;  and  because  I  know  and 
have  you,  my  true,  blessed  Wife  !" 
(To  be  continued.) 


POETRY. 


463 


THE  MAIDS  OF  HONOR  TO  MARY  QUEEN 
OF  SCOTS. 

They  were  allowed  one  gallon  of  wine,  among 
them  all,  two  rolls  of  bread  each,  and  the  same 
diet  as  their  royal  mistress,  which  on  flesh 
days  consisted  of  four  sorts  of  soup,  and  four 
entrees,  a  piece  of  boiled  beef,  boiled  loin  of 
mutton,  and  a  boiled  capon.  The  second  course 
was  of  roast  meats,  one  joint  of  mutton,  one 
capon,  three  pullets  or  pigeons,  three  leverets 
or  rabbits,  and  two  pieces  of  bacon.  No  sweet 
dishes  are  enumerated.  The  dessert  consisted 
of  seven  dishes  of  fruit  and  preserves,  and  one 
dish  of  chiccory  paste. 

Supper,  which  was  served  at  four  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  was  a  repetition  of  the  same 
viands  as  at  dinner — good,  plain,  substantial 
fare,  with  nothing  fanciful.  Neither  tea,  coffee, 
nor  chocolate  was  known  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury ;  milk,  whey,  and  eau  sucrtfe  were  the 
light  beverages  which  supplied  the  place  of 
those  luxuries  with  Mary  Stuart  and  her  maids 
of  honor.  Each  of  these  ladies  had  a  man- 
servant and  a  maid.  The  men  dined  with  an 
officer  called  the  Usher  of  the  Ladies  and  the 
passementier,  an  ingenious  needleman  who  work- 
ed the  borders  of  dresses  and  beds,  and  designed 
patterns. 

Their  maids  dined  at  a  separate  table  with 
the  wife  of  one  of  the  queen's  butlers,  and  one 
of  her  female  drolls,  or  fools,  called  La  Jardi- 
niere. There  were  several  of  these  in  Queen 
Mary's  establishment,  who  were  dressed  in  the 
royal  livery — scarlet  and  yellow.  Mary  Fleming 
and  her  three  associate  Maries  were  allowed  half 
a  pound  of  candles  between  them  every  night, 
from  the  1st  of  November  till  the  last  of  March, 
and,  besides  this,  a  bougie  of  yellow  wax,  weigh- 
ing an  ounce,  each. 

Their  salaries  on  their  return  to  Scotland 
were  200  livres  de  Tournois,  which  would  be 
about  the  rate  of  twenty  pounds  a  year  ;  but 
then  they  were  clothed  at  the  queen's  expense, 
and  that  very  sumptuously.  On  the  anniver- 
sary of  the  death  of  Francis  II.  of  France,  the 
lamented  consort  of  their  royal  mistress,  black 
velvet  was  delivered  from  her  wardrobe  stores 
to  each  of  the  four  Maries  for  their  second 
mourning  ;  also  black  cloth  for  their  riding- 
cloaks  and  hoods  when  the  court  was  going  on 
a  progress  into  the  country  ;  and  there  were 
tailors  in  the  royal  household  who  made  their 
dresses — no  greater  impropriety  than  the  em- 
ployment of  male  habit-makers  in  modern  times. 
They  had  received  much  higher  salaries  when 
Mary  was  Queen  Consort  of  France,  but  con- 


siderable reductions  were  necessarily  made  in 
the  wages  of  both  her  Scotch  and  French 
ladies  on  her  return  to  Scotland,  where  the 
strictest  economy  was  practised  in  the  queen's 
household,  in  order  not  to  exceed  her  reduced 
income. 


THE  CASKET  OF  THE  YEAR. 

BT    WILLIE    E.    PABOR. 

Pearl  the  Fifth. — May. 

O  sweetest  month  of  all  the  year ! 
All  nature  with  a  welcome  waits 
To  greet  you  as  you  pass  the  gates 

That  open  to  this  mundane  sphere. 

Thy  sister  April,  coy  and  chill, 
(Like  a  chaste  virgin,  love  forsworn,) 
Scarce  yielded  daisies  for  the  lawn, 

Or  a  green  mantle  for  the  hill. 

But  thou  !  whose  genial  bosom  glows 

"With  all  a  lover's  ardor — thou! 

With  radiance  streaming  from  thy  brow  ; 
With  cheeks  the  color  of  the  rose — 

With  steps  whose  touch  to  bloom  gives  birth  ; 
With  lips  whose  breath  yields  odors  rare— 
Thou  comest,  bidding  all  to  share 

The  glories  born  to  mother  Earth. 

All  day  the  birds  thy  praises  sing  ; 

All  day  the  roses  yield  perfume  ; 

And  even  night  discards  her  gloom 
To  fold  thee  'neath  her  starry  wing. 

The  farmer  at  his  daily  task, 
The  merchant  at  his  ledger  leaves, 
The  schoolboy  binding  wisdom's  sheaves, 

Children,  who  in  thy  sunshine  bask, 

Bless  thee  in  various  word  and  way, 
And  feel  the  impulse  of  thy  spell, 
While  even  old  age  loves  to  dwell 

Upon  the  memories  of  May. 

Hope — the  bright  Phosphor  of  youth's  sky- 
Points  forward  unto  coming  Mays, 
Within  whose  wealth  of  winning  ways 

The  endless  charms  of  pleasure  lie. 

While  Memory,  whose  horizon 

Holds  Hesper — star  of  life's  decline — 
To  old  age  teaches,  line  by  line, 

The  lessons  she  from  Time  hath  won. 

0  sweetest  month  of  all  the  year! 
Of  lightness,  brightness,  bliss,  and  bloom, 
Of  song,  of  sunshine,  of  perfume, 

Of  all  that  human  hearts  hold  dear — 

All  hail!  and  may  thy  blessings  stay 

About  our  daily  paths,  to  yield 

The  treasures  of  a  harvest-field 
White  with  the  memories  of  May  ! 


Vanity  is  the  fruit  of  ignorance,  which  thrives 
best  in  subterranean  places,  where  the  air  of 
heaven  and  the  light  of  the  sun  cannot  reach  it. 


A  ROUGH  DOSE 


BY    MAEY   FORMAN. 


Mrs.  Lawrence  Williams  was  an  invalid  ! 

In  one  brief  sentence  were  comprised  all  the 
domestic  miseries  of  Lawrence  Williams,  who 
had  given,  fourteen  years  before  our  story 
commences,  his  heart,  hand,  and  honest  love 
to  the  lady  bearing  his  name.  Poor  Lawrence  ! 
His  hopes  of  happiness  faded  slowly  year  by 
year  before  the  tyrant  who  held  his  wife  chained 
to  her  sofa  or  bed  from  New  Year's  till  Christ- 
mas. He  was  an  upright,  simple-minded  man, 
this  cousin  of  mine,  about  whom  I  write,  yet 
withal  shrewd,  and  not  easily  imposed  upon, 
and  when  I  came  to  spend  a  few  weeks  in  his 
particularly  uncomfortable  residence,  he  opened 
his  heart  to  me.  We  had  been  companions 
and  confidants  in  childhood  and  youth,  indeed 
until  his  marriage  took  him  from  his  native 
town,  so  I  could  listen  and  understand. 

"You  see  how  it  is,  Lizzie,"  he  said,  one 
morning,  as  he  came  into  the  library  where  I 
was  sitting  ;  "  my  home  is  not  fit  to  invite  you 
into." 

"Why  Larry!"  I  said,  surprised  to  see  his 
genial  face  so  overcast,  "  what  a  doleful  face  !" 

w  And  a  doleful  heart,  Lizzie  I  For  the  last 
ten  years  I  have  not  had  a  meal  in  comfort. 
My  children  are  neglected,  my  home  wretched, 
ill-trained  servants  rule  the  house,  and  were  it 
not  for — for — Oh,  Lizzie,  what  can  I  do  !  I  love 
Mary,  and  this  is  all  that  keeps  me  from  abso- 
lutely running  away.  I  have  thought  of  get- 
ting a  housekeeper,  but  she  resents  that  as  a 
positive  insult." 

•"But,  Larry,  if  she  is  sick" — 

He  interrupted  me. 

"  It  pains  me  more  than  I  can  express  to  say 
so,  Lizzie,  but  Mary  is  not  so  sick  as  she  fan- 
cies. I  have  no  doubt  that  she  suffers  ;  for 
who  can  be  idle  for  weeks  together,  and  not 
feel  weak  and  miserable.  But  she  is  never  too 
ill  for  a  party,  recovers  rapidly  when  the  opera 
is  here,  and  can  attend  to  a  tea-party  with 
perfect  ease,  but  is  too  ill  to  see  to  her  house, 
her  husband,  or  her  children." 

It  was  all  true.  Five  days'  residence  in  the 
house  gave  me  a  complete  insight  into  Mary's 
character.  She  was  a  blonde,  who  in  her  days 
of  girlhood  was  very  pretty,  but  who,  in  her 
now  neglected  dress,  with  languid  movements 
and  sleepy,  half  opened  eyes,  was  far  from 
464 


lovely.  Her  natural  indolence,  overcome  by 
her  love  for  her  husband  in  the  first  years  of 
their  married  life,  had  degenerated  into  a  lazi- 
ness that  took  advantage  of  every  trifling  ail- 
ment to  keep  up  weeks  of  invalid  privileges. 
At  times  shame  would  drive  her  into  trying  t© 
rectify  some  of  the  abuses  of  which  her  hus- 
band justly  complained  ;  but  the  over-exertion 
at  such  times  acting  upon  a  system  weakened 
by  long  spells  of  inertness,  produced  pain  and 
actual  suffering,  that  formed  for  her  an  admi- 
rable excuse  for  "  letting  things  go."  Her 
children,  dirty  and  ragged,  left  entirely  to  the 
care  of  servants,  were  fast  becoming  vicious. 
With  a  heavy  heart,  I  watched  my  cousin's 
course.  His  love  of  order  outraged,  his  pater- 
nal feelings  violated,  his  complaints  met  with 
threats  or  murmurings,  he  was  becoming  des- 
perate. Mary's  favorite  weapon  was  a  fainting 
fit,  and  a  gloomy  appeal  to  his  feelings. 

"  I  cannot  live  long  ;  and  when  I  am  gone 
you  will  regret  such  cruelty,"  she  would  sigh, 
if  he  remonstrated  ;  and  then  a  flood  of  tears, 
or  a  faint,  would  bring  his  kind  heart  to  peni- 
tence and  a  promise  to  try  to  "get  along." 

Another  trial  was  the  dear  intimate  friend  of 
the  invalid,  a  Miss  Elvira  Jenkins,  who  re- 
venged herself  for  the  bad  taste  that  left  her  a 
lonely  maiden,  by  violent  abuse  of  the  whole 
male  sex.  Upon  Mary  she  lavished  her  pity 
and  sympathy,  and  did  not  spare  her  tongue  in 
opinions  of  Larry's  hard-hearted  cruelty  in 
expecting  this  suffering  angel  to  exert  herself. 
My  couski  and  myself  were  both  convinced 
that  if  Miss  Elvira  were  once  removed  Mary's 
better  sense  and  feelings  might  prompt  her  to 
a  reformation.  At  last,  a  plan  suggested  itself 
to  me,  and  I,  in  solemn  confidence  imparted  it 
to  Larry. 

"Lizzie,"  he  cried,  aghast,  "it  is  too  cruel !" 
"Harsh  medicine  must  be  used,  when  mild 
ones  fail,"  I  said,  resolutely. 

"But,  Lizzie,  to  hint  at  such  a  possibility." 
"  Doesn't  she  speak  of  it  every  day  ?" 
He  paced  up  and  down  the  room  with  much 
agitation.     Finally,  stopping  in  front  of  me,  he 
said:   "I '11  try  it!" 

The  following  morning  I  was  in  Mary's  room, 
removing  from  a  stand  the  breakfast  dishes, 
when  Larry  came  in. 


A    ROUGH    DOSE. 


465 


"Coffee  all  cold,  and  weak  as  water,"  he 
said,  in  a  sulky  way,  without  any  of  his  cus- 
tomary kind  words  for  his  wife. 

"  Shall  I  make  you  a  cup  of  coffee  ?"  I  asked. 

"No,"  he  answered,  roughly;  "you  were 
not  invited  here  to  wait  on  me.  If  the  house 
we/re  properly  managed,  there  would  be  coffee 
fit  to  drink  served  on  the  table." 

"0  dear!"  whined  Mary,  "I  am  sure  the 
servants  do  as  well  as  can  be  expected,  left  so 
much  to  themselves." 

"They  need  not  be  left  to  themselves." 

"Oh,  Larry,  this  eternal  song  is  killing  me. 
You  complain  all  the  time.  I  'm  surest  is  not 
my  fault  that  I  am  a  poor,  suffering  invalid" — 
here  she  began  to  grow  pathetic;  "I  wish  I 
was  a  hearty,  strong  woman  like  Lizzie,  and 
could  make  you  comfortable.  I  'm  sure  I  love 
you  too  much  to  have  you  uncomfortable  if  I 
was  able  to  prevent  it."  Here  Larry  would 
have  softened,  but  I  looked  daggers  at  him. 
"  Bear  it  for  a  little  while,  Lawrence  ;  I  am 
sure  it  will  not  be  long  before  I  die — I  am  so 
delicate" — this  was  between  sobs — "  and  these 
scenes — wear  on  my  constitution — you  will 
soon  be  rid  of  me — and  then — when  your  harsh- 
ness has  driven  me — to  the  grave — you  will  re- 
pent of  it— but — I — forgive  you" — and  then  the 
hysterics  came  in. 

Larry  waited  patiently  till  she  was  quiet 
again,  and  then,  with  a  perfection  of  acting  that 
would  have  made  his  fortune  on  the  stage,  he 
stepped  coolly  to  the  mirror  and  began  to  brush 
his  hair. 

"Mary,"  he  said,  quietly,  not  turning  his 
head,  "do  you  really  think  you  will  die  soon  ?" 

With  utter  amazement  at  the  matter-of-fact 
tone,  Mary  said,  "Yes!" 

"Well,  so  you've  said  a  number  of  times, 
and  I  've  been  thinking  it  over  lately.  I  think, 
after  you  are  gone,  allowing  of  course  a  decent 
time  for  mourning,  that  it  will  be  my  duty  to 
the  children  to  marry  again." 

"What!"  The  word  came  from  the  bed 
with  the  force  of  a  pistol  shot. 

"You  see  I  am  still  young  and  good-look- 
ing, and  I  shall  try  to  select  a  healthy,  active 
partner,  who  will  make  my  house  a  home,  and 
be  truly  a  mother  to  the  children.  A  woman 
who  loves  me  will  of  course  take  pride  in  my 
home  and  family,  and  I  can,  I  know,  make  her 
happy.  There  is  a  fund  of  love  in  my  heart 
for  the  woman  who  really  loves  me." 

Poor  Mary  was  sitting  up,  with  straining 
eyes  and  pale  face.  "  Lawrence  !"  she  gasped. 
Then  with  a  sickening  fear  that  her  husband's 
vol.  lxvi.— 37 


long  tried  affections  had  in  reality  strayed  from 
her,  she  said,  "Who?" 

"  Well,  I  was  thinking,"  he  said,  "of  Miss 
Elvira  Jenkins.  She  is  accustomed  to  the 
children,  and  knows  my  ways,  and  if  you  could 
exert  yourself,  Mary,  and  show  her  round  the 
house  a  little" — 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  well  aimed  pillow 
flying  straight  at  his  head.  Mary  was  crimson 
with  fury.  Bottles,  spoons,  glasses  followed 
the  pillow  ! 

"  So  !  that 's  what  she  comes  here  for,  is  it  ? 
To  make  love  to  the  most  cruel,  falsehearted 
man  that  ever  lived  !  You  've  made  all  your 
arrangements,  have  you?" — here  a  bottle  of 
lavender  water  smashed  the  mirror.  "  You  'd 
be  very  glad  to  have  me  die  and  leave  her  a 
clear  field" — a  tablespoon  took  Larry  in  one 
eye—"  but  I  won't !  I  won't !  I  won't !"  The 
last  word  was  a  scream,  and  Mary,  utterly  ex- 
hausted, fell  back,  this  time  in  a  real  fainting 
fit.  Lawrence,  all  penitence,  would  have  ruined 
all  by  staying  to  coax  her  back  to  amiability, 
but  I  drove  him  from  the  house.  My  patient 
recovered  with  a  flood  of  tears.  Gravely  yet 
kindly  I  tried  to  make  her  realize  the  full  error 
of  her  life,  and,  softened  by  the  horrible  fear 
that  she  was  really  losing  the  love  of  her  kind, 
indulgent  husband,  she  made  many  vows  of 
amendment. 

It  was  a  long  day's  work  we  did,  and  when 
Lawrence  came  home  his  eyes  fairly  shone  with 
pleasure.  The  well-spread  tea-table  was  cov- 
ered with  nicely  arranged  dishes,  a  spotless 
cloth,  and  clear  glass,  silver,  and  china.  His 
two  little  girls,  in  simple  but  neat  dresses, 
were  in  the  room,  but  his  eyes  rested  on  his 
wife. 

Flushed  by  exercise  and  agitation,  Mary's 
cheeks  and  eyes  were  bright  as  of  old.  She 
wore  a  light  blue  dress,  with  snowy  collar  and 
sleeves,  and  her  soft  blonde  hair  was  arranged 
in  wide  becoming  braids.  With  a  quiet  grace, 
though  her  hand  trembled  with  excitement, 
she  presided  over  the  table,  and  led  the  con- 
versation to  indifferent  subjects.  The  evening 
was  spent  in  the  long  unoccupied  parlor,  where 
the  piano  did  good  service  in  giving  fingers  the 
power  to  take  the  place  of  talk.  It  was  not 
till  after  the  children  had  retired  that  Mary 
went  up  to  her  husband.  He  was  standing  by 
the  fireplace  looking  at  her  with  fond  eyes. 
She  stole  into  his  arms,  whispering,  "Forgive 
me,  Larry  !" 

"  My  wife  !     My  own  dear  Mary  !" 

I  crept  away  with  eyes  full  of  tears. 

Two  years  later,  I  visited   them  again.     A 


466 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


neat,  well-ordered  household,  and  quiet,  well- 
behaved,  well-dressed  children  bore  witness  to 
Mary's  reform ;  while  she  assures  me  that 
when,  as  often  occurs,  she  is  prostrated  by  real 


sickness,  no  kindness  can  exceed  that  paid  her 
by  Larry.  Miss  Jenkins  has  retired  in  disgust, 
not  relishing  the  cure  effected  by  the  "rough 
dose." 


LETTEES   EKOM  AUNT   BETSY  BEOOMCOEN. 


LETTER  V. 

Dear  Mr.  Godey  :  Since  I  begun  to  tell  you 
about  my  experience  at  Pendle  Holler,  I  'spose 
I  orter  finish  ;  but  it  seems  ruther  foolish  in  an 
old  woman  like  me  to  tell  you  all  these  things. 
You  must  take  it  into  count,  that  I  was  young 
then,  and  didu't  know  so  much  about  the 
world  as  some  girls  of  my  age,  that  had  been 
about  more.  I  don't  mind  tellin'  you  so  much, 
or  havin'  the  folks  in  Scrub  Oak  know  it,  but  I 
shouldn't  like  to  have  it  get  back  to  Pendle 
Holler  that  I  told  these  things  over,  twenty 
years  afterward. 

You  see  I  went  back  to  Mr.  Stowerses  to 
board,  a  few  days  after  the  old  lady  died. 
Nat  was  dreffle  glad  to  see  me.  He  said  that 
jest  as  soon  as  the  moon  changed,  father  and 
he  was  goin'  to  saw  off  the  lims  to  the  apple- 
trees,  that  grew  up  agin  the  house,  so  the  sun 
could  shine  in  a  little.  "  Ain't  you  glad, "  says 
he,  "we're  goin'  to  sow  some  grass  seed 
there  'n'  put  some  new  steps  where  them  old 
mouldy  ones  was.  I  dug  up  'bout  a  cart-load 
of  burdocks,  'n'  if  you'll  go  with  the  gals  'n' 
me  we  're  goin'  to  burn  em  out  in  the  medder 
to-night.  Father  said  we  might.  Schoolma'am, 
dast  you  set  in  granny's  chair?'7  I  said  I 
didn't  want  to,  but  I  'd  go  with  em  to  burn  the 
burdocks.  So,  after  supper,  we  put  on  our  sun- 
bonnets  and  helped  Nat  make  a  pile  of  the  old 
steps,  the  dry  burdocks,  and  some  straw,  and 
after  the  cows  was  milked,  and  it  was  dark 
enough  to  see  stars,  we  took  a  shovel-full  of 
coals  and  went  out  into  the  medder.  Nat  put 
the  coals  down  among  the  straw,  and  fanned 
them  with  his  straw  hat  till  they  begun  to 
blaze.  Great  white  puffs  of  smoke  come  out 
of  the  pile  first.  Then  little  threads  of  flame 
crept  out  in  sight,  and  finally  a  great  clump  of 
waverin'  red  flames  flashed  out  of  the  top,  and 
swayed  round  with  the  wind.  The  light  shone 
on  Nat's  brown  face,  and  old  lop-brimmed  hat, 
and  made  a  perfect  picter  of  him,  paintin'  up 
his  clothes  till  they  looked  like  anything  else 
but  jest  a  coarse  cotton  shirt  and  tow  trowsers. 
Clary  and  Idy  poked  the  fire  with  sticks,  and 
laughed  right  out  to  see  the  sparks  flyin'  up 
among  the  stars.     There  was  a  great  oak  tree 


close  by,  and  I  remember  the  nearest  leaves 
looked  as  if  they  was  gilted.  While  the  girls 
was  at  play,  Nat  come  round  to  me.  Says  he, 
"  Schoolma'am,  Liddy  was  over  here  last  night, 
'n'  I  heard  her  tell  mother  that  she  'n'  Kezier 
had  settled  with  Square  Kinyon.  Mother  wanted 
to  know  what  on  airth  she  meant,  'n'  she  said 
the  Square  was  a  dreffle  good-natured  man  'n' 
he  'd  make  a  good  neighbor ;  but,  says  she, 
you  never  did  hear  of  sich  a  trick  as  he  played 
Kezier  'n'  me.  He  come  to  our  house  two  or 
three  times  runnin'  about  five  o'clock,  'n'  got 
his  supper  with  us  ;  'n'  then  he'd  set  'n'  talk 
to  father  'n'  mother  all  the  evenin'.  Finally 
he  got  a  chance  to  talk  to  Kezier  a  minit,  he 
up  'n'  asked  her  if  she  'd  have  him.  Kezier 
was  took  so  suddin  she  didn't  know  what  to 
say  at  fust,  but  she  told  him  she  reckoned  she 
didn't  want  to.  '  Now, '  says  Liddy,  '  what  d' 
you  s'pose  he  said?'  'Idunno,'  says  mother. 
*  Well,'  says  Liddy,  '  he  said,  you  don't  under- 
stand me,  Kezier.  I  wanted  to  know  if  you 
didn't  think  Liddy  'd  have  me.  I  've  got  a 
pooty  comfortable  place  :  seems  to  me  'twould 
jest  suit  a  spry  gal  like  Liddy.  Now  don't  you 
think  so,  Kezier  ?  And  she  said  she  wouldn't 
wonder.  Geusshe  'd  find  out  by  askin'.  Says 
he,  '  won't  you  ask  her  yourself  ?'  She  reckoned 
she  hadn't  better,  Liddy  migh'n't  like  it,  she 
was  ruther  techy  bout  sich  things.  'Well,' 
says  he,  'ef  I  had  a  chance.'  '  La, 'says  she, 'be 
you  in  a  hurry,  Square  ?'  He  said,  \  No,  but 
when  he  'd  made  up  his  mind  he  hated  to  wait,' 
so  says  she,  '  Kezier  jest  called  me  to  come  'n' 
husk  them  roastin'  ears  fur  the  Square.  She 
was  going  to  get  some  salt  to  eat  with  em.' 
When  she  come  back  the  Square  was  sayin'  as 
crank  as  could  be,  '  I  'm  sorry  you  're  so  short, 
Liddy,  I  only  asked  ye  'cause  you  seemed  to  be 
ruther  'spectin'  it.  I  didn't  mean  nothin'.  I  '11 
tell  ye  now,  I'm  going  to  be  married  rite  off, 
'n'  if  ye  want  to,  I  '11  ask  you  to  my  weddin'.' 
Says  she,  '  I  laughed  'n'  said  I  didn't  care  where 
I  went  if  ony  they  had  plenty  of  fun.'  '  Now,' 
says  she,  '  did  you  ever  hear  the  like  of  that  ? 
He  asked  me  to  have  him,  jest  as  if  he  meant 
it,  'n'  I  said,  I  thought  I  hadn't  better,  'cause  I 
was  too  young.'     '0  shaw,'  says  he,   'I  don't 


LETTERS  FROM  AUNT  BETSY  BROOMCORN. 


467 


care  anything  about  that. '  '  Maybe  I  shouldn't, ' 
says  I,  'ef  you  wasn't  quite  so  old.'  'Well,' 
ays  he,  'won't  you  have  me,  Liddy  V  'No,' 
says  I,  'I  won't,'  'n'  so  he  up  'n'  pretended  he 
didn't  mean  it.  Now,  schoolma'am,  what 's  the 
use  in  a  man's  havin'  to  make  sich  a  fool  of 
hisseffto  git  married?  The  Square  thinks  be- 
cause he's  middlin  well  off,  he  kin  jest  have  his 
pick  out  of  all  the  gals  in  the  Holler.  I  wish 
he'd  ask  my  advice.  I  should  tell  him  that 
Darkis  Blinn  was  jist  sich  a  woman  as  he 
orter  to  marry."  "  I  wish  he  would  ask  your 
advice,  Nat,  and  take  it  too,  for  Darkis  needs  a 
good  hum,"  says  I.  "  But  he  wouldn't  do  it, 
schoolma'am.  He  's  got  so  stuck  up  that  he 
thinks  nobody's  good  enuff,  but  the  smartest 
'n'  pootiest  gals  in  the  Holler.  Now  I  reckon 
Tilda  Button  was  about  the  nicest  gal,  'round 
here.  I  wish  't'  I  knew  where  she  was  'n'  what 
she  was  a  doin'.  Oh,  but  she  rit  some  su- 
kerelement  poitry  though,  didn't  she  ?  There's 
one  verse. 

"  'An'  all  the  stars  was  stannin' 
A-listenin'  in  the  sky, 
Their  eyes  a-weepin'  briteness 
For  sich  a  melodi.'  " 

"Go  on,  Nat,"  says  I;   "let's  hear  tho  rest 
on't." 

"  '  The  waves  upon  the  oshun 
Was  chained  to  the  shore  ; 
The  winds  from  up  the  mountins 
Had  ceesed  their  holler  roar. 

"The  thunder  and  the  litenin' 
Was  folded  in  a  cloud ; 
And  to  the  ground,  the  waterfall 
Its  silver  forrid  bowed. 

"The  rustlin'  corn  was  silent, 
The  popple  leaves  hung  still, 
And  all  the  world  was  listenin'  to 
The  lonesome  whippoorwill.' 

"  Ain't  that  got  a  tang  to  it  ?  Tell  ye  what,  I 
like  sich.  I  know  a  good  lot  more  she  writ ; 
maybe  I  '11  tell  'em  to  ye  some  time  ;  but  jest 
now  I  reckon  we  'd  better  go  in.  The  gals  has 
laft  over  this  bnrnin'  some  ;  I  'm  jest  goin'  to 
see  ef  I  can't  brighten  'em  up  some.  'Sposin' 
I  learn  to  play  on  the  drum  ?  Wouldn't  that 
be  kind  of  lively-like,  'n'  chirk  our  folks  up  a 
little?"  "I  don't  know,  Nat,"  says  I.  "I 
guess  you  'd  better  ask  your  father.  I  reckon 
a  fiddle  is  liveliest."  "You  don't  say  so!" 
says  Nat.  "  I  didn't  think  so,  for  every  time 
I  've  hearn  one,  I  've  felt  as  ef  I  should  bust 
right  out  a-cryin'  ;  it  made  me  feel  so  kind  of 
solemn  'n'  bad,  jest  as  ef  I  wanted  to  lay  down 
in  the  woods  somewhere  'n'  die,  'n'  have  the 
leaves  all  fall  off  the  trees  'n'  cover  me  up. 
Don't  you  never   feel  kind  of  baddish  when 


you  hear  a  fiddle?"  "Why,  Nat,"  says  I, 
"don't  you  know  everybody  uses  a  fiddle  to 
make  music  for  dancin'  ;  it  can't  be  solemn." 
"  But  I  say  it  is,"  says  Nat ;  "  'n'  dancin'  's 
solemn,  too  ;  seems  to  me  ef  the  Lord  was  to 
come  down  out  of  the  clouds  before  me,  I 
should  be  just  as  likely  to  dance  as  David. 
I  've  hearn  granny  read  about  his  dancin'  afore 
the  Lord,  'n'  I  'spect  it  was  the  solemnest 
thing  he  could  do." 

A  few  days  after  that,  when  I  was  in  school 
one  afternoon,  just  a-hearin'  the  first  class  spell, 
somebody  rapped  on  the  door.  I  went  and 
looked  out,  for  you  see  the  door  was  wide  open, 
and  there  stood  Square  Kinyon,  his  everlastin' 
invisible  green  Sunday  coat  and  hat,  and  oh, 
such  a  smile  lookin'  out  of  his  little  blue-gray 
eyes  !  I  colored  up  in  a  minit,  and  I  didn't 
know  what  on  earth  to  say.  He  took  hold  of 
his  hat,  and  pulled  it  over  one  side,  and  bowed, 
and  said  :  "Good  afternoon,  Miss  Broomcorn  ; 
I  'm  one  of  the  trustees.  Been  a-comin'  in  to 
see  your  school  ever  and  ever  so  long.  Didn't 
have  time  till  to-day.  Hope  you  '11  overlook 
it."  "Oh  yes,"  says  I,  "certainly.  Won't 
you  come  in  ?"  So  he  come  and  took  my  chair, 
and  sot  down,  and  put  his  hands  together  on 
the  desk  before  him,  with  all  the  pints  of  the 
fingers  twirlin',  and  the  thumbs  stuck  up  some 
like  a  fox's  ears.  Says  he:  "Go  right  on 
with  your  school,  don't  mind  me  ;  I  'm  only  an 
obsarver. "  If  he  only  knew  how  provoked  I 
was  at  him  for  comin'  alone,  he  would  have 
took  his  hat  and  cleared  out ;  but,  bless  you, 
he  hadn't  any  notion  of  clearin'  out.  He  took 
a  book  pretty  soon  and  looked  over,  while  I  put 
out  words.  Somehow  the  children  didn't  like 
to  have  him  there  either,  for  they  acted  ridicu- 
lous. They  yelled  out  their  letters  when  they 
was  spellin',  and  spit  from  one  end  of  the  house 
to  the  other,  and  pretended  they  had  monstrous 
chunks  of  tobaccer  in  their  mouths  all  the 
time.  I  felt  my  face  burn  like  fire,  and  tears 
reddy  to  come  into  my  eyes  ;  but  I  was  too 
mad  to  cry.  When  they  was  done  spelling, 
Gains  Jones  went  down  to  the  foot  from  his 
place  at  the  head,  and  Sally  Wood  standing'  in 
his  place,  said,  "'Tention!"  and  they  all 
brightened  up,  and  looked  straight  at  me. 
"  Hands  down,"  says  Sally.  They  all  unfolded 
their  hands  at  once.  "Decence,"  says  Sally, 
and  the  boys  bobbed  their  chins  on  to  their 
stummaks,  and  jerked  'em  up  agin  in  a  twink- 
lin',  while  the  girls  curcheyed  all  at  once  with 
a  straight  up  and  down  stoop  and  rise  motion. 
Then  they  scattered  to  their  seats,  and  the 
Square  rubbed  his  hands  and  said,  "  Very  good. 


468 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


very  good!"  I  catched  little  Sam  Stowers 
flippin'  paper  at  him  with  a  quill,  and  stopped 
him  ;  but  in  a  minit  more  they  was  all  a-snick- 
ering  at  one  of  the  little  Joneses  for  puttin'  his 
hands  upon  the  desk  jest  as  the  Square  did 
his.  I  was  goin'  to  dismiss  school  rite  away, 
but  the  Square  wanted  to  look  at  the  'ritin' 
books.  I  got  out  the  'ritin '-books  and  samples 
and  showed  him.  Great  deel  he  knew  about 
samples  anyway ;  but  he  looked  'em  all  over, 
big  and  little  letters,  flower-baskets,  hearts, 
marks,  stars,  and  crosses.  I  thought  he  never 
would  leave  off.  Then  he  read  most  every 
copy  in  the  'ritin '-books,  and  praised  'em  up 
wonderful.  Finally,  when  he  got  done,  I  read 
over  the  list  of  scholars  and  dismissed  the 
school.  The  scholars  gave  a  yell,  pitched  on 
their  hats  and  bunnits,  and  started  fur  home. 
So  didn't  the  Square.  I  tied  on  my  bunnit, 
pinned  my  shawl,  and  there  he  sot,  as  smilin' 
as  a  basket  of  chips.  I  wasn't  goin'  to  wait  for 
him  ;  so  says  I,  "Square  Kinyon,  I  shall  have 
to  lock  this  door."  "Oh,  certin,"  says  he, 
a-springin'  up  and  coming  out  doors.  "I'd 
forgot  where  I  was.  Very  pleasant  place  here  ?" 
"  Ruther,"  says  I,  startin'  off  for  hum.  "  How 
do  you  like  Pendle  Holler  ?"  says  he.  "  Don't 
you  think  it 's  a  dreffle  nice  place  to  live  in, 
only  the  company  ain't  much  to  brag  of,  the 
young  folks,  'specially.  They  're  ruther  shal- 
ler,  considering  their  advantages."  "I  don't 
know,"  says  I;  "I  ain't  so  much  acquainted 
with  the  folks  as  you  be."  "Oh,  of  course 
not,  Miss  Broomcorn  ;  but  then  I  hope  you 
will  be  afore  long.  "  I  hope  you  mean  to  stay 
here."  I  declare  I  didn't  think  what  I  was 
about  when  I  answered:  "Maybe  they  won't 
want  me  to  stay."  I  meant  to  keep  school 
agin,  of  course  ;  but  the  Square  took  me  up 
quicker  'n  a  flash.  "  Oh,  if  that  's  all,  you  '11 
stay.  I  want  ye  to.  I  've  set  my  heart  on  it. 
I  loved  ye  the  first  minit  I  set  eyes  on  ye. 
You  '11  marry  me,  and  stay  here,  won't  ye  ?  I 
am  well  off.  I  've  got  considerable  money,  and 
you  shall  have  a  silk  frock,  and  I  '11  take  you 
to  Boston  for  a  weddin'  tower,  and  there  's  heaps 
of  things  for  housekeepin'  in  my  house — heaps 
of  'em.  I  wouldn't  have  anybody  else  but  you 
for  all  the  world.  Lemme  see,  I  '11  git  Skimmer 
to  buy  you  some  earrings  and  gold  beads, 
wouldn't  you  like  that  ?  Just  telf  me  when  it 
shall  be  ;  but  don't,  for  massy  sake,  put  it  off 
long."  I  felt  my  forehead  all  break  out  in  a 
cold  sweat  while  he  was  goin'  on  so.  Says  I, 
as  soon  as  I  got  a  chance  :  "  For  goodness  sake, 
Square  Kinyon,  jest  hear  me.  I  don't  want 
your   gold  beads,  nor  silk  frock,  nor  I  don't 


wan't  to  marry  you.  There  's  too  much  differ- 
ence in  our  ages. "  "  Why, ' '  says  he  ' '  that 's 
a  slim  excuse.  I  ain't  so  old  as  I  might  be  ; 
besides  I  '11  git  some  new  teeth  when  we  go  to 
Boston.  They  do  sich  things  there.  You  'd 
better  think  of  it  now.  You  will,  won't  ye  ? 
I  '11  give  you  till  to-morrer  to  think  about  it." 
"I  wouldn't  for  all  the  world,"  says  I.  "It 
would  kill  me  to  think  about  it  till  to-morrer. 
I  can  tell  ye  now  jest  as  well  as  then.  I  can't 
have  you  for  a  husband,  Square."  "Oh,  but 
you  think  about  it.  I  '11  fetch  my  hosses  round 
and  give  you  a  ride  after  supper,  and  we  '11  talk 
it  over  agin."  I  begun  to  feel  cross.  Says  I : 
"No,  Square  Kinyon,  you  needn't  fetch  your 
hosses  round  where  I  'm  goin  ;  if  you  do,  I 
won't  speak  to  you.  I  sha'n't  marry  you,  and 
you  may  consider  it  settled,  and  drop  the  sub- 
jeck."  "  Well,"  says  he,  a-colorin'  up,  "  such 
young  flirts  never  know  what 's  good  for  'em. 
You  '11  be  sorry  yet,  I  reckon,  when  it  won't  du 
you  any  good.  Good-arternoon,  Miss."  And 
the  Square  turned  'round,  and  hopped  over 
the  fence  into  a  medder  as  spry  as  a  boy. 
Reckon  he  wanted  to  show  how  smart  he  was. 
I  could  see  him  a-footin'  it  'cross  lots,  and  he 
stepped  off  as  if  he  was  a  little  riled  in  his  tem- 
per. I  was,  I  own.  Not  but  what  I  'd  thought 
my  chance  might  come  with  all  the  rest  to  git 
an  offer  from  the  Square.  He  'd  took  every 
good-natured,  neighborly  word  to  heart  so 
much,  he  really  thought  everybody  was  settin' 
caps  at  him.  Well,  it  was  Polly  Mariar's  turn 
now,  sence  Dr.  Stirrup's  girl  was  jest  a-goin' 
to  marry  somebody  else,  and  there  wa'n't  no 
chance  there.  I  hearn  Ma'am  Jinks  say  once 
that  if  she  was  a  bit  like  her  mother,  she  'd 
make  the  Square  stan'  'round,  if  she  took  a 
notion  to  marry  him.  Maybe  she  would  ;  I 
didn't  care  sence  I  'd  got  rid  of  him  now. 

I  hadn't  but  four  weeks  left,  and  I  begun  to 
feel  lonesome  and  homesick.  I  'd  boarded  at 
Sam  Stowers's,  and  ever  so  many  other  places  ; 
but  I  was  a-goin'  to  stay  with  Deacon  Pendle's 
folks  a  few  days  before  I  went  home  ;  so  I  went 
down  there  one  Saturday  night.  Miss  Pendle 
had  a  cake  in  the  bake-kettle,  and  the  tea- 
kettle on.  She  made  me  come  out  behind  the 
house  to  see  her  chickens,  and  she  drawed  a 
bucket  of  water,  and  turned  it  over  my  hands 
while  I  washed  my  dusty  face,  and  neck,  and 
arms.  Oh,  such  water !  it  was  as  cool  and 
sweet  as  a  spring  in  a  shady  place.  Then  I 
went  up  stairs,  and  put  on  my  pink  calico 
frock  and  silk  apron,  and  smoothed  down  my 
hair,  and  come  down  stairs  as  fresh  as  if  I  'd 
jest  got  up  in  the  mornin'.     When  the  Deacon 


LETTERS  FROM  AUNT  BETSY  BROOMCORN. 


469 


come  in,  he  shook  hands  with  me,  and  said  he 
never  see  me  look  so  bright.  Jest  as  we  was 
settin'  down  to  supper,  who  should  drive  up 
but  Deacon  Moody  and  his  wife.  Of  course 
they  had  to  come  in,  and  Miss  Pendle  put  some 
more  plates  on  the  table,  and  we  all  sot  down 
together.  The  Deacon,  Deacon  Moody  I  mean, 
was  jest  as  glum  as  ever,  and  his  wife  jest  as 
sharp  and  loud-spoken.  She  said  they  'd  been 
over  to  the  Corners  a-looking  at  some  furniture. 
Mr.  Damerill  owed  'em,  and  they  had  got  to 
take  furniture  for  pay.  "  Why,"  says  Deacon 
Pendle,  "Polly  Mariar  ain't  goin'  to  get  mar- 
ried, is  she,  Miss  Moody  ?"  "I  dunno  but  she 
may  some  time,  Deacon;  anyway,  we've  got 
to  take  the  things,  and  if  Polly  Mariar  gits 
married,  she  knows  how  to  take  care  on  'em 
better  'n  the  most  of  folks,  ef  I  do  say  it.  She 
is  none  of  your  poor  shirks.  I  '11  warrant  her 
to  make  any  man  fore-handed  in  the  house. 
And  Polly  Mariar  needn't  go  out  of  the  way  to 
git  married  either.  There  's  them  as  good  as 
the  best  she  can  have  any  minit.  Miss  Pendle, 
is  your  four-and-twenty  reed  to  hum,  and  your 
new  linen  harness  ?  I  should  like  to  try  'em 
on  a  new  piece  I  'm  going  to  put  in,  one  of 
these  days."  "Why,  massy  on  us,"  says 
Miss  Pendle,  "  what  be  you  a  going  to  do  with 
so  much  linen  ?"  "Well,"  says  Miss  Moody, 
liftin'  up  her  eyebrows,  "somebody  can  use  it 
ef  I  can't.  I  'm  allers  exposed  to  gittin'  clean 
out  of  a  thing  before  I  have  anything  tu  supply 
myself  with  new.  It  's  a  sartin  sign  of  a  poor 
housekeeper.  Miss  Broomcorn,  I  wisht  you  'd 
let  me  have  a  pattern  of  your  frock  sleeves — 
seems  to  me  they  stick  out  good.  Where  do 
you  git  your  pattern  ?  Oh,  that 's  it  ?  Land 
sakes  !  There,  Deacon,  you  '11  git  the  stum- 
mak  ake  if  you  take  another  piece  of  cake." 
"  Oh  no,"  says  Miss  Pendle,  "not  a  mite  of  it. 
Do  take  another  slice,  Deacon.  You  take  an- 
other, Miss  Moody."  "  Well,  I  will ;  come  to 
think,"  says  Miss  Moody,  "you're  allers  fam- 
ous for  cake.  Have  another  piece  ef  your  mind 
to,  Deacon."  The  Deacon  had  been  lookin' 
at  the  cake  ruther  wishful,  but  he  didn't  take 
one  till  Deacon  Pendle  passed  him  the  plate. 
"I  reckon,"  says  he,  afterwards,  "they  don't 
'low  him  to  eat  cake  at  hum." 

After  supper,  Miss  Moody  borrowed  a  lot  of 
quills,  and  a  shuttle  out  of  Miss  Pendle's  loom, 
a  pair  of  hand  cards  and  a  quill  wheel.  Then 
they  went  off  hum— Miss  Moody's  big  thick 
shoulders  almost  crowdin'  the  Deacon's  poor, 
lean,  little  body  out  of  the  seat  ;  and  Dolly,  as 
big  and  fat  as  Miss  Moody  herself,  joggin'  off  at 
her  own   rate  without   mindin'  the   Deacon's 

37* 


slappin'  the  lines  over  her  back  when  they 
started. 

Next  day  we  went  to  meetin'.  Of  course, 
you  know,  'most  everybody  in  Pendle  Holler 
would  be  there.  I  could  see  Dolly  Jinks  makin' 
mouths  at  me  from  Gran'ther  Jinks's  pew. 
She  wanted  me  to  look  at  Square  Kinyon.  He 
sat  with  Darkis  Blinn  and  his  little  girl.  Darkis 
was  a  sober-lookin'  mortal ;  but  the  Square 
wasn't,  I  can  assure  you.  His  face  fairly  glis- 
tened with  grins,  and  he  had  on  a  new  blue  and 
white  neck  hankercher,  and  a  speckled  vest. 
I  'spose  he  'd  about  wore  out  the  others,  wearin' 
'em  'round  so  much  lately,  courtin'.  Pooty 
.soon  Miss  Moody  come  in,  with  Polly  Mariar 
close  behind  her,  and  the  Deacon  shirkin'  along 
after  'em  as  meek  as  a  sheep.  They  wasn't 
fairly  settled  before  meetin'  begun,  but  some- 
how folks  would  look  at  'em.  They  looked 
when  they  stood  up  at  prayers,  and  when  they 
set  down  for  sermon,  and  when  they  ought  to 
be  findin'  their  places  in  the  hymn  book,  they 
looked  ;  but  they  looked  all  at  once  and  together 
when  Elder  Jones  got  up  and  read  out  the  names 
of  "Timothy  Kinyon"  and  "Polly  Mariar 
Moody,"  who  intended  marriage.  I  'spose  no- 
body had  anything  agin  it,  though  they  was 
asked  to  say  so,  if  they  had.  Well,  the  folks 
didn't  want  anything  to  talk  about  that  noon- 
time I  can  tell  you,  if  it  was  Sunday.  Dolly 
Jinks  told  me  that  she  and  Reuben  found  it  out 
in  season,  or  they  'd  been  called  at  the  same 
time.  "I  wouldn't  have  stood  that,"  says 
Dolly,  "so  I  jest  told  Reuben  to  run  over  to 
Elder  Jones's,  and  take  back  the  notis.  I  put 
it  off  a  hull  week,"  says  she  ;  "though  Reuben 
did  look  a  little  put  out,  I  reckon  he  '11  git  over 
it.  Now,  you  '11  see  what  a  bustle  Miss  Moody 
will  be  in,  and  how  she  '11  snub  the  Deacon. 
That 's  the  way  Polly  Mariar  '11  snub  Square 
Kinyon  one  of  these  days,  and  she  '11  have  her 
mother  to  help  her,  too.  That  little  gal  is  to 
be  pitied.  There  ain't  no  chance  for  her  un- 
less she  grows  up  as  big  and  stout  as  Polly 
Mariar  herself.  Her  father  won't  dast  to  do  a 
thing  for  her.  Come,  don't  you  wish  you  was 
goin'  to  the  weddin'  ?  There  '11  be  one  kind  of 
cake  baked  in  four  different  ways,  and  they 
won't  let  the  Deacon  eat  any  of  that.  Poor 
Deacon  !  I  tell  ye  what,  Betsy,  I  'm  a-goin'  to 
manage  to  have  the  Deacon  come  when  Reube 
and  I  git  married,  and  I  '11  stuff  him  with 
goodies  then,  for  once  in  his  life." 

In  the  afternoon  meetin',  Square  Kinyon 
looked  redder,  and  more  pleased  than  ever. 
Everybody  'd  been  a  wishin'  him  joy,  and  he 
really  begun   to   think   he  'd  done  something 


470 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


smart.  As  for  Mrs.  Moody,  a  great  pair  of 
brass  rimmed  spectacles  was  all  she  had  on  in 
the  way  of  extra  fixins,  and  Polly  Mariar 
didn't  look  as  if  she  knew  anything  about  it,  or 
had  ever  heard  of  Square  Kinyon  at  all.  I  set 
in  the  gallery  that  afternoon,  and  Nat  Stowers 
was  there.  He  looked  so  sober  I  couldn't  help 
thinkin'  about  him,  and  wonderin'  what  he  was 
thinkin'  about  all  the  afternoon,  when  he  set 
and  watched  the  wasps  a  sailin'  round,  and 
round,  and  bumpin'  their  backs  agin  the  walls, 
and  buzzin'  up  and  down  the  windows.  After 
meetin'  was  out,  Nat  went  with  me  over  to 
Deacon  Pendle's,  and  set  down  on  the  door 
step,  and  begun  to  whittle  a  laylock  sprout. 
"Why,  Nat,"  says  Deacon  Pendle,  "be  you 
always  so  sober  ?"  Nat  bust  out  a  laffin'.  Says 
he,  "I  've  been  a  wantin'  to  tell  somebody  so 
bad,  that  it  laid  heavy  on  my  mind.  You  ain't 
agoin'  to  laugh  at  me,  schoolma'am,  nor  you, 
Deacon,  'cause  you  stan'  as  good  a  chance  to 
git  scart  as  I  did,  afore  it  happened.  You  see 
I  goes  right  by  the  old  Biddle  house  when  I 
drive  away  my  cows,  'n'  it 's  all  shackly  'n' 
tumblin'  to  pieces.  Well,  I  was  corain'  along 
one  evenin'  pooty  late.  I  warn't  thinkin'  of 
nothin',  till  all  at  once  I  heard  somebody  knock- 
in'  in  the  house.  I  thought  to  be  sure  some- 
body 's  in  there  't  aint  no  sort  of  business  there. 
So  I  jist  went  'n'  pushed  the  door  back,  'n' 
peeped  in.  There  warn't  nobody  there  ;  I  could 
see  into  the  bed-room  'n'  all  over.  It  was  all 
still.  Wall,  says  I,  that 's  curus.  Guess  'twas  a 
woodpecker,  so  I  went  off.  When  I  come  back 
I  hearn  it  agin.  I  didn't  turn  out  to  look  for 
't  ;  but  next  mornin'  I  hearn  it  agin,  louder. 
So  I  shyed  round  and  looked.  There  warn't 
no  woodpecker  there  at  all,  but  somethin' 
rapped,  rapped  hard  summers  inside  the  house. 
I  climbed  into  a  winder  on  the  back  side  'n' 
looked  agin.  It  was  all  as  empty  as  a  last 
year's  snail  shell.  Wall,  I  jest  went  off  'n' 
said  nothin'.  Fur  three  mornings  'n'  nights, 
I  hearn  that  rappin'  every  time  I  went  by  the 
house,  'n'  I  begun  to  feel  as  ef  I  'd  a  little 
ruther  not  go  there,  but  you  see  I  darn't  tell, 
so  I  gin  a  little  run  'n'  whistled  sum  when  I 
cum  there  so  as  not  to  hear  it.  Wall,  day 
before  yesterday  I  spunked  up  a  bit.  Thinks  I 
it  won't  hurt  me  wuss  to  see  it  than  it  does  to 
hear  it.  I  '11  jest  go  'n'  search  down  cellar, 
'n'  up  garret.  So  I  went  there.  I  hadn't 
teched  the  door  stone  before  I  hearn  three 
faint  raps.  Just  as  if  they  didn't  mean  to  scare 
me.  I  felt  my  heart  give  a  big  thump  'n'  my 
face  'n'  hands  prickled  all  over.  I  thought  of 
Gran'ther  Biddle's  wooden  leg  stumpin'  over  the 


floor.  I  was  jist  as  sure  it  was  he  as  ef  I  'd 
seen  him.  But  I  walked  in  'n'  stood  'n'  looked 
round.  I  couldn't  see  nothin  agin.  After  I  'd 
stood  a  minit  I  went  'n'  opened  the  trap  door, 
'n'  went  down  celler.  The  outside  door  was 
down,  'n'the  sheep  use  to  sleep  there,  but  there 
wern't  nothin'  onnatural  in  sight.  I  went  up 
'n'  looked  'n!  listened  a  minit.  Bymby,  says  I, 
pooty  loud,  'Gran'ther.'  'B-a-a-a,'  says  a  little 
weakly  voice  in  the  stair-way.  Oh,  Diner,  how 
I  bounded  !  I  opened  the  door,  'n'  I  boo-hooed 
rite  out.  I  couldn't  help  it,  deacon  ;  I  swan  I 
couldn't,  for  there  was  our  corset  sheep  Nancy 
lay  in'  on  the  broad  stair  enamost  starved  to 
deth.  She'd  scraped  the  door  with  her  huff 
every  time  she  hearn  me,  'n'  stomped  when 
she  could  stan'  up.  That  was  Nancy's  way ; 
she'd  stomp  when  she  wanted  anything.  I 
never  see  a  poor  thing  so  pitiful ;  I  s'pose  she'd 
laid  down  there,  and  the  wind  Mowed  the  door 
to  ;  she  couldn't  stan'  up,  nor  but  jest  make 
a  noise.  I  run  'n'  gathered  sum  grass  'n'  wet 
it  in  the  brook,  'n'  Nancy  eat  a  little  ;  but 
she  wanted  some  water.  I  peeled  some  bark 
in  a  jiffin',  made  a  cup  'n'  carried  her  water. 
She  drinked  it  up  'n'  eat  the  grass  'n'  then  I 
helped  her  up  'n'  out  doors,  'n'  she  lay  down 
'n'  begun  to  reach  out  till  she'd  cleaned  a 
good  ring  'roun  her.  Then  I  helped  her  to  a 
spot  o'  clover,  'n'  run  home  to  git  her  some 
milk.  Nancy's  about  well,  'n'  I  reckon  I  sha'n't 
come  across  any  more  ghosts  there.  You 
needen't  laugh  at  me,  schoolma'am  ;  I  've  seen 
my  last  ghost."  "  I  hope  you  have,"  says  I, 
"fur  they  ain't  agreeable  company,  I  've  heard 
say."  "Well,  I  s'pect  they  aint,"  says  Dea- 
con Pendle,  "leastways  they  don't  appear  to 
make  themselves  agreeable  to  them  that  they 
allows  to  see  em."  "Wall,"  says  Nat-,  "I 
reckon  I'll  run  hum.  I  wish  you'd  come  to 
our  house  afore  you  go  off,  schoolma'am.  We're 
offle  lonesome,  'n'  I  want  you  to  see  how  the 
sun  shines  into" the  winders,  'n'  makes  the  gals 
play  like  as  if  they  was  kittens."  I  promised 
him  I  would,  and  he  put  on  his  straw  hat  and 
went  away. 

I  went  down  to  Miss  Jones's  the  next  day, 
and  she  said  Miss  Moody  had  been  there  'most 
all  day  long  a-havin'  her  cut  and  baste  a  couple 
of  frocks  for  Polly  Mariar,  and  says  she,  "  Only 
see  what  she  brought  me."  She  opened  a  box, 
and  there  was  about  four  quarts  of  Indjin  meal, 
and  a  paper  full  of  sage.  She  said  sage  made 
good,  hulsome  tea,  better  'n  common  tea  for 
nervous  folks  like  brother  Jones,  and  she  and 
the  Deacon  had  sage  tea  and  corn  coffee  all  the 
time.     Of  course  that  was  a  first-rate  reason 


LETTERS  FROM  AUNT  BETSY  BROOMCORN. 


471 


why  we  should  drink  it,  too.  I  jest  told  Mr. 
Jones  he  orter  contrive  to  furnish  the  folks 
with  sage  tea,  and  corn  coffee  sermons.  Then, 
only  think,  Square  Kinyon  has  paraded  'round 
a  five-frank  piece  he  's  goin'  to  give  Mr.  Jones 
for  marryin'  him.  "  0,  Lord  !"  says  she,  M  to 
think  anybody  can  live  and  bear  such  things  ! 
I  wouldn't  if  I  was  a  man.  They  're  wonder- 
ful pious,  but  they  're  stingier  about  religion 
than  anything  else  on  earth.'? 

When  Mr.  Jones  come  in  he  aooked  'most  as 
discouraged  as  his  wife  ;  but  he  took  the  baby 
and  rocked  it  to  sleep,  and  then  made  a  top 
for  one  boy,  and  a  boat  for  another,  and  a  paper 
kite,  with  a  string  tail  to  it,  for  the  little  girl, 
and  kep  'em  busy  till  bedtime.  I  come  off 
next  day,  thinkin'  I  wouldn't  marry  a  minister 
for  nothin'  on  airth. 

Well,  after  I  'd  been  'round  to  all  the  places 
where  I  'd  boarded,  and  bid  the  folks  good-by,  I 
come  back  to  Deacon  Pendle's  to  stay  till  I  went 
home.  Square  Kinyon  was  tearin'  'round,  git- 
tin'  ready  to  bring  a  wife  home  ;  I  'spose  he 
had  the  geese  picked  closer  than  ever,  and  all 
the  feathers  he'd  been  savin'  for  a  year  was 
hung  on  one  of  the  great  elm  trees  in  the  door- 
yard  to  git  sunned.  There  they  hung  and 
swung  two  or  three  days,  lookin'  like  some 
monstrous  kind  of  fruit  growin'  on  the  tree. 
The  fences  was  full  of  blankets  airin',  and  they 
said  there  was  a  new  coat  of  paint  put  on  the 
north  room  floor,  and  all  the  kitchen  chairs 
was  painted  over  bright  blue.  The  Square  put 
up  a  new  well  sweep  with  his  own  hands,  and 
got  Tom  Potter  to  put  a  new  slat  fence  before 
the  front  yard.  Such  a  fixin'  up  hadn't  hap- 
pened in  Pendle  Holler  in  ever  so  many  years, 
folks  said.  But,  then,  he  could  afford  it  jest 
as  well  as  not,  and  Square  Kinyon  wa'n't  the 
man  to  flinch  when  he  put  his  hand  tu  a  biz- 
ness.  The  weddin'  was  comin'  off  next  week  ; 
but  I  didn't  stay  to  see  or  hear  anything  more 
about  it.  When  Saturday  come,  Deacon  Pendle 
was  to  take  me  hum  in  his  bellus-top  shay.  I 
dismissed  my  school  the  last  day,  and  give 
every  one  of  the  children  a  little  primer  with 
picters  and  stories  in  it,  and  they  went  off  my 
very  best  friends.  Then,  after  my  trunk  was 
put  into  the  shay,  and  I  was  all  ready  to  start, 
I  went  down  the  little  path  from  the  bird-cage 
portico  to  the  gate  where  the  Deacon  was  wait- 
ing for  me.  Miss  Pendle  went  along  with  me, 
and  she  couldn't  help  tellin'  me  that  she  hoped 
I  'd  been  happy  there.  ''Fur,"  says  she,  "I 
never  see  a  poor  gal  so  forlorn  and  pale  as  you 
looked  when  you  come  here  ;  but,  deary  me, 
you  've  got  as  plump  and  rosy  as  a  pippin.     I 


hope  you'll  come  and  see  us  agin."  I  pro- 
mised her  I  certain  would  ;  and,  after  sayin' 
good-by,  we  drove  off  toward  hum.  The  field3 
and  hills  that  was  so  fresh  and  green  when  I 
come  to  the  Holler,  was  yeller  and  bare  now, 
and  the  crickets  was  singin'  in  the  stubble  all 
day  long.  The  orchards  begun  to  show  their 
red  and  yeller  apples,  and  the  swallows  was 
gatherin'  in  great  flocks  on  the  roofs  of  the 
barns,  that  had  their  doors  wide  open  for  the 
wind  to  blow  through,  and  keep  the  grain  and 
hay  that  was  crammed  into  them,  dry  and  cool. 
The  ditches  along  the  road,  that  in  the  spring 
was  full  of  white  vilots  and  blue,  had  scarlit 
pinks  and  bugle-flowers  growin'  in  them  now. 
There  was  vervine  and  daisies  in  the  corners  of 
fences,  and  blackberries  beginnin'  to  git  lipe 
in  the  new  clearin's.  If  things  was  different 
now,  they  was  jest  as  pleasant,  and  I  felt  almost 
a  pain  at  my  heart  when  I  thought  that  I  was 
goin'  home.  It  was  such  a  gladness  as  nobody 
can  feel  but  jest  them  that 's  been  away  the 
first  time  in  their  lives.  Gone  away  too,  with 
such  a  dreadful  faint  heart  as  I  had  carried 
with  me.  But  now  I  was  glad  I  had  gone,  for 
I  had  got  a  little  better  able  to  bear  my  troubles. 
I  liked  the  world  better,  and  felt  as  if  I  could 
take  hold  and  help  myself,  or  anybody  else 
that  needed  help,  and  not  sit  down  as  I  use  to, 
and  groan  and  moan,  and  feel  as  if  I  'd  like  to 
die — jest  because  what  I  hoped  for  had  all 
melted  away  into  nothin',  jest  as  I  was  a-goin' 
to  realize  what  was  too  much  happiness  for 
this  world.  So  I  felt  glad  to  go  home,  and 
when  I  come  to  the  turn  in  the.  road,  I  didn't 
cry,  I  only  said  to  myself,  "  I  '11  make  Susan 
glad,  too,  to  see  how  I  've  gained  in  courage 
sense  I  went  away."  You  needn't  ask  me  to 
tell  you  any  more  about  that ;  but  I  '11  tell  you 
how  I  went  back  to  the  Holler  visitin'  after- 
wards. Your  obedient, 

Betsy  Broomcorn. 


■»  »  *  ► 


THE   ADVERTISEMENT. 

BY    L.     S. 

The  newsboy  in  his  usual  round  left  the  daily 
paper  at  Mr.  Mason's.  Kitty  was  alone  in  the 
sitting-room,  father  had  gone  away,  and  mother 
was  busy  in  her  own  room  ;  so  Kitty  had  the 
paper  all  to  herself — a  rare  occurrence  ;  for,  so 
great  was  the  anxiety  to  get  the  news,  that  the 
paper  was  cut  into  parts  that  more  might  read 
at  a  time.  Now  she  dropped  her  sewing,  learned 
back  in  her  chair,  and  devoted  herself  to  the 
perusal  of  it.  First,  the  headings  :  "  Import- 
ant from  Washington;"  "General  McClellan's 


472 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


operations  on  the  Peninsula — Rebels  recon- 
noitering,  etc.  etc.;"  then  letters  from  "our 
own  correspondents  ;"  then  the  "  Editorials  ;" 
she  stopped  then  to  think  over  what  she  had 
read,  and  her  mind  wandered  off  to  the  "  sunny 
South,"  where  was  her  soldier  brother;  no 
present  anxiety  about  him  though,  as  she  re- 
ceived a  long  letter  from  him  last  night ;  so  she 
resumed  her  reading.  "Matrimonial"  meets 
her  eyes  first.  "A  young  gentleman  of  pre- 
possessing appearance,  of  good  family  and  for- 
tune, wishes  to  correspond  with  some  young 
lady,  with  a  view  to  matrimony.  Address,  in 
sincerity,  Leonidas.     Box  No.  — ,  Post  Office." 

"Bah  !"  said  Kitty  to  herself,  after  running 
it  over,  "I  guess  it  is  in  sincerity.  I  presume, 
though,  the  writer  will  have  scores  of  answers 
and  applications  for  the  honor  of  his  hand,  over 
which  he  will  make  merry.  I  wish  I  could 
punish  the  audacity  of  such  fellows.  An  idea 
strikes  me — ah,  that 's  the  very  thing  !"  And 
the  little  gypsy  sprang  up  and  ran  off  to  her 
room,  putting  her  curly  head  in  at  her  mother's 
door  on  the  way  :  "  No  one  killed  or  wounded 
in  this  morning's  paper,  mother." 

That  afternoon  Kitty  sallied  out  to  make 
some  calls.  She  took  the  Post  Office  in  her 
way  ;  fortunately  for  her,  no  one  was  in  but  the 
Postmaster,  an  old  friend  of  the  family. 

"  Here  's  a  letter  to  mail,  Mr.  Jamison." 

He  glanced  at  the  superscription — Leonidas. 
Box  No.  — ,  Post  Office.  "What  does  this 
mean,  Kitty  ?" 

"  Oh,  mischief,  I  suppose,"  said  the  gay  little 
thing.  "And,  Mr.  Jamison,  when  you  stamp 
it,  put  the  stamp  on  very  lightly,  and  give  it  a 
little  '  skew,'  will  you  not — please  ;  for  I  do  not 
want  my  friend  Leonidas  to  know  where  I  am  ?" 

Mr.  Jamison  could  not  resist  her  bewitching: 
look,  and  he  promised.  Kitty  then  went  on 
her  way  rejoicing,  and  made  somcof  her  dear 
five  hundred — no,  she  had  not  as  many  friends 
as  that,  but  some  of  her  friends  happy  by  call- 
ing on  them. 

In  an  elegantly  furnished  room  in  the  city  sat 
two  gentlemen,  young  and  handsome.  "  Mor- 
ris," said  Frank  Lucas,  "I'm  going  to  have 
some  fun." 

"  Ah  !  that 's  something  unusual  for  you." 
"Well,  I  mean  a  new  kind  of  fun.  I  'm 
going  to  advertise  in  the  papers  for  a  wife  ; 
going  to  lay  it  down  strong  about  prepossessing 
appearances.  You  know  the 'style,  and  see 
how  many  answers  I  will  get  from  silly  girls. 
I  '11  not  be  selfish  either  ;  but  you  may  help  me 
read  the  letters." 


"  I  wish  neither  part  or  lot  in  the  matter, 
Frank  ;  and  I  think  it  wrong  in  you  to  trifle  so," 
said  Harry  Morris.  "To  be  sure,  some  will 
understand  your  advertisement  in  its  true  light 
— a  humbug — and,  for  the  fun,  will  answer ;  but 
I  know  there  are  many  others,  regarding  it  '  in 
sincerity,'  as  you  have  written  it  here,  will 
answer  in  sincerity." 

"  So  much  the  more  fools  they  ;  but,  Morris, 
you  always  defend  the  women  so,  why  have 
you  never  got  one  of  the  angels  to  torment — no, 
I  mean  to  bless  your  life  ?  You  look  ferocious 
— no  matter  about  answering  ;  good-morning, 
old  fellow ;  but  I  '11  be  sure  to  come  around 
when  the  letters  come,  and  read  them  to  you." 

A  few  days  afterwards,  Frank  made  his  ap- 
pearance again  at  Morris'  rooms,  with  his  coat 
pockets  stuffed  full  of  letters,  letters  in  his 
trowsers  pockets,  letters  in  his  vest  pockets, 
and  some  in  his  hand. 

"I  have  come,"  he  shouted.  "Morris,  you 
must  hear  some  of  these  precious  documents. 
I  have  had  a  peck  measure  full  ;  have  brought 
some  of  the  richest,  and  here  are  some  I  took 
out  of  the  office  on  my  way,  which  I  have  not 
opened  yet." 

"Away  with  you,  Frank  Lucas.  Did  I  not 
tell  you  I  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
them  ?" 

"  Oh,  but  I  won't  away  ;  so  here  goes  No.  1." 

"'Dear  Leonidas — sweet,  precious  youth! 
my  heart  goes  forth  to  you  as  the  dove  went 
from  Noah's  Ark.'  Beautiful  comparison  !  '  I 
recognize  in  you  a  congenial  spirit  from  the 
mere  advertisement  you  inserted.'  " 

"Frank,  I  never  have  quarrelled  with  you 
yet,  and  I  should  be  sorry  to,  now ;  but  I  tell 
you  plainly,  once  for  all,  I  will  not  hear  any 
more  of  that  twaddle,"  said  Morris,  looking  so 
much  in  earnest  that  Frank  thought  it  best  to 
stop. 

"Will  your  Majesty  grant  me  gracious  per- 
mission to  open  the  rest  of  these  letters  here, 
or  will  it  desecrate  your  premises  ?" 

"You  know  you  have  the  freedom  of  my 
rooms  when  you  behave  like  a  loyal  subject," 
replied  Morris,  smiling.     "Proceed." 

Silence  reigned  for  a  few  minutes  ;  it  was 
broken  by  an  exclamation  from  Frank : 

"  By  Jupiter,  a  fairy !  Look  here,  Harry 
Morris."  And  he  handed  across  thi  table  a 
sheetof  paper  containing  afull  length  photograph 
of  a  young  lady,  and  these  words — "  Dear  Le- 
onidas," then  below  the  picture,  "I  remain 
truly  yours,  Kitty." 

"Frank  Lucas,  where  did  this  come  from?" 
demanded  Harry. 


THE    ADVERTISEMENT. 


473 


"  Don't  snap  a  fellow  up  so  ;  I  know  no  more 
about  it  than  you.  Let 's  see  if  there  's  any 
postmark,  though,"  said  Frank,  turning  over 
the  envelope.  "No,  I  cannot  make  it  out ;  it 
is  so  indistinct.  I  can  see  an  s,  and  a  g,  and  an 
a — that 's  all.  Let  me  look  at  the  picture 
again." 

While  he  is  looking,  we  will  peep  over  his 
shoulder.  A  beautiful  girl,  not  too  tall,  her 
form  exquisitely  moulded,  dark  brown  hair 
falling  in  curls,  small  pretty  hands  resting 
lightly  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  by  which  she  is 
standing,  while  out  of  her  splendid  eyes  such  a 
mischievous  sprite  peeps  just  now,  that  Frank 
thinks  she  is  ready  to  laugh  at  his  amazement. 
Ah,  Kitty  Mason,  we  understand  your  little 
plan  now  ;  we  are  in  your  secret,  though  these 
two  gentlemen  are  not,  and  in  a  pretty  state  of 
bewilderment  are  they — no  postmark  or  any 
other  mark  by  which  they  can  gain  the  slightest 
clue  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  original. 

"  Frank,  I  implore  you,  give  me  that  picture. 
If  there  is  such  a  woman  on  earth,  she  shall  be 
my  wife,  though  I  have  to  compass  heaven  and 
earth  to  find  her." 

"Do  you  hear  that  big  vow  of  Harry  Mor- 
ris, Miss  Kitty?  Ha  lha!"  laughed  Frank. 
"  Changed  your  song,  hav'n't  you  ?  Are  you 
not  the  young  man  who  was  declaiming  with 
so  much  vehemence  against  such  immoralities 
as  advertising  for  wives  ?  I  guess  you  will 
have  to  compass  heaven  and  earth  to  find  the 
original  of  this  picture.  I  hav'n?t  time ;  pro- 
mised to  go  jaunting  this  summer  with  the 
Newtons  ;  am  off  to-morrow  ;  so  you  may  have 
it.  I  only  stipulate  that,  after  you  get  to  house- 
keeping, I  may  have  the  entree  of  your  house 
as  I  now  do  of  your  rooms." 

"  I  grant  anything  you  ask." 

Frank  soon  took  his  leave,  with  many  sati- 
rical wishes  for  the  success  of  his  friend,  and 
then  Harry  commenced  his  investigations.  He 
gazed  at  the  lovely  picture  a  long  time  until 
every  feature  was  impressed  upon  his  memory, 
then  he  looked  at  the  few  written  words ;  no- 
thing to  be  gained  there,  except  the  inference 
that  the  writer  was  a  lady  from  the  delicate 
handwriting  ;  and  now  the  envelope  claims  his 
attention  :  he  studied  it  as  intently  as  a  school- 
boy his  task ;  but  Mr.  Jamison  had  so  well 
obeyed  ©rders,  that  not  much  was  to  be  discov- 
ered. "  That  s,"  he  soliloquized,  "  is  the  first 
letter,  I  am  sure  ;  then  all  is  blank  until  the  g 
— there  's  room  for  three  or  four  letters  between  ; 
then  another  space,  and  then  an  a.  Is  that  the 
last  letter  of  the  name  ?"  He  thought  of  all 
the  names  of  towns  that  had  an  s,  a  g,  and  an 


a  in  them  ;  he  strewed  his  room  with  directories 
and  gazetteers  ;  he  spent  three  or  four  days 
consulting  his  maps — he  would  not  give  up, 
though  the  search  seemed  so  fruitless.  Finally, 
he  bethought  himself  to  go  to  the  city  Post 
Office — perhaps  he  could  get  some  light  on  the 
subject  there.  Accordingly,  he  took  the  en- 
velope to  the  postmaster,  and  told  him  it  was 
a  matter  of  life  or  death  to  him  to  find  out  the 
postmark  on  that  envelope. 

The  good  man  took  it  into  consideration,  as 
it  was  such  an  important  affair,  looked  over 
his  post  books,  fitted  letters  into  the  vacant 
places,  and  next  day  handed  it  to  Harry  with 
' '  Stringham"  marked  on  it.  ' '  That, ' '  said  the 
postmaster,  "is  the  nearest  I  can  come  to  it. 
If  it  proves  not  to  be  the  right  place,  I  will  try 
again."  The  resolve  of  Mr.  Morris  was  quickly 
taken  ;  anything  was  better  than  this  terrible 
suspense  ;  he  would  go  to  Stringham.  On  the 
next  train  for  the  north  is  Mr.  Harry  Morris, 
in  search  of  a  young  lady  named  "Kitty"  ;  he 
could  not  help  laughing  at  himself.  He  did  not 
meet  with  any  adventures,  nor  did  he  find  Miss 
Kitty  on  the  cars,  though  he  could  not  help 
looking  into  every  lady's  face,  if  perchance  it 
might  be  her,  but  arrived  safe  and  sound  at 
0 the  terminus  of  the  railroad  in  that  di- 
rection. As  soon  as  possible  he  procured 
horses  and  a  carriage,  and  drove  on  towards 
Stringham.  His  plan  was  to  domesticate  him- 
self at  the  hotel,  if  there  was  such  a  conveni- 
ence in  the  place — go  to  church,  and  to  all 
places  of  public  assembly — ingratiate  himself 
into  the  favor  of  the  landlady,  and  by  skilful 
questionings  find  out  regarding  young  ladies 
named  Kitty. 

"Fortune  favors  the  brave,"  as  you  may 
have  heard.  Our  hero  was  riding  along,  when 
he  espied  a  pretty  cottage  near  by — some  chil- 
dren playing  in  the  yard,  and  a  young  lady 
standing  on  the  piazza,  with  her  back  to  him. 
Attracted  by  the  sound  of  wheels,  she  turns 
her  face — good  heavens  !  does  he  see  aright  ? — 
it  is — yes,  it  is,  "Kitty."  Driving  up  before 
the  gate,  he  stops,  gets  out  and  walks  bravely 
up  to  the  young  lady,  who  stands  amazed,  not 
recognizing  him  as  belonging  to  her  circle  of 
acquaintance — and — 

"Will  the  lady  please  give  me  a  drink  of 
water,  as  it  is  very  warm  and  dusty  ?" 

With  a  graceful  nod  of  acquiescence,  she 
goes  into  the  house,  while  he  improves  the  op- 
portunity by  asking  a  little  girl  who  stood  near 
what  her  name  was. 

"  Mary  Meade,  sir." 


474: 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


"  And  that's  jour  sister  who  has  gone  after 
some  water  ?" 

"  No,  it's  cousin  Kitty." 

"Kitty  who?"  he  asked  again,  thinking  it 
best  to  gain  all  possible  information. 

"Kitty  Mason,  to  be  sure — don't  you  know 
her?" 

Kitty  Mason  came  just  then  with  the  water, 
and  prevented  further  questioning.  Harry  knew 
it  was  not  polite  to  gaze  at  her  while  he  was 
drinking,  but  he  could  not  resist  the  tempta- 
tion of  seeing  if  this  was  certainly  the  original 
of  the  picture  he  was  so  sacredly  preserving. 
There  could  be  no  mistake — the  same  hair, 
eyes,  and  figure.  Mr.  Harry  drove  to  the  hotel 
in  good  spirits,  though  there  was  considerable 
to  be  done  yet  in  the  way  of  getting  introduc- 
tions to  the  father,  and  to  the  young  lady  her- 
self. These  difficulties  overcome  as  soon  as 
practicable,  he  desired  a  private  interview 
with  -Mr.  Mason.  It  was  rather  awkward  ask- 
ing a  man  for  his  daughter  when  he  had  seen 
neither  of  them  but  once  or  twice  before,  and 
was  an  entire  stranger  to  them,  but  Harry 
plunged  in  heroically. 

"  Mr.  Mason,  I  rode  by  your  house  last  week  ; 
I  saw  your  daughter ;  I  wish  your  permission 
to  address  her ;  I  am,  I  know,  an  entire  stran- 
ger, but  I  can  refer  you  to  Rev.  Dr.  Drayton, 
Mr.  Olmstead  ;  and  many  other  prominent  per- 
sons in  my  native  city  as  to  my  character  and 
standing." 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  Mr.  Mason  went 
to  the  city  himself,  obtained  satisfactory  evi- 
dence as  to  the  moral  character  and  standing 
of  Mr.  Harry  Morris,  and  gave  his  consent. 

Not  a  word  about  the  picture  yet,  you  see, 
until  one  day  Harry  took  it  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  said,  "Kitty,  did  you  ever  see  this  before  ?" 

She  looked  first  at  the  picture,  then  at  him, 
and  exclaimed,  "  Harry  Morris,  where  did  you 
get  that?  Are  you  Leonidas?  How  did  you 
find  out  who  I  was  and  where  I  lived  ?" 

"  I  think  there  was  a  Providence  in  it,"  he 
replied,  laughing  at  her  amazement,  "for  I 
never  should  have  found  you  without,"  and 
then  he  told  her  the  whole  story.  Harry  and  his 
beautiful  wife  spent  the  summer  in  travelling, 
and  then  went  in  the  fall  to  the  pleasant  home 
in  the  city  which  Harry  had  caused  to  be 
prepared.  Frank  Lucas  is  almost  inconsolable, 
because  he  had  not  perseverance  enough  to 
"  track"  Kitty  and  get  her  himself. 


It  is  the  greatest  misfortune  in  the  world  to 
have  more  learning  than  good  sense. 


ANGEL   FOOTSTEPS. 

BY    IVY    BELL. 

She  had  -waited  for  their  coming 
Through  all  the  summer  hours  ; 

She  had  seen  their  shadows  throwing 
A  light  o'er  fairest  flowers. 

She  had  heard  their  footsteps  falling 

Upon  the  soft,  thick  grass, 
Till  now  the  dry  leaves  rustled 

Beneath  them  as  they  passed. 

Then  her  sweet,  young  face  grew  fairer, 

And  holier  yet  her  brow  ; 
And  like  autumn's  golden  lustre 

Was  her  bright  hair  in  its  flow. 

Then  her  eyes  grew  yet  more  earnest, 
Till,  as  shorter  grew  the  days, 

A  veil  seemed  drawn  before  them 
Like  the  autumn's  faint  blue  haze. 

She  was  like  unto  the  angels, 
As  she  walked  from  us  apart ; 

Ever  listening  to  the  footsteps, 
And  the  voices  in  her  heart. 

Thus  ever  passed  she  onward, 

Still  singing  as  she  went ; 
Till  we  knew  that  she  must  leave  us, 

Yet  we  could  not  feel  content. 

But  the  footsteps  came  still  nearer — 
She  said  she  heard  their  fall — 

Come  slowly  up  the  pathway 
Beneath  the  garden  wall. 

And  the  shadow  fell  still  deeper 
Upon  her  fair,  young  brow, 

Aud  within  those  earnest  eyes 
That  song  is  broken  now. 


TO   ELSIE. 

But  for  thee,  lovely  lady, 

I  long  had  remained 
In  a  passionless  torpor 
Despairingly  chained, 
With  naught  to  impart 
The  least  light  to  my  heart, 
Where  gloominess  only  had  reigned. 

But  as  the  calm  twilight 

In  summer  is  broke 
By  the  robin's  sweet  music, 
Thy  beauty  awoke 
My  soul  from  its  dream 
By  a  magical  beam, 
And  in  Hope's  soothing  melody  spoke. 

The  theme  of  my  musings 
Thy  beauty  shall  be  ; 
And  my  dream  shall  be  nightly, 
Dear  lady,  of  thee. 

O'er  my  heart  thou  shalt  reign, 
And  I  never  again 
From  thy  power  would  wish  to  be  free. 


NOVELTIES   FOR  MAY. 


Fig.  1. 


Pig.  2. 


,i  ,it.|\\\ 


wmmWf 


if 


475 


476 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


Fig.  3. 


Fig.  4. 


Fig.  6. 


Fisr.  5 


Fig.  1. — A  fancy  muslin  spencer,  with  ribbon 
run  between  the  plaits. 

Fig.  2. — A  new  and  pretty  style  for  a  sum- 
mer dress.  The  scarf  bretelle  can  be  either  of 
ribbon  or  silk,  embroidered  or  braided.  It  is 
suitable  both  for  thick  and  thin  materials. 
With  a  white  waist  the  effect  is  charming. 


Fig.  3. — A  bonnet  shade,  in  England*called 
an  "  Ugly,"  which  we  think  a  very  appropriate 
title  for  it.  It  is,  however,  very  convenient 
for  travelling,  and  a  great  protection  to  the 
face,  and  for  weak  eyes  very  beneficial.  Green 
or  blue  silk  is  the  most  appropriate  material. 
The  casings  should  be  as  represented  in  the 


WORK    DEPARTMENT. 


477 


engraving.  The  screen  can  be  caught  to  the 
bonnet  by  a  spring,  or  tied  with  ribbon  under 
the  chin. 

Fig.  4. — Fancy  sack,  suitable  for  a  little  boy 
or  girl. 

Fig.  6. — Black  silk  apron,  trimmed  with  a 
box-plaited  ribbon. 

Fig.  5. — Dress  for  a  child  of  five  years  old. 
Made  of  blue  merino,  and  black  and  white 
shepherd's  check. 


<   •  e  »   > 


PATTERNS   FROM   MADAME   DEMOREST'S 
ESTABLISHMENT,     ' 

No.  473  Broadway,  New  York. 
The  Military  Jacket. — This  very  becoming 
and  stylish  jacket  closes  over  the  vest,  midway 
to  the  waist,  rounding  off  to  the  side  and  back 
with  a  slight  spring  which  descends  over  the 
hips.     The  vest  is  pointed  and  closes  with  but- 


tons. The  material  may  be  in  any  solid  color, 
the  vest  black,  or  contrasting.  The  decoration 
consists  of  a  simple  braided  border?  in  an  inter- 
laced pattern.  The  sleeves  terminate  in  a 
deeply  pointed  cuff,  braided  to  match  the  body 
part  of  the  jacket. 


Jerome  Coat. — This   is   a   pretty   sack   coat, 
trimmed  with  velvet  bands,  so  as  to  give  some- 
thing the  appearance  of  a  polka  jacket.     On 
vol.  lxvi. — 38 


the  right  side,  the  curl  of  the  velvet  forms  the 
pocket,  from  whence  may  be  seen,  issuing,  the 
folds  of  the  handkerchief.  Velvet  in  points, 
with  buttons  in  the  spaces  between,  constitutes 
the  decoration  of  the  skirt.  The  sleeves  plain, 
loose,  and  trimmed  with  velvet,  to  match  the 
waist. 

Greek  Jacket. — The  upper  part  of  this  jacket 
buttons  over  a  plain  waist,  and  then  rounds  off 
from  the  front  to  the  side  seam  under  the  arm, 


where  the  jacket  terminates.  The  trimming 
consists  of  a  double  quilling,  with  a  narrow 
velvet  run  through  the  centre,  and  forms  a 
bodice  in  front  of  the  waist.  This  decoration 
is  carried  round  to  the  back  part  of  the  waist, 
which  terminates  in  a  point.  The  sleeve  is 
plain  at  the  top,  demi-fiowing,  and  is  decorated 
with  the  quilling  in  the  form  of  the  letter  S. 
French   Waist. — This  is  an  elegantly  fitting 


waist,    high   and   plain,  with  a  slight   spring 
descending  upon  the  hips,  and  deepening  into 


/ 


478 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


points  at  the  back  and  front.  The  fastening 
consists  of  buttons  and  button-holes,  and  de- 
scends only  to  the  line  of  the  waist,  from  whence 
the  points  are  cut  away.  The  sleeve  is  demi- 
flowing,  and  rounded  up  on  the  back,  where  it 
is  finished  with  bow  and  ends  of  ribbon. 

The  Lady  Alice  Sleeve. — This  is  an  admirable 
style  of  sleeve  for  the  small  checked  goods,  so 
much  in  vogue  for  house  wear.  The  fulness 
on  the  lower  front  of  the  sleeve  is  held  by  a 
quilling  of  silk,  in  a  solid,  contrasting  color,  a 


narrow  velvet,  placnd  below  the  upper  edge, 
forming  a  heading.  The  trimming  crosses  di- 
rectly in  front  of  the  arm,  and  terminates  in 
flat  bows.  At  the  top  of  the  sleeve,  the  silk 
quilling  is  arranged  in  the  form  of  a  pointed 
cap,  which  completes  the  decoration. 


«••»■» 


A  RUSTIC  HANGING  BASKET  FOR  WIN- 
DOW OR  PORCH. 

Procure  a  fancifully-shaped  wire  basket  at 
the  wire-workers  ;  line  the  inside  with  moss, 
with  the  green  side  outwards  ;  it  will  look  very 
pretty  through  the  wide  wire  openings.  Then 
fill  the  hollow  with  earth,  and  place  in  the 
centre  a  scarlet  geranium,  or  dwarf  fuchsia,  or 
other  elegant  plant.  It  will  live  and  grow 
there  a  long  time  ;  and  so  will  the  German  ivy, 
which  will  hang  gracefully  over  the  basket, 
and  twine  upon  the  cords  by  which  it  hangs. 
Can  anything  be  prettier  than  this  as  an  orna- 
ment for  the  vine-shaded  porch  or  window  ?  So 
easily,  too,  is  it  made,  that  no  one  need  be 
without  one  ;  but  you  must  not  forget  to  water 


it  every  few  days,  and,  once  in  a  while,  the 
whole  basket  had  better  be  dipped  in  a  pail  of 
water,  which  will  make  the  moss  perfectly 
green  and  fresh. 


*  m  m  »  » 


FANCY  SLIPPER,  WITHOUT  HEEL,  FOR 
A  LADY. 

Made  of  strands  of  straw  sewed  together,  and 
crossed  in  diamond  form  with  black  velvet.  In 
the  centre  of  each  diamond  a  figure  is  worked 


with  scarlet  chenille.  The  slipper  is  lined 
and  quilted  with  scarlet  silk,  and  trimmed  with 
a  quilling  of  scarlet  ribbon. 


WORK    DEPARTMENT. 


479 


SPRING  COSTUME  FOR  A  BOY  AND  GIRL. 

Fig.  i. 


Fig.  1.  Spring  costume  for  a  Boy. — The  body 
is  a  Garibaldi,  with  a  short  skirt  of  the  same 
material,  which  would  be  pretty  of  gray  sum- 


mer poplin.  The  dress  skirt  is  trimmed  with 
five  rows  of  narrow  black  velvet  or  braid,  and 
looped  up  on  each  side,  in  the  Watteau  style. 


Fig.  2. 


The  underskirt  is  of  black  and  white  striped 
material,  and  edged  with  a  Marie  Louise  blue 


braid,    quilled.     The   collar   and   cuffs   of  the 
dress  are  made  of  the  striped  black  and  white 


480 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


material,  and  edged  with  the  quilted  blue 
braid.  Our  cut  represents  both  back  and  front 
of  the  same  dress. 

Fig.  2.  New  Spring  Costume  for  a  little  Girl. — 
Skirt,  low  peasant's  waist,  sleeves,  and  sash  of 
a  silver  gray  alpaca.  All  the  edges  of  the 
dress  are  cut  in  scallops,  and  bordered  with  a 
black  and  white  braid.  Underneath  the  scal- 
lops is  sewed  a  plaited  ruffle  of  blue  silk,  which 
has  a  charming  effect.  The  high  waist  is  of 
blue  silk,  finished  at  the  throat  with  a  silk 
ruching  edged  with  black  and  white  braid. 
The  pockets  are  trimmed  with  blue  silk  and 
braid. 


-*  ■»  *  «►  «• 


CROCHET  COLLAR. 

Material.— Cotton  No.  36. 

For  this  pretty  and  easy  collar  make  a  chain 
of  360  stitches,  and  work  into  these  2  rows  of 
do.  The  thread  is  cut  off  at  the  end  of  each 
row.     3d  row. — *  5  long  in  the  first  5  stitches 


of  the  previous  row,  7  chain,  miss  5,  repeat 
from  *  to  the  end  of  the  row,  arranging  the 
stitches  that  there  may  be  5  long  at  the  end  as 
at  the  beginning,  cut  the  cotton  off,  and  com- 
mence the  4th  row:  *  5  long,  3  chain,  2  long  in 
the  middle  of  the  7  chain  of  the  previous  row, 
3  chain,  repeat  from  *  to  the  end.  5th. — *  5 
long,  3  chain,  2  long  on  the  2  long  of  the  pre- 
vious row,  3  chain,  repeat  from  *  to  the  end  of 
the   row.     6th. — *  5  long,  4  chain,  2  long,  4 


chain,  repeat  from  *  to  the  end.  The  *lth  and 
Sth  rows  are  worked  the  same  as  the  6th.    9th. — 

*  5  long,  5  chain,  2  long,  5  chain,  repeat  from 

*  to  the  end.  The  10th  and  lit h  rows  are  worked 
like  the  9th.  12th.—*  5  long,  6  chain,  2  long, 
6  chain,  repeat  from  *.  The  13th  and  14th  rows 
are  the  same  as  the  12th.  15th. — *  5  double 
long  in  the  5  long  of  the  previous  row,  5  chain, 
1  dc.  on  to  the  first  of  the  two  long  in  the  pre- 
vious row,  4  chain,  1  dc.  on  the  second  long 
stitch,  5  chain,  repeat  from  *  to  the  end.  16th. — 

*  5  long,  15  chain,  repeat  from  *  to  the  end. 
The  17th  is  commenced  at  the  narrow  end  of  the 
collar,  close  on  the  two  rows  of  dc.  The  cotton 
is  fastened  on,  and  the  little  scallops  plainly 
seen  in  the  engraving  are  made.  They  consist 
of  three  long  stitches,  each  separated  by  3 
chain,  and  all  worked  into  one  of  the  edge 
stitches.  After  the  3d  long  crochet  3  chain, 
miss  1  or  2  stitches,  so  that  the  border  does  not 
stretch,  and  make  1  dc.  When  the  small  square 
side  of  the  collar  is  trimmed  in  this  way,  cro- 
chet 6  long  into  the  chain  forming  each  scallop 
at  the  edge  ;  these  stitches  must  be  separated 
each  by  3  chain,  and  the  4  middle  ones  must 
be  double  long  stitches.  When  the  other  side 
of  the  collar  is  reached,  it  must  be  edged  with 
the  small  scallops. 


PETTICOAT  INSERTION. 

IN   DRAWN    LINEN,    ORNAMENTED    WITH    SCARLET. 

Materials. — Some  good  linen,  rather  coarse,  some  scar- 
let crewel. 


These  insertions  are  intended  for  ornament- 
ing petticoats   or  children's  frocks,    and  are 


WORK    DEPARTMENT. 


481 


made  of  drawn  linen,  the  threads  being  inter- 
laced with  scarlet  braid,  and  the  cross  stitches 
worked  in  a  very  old-fashioned  material,  called 
crewel.  This  washes  beautifully.  If  liked  en- 
tirely in  white,  the  threads  may  be  secured 
with  bobbin,  and  the  fancy  stitches  worked  in 
coarse  cotton.  Arranged  in  this  manner,  a 
colored  ribbon  should  be  laid  under  the  inser- 
tion to  show  the  work  off  to  advantage.  The 
linen,  which  should  not  be  of  too  fine  a  quality, 
should  be  nicely  washed  and  ironed,  which 
will  soften  the  threads,  and  make  them  easier 
to  draw.  The  linen  should  then  be  marked  at 
equal  distances,  allowing  one  inch  for  the  open 
part,  and  three-quarters  of  an  inch  for  the 
insertion  between.  The  threads  must  then  be 
drawn  across  the  linen  for  the  open  part,  and 
caught  in  and  out  in  the  following   manner: 


Thread  a  needle  with  bobbin  or  scarlet  braid, 
fasten  it  to  one  end  of  the  linen,  count  16 
threads,  and  divide  them  into  four.  Put  the 
first  4  threads  over  the  third  4  threads,  draw 
the  needle  through,  then  pass  the  second  4 
threads  over  the  last  4  threads,  and  draw  the 
needle  through  ;  count  another  sixteen  threads, 
and  proceed  in  the  same  manner.  When  the 
fancy  stripe  is  finished,  one  thread  must  be 
drawn  right  in  the  centre  of  the  plain  stripe. 
The  cross-stitch  is  then  worked  in  and  out  both 
on  the  wrong  side  and  right  side,  the  line 
where  the  thread  is  drawn  forming  the  place 
where  the  stitches  start  from  on  each  side. 
These  stitches,  being  worked  over  on  to  the 
wrong  side,  keep  the  edges  of  the  linen  from 
unravelling.  This  portion  of  the  work  is  done 
in  scarlet  crewel,  or  in  coarse  cotton. 


GLASS  BEAD   MAT. 


Materials. — Twelve  rows  dark  blue  beads,  one  row 
black,  twelve  rows  white,  four  rows  light  yellow,  two 
rows  dark  yellow,  two  rows  green  (two  shades),  four 
rows  dark  red,  four  rows  middle  shade  red. 

This  mat  must  be  begun  with  one  bead  in 

the  middle  of  the  thread,  taking  two  beads  and 

one  alternately  until   the   centre  row  is  com- 

38* 


pleted  ;  afterwards  work  backwards  and  for- 
wards with  one  needle  only,  but  work  both 
sides  simultaneously  in  all  mats  where  the 
pattern  is  regular  :  it  will  save  counting,  and 
will  insure  accuracy  in  the  work.  The  dimin- 
ishing must  be  worked  from  the  pattern. 


482 


GODEY'S    LADY'S    BOOK    AND    MAGAZINE. 


FLOWER  VASE. 

The  five  parts  which  form  the  whole  are  to 
be  cut  separately  in  either  cloth  or  velvet  of 
some  pleasing  color,  the  size  heing  determined 
accord iog  to  the  place  which  it  is  intended  to 


occupy,  heing  larger  for  the  centre  of  the  table 
than  for  the  mantleshelf.  It  is  to  be  observed 
that  the  part  which  bends  over  the  top  and 
that  which  spreads  out  to  form  the  stand  at 
the  bottom  are  each  attached  to  the  centre 
piece,  there  being  only  five  in  all.  Work  on 
the  outer  piece  of  cloth  or  velvet  some  pretty 
design  in  seed  beads  in  a  mixture  of  clear  and 
opaque  white,  gold  and  steel,  taking  that  which 
we  have  given  for  an  example  ;  or  cover  it 
with  little  stars  in  beads,  or  in  some  of  those 
gilt  stars  or  other  gilt  ornaments  which  have 
been  so  much  used  for  trimming  hair-nets. 
The  outside  pieces  of  the  five  parts  are  left  plain 
at  the  top ;  but  the  tops  of  the  inside  pieces 


are  dotted  over  with  chalk-white  beads-  Cut 
the  shape  in  five  pieces  of  cardboard,  sew  a  fine 
wire  round  each,  stretch  the  work  on  the  out- 
side with  its  liuing  in  the  inside,  bind  with  a 
very  narrow  white  ribbon,  and  sew  all  round 
with  short  strings  of  beads,  so  as  entirely  to 
conceal  the  ribbon.  It  will  be  necessary  to 
procure  a  wire  framework  for  the  inside,  which, 
having  a  ring  round  the  upper  part  as  well  as 
at  the  stem,  will  support  the  five  pieces  which 
are  to  be  attached  to  them,  the  tops  being  bent 
over,  and  the  bottoms  spread  out,  which  can 
easily  be  done  by  means  of  the  wire.  It  is  an 
improvement  to  have  the  outside  of  one  color 
and  the  lining  of  another — namely,  crimson  and 
purple,  or  violet  and  brown.  Any  simple  glass 
vessel  containing  flowers  may  be  slipped  into 
the  interior  of  these  vases  which  have  a  rich 
and  tasteful  effect  either  on  the  mantleshelf  or 
on  the  centre  of  the  table. 


«»«-»» 


INITIAL  FOR  SQUARE  PILLOW-CASE. 


BRAIDING  PATTERN. 


_b 

J 

WORK    DEPARTMENT. 


483 


SEAM  KNITTING  FOR  SOFA  PILLOWS. 

Materials — Magenta,  or  any  other  colored  Andalusian 
wool ;  knitting  pins  with  knobs,  which  shall  measui'e 
round  nearly  half  an  inch. 


This  is  a  pattern  which  requires  stretching 
over  such  a  solid  surface  as  a  pillow  to  prevent 
its  curling. 


For  a  trial  pattern  cast  on  19  stitches,  and 
knit  a  row. 

1st  row. — Knit  4,  Slip  2,  taking  off  the  stitches 
as  for  knitting  ;  repeat ;  K  1  at  the  end. 

2d.— P  (or  pearl)  1,  S2,  taking  off 
the  stitches  as  for  knitting ;  re- 
peat ;  K  4  at  the  end. 

3d.— K  4,  S  2  ;  repeat ;  K  1  at  the 
end. 
4th. — Same  as  2d  row. 
5th. — Same  as  3d  row. 
6th. — Pearl  row  ;  pearling  every 
stitch  and  dividing  the  slip  stitches, 
which  are  twisted  ;  count  nineteen 
stitches. 

1th. — Plain  row. 
Sth. — Pearl  row. 

Sth.—K  1,  *  Slip  2,  K  4  ;  repeat 
from  *  ;  end  with  K  4. 
10^.— P  4,  S  2  ;  repeat. 
11th.— K  1,  *  S  2,  K  4 ;    repeat 
from  *. 

12th.— P  4,  S  2. 
13th. — Same  as  9. 
14th.— Pearl. 
15^.— Plain. 

16th. — Pearl,  and  begin  at  1st 
row.  When  this  much  is  knitted  and  measured, 
the  number  of  stitches  or  patterns  can  be  cal- 
culated for  a  pillow  cover. 


NAME   FOR   MARKING. 


BRAIDING    PATTERN. 


kSmKM 


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I 

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48-4 


gobey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


INSERTION    FOR    MUSLIN. 


PATTERN  FOR  A^CROCIIET  PURSE  OR  BAG. 


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The  flowers  can  be  worked  either  in  beads  or  bright-colored  silks ;  for  instance,  scarlet  and 
green,  on  a  white  or  pearl-colored  ground.  \ 


SPRING    MANTLE. 


Made  of  black  silk,  and  trimmed  with  black  and  white  velvet  ribbon,  box-plaited.     It  is  a  sack 
of  medium  length,  with  flowing  sleeves. 


RECEIPTS. 


485 


JUnipfs,  &t. 


MISCELLANEOUS    COOKING. 

Bacon  and  Cabbage  Soup. — Put  your  piece  of  bacon 
on  to  boil  in  a  pot  with  two  gallons  (more  or  less, 
according  to  the  number  you  have  to  provide  for)  of 
water,  and  when  it  has  boiled  up,  and  has  been  well 
skimmed,  add  the  cabbages,  kale,  greens,  or  sprouts, 
whichever  may  be  used,  well  washed  aud  split  down, 
and  also  some  parsnips  and  carrots ;  season  with  pep- 
per, but  no  salt,  as  the  bacon  will  season  the  soup  suffi- 
ciently:  and  when  the  whole  has  boiled  together  very 
gently  for  about  two  hours,  take  up  the  bacon  surrounded 
with  the  cabbage,  parsnips,  and  carrots,  leaving  a  small 
portion  of  the  vegetables  in  the  soup,  and  pour  this  into 
a  large  bowl  containing  slices  of  bread ;  eat  the  soup 
first,  and  make  it  a  rule  that  those  who  eat  most  soup 
are  entitled  to  the  largest  share  of  bacon. 

Stewed  Leg  of  Beef. — Procure  four  pounds  of  leg  or 
shin  of  beef;  cut  this  into  pieces  the  size  of  an  egg,  and 
fry  them  of  a  brown  color  with  a  little  dripping  fat, 
in  a  good  sized  saucepan,  then  shake  in  a  large  handful 
of  flour,  add  carrots  and  onions  cut  up  in  pieces  the 
same  as  the  meat,  season  with  pepper  and  salt,  moisten 
with  water  enough  to  cover  in  the  whole,  stir  the  stew 
on  the  fire  till  it  boils,  and  then  set  it  on  the  hob  to  con- 
tinue boiling  very  gently  for  about  an  hour  and  a  half, 
and  you  will  then  be  able  to  enjoy  an  excellent  dinner. 

Pork  Chops,  Grilled  or  Boiled. — Score  the  rind  of 
each  chop  by  cutting  through  the  rind  at  distances  of 
half  an  inch  apart;  season  the  chops  with  pepper  and 
salt,  and  place  them  on  a  clean  gridiron  over  a  clear  fire 
to  broil  ;  the  chops  must  be  turned  over  every  two 
minutes  until  they  are  done ;  this  will  take  about 
fifteen  minutes.  The  chops  are  then  to  be  eaten  plain, 
or,  if  convenient,  with  brown  gravy. 

Potato  Pudding. — Ingredients  :  three  pounds  of  pota- 
toes, two  quarts  of  milk,  two  ounces  of  butter,  two 
ounces  of  sugar,  a  bit  of  lemon-peel,  a  good  pinch  of 
salt,  and  three  eggs.  First,  bake  the  potatoes,  and  if 
yon  have  no  means  of  baking  them,  let  them  be  either 
steamed  or  boiled,  and,  when  done,  scoop  out  all  th^ir 
floury  pulp  without  waste  into  a  large  saucepan,  and 
immediately  beat  it  up  vigorously  with  a  large  fork  or 
a  spoon  ;  then  add  all  the  remainder  of  the  above-named 
ingredients  (excepting  the  eggs),  stir  the  potato  batter 
carefully  on  the  fire  till  it  comes  to  a  boil,  then  add  the 
beaten  eggs  ;  pour  the  batter  into  a  greased  pie-dish,  and 
bake  the  pudding  for  an  hour  in  your  oven,  if  you  have 
one  ;  if  not,  send  it  to  the  baker's. 

Meat  Pie. — Of  whatever  kind,  let  the  pieces  of  meat 
be  first  fried  brown  over  a  quick  fire,  in  a  little  fat  or 
butter,  and  seasoned  with  pepper  and  salt ;  put  these 
into  a  pie-dish  with  chopped  onions,  a  few  slices  of  half 
cooked  potatoes,  and  enough  water  just  to  cover  the 
meat.  Cover  the  dish  with  a  crust,  made  with  two 
pounds  of  flour  and  six  ounces  of  butter,  or  lard,  or  fat 
dripping,  and  just  enough  water  to  knead  it  into  a  stiff 
kind  of  dough  or  paste,  and  then  bake  it  for  about  an 
hour  and  a  half. 

Giblet  Soup. — Let  the  giblets  be  well  cleaned ;  cut 
them  into  small  pieces,  and  wash  them  well  in  water. 
Put  them  into  a  saucepan  with  one  quart  of  good  broth, 
and  all  sorts  of  herbs  chopped  fine.  Let  these  simmer 
together  until  the  giblets  are  tender  ;  then  thicken  with 


flour  and  butter,  and  season  with  salt  and  cayenne 
according  to  taste.  Asparagus  tops,  if  in  season,  may 
be  added  ;  these  must  be  boiled  first.  If  you  wish  the 
soup  to  be  white,  take  the  yelks  of  four  eggs,  beaten  up 
with  half  a  pint  of  cream,  and  add  them  to  the  soup  five 
minutes  before  serving,  stirring  them  in  gently,  but  not 
allowing  them  to  boil.  If  the  soup  is  required  to  be 
brown,  put  in  a  little  browning  and  a  glassful  of  sherry 
wine. 

Fried  Steaks  and  Onions. — Season  the  steak  with 
pepper  and  salt,  and  when  done  brown  on  both  sides, 
without  being  overdone,  place  them  in  a  dish  before  the 
five  while  you  fry  some  sliced  onions  in  the  fat  which 
remains  in  the  pan  ;  as  soon  as  the  onions  are  done,  and 
laid  upon  the  steaks,  shake  a  spoonful  of  flour  in  the 
pan,  add  a  gill  of  water  and  a  few  drops  of  vinegar  ;  give 
this  gravy  a  boil  up  on  the  fire,  and  pour  it  over  the 
steaks,  etc. 

Potato  Balls. — Mash  some  potatoes  very  well,  with 
butter,  pepper,  and  salt,  taking  care,  as  in  all  mashed 
potatoes,  that  no  lumps  remain  ;  shape  them  into  balls, 
cover  them  with  egg  and  bread-crumbs,  and  fry  them  a 
light  brown.  This  is  a  very  nice  supper  dish,  or  a 
pretty  garnish  for  hashes  and  ragouts. 

Boot  Vegetables. — Turnips  should  be  pared,  have  two 
gashes  half  through  cut  in  each,  to  hasten  the  cooking, 
and  put  in  plenty  of  water  with  a  little  salt.  They 
must  be  boiled  until  quite  soft  (more  than  half  an  hour 
must  be  allowed),  and  mashed  with  butter,  pepper,  and 
salt.  Carrots  and  parsnips  must  be  scraped  clean, 
boiled  for  much  longer,  and  served  cut  in  quarters. 

Veal  Cutlets  with  Tomatoes. — Wash  two  or  three 
pounds  of  cutlets,  and  season  them  with  salt  and  pepper. 
Have  some  lard  and  butter  hot  in  a  pan ;  put  them  in 
and  fry  brown  on  both  sides.  When  done,  take  it  up  on 
a  plate.  Have  ready  a  quarter-peck  of  tomatoes  ;  drain 
and  season  them  with  pepper  and  salt.  Pour  the  toma- 
toes into  the  pan  with  the  gravy,  and  stir  them  well  to- 
gether.    Pour  them  over  the  cutlets,  and  serve. 

Collared  Beef. — Choose  the  thick  end  of  a  flank  of 
beef,  but  do  not  let  it  be  too  fat ;  let  it  lie  in  salt  or  pickle 
for  a  week  or  ten  days.  The  brisket  of  beef  will  also 
serve  for  this  purpose,  from  which  the  bones  should  be 
taken,  and  the  inside  skin  removed.  When  sufficiently 
salted,  prepare  the  following  seasoning:  one  handful  of 
parsley,  chopped  fine,  some  thyme,  marjoram,  and 
basil ;  season  the  whole  with  pepper,  and  mix  all  well 
together,  and  cover  the  inside  of  the  beef  with  it.  Roll 
the  meat  up  tight,  then  roll  it  in  a  clean  cloth  ;  bind  it 
with  strong  string  or  tape,  and  tie  it  close  at  the  ends. 
Boil  it  gently  from  three  to  four  hours,  and,  when 
cooked,  take  it  up  ;  tie  the  ends  again  quite  close  to  the 
meat,  and  place  it  between  two  dishes,  with  a  heavy 
weight  at  the  top.     When  it  is  cold,  remove  the  cloth. 

Calves'  Head  Cake. — Parboil  a  calf's  head  with  some 
sage;  then  cut  off  the  meat,  and  return  the  bones  into 
the  broth,  and  boil  them  until  the  latter  is  greatly 
reduced.  Put  the  meat  which  is  already  cut  into  pieces 
into  ajar  with  the  tongue,  some  cloves,  mace,  nutmeg, 
and  some  slices  of  ham.  Cover  the  jar  with  a  plate,  and 
bake  the  whole  some  hours  until  it  is  thoroughly  well 
cooked,  then  add  the  brains,  beaten  up  with  an  egg. 
Some  hard-boiled  eggs  must  be  placed  round  a  mould, 
and  the  meat  poured  in. 

Sheep's  Head  Soup. — Cut  the  liver  and  lights  into 
pieces,  and  stew  them  in  four  quarts  of  water,  with 
some  onion,  carrots,  and  turnips  ;  half  a  pound  of  pearl 


486 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


barley,  pepper  and  salt,  cloves,  a  little  marjoram,  pars- 
ley, and  thyme.  Stew  ail  these  until  nearly  sufficiently 
cooked,  then  put  in  the  head,  and  boil  it  until  quite 
tender.  Take  it  out,  and  strain  everything  from  the 
liquor,  and  let  it  stand  uutil  cold,  when  remove  the  fat 
from  the  top.  Before  serving  it  must  be  thickened  with 
flour  and  butter,  as  though  it  were  mock  turtle.  A 
wineglassful  of  sherry  should  be  put  into  the  tureen 
before  the  soup  is  poured  in.  The  heart  cut  into  small 
pieces  with  rump  steak  makes  an  excellent  pudding. 

CAKES,    PUDDINGS,    ETC. 

Cottage  Pudding. — Three  cups  flour,  one  cup  sugar, 
one  cup  milk,  two  tablespoonfuls  butter,  two  teaspoon- 
f  jls  cream  tartar,  one  egg  ;  beat  all  together,  then  add 
one  teaspoonful  soda;  flavor  with  lemon.  Bake  one-half 
hour  ;  serve  with  sauce. 

Sauce. — One  cup  butter,  two  cups  powdered  sugar 
beaten  to  a  cream,  two  tablespoonfuls  wine,  half  spoon- 
fnl  vanilla  beaten  with  it,  half  pint  boiling  water. 

Light  Tea  Cakes. — One  pound  and  a  half  of  fine  flour, 
two  ounces  fresh  lard,  one  pint  of  new  milk,  one  large 
egg,  one  teaspoonful  of  salt,  ounce  and  a  half  fresh  yeast. 
Beat  the  egg,  warm  the  milk,  and  mix  very  well  ;  let 
it  rise  as  common  dough  ;  then  put  into  tins,  and  let  it 
rise  quickly  before  the  fire.  It  makes  nice  buns,  with 
spices  added  after  the  dough  is  risen. 

Corn  Starch  Pudding. — One  pint  of  milk,  two  eggs, 
two  teaspoonfuls  corn  starch,  four  teaspoonfuls  sugar  in 
pudding,  and  same  in  whites. 

Cocoa-nut  Cheesecakes. — Take  the  white  part  of  a 
cocoa-nut,  three  ounces  of  lump  sugar,  and  one-half  a 
gill  of  water.  The  sugar  must  be  first  dissolved  in 
the  water,  and  the  cocoa-nut  ( grated)  to  be  added  to  it. 
Let  all  boil  for  a  few  minutes  over  a  slow  fire  ;  let  it  get 
cold  and  then  add  the  yelks  of  three  eggs,  and  the  white 
of  one  well  beaten  up.  Put  the  mixture  into  small  tins 
with  thin  paste  at  the  bottom,  and  bake  in  a  slow  oven. 

French  Pancakes. — Beat  half  a  pint  of  cream  to  a 
froth,  lay  it  on  a  sieve ;  beat  the  whites  and  yelks  (se- 
parately) of  three  eggs,  add  one  tablespoonful  of' flour, 
and  the  same  quantity  of  white  sugar:  mix  all  lightly, 
and  bake  in  three  saucers  for  twenty  minutes.  Dish 
them  up  with  raspberry  or  any  other  preserve,  between. 

Apple  Cream. — Boil  twelve  apples  in  water  until  they 
are  soft ;  take  off  the  peel  and  press  the  pulp  through  a 
hair  sieve  upon  a  half  pound  of  powdered  sugar  ;  whip 
the  whites  of  two  eggs,  add  them  to  the  apples,  and  beat 
altogether  until  it  becomes  quite  stiff,  and  looks  white. 
Serve  it  heaped  upon  a  dish,  with  some  fresh  cream 
around  it. 

Almond  Creese  Cakes. — The  yelks  of  three  well-beaten 
eggs,  one-quarter  pound  of  bitter  almonds,  three-quarters 
pound  of  sweet  almonds,  one-quarter  pound  of  sifted 
sugar.  Pound  the  almonds,  but  not  too  fine.  The  eggs 
must  be  beaten  to  a  cream.  Mix  the  sugar  with  them, 
then  add  the  almonds. 

Pound  Cake. — One  pound  of  sugar,  one  of  butter,  one 
of  flour,  and  the  whites  of  twelve  eggs,  beaten  to  a  froth  ; 
flavor  with  the  essence  of  lemon.  Bake  in  a  quick  oven. 
This  quantity  will  make  two  good-sized  cakes,  baked  in 
six-quart  pans. 

Indian  Pudding.— Two  quarts  of  boiling  milk,  with 
Indian  meal  enough  to  make  a  thin  batter :  stir  in  while 
boiling  hot.  Add  sugar,  allspice,  to  your  taste  ;  also  a 
teacup  of  cold  milk.  Bake  five  hours  in  a  moderate 
oven. 


To  Make  Cream  Pancakes. — Take  the  yelks  of  two 
eggs,  mix  them  with  half  a  pint  of  good  cream  and  two- 
ounces  of  sugar,  hsat  the  pan  over  a  clear  fire  and  rub  it 
with  lard,  and  fry  the  batter  as  thin  as  possible.  Grate 
loaf  sugar  over  them  and  serve  them  up  hot. 

Puff  Pudding. — One  pint  of  milk,  three  eggs,  six 
spoonfuls  of  flour,  a  little  salt.  Beat  the  yelks,  then  add 
the  milk  and  flour  ;  pour  in  a  buttered  dish,  then  add 
the  beaten  whites,  but  don't  stir  in  thoroughly — one 
and  a  half  hours. 

A  Quick  Made  Pudding. — One  pound  flour,  one  pound 
suet,  four  eggs,  one  fourth  pint  new  milk,  little  mace  and 
nutmeg,  half  pound  raisins,  quarter  pound  currants  ; 
mix  well,  and  boil  three-quarters  of  an  hour. 

An  Italian  Pudding. — Take  two  eggs  and  their  weight 
in  butter  and  loaf  sugar,  melt  the  butter  a  little,  and 
beat  up  all  well  together.  Line  the  dish  with  a  puff 
paste,  and  lay  some  apricot  or  other  good  preserve 
upon  it.  Pour  the  mixture  of  butter,  eggs  and  sugar 
over  it,  and  bake  for  twenty  minutes. 

A  Sweet  Omelet. — Mix  a  tablespoonful  of  fine  flour  in 
one  pint  of  new  milk,  whisk  together  the  yelks  and 
whites  of  four  eggs,  and  add  them  to  the  milk.  Put 
enough  fresh  butter  as  will  fry  the  omelet  into  the  fry- 
ing pan,  make  it  hot  over  a  clear  fire,  and  pour  in  half 
the  mixture.  "When  this  is  a  little  set,  put  four  teaspoon- 
fuls of  current  jelly,  or  any  other  preserve,  in  the  centre, 
and  the  remainder  of  the  mixture  over  the  top.  As  soon 
as  the  upper  portion  is  fixed  send  it  to  table ;  or  the 
omelet  being  fried,  spread  the  preserve  on  it  and  roll  it. 

THE  TOILET. 

How  to  Prevent  the  Hair  from  Palling  off. — The 
following  lotion  and  pomatums  have  sometimes  proved 
successful  in  restoring  the  growth  of  the  hair.  The 
lotion  is  the  receipt  of  Dr.  Erasmus  Wilon's. 

The  Lotion. — Two  ounces  of  eau  de  Cologne,  two 
drachms  of  tincture  of  cantharides,  ten  drops  of  oil  of 
lavender,  and  ten  drops  of  oil  of  rosemary.  This  lotion 
should  be  used  once  or  twice  a  day  for  a  considerable 
time. 

The  Pomatum. — Take  the  marrow  out  of  two  beef 
bones,  put  it  into  cold  water,  and  let  it  remain  until  it 
is  quite  clean  and  white.  Before  this  is  effected  the 
water  must  be  changed  several  times.  Dissolve  and 
strain  the  marrow  ;  then  add  four  ounces  of  the  best 
castor  oil.  Beat  both  well  together  until  cold,  then 
add,  before  the  pomatum  becomes  firm,  half  an  ounce  of 
strong  scent.  This  pomatum  should  be  well  rubbed 
into  the  skin  of  the  head  every  night,  and  the  hair 
should  be  well  brushed  both  night  and  morning. 

Pomade  for  Chapped  Arms  and  Hands. — Spermaceti, 
two  drachms;  white  wax,  one  and  a  half  drachm; 
sweet  oil  of  almonds,  half  an  ounce;  Florence  oil  of 
olives,  half  an  ounce;  oil  of  poppies,  half  an  ounce; 
melt  all  together  gently,  and  beat  into  it  four  drops  of 
the  liquid  balsam  of  Peru. 

Hair  Pomatum. — To  a  flask  of  the  finest  Lucca  oil  add 
an  ounce  and  a  half  of  spermaceti,  half  an  ounce  of 
white  wax,  and  scent  of  any  kind.  Cut  up  the  wax  and 
spermaceti,  and  put  it  in  the  oven  to  melt  with  a  little 
of  the  oil.  When  well  mixed,  pour  in  the  remainder  of 
the  oil,  and  stir  until  cold  :  add  the  scent  when  the  mix- 
ture is  cool.  If  the  hair  is  inclining  to  gray,  add,  by 
drops,  a  t*>aspoonful  of  balsam  of  Peru,  taking  care  to 
stir  it  well  in. 


RECEIPTS. 


487 


Fresh  milk  mixed  with  oatmeal  is  very  beneficial  to 
a  sunburnt  complexion.  Many  use  buttermilk  with 
equal  success.  Sulphur  mixed  with  fresh  milk  is  also 
excellent  for  washing  the  skin  with.  Glycerine,  too,  is 
efficacious. 

PRACTICAL  DIRECTIONS  TO  GARDENERS. 

Perform  every  operation  in  the  proper  season.  Per- 
form every  operation  in  the  best  manner.  This  is  to  be 
acquired  in  part  by  practice,  and  partly  also  by  reflec- 
tion. For  example,  in  digging  over  a  piece  of  ground, 
it  is  a  common  practice  with  slovens  to  throw  the  weeds 
and  stones  on  the  dug  ground,  or  on  the  adjoining  alley 
or  walk,  with  the  intention  of  gathering  them  off  after- 
wards. A  better  way  is  to  have  a  wheelbarrow,  or  a 
large  basket,  in  which  to  put  the  weeds  and  extraneous 
matter,  as  they  are  picked  out  of  the  ground. 

Complete  every  part  of  an  operation  as  you  proceed  ; 
this  is  an  essential  point  in  garden  operations,  and  the 
judicious  gardeuer  will  keep  it  in  view  as  much  as  pos- 
sible :  hoeing,  raking,  and  earthing  up  a  small  part  at 
a  time,  so  that,  leave  off  where  he  will,  what  is  done 
will  be  complete. 

In  leaving  off  working  afauy  job,  leave  the  work  and 
tools  in  an  orderly  manner. 

In  leaving  off  work  for  the  day,  make  a  temporary 
finish,  and  carry  the  tools  to  the  tool-house. 

In  passing  to  and  from  the  work,  or  on  any  occasion 
through  any  part  of  the  garden,  keep  a  vigilant  look-out 
for  weeds,  decayed  leaves,  or  any  other  deformity,  and 
remove  them. 

In  gathering  a  crop,  remove  at  the  same  time  the 
roots,  leaves,  stem,  or  whatever  else  is  of  no  further  use. 

Let  no  crop  of  fruit,  or  herbaceous  vegetables,  go  to 
waste  on  the  spot. 

Cut  dowu  the  flower-stalks  of  all  plants. 

Keep  every  part  of  what  is  under  your  care  perfect  in 
its  kind. 

Attend  in  the  spring  and  autumn  to  walls  and  build- 
ings, and  get  them  repaired,  jointed,  glazed,  and  painted, 
where  wanted.  Attend  at  all  times  to  machines,  imple- 
ments, and  tools,  keeping  them  clean,  sharp,  and  in 
perfect  repair.  See  particularly  that  they  are  placed  in 
their  pi'oper  situations  in  the  tool-house.  House  every 
implement,  utensil,  or  machine  not  in  use.  Let  the 
edgings  be  cut  to  the  utmost  nicety.  Keep  all  walks  in 
perfect  form,  whether  raised  or  flat,  free  from  weeds, 
dry,  and  well  rolled.  Let  all  the  lawns  be  of  a  close 
texture,  and  of  a  dark-green  velvet  appearance.  Keep 
the  water  clean  and  free  from  weeds,  and  let  not  ponds 
or  lakes  rise  to  the  brim  in  winter,  nor  sink  under  it  in 
summer.  If  too  much  inshrouded  by  trees,  the  water-is 
rendered  impure,  and  its  clearness  is  destroyed. 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

A  Valuable  Remedy.— Every  family  should  ke^p  a 
small  quantity  of  chlorate  of  potash.  We  have  never 
found  anything  equal  to  it  for  a  simple  ulcerated  sore 
throat.  Dissolve  a  small  teaspoonful  of  it  in  a  tumbler 
of  water;  and  then  occasionally  take  a  teaspoonful  of 
the  solution,  so  as  to  gargle  the  throat.  It  is  nearly 
tasteless,  and  not  at  all  offensive  to  take,  and  hence  it  is 
well  adapted  to  children. 

Nothing  is  better  than  this  for  chapped  or  cracked 
hands.  "Wash  them  in  the  weak  solution,  and  they  will 
soon  be  well.  It  is  also  good  for  a  rough,  pimply  or 
chapped  face.     It  may  be  had  at  any  druggist's. 


To  Flower  Bulbs  at  any  Season  in  Three  Weeks.— 
Fill  a  flower  pot  half  full  of  quick  lime,  fill  up  with  good 
earth,  plant  the  bulb,  and  keep  the  earth  damp. 

How  to  Obtain  the  genuine  Flavor  of  Coffee. — 
"Knighten's  Foreign  Life  in  Ceylon,"  furnishes  the  fol- 
lowing hints,  derived  from  long  experience,  for  prepar- 
ing coffee.  The  aroma,  which  resides  in  the  essential 
oil  of  the  coffee  berry,  is  gradually  dissipated  after  roast- 
ing, and  of  course  still  more  so  after  being  ground.  In 
order  to  enjoy  the  full  flavor  in  perfection,  the  berry 
should  pass  at  once  from  the  roasting  pan  to  the  mill, 
and  thence  to  the  coffee-pot ;  and,  again,  after  being 
made,  should  be  mixed,  when  at  almost  boiling  heat, 
with  hot  milk.  It  must  be  very  bad  coffee,  indeed, 
which,  these  precautions  being  followed,  will  not  afford 
an  agreeable  and  exhilarating  drink. 

To  Remove  Ink-stains. — When  fresh  done  and  wet, 
hasten  to  provide  some  cold  water,  an  empty  cup  and  a 
spoon.  Pour  a  little  of  the  water  on  the  stain,  not 
having  touched  it  previously  with  anything.  The  water 
of  course  dilutes  the  ink  and  lessens  the  mark  ;  then 
ladle  it  up  into  an  empty  cup.  Continue  pouring  the 
clean  water  on  the  stain  and  ladling  it  up,  until  there  is 
not  the  slightest  mark  left.  No  matter  how  grert  the 
quantity  of  ink  spilt,  patience  and  perseverance  will  re- 
move every  indication  of  it.  To  remove  a  dry  ink-stain, 
dip  the  part  stained  into  hot  milk,  and  gently  rub  it  ; 
repeat  until  no  sig  n  is  left.     This  is  an  unfailing  remedy. 

Knives  and  Forks.— The  best  knife-board  is  a  piece  of 
deal  planed  very  smooth,  about  three  feet  long  and 
eight  inches  wide,  with  thick  wash  leather  stretched 
very  tightly  over  it.  Clean  the  knives  with  rottenstone 
and  fine  emery  mixed.  Bath  brick  is  very  commonly 
used  ;  two  pieces  maybe  rubbed  together,  so  as  to  cause 
a  fine  powder  to  descend  on  the  cleaning  board.  Forks 
should  be  cleaned  with  leather  aud  the  above-named 
powder,  and  a  thin  piece  of  wood  covered  with  leather 
to  go  between  the  prongs.  Knives  and  forks  should  be 
wiped  clean  as  soon  as  they  are  brought  from  the  table. 

To  Preserve  Asparagus  for  Winter. — Prepare  the 
heads  by  scraping  aud  trimming,  in  the  same  way  as 
you  would  to  serve  at  table,  tie  them  in  bundles  and 
put  them  into  boiling  salt  and  water  for  one  moment. 

Paste  Blacking. — Twelve  ounces  troy  of  black,  eight 
ounces  of  treacle,  two  ounces  of  oil,  two  ounces  and  a 
quarter  of  vinegar,  one  ounce  of  alum,  three-quarters  of 
an  ounce  of  spirits  of  salt  ;  a  proper  quantity  of  pale 
seal  oil  to  be  added  last  to  make  it  of  a  proper  consis- 
tency. Let  it  stand  two  or  three  days,  and  put  it  in 
boxes. 

Dried  Herbs. — Herbs  are  dried  by  spreading  them 
thinly  on  trays,  and  exposing  them  to  the  heat  of  the 
sun  or  a  current  of  dry  air,  or  by  placing  them  in  a  stove- 
room  ;  observing  in  either  case  to  turn  them  repeatedly. 
When  dried  in  the  sun  they  should  be  covered  with 
thin  paper  to  prevent  their  color  being  injured  by  the 
light.  The  quicker  they  are  dried  the  better,  as  "heat- 
ing" or  "  fermentation"  will  be  thereby  prevented. 
When  sufficiently  dried,  they  should  be  shaken  in  a 
coarse  sieve,  to  remove  any  sand,  or  the  eggs  of  insects, 
that  may  be  mixed  with  them.  Aromatic  herbs  should 
be  dried  very  quickly,  and  by  a  gentle  heat,  that  their 
odor  may  be  preserved.  Tops  and  leaves  are  dried  in 
the  same  way  as  whole  plants.  In  every  case  discolored 
and  rotten  leaves  and  branches  should  be  rejected,  and 
earth  and  dirt  should  be  screened  off  before  proceeding 
to  dry  them. 


Htau'  te'ttfcln 


WOMAN ! 

HER   MORAL   DESTINY. 

"  I  will  put  enmity  between  thee  and  the  woman." 

Thus  runs  the  first  clause  of  the  sentence  which  the 
Lord  God  pronounced  against  the  serpent,  or  Satan,  be- 
fore the  human  pair  were  called  to  hear  their  doom  : 
"I  will  put  enmity  between  thee  and  the  woman,  and 
between  thy  seed  and  her  seed  ;  it  shall  bruise  thy 
head,  aud  thou  shalt  bruise  his  heel." — Gen.  iii.  15. 

In  this  sentence  against  the  evil  power,  the  prophecy 
of  the  moral  destiny  of  woman  is  comprised  ;  she  was 
then  and  there  appointed  guardian  of  moral  goodness 
on  earth,  and  through  her  the  glorious  seed,  the  Messiah, 
the  Saviour  of  man  and  the  Destroyer  of  evil  would  be 
derived. 

Let  us  briefly  examine  the  Bible  record  of  the  Fall, 
which  differs  materially  from  Milton's  "Paradise  Lost ;" 
yet  this  last  seems  the  generally  received  standard. 

Adam  and  his  wife,  when  created,  were  placed  in 
Eden,  where  grew  the  tree  "  of  the  knowledge  of  good 
and  evil,"  the  fruit  of  which  they  were  forbidden  to  eat 
on  pain  of  death.  The  woman,  being  deceived  by  the 
serpent,  or  Spirit  of  Evil,  into  the  belief  that  the  penalty 
would  not  be  inflicted,  and  that  the  fruit  would  confer 
on  the  humau  pair  a  higher  degree  of  spiritual  know- 
ledge than  they  then  possessed — "Ye  shall  be  as  gods, 
knowing  good  and  evil,"  was  the  promise  of  the  subtle 
tempter — "she  took  of  the  fruit,  and  did  eat,  and  gave 
also  unto  her  husband  with  her,  and  he  did  eat."  Such 
is  the  precise  account  of  the  Fall. 

Commentators  have  imputed  weakness  of  mind  to  the 
woman,  because  the  tempter  first  assailed  her.  Does  it 
not  rather  show  that  she  was  the  spiritual  leader,  the 
most  difficult  to  be  won  where  duty  was  in  question,  and 
the  serpent  knew  if  he  could  gain  her,  the  result  was 
sure?  Eemember  that  "her  husband  was  with  her" — 
the  serpent  addressed  them  both  :  "Ye  shall  be  as  gods." 
Is  it  not  reasonable  to  conclude  that  the  nature  (the 
human  pair  was  then  a  unity)  best  qualified  to  judge  of 
those  high  subjects  would  respond?  The  decision  was, 
apparently,  left  to  her.  The  woman  led,  the  man  fol- 
lowed. Which  showed  the  greater  spiritual  power — 
the  controlling  impulse  of  mind?  Were  not  the  argu- 
ments used  by  the  tempter  addressed  to  the  higher 
faculties  as  her  predominating  feelings,  namely,  the 
desire  for  knowledge  aDd  wisdom  ? 

We  next  come  to  the  trial  of  the  guilty  pair,  and  their 
sentence  from  the  mouth  of  their  Maker.  Every  word 
confirms  the  truth  of  the  position,  that  woman's  moral 
sense  was  of  a  higher  standard  than  man's.  She.  was 
first  sentenced.  Meekly  and  truly  she  confessed  her 
fault ;  the  sign  of  a  repentant  soul  betrayed  into  sin  when 
seeking  for  good.  Her  temporal  punishment  implied 
deep  affections  and  tender  sensibilities,  requiring  moral 
and  spiritual  endowments. 

Woman  was  to  suffer  "  sorrow"  for  her  children,  and 
be  subjected  to  the  rule  of  her  husband,  to  whom  "her 
desire  shall  be  ;"  that  is,  her  hopes,  of  escaping  from 
the  ignorance  and  inferiority  to  which  he,  through  the 
temptations  of  Satan,  would  consign  her  (see  all  heathen 
lands  for  illustration),  must  be  centred  on  winning  by 

488 


her  love,  gentleness,  and  submission,  her  husband's 
heart;  and  through  the  influence  of  her  clearer  moral 
sense,  aided  by  the  help  of'God,  who  had  "  put  enmity" 
between  her  and  the  Spirit  of  Evil,  she  could  infuse  into 
the  minds  of  her  sons  better  and  holier  ideas  which 
would  soften  and  ennoble  man's  more  earthly  and  selfish 
nature.  Her  doom  was  sad,  but  not  degrading  ;  for, 
though  like  an  angel  with  wings  broken  and  bound, 
she  was  to  minister  to  her  husband,  yet  the  promise  of 
wondrous  blessings  preceded  her  sentence. 

Not  so  with  Adam.  He  had  shown  at  every  step  that 
his  mind  was  of  a  different  stamp.  He  had  disobeyed 
God  from  a  lower  motive ;  and,  when  arraigned,  he 
showed  fear  and  selfishness.  He  sought  to  excuse  his 
sin  by  throwing  the  blame  on  his  wife,  and  on  God  who 
had  "given  her"  to  her  husband.  True,  he  was  not 
deceived.  His  worldly  wisdom  had  not  been  dazzled 
by  the  idea  of  gaining  heavenly  wisdom. 

Man's  sentence  seems,  therefore,  in  accordance  with 
the  character  he  then  manifested  ;  addressed  to  the 
material  and  sensuous  rather  than  to  the  spiritual  and 
intellectual  in  human  nature.  He  was  condemned  to 
hard  labor  for  life,  on  the  ground  "  cursed"  for  his  sake  ; 
and,  reminded  of  his  origin  "from  the  dust,"  he  was 
consigned  to  death  aDd  the  grave.  Not  a  ray  of  hope 
was  given  the  man,  save  through  the  promise  made  to 
the  woman.  Does  it  not  seem  true  that  God  committed 
to  her  care  the  kindly  virtues  that  conserve  the  family 
and  society  when  He  "put  enmity  between  the  devil 
and  the  woman  ?"  She  was  to  be  the  moral  power  when 
man,  his  will  turned  aside  from  God  and  centred  on 
himself,  would  be  using  his  strength  and  skill,  his  un- 
derstanding and  reason,  selfishly,  for  his  own  good  and 
glory ;  then  she,  by  her  obedience,  tenderness,  and 
self-sacrificing  affection,  was  to  exemplify  the  truth  of  a 
better  life,  and  keep  alive  the  hope  of  the  promised 
Deliverer. 

This,  then,  seems  the  plan  of  progress  and  salvation 
for  the  human  race  which  God  ordained  when  their  dis- 
obedience to  Him  had  closed  the  gates  of  Eden  on  our 
First  Parents. 

Man  was  the  viorker  and  provider,  the  protector,  and 
the  lawgiver. 

Woman  was  the  helper  and  preserver,  the  teacher  or 
inspirer,  and  the  exemplar. 

Thus,  if  working  in  unison,  they  would  have  foiled 
the  arts  of  the  Deceiver,  till  the  Deliverer  came  who  was 
to  destroy  sin  and  bring  to  ransomed  humanity  eternal 
life  and  immortal  glory. 

But  sin  was  with  them  to  poison  their  happiness, 
divide  their  hopes,  and  corrupt  their  inclinations.  Still 
the  Bible  record  shows  that  the  sources  of  wickedness 
were  in  man's  passions,  and  lusts,  and  power  of  work- 
ing his  own  will.  Murder,  polygamy,  and  the  sins 
of  the  Old  World,  when  "  the  earth  was  filled  with 
violence,"  are  not  descriptive  of  woman's  acts  ;  but  the 
picture  does  show  that  her  moral  gifts  bad  been  crushed, 
her  influence  for  good  destroyed,  and  her  better  nature 
overcome  by  the  evil.  And  when  the  "enmity"  of 
Satan  towards  the  woman  had  thus  triumphed  iu  cor- 
rupting her  "imagination,"  the  ruin  of  the  race  was 


editors'  table. 


489 


inevitable ;  the  Flood  came  "  on  the  world  of  the  un- 
godly." 

It  is  not  till  the  calling  of  Abraham  and  the  establish- 
ment of  a  sure  line  through  which  her  seed  should  be 
manifested,  that  woman's  destiny  as  the  moral  helper  of 
man,  when  he  is  overborne  by  sin  and  the  punishments 
o?  sin,  and  doomed,  apparently,  to  utter  destruction,  is 
brought  out  and  clearly  established.  We  might  cite 
many  Bible  proofs  of  her  spiritual  insight  in  discerning 
the  true  way,  and  her  aid  in  helping  men  to  keep  the 
true  faith  ;  but  three  photographs  of  woman's  work 
stand  out  broadly  defined,  and  are  all  we  have  room 
here,  even  briefly,  to  describe. 

Our  first,  from  the  land  of  the  Nile,  shows  the  Hebrew 
men  so  crushed  beneath  the  lash  of  the  cruel  Egyptian 
bondage,  that  their  souls  had  become  as  abject  as  their 
toils.  Pharaoh  had,  in  effect,  doomed  the  Hebrew  race 
to  extinction  by  his  decree  that  "every  male  child" 
should,  at  birth,  be  destroyed  ;  then  the  Hebrew  women 
must  have  amalgamated  with  other  races.  Not  a  Hebrew 
man  was  found  who  dared  resist  this  cruel  decree  ;  utter 
ruin  seemed  sure.  Not  a  ray  of  hope  appeared,  till  on 
the  dark  surface  of  the  picture  the  light  of  a  mother's 
love,  and  hope,  and  faith  comes  softly  in,  as  she  lays 
her  "goodly  child"  in  his  cradle  of  "bulrushes,"  and 
with  her  whole  heart,  trusts  him  to  the  Lord. 

Ah,  Jochebed  !  fear  not.  A  woman's  prayer  of  faith  is 
mightier  than  Pharaoh's  will.  That  "ark  of  bulrushes," 
woven  by  thy  ti-embling  hands,  is  a  structure  more 
glorious  and  important  to  mankind  than  all  the  works 
of  Egypt.  "The  daughter  of  Pharaoh  will  have  com- 
passion on  the  babe;"  she  will  take  him  for  her  own  ; 
but  his  mother  shall  train  his  infancy  and  childhood. 
From  her  heart  and  soul  he  shall  imbibe  the  true  faith 
and  feelings  of  an  Hebrew,  and  this  influence  shall 
never  be  lost.  In  the  mind  of  Moses  may  be  stored  "  all 
the  wisdom  of  the  Egyptians  ;"  he  may,  before  their 
great  world,  be  "mighty  in  word  and  deed  ;"  but  these 
things  will  all  be  foolishness  to  him  when  the  God  of 
his  fathers,  in  whom  his  mother  taught  him  to  believe, 
shall  call  him  to  the  work  for  which  he  was  saved. 
Then,  in  obedience  to  the  Lord  God,  this  Deliverer  of 
Israel,  this  inspired  Lawgiver  for  all  mankind,  will  ap- 
pear as  meek  as  the  babe  laid  down  by  his  weeping, 
prayiug  mother  in  the  "  ark  of  bulrushes."  This  picture 
is  woman'' s  heart. 

The  second  photograph  shows  the  young  Josiah  King 
of  Judah  ;  but  the  nation  holds  only  two  tribes  ;  and 
these  so  sunken  in  ignorance  and  idolatry,  that  even  the 
knowledge  that  there  is  a  Book  of  God's  Law  has  passed 
away.  The  Book  is  accidentally  found,  and  the  picture 
shows  the  astonishment  of  the  scribes  and  priests,  and 
the  terror  and  sorrow  of  the  king,  when  there  was  not  a 
prophet  in  Jerusalem  who  could  interpret  the  Law  and 
reveal  the  will  of  the  Lord.  Then,  "  the  servants  of  the 
king  were  sent  to  Huldah,  the  prophetess  (she  dwelt 
in  Jerusalem  in  the  college")  ;  her  memory  should  be 
dear  to  every  woman  who  loves  God's  Book,  for  she  had 
kept  its  precepts  in  her  heart,  and  its  knowledge  in  her 
soul  when  the  light  was  lost  to  scribe  and  priest,  to 
king  and  people.  Thus  her  enlightened  soul  influenced 
and  directed  the  soul  of  the  king,  and  the  destiny  of  the 
nation. 

Our  third  photograph  shows  the  great  king,  who 
"reigned  from  India  even  unto  Ethiopia,"  in  his  royal 
house,  seated  upon  the  royal  throne,  where  no  person, 
"  whether  man  or  woman, "  might  come,  uncalled,  with- 
out incurring  instant  death,  unless  the  king  held  out  his 
golden  sceptre.  This  despot,  in  his  drunken  orgies,  and 
under  the  control  of  a  wicked  favorite,  had  doomed  to  a 
swift  and  bloody  destruction  all  the  Jews  who  dwelt  in 
his  wide  dominions— God's  people,  exiled  from  Jerusa- 
lem, were  in  one  terrible  day  to  be  blotted  out ;  and  no 
human  power  seemed  able  to  stay  the  cruel  sentence. 

A  light  comes  over  the  sullen  gloom  of  the  king's 
countenance,  as  his  beautiful  queen  appears  a  suppliant 
before  him ;  to  her  the  golden  sceptre  is  held  out,  aud 
she  is  promised  her  request,  even  "  to  the  half  of  my 
kingdom." 

Does  it  seem  strange  that  she  did  not  then  fall  on  her 
knees  and  plead  for  her  own  people?  She  had  a  more 
difficult  task  before  her  :  the  man  who  had  decreed  the 
destruction  of  the  Jews  was  her  husband  as  well  as  her 
sovereign.  She  must  save  him.  He  must  be  drawn 
from  his  wicked  favorite,  his  sensual  debaucheries,  aud 
VOL.  LXVI. — 3d 


won  to  love  innocent  pleasures,  and  find  his  noblest 
enjoyment  in  judging  his  kingdom  righteously.  There- 
fore the  young  wife,  faint  with  fasting  and  pale  with  fear, 
had  yet  so  restrained  her  own  feelings  that  she  seemed  to 
her  husband  in  her  "  royal  apparel"  like  a  sunbeam  of 
joy,  as  she  invited  him  to  "her  banquet,"  which  she 
intended  should  give  him  more  real  happiness,  in  no- 
velty of  home  enjoyment,  than  the  orgies  of  the  palace 
had  ever  been  able  to  confer. 

And  how  wise  was  her  discretion  that  did  not  separate 
the  king  from  his  favorite,  whom  she  must  have  ab- 
horred. Queen  Esther,  by  inviting  Haman  to  her  ban- 
quet, and  thus  putting  herself  in  direct  competition  for 
the  favor  of  the  king  with  this  villainous  ruler  of  her 
husband's  mind,  showed  the  resolution  of  a  wise  and 
pious  woman  who  determined  to  shun  no  pain  nor  peiil 
to  herself  in  the  effort  to  gain  the  confidence  and  save 
the  honor  of  the  man  she  was  pledged  to  love  and 
reverence. 

She  succeeded.  Her  reply,  when  the  king  asked, 
"  what  was  her  petition  ?"  appealed  to  his  judgment  as 
a  righteous  man  and  a  wise  monarch.  And  how  cour- 
ageous was  her  truthful  accusation  of  "this  wicked  Ha- 
man" spoken  out  to  his  face  ! 

The  result  is  known  to  every  one  who  has  read  the 
"Book  of  Esther."  Hamau  was  hanged.  The  Jews 
were  saved  and  exalted  ;  King  Ahasuerus  was  brought 
into  close  personal  friendship  with  pious  believers  in 
the  true  God  ;  many  of  the  people  of  the  land  became 
Jews  ;  and  the  memory  of  this  great  deliverance  is  even 
to  thfe  present  day  held  sacred  by  all  pious  Israelites. 
This  lovely  picture  of  piety,  patriotism,  and  conjugal 
duty  we  call  the  moral  power  of  woman's  mind. 

Ked-haieed  Ladies. — We  have  received  a  very  touch- 
ing letter  from  a  young  lady  who  is  afflicted  with  this 
bright-colored  hair ;  it  is  so  wonderfully  abundant,  so 
wavy  and  curling,  that  the  owner  is  obliged  to  give  up 
all  idea  of  relief  from  hair-dye ;  and  so  she  pleads  for  a 
few  words  of  consoling  philosophy  or  some  examples  of 
patient  endurance  of  similar  calamities.  We  give  a 
scrap  or  two  from  a  writer  whose  sensible  remarks  are 
worth  reading : — 

"  The  greatest  painters  of  Italy  have  given  bright  au- 
burn heads  to  their  heroines  ;  and  at  the  present  day, 
throughout  the  entire  Latin  peninsula,  red-haired  girls 
are  esteemed  the  greatest  beauties.  Rubens,  the  immor- 
tal founder  of  the  Flemish  School  of  Art,  has  followed 
his  southern  contemporaries  in  this  matter.  The  'gor- 
geous hue'  is  prominent  in  his  best  efforts.  The  history 
of  painting  shows  that  the  grand,  inspiring  color  of 
'rosy-fingered  morn' — of  the  luxurious  tropics — is  the 
finest  of  all  hues,  while  the  biographies  of  the  fair  prove 
that  the  greatest  and  most  beautiful  of  the  sex  had  red 
hair. 

"In  the  face  of  acquaintance  with  such  facts  of  posi- 
tive testimony,  the  prevalent  objection  to  red  hair  is 
uuaccountable.  It  must  rest  on  illiterate,  vulgar  preju- 
dice. What  superiority  has  black,  or  brown,  or  mere 
dark  hair  over  red?  None  whatever.  In  real  truth, 
if  there  be  any  natural  superiority  in  the  matter,  it  be- 
longs to  the  red  hair.  That  takes  a  finer  polish,  grows 
more  wavy  and  luxuriantly,  and  remains  much  longer 
without  turning  gray,  than  hair  of  any  other  hue." 

The  following  lines,  from  a  contributor  who  has  long 
been  a  devoted  friend  of  our  Book,  are  not  "soaring 
poetry,"  but  they  are  true  sentiment;  those  young  la- 
dies who  keep  such  beauty  in  their  minds  will  not  be 
unhappy,  even  if  they  have  red  hair. 

CHEERFUL  THOUGHTS. 

Open  your  mind  to  cheerful  thoughts, 

Till  they  fill  each  corner  aud  nook, 
And  no  room  is  left  for  those  that  bring 

The  sigh  and  the  doleful  look. 
The  mind  is  the  brush  that  paints  the  hoar, 

And  bright  will  the  colors  glow 
If,  in  the  chalice  held  by  Time, 

Content  its  hues  doth  throw. 
But  dark  and  drear  the  scene  will  appear, 

If  gloom  steals  in  the  cup  ; 
Thon  fill  the  mind  with  buoyant  Hope, 

And  smile  each  tear  drop  up. 

Mrs.  FRA»rcrs. 


490 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


The  Children's  Hospital  of  Philadelphia.— We 
have  the  Seventh  Annual  Report  of  this  interesting  and 
useful  Institution  before  us.  It  shows  that  great  good 
has  been  done,  much  suffering  relieved,  and  many  dear 
little  sufferers  saved  from,  probably,  a  life-long  decrepi- 
tude or  early  death,  by  the  kind  ministration  of  this 
Hospital.  It  only  needs  better  opportunities,  that  is,  a 
suitable  building,  well  furnished.  This  is  a  pressing 
want.  There  is  a  fund  of  about  $7000  invested,  and  as 
soon  as  $3000  more  are  obtained,  the  Child's  Hospital 
will  be  commenced.  Surely  this  sum  will  soon  be  ad- 
vanced. Thirty  dollars  makes  a  life  member.  One 
hundred  new  life  members  would  fill  up  the  amount. 
The  blessings  of  "little  children"  are  treasures  laid  up 
in  heaven. 

The  Woman's  Hospital  of  Philadelphia. — This 
Second  Annual  Eeport  is  very  encouraging.  The  Hos- 
pital is  situated  on  North  College  Avenue,  near  Girard 
College.  The  situation  is  delightful ;  the  salubrity  of 
the  air,  and  the  pleasant  surroundings  are  found  bene- 
ficial to  the  invalids. 

The  same  buildings  contain  the  rooms  of  the  "Wo- 
man's Medical  College"  of  Pennsylvania  ;  both  institu- 
tions are  benefited  by  this  arrangement.  The  managers 
close  their  interesting  report  with  cheering  words,  when 
they  say — 

"We  cannot  but  regard  it  as  a  proof  of  the  strong  con- 
viction in  the  minds  of  good  men  and  women,  of  the 
great  necessity  for  this  Institution,  and  as  an  evidence 
of  a  guiding  Providence  in  the  movement,  that  at  a  time 
when  public  sorrow  and  pecuniary  embarrassment  have 
rested  so  heavily  upon  the  community,  means  have  been 
so  generously  furnished  to  purchase  our  building,  and 
iuitiate  successfully  the  benevolent  enterprise  for  which 
we  are  organized." 

Those  who  want  more  particular  information  should 
address  Mrs.  Cleveland,  M.  D.,  Woman's  Hospital,  North 
College  Avenue,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Postmistress. — Mrs.  Caroline  F.  Cowan  has  been  ap- 
pointed postmistress  at  Biddeford,  Me.,  in  place  of  Louis 
O.  Cowan  (her  husband),  deceased. 

Widows'  Pensions. — There  have  been  filed,  since  the 
breaking  out  of  the  war,  15,000  applications  for  widows' 
pensions,  and  9,000  for  invalids'. 

Miss  S,  J.  Hale's  Boarding  and  Day  School  for 
Young  Ladies,  1826  Eittenhouse  Square,  Philadelphia, 
Penna. 

This  school  has  now  entered  on  its  seventh  year.  The 
success  and  present  prosperity  are  very  satisfactory  to 
its  friends. 

The  design  of  the  Principal  is  to  give  a  thorough  and 
liberal  English  education,  to  furnish  the  best  facilities  for 
acquiring  the  French  language,  and  the  best  instruction 
in  music  and  the  other  accomplishments.  The  Assist- 
ants employed  are  of  the  first  class  and  highest  merit. 
French  is  taught  by  an  experienced  instructi'ess,  a  lady 
lately  from  France  who  resides  in  the  family  ;  and  thus 
the  pupils  have  ample  opportunities  of  acquiring  the 
accomplishment  of  speaking  the  language. 

Particular  and  continued  attention  is  paid  to  the  moral 
training,  and  also  to  the  health  and  physical  develop- 
ment of  the  young  ladies. 

References :  Mrs.  Emma  Willard,  Troy,  N.  T.  ;  Henry 
Vethake,  LL.D.,  Wm.  B.  Stevens,  D.  D.,  Wm.  H.  Ash- 
hurst,  Esq.,  Louis  A.  Godey,  Esq.,  Philadelphia;  Charles 
Hodge,  D.  D.,  Princeton,  N.  J.  ;  and  others. 

Circulars  will  be  sent  wherever  required. 


To  our  Correspondents.— We  shall  make  room  for 
these  articles :  "  The  Unfortunate  Music  Scholar" — "  Did 
you"—"  Belle  Dana's  Temptation"—"  A  Visit  to  the  Old 
Manor" — and  "Seventeen." 

These  articles  are  not  needed:  "Dew  Drops" — "Oh, 
then  I  have  Thoughts  of  thee!"  (we  are  not  in  want  of 
anything  at  present) — "  Minnie  Browne"  (nothing  more) 
— "A  Cloudy  Day" — "An  Appeal  for  a  Correspondent" 
(good  for  a  newspaper)  —  "The  Lover's  Leap"  —  "A 
Glance  into  the  Life  of  the  P^or" — "The  Confession" — 
"  The  Women  of  the  Revolution"  (we  had  a  series  of  ex- 
cellent papers  on  this  subject,  written  by  Mrs.  Ellet, 
some  years  ago) — "The  Height  of  the  Ridiculous" — 
"Lucy  Dye"  and  the  other  poem  (we  have  no  room) — 
"To  my  Mother"  (pretty  for  a  Christmas  Tree,  and  does 
credit  to  the  writer's,  heart) — "  A  Letter  to  a  Friend" — 
"A  Dream"  (we  are  sorry  to  refuse  the  request  of  "a 
friend  to  the  Lady's  Book,"  but  we  must) — "Lines" 
(the  writer  can  do  better) — "A  Small  Resentment" — 
"  My  Awful  Wife"  (which  proves  there  must  be  some 
fault  on  the  husband's  side.  The  poet  who  wrote  "  My 
Little  Wife"  went  home  early,  and  loved  to  be  at  home  ; 
that  was  the  reason  why  Love  was  waiting  for  him) — 
"Give,  and  it  shall  be  given  you" — "Intemperance" — 
"  A  Request" — "The  Robin's  Nest,"  and  other  poems — 
"The  Last  Wedding  I  went  to"— "  The  First  Spring 
Violet"— "The  Lover's  Song"— "The  Little  Shoe"— 
"To  a  Friend"— and  "Squeaky  Boots." 

We  have  others  on  hand  which  will  be  examined 
next  month. 

"April  Fool,"  by  Lex,  received  too  late.  The  April 
number  was  published  when  the  story  was  received. 
The  same  day  we  received  a  story  with  a  request  that  it 
should  be  published  in  March.  An  article  intended  for 
any  particular  number  must  be  sent  four  months  in  ad- 
vance of  the  date  of  the  number  that  it  is  intended  for. 


|taliji  §tprtment. 

BY    J  NO.    STAINBACK    WILSON,     M.D. 


Mumps. — This  is  a  common  affection  of  children  and 
young  persons.  It  is  a  contagious  inflammation  of  one  or 
both  the  glands  beneath  the  ear,  called  the  parotid 
glands. 

Symptoms. — Slight  feverishness,  with  stiffness  of  the 
jaws,  and  redness,  soreness,  and  swelling  of  one  or  both 
of  the  above  glands. 

Treatment. — A  mild  laxative  of  Epsom  salts  if  the 
bowels  are  costive;  the  warm  bath,  or  warm  wet-sheet 
pack  ;  warm  sweating  teas  of  sage,  balm,  etc.  ;  or  cold 
water,  if  there  is  much  fever.  As  local  applications  to 
the  throat,  it  is  the  custom  to  use  all  kinds  of  stimulating 
liniment,  poultices,  and  plasters,  under  the  idea  that 
the  disease  may  be  driven  off  to  some  other  part.  But 
the  danger  from  this  source  is  much  exaggerated,  and 
there  is  no  good  reason  to  believe  that  cold  applications 
have  any  tendency  to  cause  translation  of  the  disease. 
Wc  have  no  hesitation,  thereforp,  in  recommending  cold 
wet  cloths  to  the  throat,  where  there  is  considerable 
fever  and  local  inflammation.  Should  the  inflammation 
be  slight,  a  flannel  bound  around  the  throat  will  be  all- 
sufficient.  When  the  inflammation  runs  high,  the  wet 
cloths  should  be  frequently  changed,  and  exposed  to  the 
air,  so  that  the  cooling  process  of  evaporation  may  go 
on  freely.  But  when  the  inflammation  is  more  moderate, 
a  towel,  three  or  four  double,  should  be  dipped  in  water, 


LITERARY    NOTICES. 


491 


applied  over  the  affected  part,  and  then  a  dry  binder 
should  be  placed  over  the  towel.  This  acts  as  a  warm 
poultice,  and  promotes  perspiration  of  the  skin  to  which 
it  is  applied,  while  it  is  far  superior  in  comfort,  cleanli- 
ness, and  convenience  to  any  kind  of  poultice  or  plaster. 
The  diet  of  a  patient  with  mumps  should  be  light  aad 
unstimulating,  and  exposure  to  cold  should  be  avoided 
for  some  time  after  the  subsidence  of  the  disease. 

The  symptoms  of  ascarides,  or  thread-worms,  are  a 
troublesome  itching  of  the  parts  in  which  they  find  a 
lodgment,  with  the  occasional  expulsion,  or  escape  of 
the  troublesome  little  parasites  in  the  form  of  very  slen- 
der, short,  white,  pointed  threads  ;  and  hence  the  name 
thread-worms.  These  are  to  be  removed  by  injections  ; 
as  medicines  given  in  the  ordinary  way  will  not  reach 
them.  First,  wash  out  the  bowel  well,  by  injecting 
warm  water  :  and  then  throw  up  either  of  the  follow- 
ing: 1.  Take  muriated  tincture  of  iron  a  teaspoonful; 
warm  water  eight  tablespoonfuls.  2.  Take  powdered 
aloes,  a  level  teaspoonful  ;  boiling  water,  half  a  pint. 
3.  Take  sulphuric  ether,  half  a  teaspoonful ;  cold  water, 
four  tablespoonfuls.  4.  Take  common  salt,  a  level  table- 
spoonful  ;  warm  water,  half  a  pint. 

Whichever  one  of  these  injections  is  selected,  it  should 
be  used  at  least  once  a  day,  and  should  be  followed  by 
warm  water  injections,  or  warm  water  and  salt.  This 
will  wash  out  the  worms  that  have  been  destroyed,  or 
detached  by  the  means  used  for  that  purpose. 


ittrarj  Delias. 


Owing  to  the  immense  increase  in  the  price  of  books, 
we  will  not  receive  further  orders  to  send  by  mail.  It 
never  was  a  source  of  profit  to  us,  but  generally  a  loss, 
on  account  of  the  postage  we  had  to  pay. 

Prom  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia: — 
THE  SLEEPING  SENTINEL.  By  Francis  de  Haes 
Janvier,  author  of  "  The  Skeleton  Monk,"  "The  Voyage 
of  Life,"  and  other  poems.  This  poem  has  acquired 
considerable  prestige  by  being  read  by  Mr.  James  E. 
Murdoch  in  Washington,  Philadelphia,  and  other  cities, 
to  large  and  appreciative  audiences.  It  is  written  in 
ballad  style,  and  narrates  how  a  young  soldier,  having 
fallen  asleep  while  on  duty  as  sentinel  at  night,  was 
condemned  to  die,  but  was  pardoned  by  the  President. 

From  J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co.,  Philadelphia: — 
OUTLINES  OF  UNIVERSAL  HISTORY.  In  three 
parts  ;  with  a  copious  index  to  each  part,  showing  the 
correct  mode  of  pronouncing  every  name  mentioned  in 
it.  By  Joseph  J.  Reed.  Part  I.  Ancient  History.  The 
importance  of  historical  knowledge  need  not  be  urged. 
To  authors,  publishers,  teachers,  and  to  all  who  have 
any  vocation  or  desire  for  public  employment,  this  kind 
of  information  is  of  the  first  necessity  and  importance. 
The  unlettered  and  those  whose  daily  occupations  pre- 
vent steady  and  diligent  reading,  may,  by  the  aid  of 
properly  prepared  works  of  history,  gain  information 
which  will  be  of  real  use  as  well  as  pleasure.  It  needs 
considerable  historical  knowledge  to  understand  the 
allusions  and  comparisons  in  the  daily  paper,  or  the 
last  popular  novel.  And  family  reading,  when  the 
Bible  is  the  centre  of  improvement,  gains  illustration, 
interest,  and  importance  from  the  aid  of  History.     It  is 


a  kind  of  learning  in  which  women  may  and  should 
excel ;  by  its  aid  they  may  do  much  to  improve  social 
intercourse  and  promote  home  enjoyments.  .All  these 
things  Mr.  Reed  seems  to  have  taken  into  account  when 
he  prepared  this — his  first  volume  of  "  Ancient  History. " 
By  his  method,  the  shapeless  mass  of  old  world  events 
have  been  reduced  to  such  lucid  order,  that  children 
will  love  the  study.  As  a  manual  of  general  history,  it 
will  be  invaluable  in  schools  and  families.  As  a  book 
of  reference,  professional  men  as  well  as  students  and 
artists,  will  find  it  just  what  they  have  wanted.  The 
author  deserves  a  rich  reward  for  devoting  his  talents 
to  this  long  and  arduous  course  of  study  which  it  must 
have  required  to  produce  such  an  original  and  remark- 
ably well-written  work.  The  plan  has  one  new  and 
important  feature:  Mr.  Reed  treats  of  the  "Christian 
Church"  as  a  distinct  "Power"  in  the  world  ;  its  rise 
commences  in  this  first  volume.  In  the  next  the  height 
of  its  wonderful  dominion  as  developed  in  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  will  appear.  In  the  third  volume  Pro- 
testantism will  have  its  mighty  influence  unfolded. 

CHAMBERS'  ENCYCLOPAEDIA  OF  USEFUL  KNOW- 
LEDGE FOR  THE  PEOPLE.  Parts  59  and  60  of  this 
valuable  work  have  been  received  ;  price  only  20  cents 
each.  Why  does  not  every  one  subscribe  for  it.  Such 
a  store  of  information  has  never  before  been  given  to  the 
public. 

From  Geo.  W.  Childs,  Philadelphia: — 

THE  NATIONAL  ALMANAC  AND  ANNUAL  RECORD 
for  1863.  We  noticed  this  valuable  work  in  our  last 
number  ;  we  again  call  attention  to  it  because  it  contains 
more  matter,  better  arranged,  and  more  generally  useful 
and  entertaining,  of  a  public  character,  than  any  alma- 
nac ever  issued  in  this  country.  It  will  be  found  a  most 
valuable  book  for  reference,  not  only  for  the  year,  but 
for  succeeding  time,  for  its  contents  have  more  than  the 
ephemeral  value  usually  contained  in  an  almanac. 

From'FiSHER  &  Brother,  Philadelphia: — 
FOX'S  MUSICAL  COMPANION.     A  good  collection  of 
banjo  and    comic  songs,   sentimental    ballads,    stump 
speeches,  etc.     The  songs  are  set  to  music. 

From  D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  New  York,  through  W.  P. 
Hazard,  Philadelphia : — 

HOLLY'S  COUNTRY  SEATS :  Containing  Lithogra- 
pkic  Designs  for  Cottages,  Villas,  3fansions,  etc.  By 
Henry  Hudson  Holly,  architect.  We  recommend  this 
work  especially  to  those  who  are  contemplating  the 
purchase  or  erection  of  a  country  residence.  Its  nume- 
rous designs  for  cottages  and  villas  are  all  of  them  so 
excellent  that  a  man  ofliberal  means  cannot  fail  to  find 
one  among  them  to  suit  his  taste.  The  author  gives, 
moreover,  many  useful  hints  concerning  the  selection 
of  sites,  landscape  gardening,  etc.,  which  it  is  well  not 
to  overlook. 

THE  SPIRITUAL  POINT-OF-VIEW  ;  or,  The  Glass 
Reversed.  An  answer  to  Bishop  Col 'enso.  By  M.  Mahan, 
D.  D.,  St.-Mark's-in-the  Bowery,  Professor  of  Ecclesias- 
tical History  in  the  General  Theological  Seminary.  The 
author  of  this  volume  has  felt  it  his  duty  to  enter  his 
earnest  protest  against  the  work  which  recently  ap- 
peared from  the  pen  of  Bishop  Colenso.  He  regards  that 
book  as  "intensely  infidel  and  materialistic,"  and  alto- 
gether of  such  a  character  as  should  emanate  from  any 
other  source,  than  that  of  a  bishop  in  the  church  who 


492 


a-) 


GODEY'S    LADY'S    BOOK   AND    MAGAZINE. 


professes  to  uphold  the  faith.  He  proceeds  with  zeal  to 
correct  the  various  mistakes,  and  to  refute  the  fallacies 
of  the  bishop's  work,  and  in  all  faith  to  reconcile  the 
Scriptures  with  reason,  and  with  the  discoveries  of 
modern  scieuce.  That  this  publication  will  be  eagerly 
bailed  by  the  Christian  world  there  is  not  a  doubt. 

THE  SOLDIER'S  BOOK:  A  Pocket  Diary  for  Accounts 
and  Memoranda  for  Non-Commissioned  Officers  and  Pri- 
vates of  the  U.  S.  Volunteer  and  Regidar  Army.  The 
title  sufficiently  explains  the  object  of  the  work. 

From  Harper  &  Brothers,  New  York,  through  T.  B. 
Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia: — 

CHRONICLES  OF  CARLINGFORD  ;  A  Novel.  By  the 
Author  of  "  Margaret  Maitland,"  "  The  Last  of  the  Mor- 
timers," etc.  etc.  This  book  is  composed  of  four  sepa- 
rate stories,  "The  Executor,"  "The  Eector,"  "The 
Doctor's  Family"  and  "  Salem  Chapel."  The  first  three 
were  published  together  in  book  form  about  a  year  since  ; 
and  now  they  reappear,  with  the  addition  of  the  last 
named,  which  alone  occupies  more  than  one-half  the 
book  of  three  hundred,  double  columned,  closely  printed 
pages.  "  Salem  Chapel"  narrates  the  trials  of  a  youug 
non-conformist  minister  who  takes  charge  of  the  little 
dissenting  chapel  at  Carlingford.  He  has  been  edu- 
cated in  a  superior  fashion,  and  possesses  refined  and 
fastidious  tastes,  and  he  finds  it  very  hard  to  assimilate 
with  the  vulgar  though  friendly  natures  of  his  little 
flock.  He  cannot  meet  them  on  their  own  level,  and, 
as  a  result,  jealousy  is  engendered,  dissatisfactions  are 
expressed  ;  and  finally,  in  a  spirit  which  we  can  regard 
as  little  better  than  stubborn  pride,  he  refuses  all  the 
peace-offerings  of  his  congregation,  and  retires  from  his 
charge.  Interwoven  with  this  simple  story  is  quite  a 
romance  of  mystery  and  misfortune,  though  in  the  end 
poetical  justice  is  meted  to  all. 

MODERN  WAR :  Its  Theory  and  Practice.  Illustrated 
from  celebrated  Campaigns  and  Battles,  with  Maps  and 
Diagrams.  By  Emeric  Szabad,  Captain  U.  S.  A.  Em- 
bodying, in  a  popular  form,  "an  exposition  of  military 
•iperations  from  their  most  elementary  principles  up  to 
their  highest  development,"  this  volume  will  be  an 
acceptable  one  at  the  present  time  to  a  large  number  of 
readers.  Apart  from  its  lucid  explanations  of  military 
terms  and  expressions,  many  of  which  are  now  in  gene- 
ral use,  without  a  corresponding  clear  or  precise  know- 
ledge of  their  meaning,  the  book  contains  much  military 
information,  of  an  historic  character,  not  readily  to  be 
found  in  any  other  single  work.  Its  author  has  seen 
service  in  Hungary  and  Italy,  as  well  as  in  our  own 
country,  and  seems  to  write  with  a  full  acquaintance 
With  his  subject. 

From  Carleton,  New  York,  through  Peterson  & 
Brothers,  Philadelphia: — 

THE  GREAT  CONSUMMATION :  The  Millennial  Rest  ; 
or  the  World  as  it  will  be.  By  the  Rev.  John  Cummihg, 
D.  D.,  F.  R.  S.  E.,  author  of  "The  Great  Tribulation," 
and  "The  Great  Preparation."  The  renown  of  Dr. 
Gumming  both  as  a  preacher  and  an  author  will  secure 
for  this  book  not  only  all  who  are  of  the  same  faith  with 
him,  but  many  others  who  do  not  accept  his  views  of 
the  Millennium. 

NOTES,  CRITICISMS,  AND  CORRESPONDENCE  UP- 
ON SHAKSPEARE'S  PLAYS  AND  ACTORS.  By  James 
Henry  Hackett.  Few  who  have  seen  Mr.  Hackett  upon 
the  stage  will  deny  that  he  stands  first  as  a  delineator 
of  a  certain  class  of  Shakspeare's  characters.     Of  his 


"  Notes  and  Criticisms"  we  are  not  prepared  to  give  our 
unqualified  approval.  There  is  much  that  is  excellent ; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  much  with  which  the  vast 
majority  of  readers  will  diner.  A  lengthy  correspon- 
dence with  John  Q.  Adams  on  dramatic  matters,  par- 
ticularly the  different  characters  in  the  play  of  "  Othello," 
will  be  read  with  attention. 

GARRET  VAN  HORN :  or,  The  Beggar  on  Horseback. 
By  John  S.  Sauzade.  Regarding  this  work  as  a  simple 
autobiography,  there  is  much  in  it  that  will  interest, 
and  much  that  will  profit  the  thoughtful  reader.  As  a 
novel,  the  style  is  too  crude,  and  both  characters  and 
plot  insufficiently  elaborated  to  create  any  sensation. 
In  brief,  it  is  a  very  good,  though  a  dull  book. 

TACTICS  ;  or,  Cupidin  Shoulder-straps  :  A  West  Point 
Love  Story.  By  Hearton  Drille,  U.  S.  A.  If  this  is  pre- 
sented as  a  bona  fide  picture  of  West  Point  society,  we 
fear  the  world  at  large  will  not  obtain  a  very  favorable 
opinion  of  it.  Whatever  may  be  the  case  in  this  respect, 
we  believe  the  author  has  wasted  a  great  deal  of  time, 
and  the  publisher  a  great  deal  of  that  choice  material 
just  now — paper,  in  the  production  of  a  book  which  is 
not  likely  to  meet  the  approval  of  those  of  accredited 
taste  and  judgment. 

From  T.  0.  H.  P.  Burnham,  Boston,  through  J.  B. 
Lippincott  &  Co.,  Philadelphia  : — 

A  TANGLED  SKEIN.  By  Albany  Fonblanque,  Jr. 
The  publisher  of  this  volume  is  entitled  to  the  gratitude 
of  the  American  reading  public  for  introducing  to  its 
notice  an  author  already  so  favorably  known  in  Eng- 
land. This  novel  is  a  superior  one,  and  for  carefully 
arranged  plot,  and  concealed  denouement,  has  seldom 
been  surpassed. 

From  J.  E.  Tilton  &  Co.,  Boston: — 

ILLUSTRATED  JUVENILE  BOOKS.  This  firm  must 
become  famous  for  the  beautiful  manner  in  which  their 
works  for  the  young  are  prepared.  A  set  of  these  juve- 
niles is  a  valuable  library  for  the  child.  We  noticed 
the  "Alden  Books"  some  months  since;  there  is  the 
"famous  Winnie  and  Walter  Series"  and  others,  which 
we  hope  to  notice.     Now  we  would  call  attention  to 

NEWTON'S  PREPARED  COLORS  FOR  ALBUM 
PAINTING.  The  box  contains  nine  varieties  of  colors, 
a  large  bottle  of  reducing  liquid,  and  "directions." 
By  the  aid  of  these  rules,  any  person  who  knows  the 
use  of  water  colors  can  paint  a  photograph.  When  well 
executed,  these  photographs  are  nearly  as  beautiful  as 
the  finest  miniature  painting.  It  is  really  a  charming 
art — this  tinting  of  the  sombre  portraits  of  our  friends, 
till  they  take  the  hues  of  life,  and  seem  to  be  almost  able 
to  thank  us  for  the  improvement.  Photograph  land- 
scapes, flowers,  and  objects  of  all  kinds  can  be  thus 
tinted  to  imitate  nature,  by  the  dextrous  and  delicate 
use  of  these  "prepared  colors,"  an  art  that  may  at  small 
expense,  and  with  great  pleasure,  be  practised  in  every 
family. 

From  Wat,ker,  Wise,  &  Co.,  Boston  : — 

THE  EMPLOYMENTS  OF  WOMEN  :  A  Cyclopaedia  of 
Woman's  Work.  By  Virginia  Penny,  (pp.  500.)  The 
authoress  has  done  good  service  in  the  cause  of  her  sex 
by  this  summary  of  industrial  pursuits  now  open  to 
their  needs.  In  the  arrangement  of  her  materials,  Miss 
Penny  shows  much  thoughtfulness,  research,  and  good 
sense.  In  the  practical  facts  given,  she  evinces  clear 
judgment  and  an  earnest  desire  to  point  out  ways  of  use- 


GODEY  S    ARM-CHAIR. 


493 


fulness.  We  warmly  commend  her  book  to  our  readers. 
It  has  a  mass  of  valuable  information  for  those  who  do 
not  need  to  earn  their  own  livelihood,  as  well  as  for 
those  who  do.  This  knowledge  should  be  widely  dif- 
fused ;  it  will  be  useful  in  many  ways.  We  have  not 
time  now  to  enter  into  this  subject  of  woman's  work  for 
an  independent  support  as  its  importance  deserves. 
Whenever  we  have  room  we  shall  introduce  this  "Cy- 
clopaedia" in  our  own  "Table."  Now  we  counsel  all 
persons  who  wish  for  information  connected  with  the 
paid  employments  of  woman — from  the  little  girl  to  the 
educated  lady — to  examine  this  useful  volume. 


iohs's  ^rm-Cljair. 


Godey  fok  May,  1863. — A  May  party  in  an  humble 
way.  We  have  often  given  plates  showing  how  the 
better,  or  rather  richer  class,  not  better,  kept  the  first 
day  of  May  ;  but  here  is  a  party  determined  to  celebrate 
the  day,  despite  of  riches.  The  young  ones  seem  to  en- 
joy their  repast,  evidencing,  though  not  saying,  "  Con- 
tentment is  better  than  wealth." 

Our  Fashions  for  May-»-five  figures,  eoloi'ed — and  need 
we  repeat  that  they  are  the  Fashions  ?  We  would  like 
all  our  subscribers  to  see  the  miserable  fare,  in  this  re- 
spect, that  is  meted  out  to  the  subscribers  of  other  pub- 
lications, either  American,  French,  or  English,  on  this, 
to  the  ladies,  important  subject,  and  then  see  the  supe- 
riority of  Godey.  We  would  rest  our  case  there.  But 
we  may  appeal  to  those  who  are  not  subscribers;  those 
who  are,  know  our  superiority. 

We  lately  had  the  pleasure  of  exchanging  photo- 
graphs with  our  oldest  subscriber — one  who  commenced 
with  us  in  July,  1830.  Have  we  any  others  who  can 
date  from  the  same  period  ?     We  think  there  must  be. 

A  Model  Editor. — L.  M.  Young,  editor  of  the  Despatch, 
Erie,  Pa.,  a  most  worthy  gentleman,  informs  us  that  he 
does  not  lend  the  Lady's  Book,  or  any  of  the  books  he 
receives  for  noticing.  We  commend  this  example  to 
other  editors  throughout  the  United  States. 

Louisville,  Ky. — How  can  a  lady  expect  us  to  answer 
a  letter  that  is  anonymous  ?  Send  a  stamp,  and  address 
letter  to  Fashion  editress,  with  your  name  attached  to 
it,  and  it  will  be  answered.  The  writer  asks,  as  a  great 
many  others  do,  why  we  do  not  publish  the  prices. 
The  prices  of  what?  Of  everything  we  can  supply? 
Why  the  whole  number  of  the  Lady's  Book  for  one 
month  would  not  contain  the  catalogue. 

American  Butterflies.— We  published  an  advertise- 
ment in  our  March  number  about  these  cards.  We  have 
received  Part  1,  and  the  cards  in  it  are  beautiful.  Here 
we  have  the  butterfly  colored  after  nature,  and  artisti- 
cally executed.  They  are  both  pleasing  and  instructive. 
See  advertisement,  page  315  March  number. 

"No  Cards." — This  practice  is  becoming  prevalent. 
It  saves  a  great  deal  of  heart-burning  and  expense. 
Somebody  is  sure  to  be  forgotten,  and  just  the  very  per- 
son you  ought  not  to  have  forgotten.  The  expense 
saved  is  very  great.  We  expect  very  soon  to  see  under 
the  head  of  every  matrimonial  notice,  "No  Cards." 

39* 


Mr.  Holloway's  Musical  Monthly. — We  have  re- 
ceived the  first  number  of  this  new  and  beautiful  peri- 
odical, which  has  been  announced  in  the  regular  "Co- 
lumu"  of  our  Musical  Editor  for  a  month  or  two  past. 
In  outward  beauty,  in  the  excellence  of  its  contents,  and 
in  cheapness,  we  find  it  to  be  all  that  the  publisher 
claims  for  it.  In  this  single  number,  which  costs  sub- 
scribers but  25  cents,  are  given  three  pieces  of  music 
which  in  the  music  stores  cost  respectively,  50,  30,  and  25 
cents.  These  are  Brinley  Richards'  beautiful  transcrip- 
tion of  Glover's  melody,  Floating  on  the  Wind  ;  At  the 
Gate,  a  new  song  by  the  author  of  Poor  Ben  the  Piper, 
Beautiful  Valley,  and  other  well  known  ballads ;  and 
the  celebrated  Shadow  Air,  from  Meyerbeer's  new  Opera 
Dinorah,  which  has  created  so  great  a  furore  in  Paris, 
Philadelphia,  etc.  The  three  title-pages  to  these  pieces 
are  beautifully  engraved  and  printed,  and  the  whole 
style  of  the  publication  is  much  superior  to  the  average 
of  sheet  music. 

As  the  terms  are  but  $3  00  per  annum,  a  rate  that 
is  unprecedentedly  low  for  a  work  of  such  high  character 
and  cost,  Mr.  Holloway  should  have  an  enormous  sub- 
scription list.  Every  lady  or  gentleman  who  purchases 
three  dollars'  worth  of  music  in  a  year  should  subscribe 
for  the  work  and  get  five  times  the  value  for  the  same 
outlay  ;  in  fact  the  Musical  Monthly  should  be  found  in 
every  house  where  there  is  a  piano  and  a  lady  to  sing 
or  play.  Mr.  Holloway  will  send  single  numbers,  con- 
taining one  dollar's  worth  of  music,  as  samples,  at  50 
cents.  Or  we  will  send  the  Lady's  Book  and  the  Musical 
Monthly  one  year  for  $5  00,  and  the  money  may  be  sent 
to  ourselves  or  to  Mr.  Holloway.  Mr.  Holloway's  ad- 
dress is  J.  Starr  Holloway,  Box  Post  Office,  Philadelphia. 

Indiana,  Dec.  29, 1862. 
I  am  a  stranger  to  you,  personally,  yet  I  have  been 
an  admirer  of  your  excellent  magazine  for  years,  and 
have  been  both  profited  and  entertained.  I  think  it  far 
superior  to  any  other  in  circulation,  and  I  desire  to 
share  the  benefit  of  it  for  another  year,  and  therefore 
inclose»you  $3.  G. 

Cartes  de  Visite  for  Albums.  A  Charming  Seriks. 
There  has  just  been  issued  a  series  of  twenty  photo- 
graph cartes  de  visite  of  the  leading  female  characters  of 
Shakspeare.  They  are  very  beautiful,  and  will  form  a 
charming  addition  to  albums.  We  give  the  list,  and 
have  made  arrangements  to  furnish  them  by  mail  at  $2 
for  the  series  of  twenty,  postage  paid.  Eight  will  be 
sent  for  $1  ;  or  a  single  copy  for  15  cents. 

Beatrice,  from  Much  Ado  About  Nothing. 

Celia,  from  As  You  Like  It. 

Desdemona,  from  Othello. 

Jessica,  from  Merchant  of  Venice. 

Miranda,  from  The  Tempest. 

Ophelia,  from  Hamlet. 

Rosaliud,  from  As  You  Like  It. 

Portia,  from  Merchant  of  Venice. 

Katherine,  from  Taming  the  Shrew. 

Constance,  from  King  John. 

Hero,  from  Much  Ado  About  Nothing. 

Imogen,  from  Cymbeline. 

Portia,  wife  of  Brutus. 

Perdita,  from  Winter's  Tale. 

Katherine  of  Arragon. 

Margaret  of  Anjou. 

Viola,  from  Twelfth  Night. 

Titania,  from  Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 

Julia,  from  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 

Silvia,  from  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 

A  lady  wishes  a  receipt  to  make  the  old  fashion  Con- 
necticut wedding-cake,  raised  with  yeast. 


494 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


Description  of  Dresses  Worn  at  a  Late  Party  in 
London: — 

Countess  of  Norbury. — Bodice  and  train  of  silver 
gray  moire  antique,  lined  with,  white  silk,  and  richly- 
trimmed  with  black  lace  and  noeuds  of  ribbon ;  two 
skirts  of  gray  crape  over  glace"  silk  slip,  trimmed  with 
bouffants  of  crape,  intermixed  with  lace  and  ribbon. 
Headdress,  feathers,  black  lace  lappets,  and  tiara  of  dia- 
monds ;  necklace  and  earrings  en  suite. 

Countess  Home. — Train  of  rich  black  velvet,  lined 
wick  glac6,  and  trimmed  with  black  lace  ;  skirt  of  black 
glac6,  trimmed  with  velvet,  and  handsome  flounces  of 
b  ack  lace.  Headdress,  feathers  and  veil ;  ornaments, 
diamonds. 

Viscountess  Palmerston. — Train  of  blue  moire  an- 
tique, lined  with  glace  and  trimmed  with  grebe  ;  petti- 
coat of  blue  crape  over  glace,  trimmed  with  ribbon. 
Headdress,  feathers  and  point  lace  lappets  ;  ornaments, 
diamonds. 

Viscountess  Castlerosse. — Court  costume,  composed 
cf  train  and  corsage  of  richest  white  poplin,  lined  with 
white  glac6  and  richly  trimmed  with  mauve  velvet  and 
blond  ;  petticoat  of  rich  white  glace\  covered  with  tu- 
nies  of  thulle  illusion,  and  richly  trimmed  with  mauve 
velvet  and  silver  wheat-ears.  Headdress,  mauve  velvet, 
blonde  lappets,  feathers  and  diamonds  ;  ornaments,  dia- 
monds. 

Lady  Wodehouse. — Costume  de  cour,  composed  of  a 
train  of  rich  white  silk  brocaded  and  bouquets  of  rose 
roi  velvet,  lined  with  silk,  trimmed  with  velvet  and 
•blond :  corsage  to  correspond,  with  blond  and  diamond  ; 
skirts  of  white  silk,  most  elegantly  trimmed  with  rose 
s-oi  velvet  and  feather  fringe.  Coiffure  of  ostrich  fea- 
thers, veil  and  tiara  of  velvet  covered  with  diamonds. 

Lady  Napier. — Train  of  black  watered  silk,  lined  with 
^-lace,  and  trimmed  with  black  lace  ;  skirt  of  rich  black 
ylac^,  trimmed  with  puflings  of  thulle  and  black  satin. 
Headdress,  feathers  and  point  lace ;  ornaments,  dia- 
monds. 

Lady  Selina  Vernon. — Train  and  corsage  of  rich 
white  moire  antique,  handsomely  ornamented  with  black 
velvet  and  fine  Irish  guipure;  dress  of  white  thulle  il- 
3usion,  with  narrow  flounces,  and  garniture  of  black 
Velvet  over  a  silk  petticoat.  Headdress,  plume,  lappets, 
fiowers,  etc.  ;  ornaments,  diamonds. 

Lady  Isabelle  Whitbread. — Bodice  and  train  of  pink 
glace"  silk,  lined  with  white,  and  richly  trimmed  with 
blond  and  silver  thulle,  with  bouquets  of  variegated 
carnations  and  straw ;  skirt  of  pink  silk,  with  bouffants 
■of  crape  and  silver  thulle,  and  bouquet  of  flowers. 
Headdress,  feathers,  blond  lappets,  and  flowers. 

Lady  Emma  Stanley. — Train  of  blue  glac£,  trimmed 
with  thulle  and  rosettes  of  satin  ribbon  ;  skirt  of  thulle 
over  glac6,  trimmed  with  pearl  flowers,  tied  in  with 
blue  ribbon.  Headdress,  feathers  and  blond  lappets ; 
ornaments,  pearls. 

Lady  Alice  Hill. — Presentation  dress  of  rich  white 
poult  de  soie,  elegantly  trimmed  with  thulle  and  silk 
ruches  and  plisse"  silk  d^coupee,  corsage  drap6,  with 
wreaths  of  wild  roses  and  bouquet  at  waist;  three 
wreaths  over  petticoat,  in  thulle,  caught  up  at  one  side 
by  a  large  bouquet  of  same  flowers,  thulle  jupe  being  over 
glace  in  double  thulle  ;  small  volants  plisse ;  wreath  of 
wild  roses  ;  thull  veil  and  feathers. 

Lady  Blanche  Craven. — Presentation  costume  com- 
posed of  train  of  white  poult  de  soie,  trimmed  with 
ihulle  puflings,  held  by  white  roses,  with  crystals  and 
grass;  corsage   to  correspond  ;  jupon   of  white  gla^6, 


trimmed  with  thulle,  studded  with  white  roses,  grass, 
etc.  Headdress  of  white  roses,  blond  lappets,  and 
plumes ;  pearl  ornaments. 

That  our  subscribers  may  see  that  there  is  some  reason 
for  the  rise  in  the  price  of  periodicals  and  newspapers, 
we  copy  the  following  : — 

Paper  Famine. — The  Rochester  Union,  one  of  the  most 
prosperous  dailies  in  the  State,  has  reduced  its  size  by 
cutting  off  a  column  from  each  page.  The  Oswego  Daily 
Times,  a  smart  and  prosperous  paper,  has  cut  down  its 
dimensions  to  six  columns  a  page,  on  account  of  the  pa- 
per famine.  The  New  York  Times,  the  last  to  increase  its 
price,  now  announces  that  it  will  be  sold  at  three  cents, 
or  $S  a  year.  The  price  here  will  be  either  four  or  five 
cents  a  copy.  A  new  phase  in  j  ournalism.  The  Albany 
Standard  announces  that  on  and  after  Monday  it  will  be 
printed  on  manilla  paper,  and  sold  at  one  cent  a  copy. 
The  paper  famine  is  evidently  taking  effect.  The  New 
York  World,  following  the  Tribune  and  Herald,  has  ad- 
vanced its  rates  to  eight  dollars  a  year,  or  eighteen  cents 
a  week.  New  York  papers  will  not  be  sold  here  after  to- 
day at  less  than  four  cents  a  copy,  or  twenty  cents  a 
week — possibly  a  higher  price  may  be  demanded  for 
them. — Troy  Times. 

The  Parlor  Gardener. — A  complete  illustrated  guide 
to  the  cultivation  of  house  plants,  care  of  green-houses, 
aquariums,  and  instructions  to  many  new  and  beautiful 
methods  of  growing  plants,  of  grafting,  budding,  etc. 
etc.  Price  65  cents.  By  mail,  70  cents.  J.  E.  Tilton 
&  Co.,  Boston,  Publishers. 

The  following  is  a  reply  to  an  article  that  will  be  found 
on  page  206  of  the  February  number — "  A  Bachelor's 
Thoughts  about  Matrimony" : — 

Dear  Godey:  I  want  to  talk  a  few  moments  with  that 
charming  gent,  who  longs  so  ardently  for  a  perfect 
woman.  Twelve  pages  of  Astronomy,  thirteen  of  Moral 
Science,  and  five  of  Schiller's  William  Tell,  are  forming 
a  strange  chemical  compound  in  my  brain,  I  should 
think,  by  the  way  it  aches  ;  and  for  a  respite,  I  would 
like  a  chat  with  the  nice  bachelor  who  has  such  clever 
"thoughts  on  matrimony."  Of  course  I  will  not  be  so 
presumptuous  as  to  aspire  to  be  such  an  amiable  bundle 
of  perfections  as  he  longs  for,  what  though  I  fall  far 
short  of  his  exalted  standard.  I  like  the  picture  he 
draws,  and  would  like  to  shake  hands  with  him,  with 
my  whole  heart  in  my  eyes — if— he  is  worthy  such  a 
woman!  Because  you  see  one  does  not  very  often  see 
such  a  specimen  of  the  genus  homo — a  man  of  soul,  and 
sense,  and  candor,  that  would  consent  to  be  held  by  the 
silken  chain  of  afl'ection  after  the  honeymoon  had  waned. 
But  there  is  one  stunner  !  "  She  must  be  good  and  sweet 
— bread  and  sugar,  flavored  with  something  sharp."  I 
see  you  are  fond  of  lemon-drops,  and  your  bread  must 
be  light  with  the  foam  and  snap  of  good  hop  yeast. 

Oh,  I  am  getting  awful  sleepy !  and  I  don't  believe 
you  are  so  very  interesting  after  all.  But,  old  bachelor, 
if  you  are  good  and  handsome,  and  a  Christian,  if  so — 
"  Would  that  Heaven  had  made  me  such  a  husband." 

Pearl. 

A  Quack  Doctor,  on  his  death  bed  willed  his  property 
to  a  lunatic  asylum,  giving  as  a  reason  for  doing  so,  that 
he  wished  his  fortune  to  go  to  the  liberal  class  who 
patronized  him. 


GODEY  S    ARM-CHAIR. 


495 


OUR  MUSICAL  COLUMN. 

New  Musical  Monthly. — This  "beautiful  and  attractive 
publication  promises  to  be  a  decided  success.  It  is  just 
what  all  music  players,  of  every  capacity,  whether 
beginners'  or  finished  performers,  have  wanted,  furnish- 
ing as  it  does  the  very  best  music  at  a  cheaper  rate  than 
has  ever  before  been  attempted,  and  in  a  form  that  is 
new  for  a  periodical.  The  pages  are  of  sheet  music  size, 
style  and  form,  and  each  number  is  done  up  in  colored 
covers,  giving  it  the  outward  appearance  of  a  high- 
-priced piece  of  music.  The  musi«  is  printed  from  beauti- 
fully engraved  plates  prepared  expressly  for  this  work, 
and  every  piece  in  every  number  has  a  distinct  and 
handsome  title  page  of  its  own,  a  feature  never  before 
attempted  in  a  periodical.  The  value  of  the  Monthly, 
for  its  cheapness  alone,  will  be  best  understood  when  we 
say  that  its  cost  to  subscribers  is  but  about  a  cent  a  page, 
while  all  music  in  stores  costs  five  cents.  The  terms  are 
three  dollars  per  annum  in  advance,  or  four  copies  for 
ten  dollars.  Single  numbers,  containing  one  dollar's 
worth  of  music,  50  cents.  For  a  list  of  the  contents  of 
the  first  number,  which  is  now  ready,  we  refer  our 
readers  to  our  last  month's  "  Column"  in  the  book.  All 
remittances  must  be  made  to  the  publisher  direct,  J. 
Strar  Holloway,  Box  Post  Office,  Philadelphia. 

New  Sheet  Music. — We  can  furnish  any  ol  the  follow- 
ing pieces.  Parlor  Spanish  Dance,  introducing  several 
beautiful  airs,  30  cents.  Moonlight  Wavblings,  fantaisie, 
introducing  the  celebrated  Shadow  Air  from  Meyerbeer's 
new  Opera,  Le  Pardon  de  Ploermel,  a  beautiful  compo- 
sition, SO.  Les  Cloches  du  Monastere  (Monastery  bells), 
a  new  edition  of  this  exquisite  composition,  35.  Floating 
on  the  Wind,  transcription  by  Brinley  Richards  of  this 
favorite  melody,  35.  Schreiber's  Band  Drum  Polka, 
capital  piece,  as  played  by  the  military  bands,  25.  Airy 
Castles,  35. 

Messrs.  0.  Ditson  &  Co.,  Boston,  publish  the  Fairy 
Tale  Waltzes,  brilliant  set  by  Faust,  10  pages,  50  cents. 
L'Ange  Guardien,  one  of  Blumenthal's  most  delightful 
compositions,  50.  Overture  to  the  Doctor  of  Alcantara, 
grand  Opera  Buffo,  50.  Grand  Yalse  Brillante,  by  Ley- 
bach,  very  showy  and  beautiful,  50.  Medora  Valse,  by 
D'Albert,  with  fac-simile  of  the  London  title,  very  hand- 
some, 60.  March  of  the  41st  Massachusetts  Regiment, 
with  fine  portrait,  40.  Coldstream  Guard's  March,  by 
Glover,  30.  General  Howard's  Grand  March,  25.  Cho- 
pin's Mazourkas,  first  set,  40.  Chopin's  classical  music 
is  always  admired  by  the  educated  musician. 

The  same  publishers  issue  the  following  songs  and 
ballads.  A  Young  aud  Az'tless  Maiden,  The  Love  You  've 
Slighted,  and  There's  Truth  in  Woman  Still,  thi-ee 
pretty  songs  from  Howard  Glover's  Operetta,  Once  Too 
Often,  each  25  cents.  Forth  into  the  Fields,  beautiful 
cavatina,  30.  Softly  into  Heaven  she  Faded,  ballad  ; 
The  Magic  of  Moonlight,  song;  When  a  Lover  is  Poor, 
from  the  Doctor  of  Alcantara ;  Jale  Fanes,  ballad  ;  The 
Flag  of  Our  Country,  new  patriotic  song  and  chorus ;  If 
e'er  thy  heart  should  Falter,  pretty  duet ;  Only  in  Jest, 
song  ;  Come  back  to  me,  Fair  Inez  ;  Friendship,  pretty 
ballad  by  Haycraft ;  My  Heart  remains  with  Thee ;  and 
Benedict's  beautiful  Echo  Song  ;  each  25  cents. 

Orders  for  any  oi  the  foregoing  will  be  promptly 
attended  to.  Address  the  Musical  Editor,  at  Philadel- 
phia, J.  Starr  Holloway. 

The  story  of  the  "Origin  of  the  P.  H.  B.  Society"  in 
our  April  number  seems  to  have  pleased  our  readers 
very  much, 


Tortoise-sh*:ll.— Think  of  the  following,  ladies,  when 
you  are  handling  you  tortoise-shell  combs :  What  is 
called  the  tortoise-shell  is  not,  as  is  generally  supposed, 
the  bony  covering  or  shield  of  the  turtle,  but  only  the 
scales  which  cover  it.  These  are  thirteen  in  number  ; 
eight*  of  them  flat  and  five  a  little  curved.  Of  the  flat 
ones  four  are  large,  being  sometimes  a  foot  long  and 
seven  inches  broad,  semi-transparent,  elegantly  varie- 
gated with  white,  red,  yellow,  and  dark  brown  clouds, 
which  are  fully  brought  out  when  the  shell  is  prepared 
and  polished.  The  laminae,  as  we  have  said,  constitute 
the  external  coating  of  the  solid  or  bony  part  of  the 
shell,  and  a  large  turtle  affords  about  eight  pounds  of 
them,  the  plates  varying  from  an  eighth  to  a  quarter  of 
an  inch  in  thickness.  The  fishers  do  not  kill  the  turtles  , 
did  they  so,  they  would  in  a  few  years  exterminate 
them.  When  a  turtle  is  caught,  they  fasten  him,  and 
cover  his  back  with  dry  leaves  or  grass,  to  which  they 
set  fire.  The  heat  causes  the  plates  to  separate  at  their 
joints;  a  large  knife  is  then  carefully  inserted  horizon- 
tally beneath  them,  a«d  the  laminae  lifted  from  the  back, 
care  being  taken  not  to  injure  the  shell  by  too  much 
heat,  nor  to  force  it  off  until  the  heat  has  fully  prepared 
it  for  separation.  Many  turtles  die  under  this  cruel 
operation ;  but  instances  are  numerous  in  which  they 
have  been  caught  a  second  time,  with  the  outer  coating 
reproduced  ;  but  in  these  cases,  instead  of  thirteen  pieces, 
it  is  a  single  piece. 

Letter  from  an  editor : — 

"Yours  is  the  only  lady's  periodical  with  which  we 
have  exchanged  for  several  years,  and  I  hesitate  not  to 
say  here,  as  toe  do  in  our  paper,  that  it  is  the  excelling 
one  of  all  devoted  to  the  interests  and  entertainment  of 
the  women  of  America.     Yours,  most  truly,     L.  L.  P." 

It  has  always  been  considered  a  difficult  matter  to 
make  a  rhyme  to  Tirnbuctoo.  We  published  one  some 
months  since,  and  here  is  another: — 

"  I  went  a  hunting  on  the  plains, 
The  plains  of  Tirnbuctoo  ; 
I  shot  one  buck  for  all  my  pains, 
And  he  was  a  slim  buck  too." 

Messrs.  J.  E.  Tilton  &  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  send,  post  paid,  the  book  for  $1  75. 
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,  paint- 
ing, etc.  etc. 

Mat  is  considered  an  unfortunate  marrying  month.  A 
country  editor  says  that  a  girl  was  asked  not  long  since, 
to  unite  herselt  in  the  silken  tie,  to  a  brisk  chap  who 
named  May  in  his  proposals.  The  lady  tenderly  hinted 
that  May  was  an  unlucky  month  for  marrying.  "Well, 
make  it  June,  then,"  honestly  replied  the  swain,  anxious 
to  accommodate.  The  damsel  paused  a  moment,  hesita- 
ted, cast  down  her  eyes,  and  with  a  blush  said  : 

"  Wouldn't  April  do  as  well  ? " 

Choice  Photographs  of  Tom  Thumb  and  Lady,  in 
group,  or  of  any  other  distinguished  personages,  at  15 
cents  each.  Send  for  a  circulai-.  •  Agents  and  the  trade 
supplied.  G.  W.  Tomlinson,  Boston,  Mass. 


496 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


Something  about  the  London  Post  Office. — When 
Mr.  Rowland  Hill's  cheap  postage  system  went  into 
operation,  the  size,  style,  and  contents,  of  the  various 
articles  sent  were  very  various.  One  letter  that  came 
to  the  dead-letter  office,  had,  for  contents,  as  officially 
described,  "Three  dozen  birds'  eyes!"  A  letter* from 
Hall  to  London  contained  "one  boiled  lobster."  From 
Norwich  to  Cheltenham,  a  live  blackbird,  which  was 
actually  transported,  kept,  and  fed,  and  safely  delivered 
to  the  address.  An  affectionate  mother  sent  to  her  son 
a  pottle  of  strawberries.  This  was  reduced  to  a  jam  on 
the  way,  and  out  of  pure  sympathy,  it  jammed  its  next 
neighbor,  whose  original  contents  consisted  of  a  quan- 
tity of  valuable  lace,  and  its  prospective  owner — the 
person  addressed — was  the  late  Queen  Dowager.  A 
black  bottle,  with  no  wrapper,  only  a  label,  addressed, 

"Tim  M ,"  "a  wee  drop  o'  the  crater,"  was  mailed 

at  Dublin,  for  Bradford,  in  Yorkshire.  From  Perth  to 
Berwick,  a  salmon.  Not  unfrequently,  bank  notes  are 
sent  in  the  mail,  without  any  envelope  or  covering, 
merely  by  fastening  the  two  end»of  the  note  together 
with  wafers,  and  then  addressing  it.  Notes  as  large  as 
£•30  have  been  sent  in  this  way.  From  Aberdeen  to  Ayr, 
two  hares  and  a  grouse ;  from  Wootten  Basset  to  Saw- 
bridgeworth,  six  packages  of  wedding-cake,  and  one 
plum-pudding,  in  the  same  mail.  Live  leeches  have  been 
sent  in  bladders,  and  the  bladders  bursting,  the  leeches 
have  been  found  investigating  and  exploring  the  interior 
of  her  Majesty's  mails.  A  live  mouse,  a  cork-screw,  a  pa- 
per of  shoe-nails,  a  roast  pheasant  to  Mrs. ,  Brigh- 
ton ;  part  of  a  human  limb  for  dissection  (detected  by  the 
smell),  rolls  of  cigars,  lucifer  matches,  detonating  pow- 
der, prussic  acid,  a  pistol,  loaded  to  the  muzzle,  a  poodle 
dog,  a  sailor's  jacket,  bottles  of  perfumery,  a  sheath 

knife,  a  full  suit  for  an  infant,  to  Lady  J ,  "  with 

love;"  a  jar  of  pickles,  a  pocket-book,  a  porcelain  tea- 
set,  a  box  full  of  live  spiders,  a  young  alligator,  or 

horned  lizard — alive — "to   Master  J H ,  to 

assist  him  in  his  natural  history  studies  ;"  a  case  of 
dentist's  instruments,  daguerreotype  portraits,  and  a 
live  frog,  are  among  the  multifarious  articles  that  are 
sometimes  sent  as  letters.  There  is  a  regulation  that 
requires  all  glass,  edged  tools,  pyrotechnics,  liquids, 
and  whatever  is  liable  to  injure  the  mail,  to  be  stopped, 
but  many  of  these  things  travel,  unobserved  to  their 
journey's  end. 

The  Blind  Man's  Department. — The  ".blind"  letters 
are  taken  to  the  "  Blind  Man,"  the  title  of  a  clerk  whose 
vision  is  so  sharp  that  hieroglyphics,  which  would 
puzzle  a  Philadelphia  lawyer,  or  a  professor  of  the 
Biack  Art,  are  generally  straightened  out,  and  the  exact 
meaning  written  legibly  over  or  under  the  original 
superscription.  The  correspondent,  who  directed  a  letter 
to  "Sromfredevi,"  was  not  supposed  to  know  the  exact 
ntftne,  style,  and  title  of  "Sir  Humphrey  Davy."  The 
man  that  wrote  "dandy"  for  Dundee,  "Emboro"  for 
Edinburgh,  "  Dufferlin"  for  Dunfermline,  was,  probably, 
not  exceedingly  well  versed  in  Scottish  geography.  It 
was  supposed  to  be  a  fresh  student  of  phonetics  that 
addressed  a  letter  to  "jonsmeetne  Wcasal  pin  Tin," 
instead  of  John  Smith,  Newcastle-upon-Tyne.  The  letter 
that  was  addressed,  "Cally  Phorni  Togow  the  Nigge- 
rauger  Rought,"  was  evidently  penned  by  some  one 
who  had  a  brother  in  the  mines.  All  these  the  "  Blind 
Man"  deciphers,  or  nearly  all  of  them,  for  some  direc- 
tions are  stone  blind,  and  defy  the  powers  of  our  hiero- 
glyphic reader.  Sometimes  the  "Blind  Man"  is  seen 
eying  a  letter  intensely,  and  humming  an   air,  when 


suddenly,  as  if  by  inspiration,  down  comes  his  pen,  and 
the  full  superscription  is  at  once  made  plain. 

Summer  Pruning  or  Stopping  of  the  Grape  Vine. — 
Our  attention  has  been  called,  by  Mr.  Phin's "admirable 
work  on  Grape  Culture,  to  the  great  importance  of  pro- 
per summer  care  of  the  fruiting  vines — in  order  to  secure 
a  full  and  satisfactory  yield  of  luscious  grapes — by  stop- 
ping, is  meant  pinching  off  the  ends  of  the  shoots.  "  If 
the  lateral  shoot  is  allowed  to  grow  unchecked,  it  will 
consume  its  portion  of  food,  in  the  production  of  many 
leaves  and  some  grapes,  and  the  more  there  is  of  the 
former  the  less  will  be  the  weight  of  the  latter.  But  if 
the  shoot  is  stopped  after  having  formed  two  leaves,  all 
that  quantity  of  food  which  would  have  been  consumed 
in  the  production  of  other  leaves,  is  applied  to  the  in- 
crease of  size  in  the  grapes  and  the  two  leaves  that  are 
left,  which  are  to  give  flavor,  sweetness  and  color  to  the 
grapes.  By  summer  pruning,  we  do  not  mean  the  re- 
moval of  large  quantities  of  leaves,  as  is  often  done  to 
the  injury  of  the  fruit,  as  it  is  well  known  that  the  finest 
bunches  grow  and  ripen  under  the  shade  of  the  leaves. 
But  what  is  required  is  simply  to  break  off  the  ends  of 
the  shoots,  this  should  be  attended  to  at  this  season. 
For  fall  instruction  in  this  most  important  branch  of 
grape  culture,  we  would  refer  our  readet-s  to  the  Sixth 
Chapter  of  Phin's  Open  Air  Grape  Culture."  D.  M. 
Dewey,  of  Rochester,  N.  Y.,  has  the  work  for  sale. 

Smoke  from  my  Chtmney-corner  : — 

Oh,  I  'm  lonely  !  sad  and  lonely, 

Now  my  precious  wife  's  away ! 
E'en  the  sun  don't  shine  so  brightly, 

Nor  her  flowers  look  so  gay ! 

If  I  'm  seated  by  the  window, 

In  her  boudoir  all  alone, 
I  am  listening  for  her  footstep, 

Or  her  voice's  loving  tone. 

I  have  fed  her  pet  Canary, 

But  he  sings  not  now  to  me  ; 
I  have  dressed  his  cage  with  chickweed, 

But  he  listens,  love,  for  thee. 

Stay  not  longer  with  thy  mother, 

For  thy  husband  's  all  alone  ; 
She  has  others,  dear,  to  love  her, 

But  thou  art  my  only  one  ! 
Hark  !  the  postman  brings  a  letter  ! 

From  my  "  wifie"  it  has  come  ! 
She  is  homesick  there  without  me — 

And  I  fly  to  bring  her  home. 

To  Color  Photographs. — A  new  preparation  called 
Newton's  Prepared  Colors  for  Albumen  pictures  is  for 
sale  by  J.  E.  Tilton  &  Co.,  Boston.  Price,  with  a  bottle 
of  Reducing  Liquid  complete,  with  full  directions  for 
painting,  so  that  any  person,  though  not  an  artist,  may 
paint  in  a  most  beautiful  manner,  and  very  rapidly,  the 
cartes  de  visite  and  photograph,  etc.,  $3  25. 

There  has  been  offered  for  sale  a  worthless  imitation 
that  will  injure  the  photograph.  See  that  the  box  ob- 
tained has  the  name  and  seal  of  J.  E.  Tilton  &  Co.,  Bos- 
ton, who  are  sole  agents  for  the  United  States. 

J.  E.  T.  &  Co.  have  also  beautiful  copies  of  flowers 
from  nature  (photographs)  for  coloring  with  these  colors, 
or  for  copies  for  drawing  and  painting,  which  they  will 
send  by  mail  for  25  cents  each.  Also,  cartes  de  visite  of 
all  distinguished  persons. 


GODEY'S    ARM-CHAIR. 


497 


JUVENILE    DEPARTMENT. 


We  give  this  month  another  one  of  these  amusing 
Charades  in  Tableaux  we  have  had  prepared  for  our 
young  friends. 

MAY  QUEEN. 

TABLEAU   I.— MAT- 

Let  the  furniture  be  removed  from  the  stage,  and  the 
background  draped  with  white,  looped  with  garlands  of 
flowers  and  leaves ;  the  floor  covered  with  white,  and 
flowers  scattered  over  it.  One  single  figure  represents 
May.  A  beautiful  blonde  should  be  selected.  Let  her 
wear  pure  white  ;  the  dress  long,  full,  and  floating.  Her 
hair  should  fall  free,  either  in  curls  or  waving  ripples, 
and  a  wreath  of  delicate  flowers  rest  on  her  head ; 
flowers  should  appear  to  fall  all  about  her ;  in  her  hair 
and  on  her  dress  (small  pins,  or  a  few  stitches  of  thread 
will  fasten  them) ;  her  hands  are  raised,  her  eyes  up- 
lifted, as  if  she  were  just  about  to  rise  and  soar  away. 
The  writer  has  seen  a  lovely  child  so  dressed  and  stand- 
ing, and  the  tableau  was  as  beautiful  as  can  be  imagined. 

TABLEAU   II. — QUEEN. 

The  celebrated  historical  scene  of  Raleigh  spreading 
his  cloak  for  Queen  Elizabeth  to  step  upon,  makes  here 
a  most  effective  tableau.  Let  the  group  of  attendants, 
maids  of  honor,  and  courtiers  be  as  large  as  the  ward- 
robe of  the  company  will  allow.  Queen  Bess,  in  the 
centre  of  the  stage,  should  be  a  little  girl  with  red  hair. 
She  wears  the  high  ruff,  small  crown,  and  long  train  of 
the  famous  sovereign  ;  at  her  feet  kneels  Raleigh,  spread- 
ing his  velvet  cloak  before  her.  He  wears  the  courtier's 
duess  of  the  time.  The  queen,  smiling,  lifts  her  robe 
with  one  hand,  and  extends  the  other  to  wave  her 
thanks  to  the  courtier.  A  full  description  of  the  scene 
may  be  found  in  Scott's  Kenilworth,  and  the  costumes 
should  be  prepared  from  pictures  of  the  times. 

TABLEAU   III. — MAY  QUEEN. 

In  the  centre  of  stage  is  a  throne,  with  an  arch  of 
flowers  above  it,  and  seated  upon  this  is  the  May  queen. 
She  wears  white,  and  holds  a  sceptre  of  a  long-stemmed 
lily  or  branch  of  tuberose.  At  her  right,  one  foot  on  the 
upper  step  of  the  platform  of  the  throne,  one  on  the  step 
lower,  is  another  young  girl  in  pink,  who  holds  the 
crown  of  roses  over  the  May  queen's  head.  Kneeling 
at  the  left,  before  the  throne,  is  a  third  little  girl  in  pale 
blue,  who  offers  a  basket  of  flowers.  A  group  of  child- 
ren, boys  and  girls,  in  light  dresses,  trimmed  with 
flowers,  the  boys  wearing  wreaths  on  their  hats,  the 
girls  flowers  in  their  hair  and  on  their  dresses,  are 
standing  round  the  throne,  their  hands  joined  and  form- 
ing a  circle,  as  if  just  dancing  round  the  newly-crowned 
queen. 

MISCELLANEOUS    AMUSEMENTS. 

The  Balanced  Egg. 

Upon  a  perfectly  level  table  lay  a  looking-glass. 
Take  a  fresh  egg,  and  shake  it  for  some  time,  so  as  tho- 
roughly to  incorporate  the  yelk  and  the  white.  Then 
carefully  and  steadily  proceed  to  balance  it  upon  its 
end.  It  will  remain  upright  upon  the  mirror;  an  im- 
possibility were  the  egg  in  its  natural  state. 

Tlie  Balanced  Stick. 
Obtain  a  piece  of  wood  about  eight  inches  in  length, 
and  half  an  inch  thick.     Affix  to  its  upper  end  the  blades 


of  two  pen-knives,  and  on  each  side.  Carefully  place 
tbe  lower  end  of  the  stick  on  the  point  of  your  forefinger, 
when  it  will  retain  its  position  without  falling. 

To  Melt  a  Bullet  in  Paper. 

Wrap  up  a  smooth  bullet  in  a  piece  of  paper  in  such  a 
manner  that  no  wrinkles  may  be  left,  and  that  the  paper 
touches  the  lead  at  every  part.  Next  hold  this  over  the 
flame  of  a  candle,  and,  in  time,  the  lead  will  be  melted 
without  the  paper  being  burnt,  but  when  the  lead  has 
become  fused,  it  will  pierce  the  paper  and  fall  through. 

PHILADELPHIA  AGENCY. 

No  order  attended  to  unless  the  cash  accompanies  it. 

All  persons  requiring  answers  by  mail  must  send  a 
post-office  stamp  ;  and  for  all  articles  that  are  to  be  sent 
by  mail,  stamps  must  be  sent  to  pay  return  postage. 

Be  particular,  when  writing,  to  mention  the  town, 
county,  and  State  you  reside  in.  Nothing  can  be  made 
out  of  post-marks. 

L.  B. — Sent  dress  etc.  February  20th. 

L.  C.  L.— Sent  hair  work  20th. 

L.  C.  W.— Sent  hair  work  20th. 

The  Spectator. — Sent  patterns  25th. 

Miss  M.  F.  P. — Sent  patterns  and  military  jacket  25th. 

Mrs.  S.  F.— Sent  drygoods  27th. 

Mrs.  T.  H.  C. — Sent  materials  for  paper  flowers  2Sth. 

Mrs.  Wm.  B. — Sent  patterns  March  2d. 

Miss  N.  B. — Sent  hair  work  3d. 

H.  H. — Sent  hair  work  3d. 

Mrs.  J.  B.  F. — Sent  patterns  4th. 

Mrs.  H.  B.  L.— Sent  patterns  4th. 

Mrs.  E.  S.  C— Sent  patterns  7th. 

Mrs.  J.  McC. — Sent  slipper  pattern  and  seal  7th. 

Mrs.  G.  H.  D. — Sent  marking  cotton  10th. 

Mrs.  W.  W. — Sent  shoes  and  gloves  11th. 

"Dr.  0.  W.— Sent  India-rubber  11th. 

Mrs.  B.  L.  M.— Sent  goods  12th. 

Mrs.  E.  P.  G. — Sent  patterns  infant's  wardrobe  14th. 

Miss  M.  P.— Sent  kid  gloves  16th. 

Miss  M.  L. — Sent  hair  bracelet  18th. 

Miss  L.  L. — Sent  hair  bracelet  18th. 

Mrs.  V.  C.  B. — Sent  hair  pin  and  ear-rings  18th. 

Miss  L.  S.  L. — Sent  hair  bracelet  18th. 

Mrs.  M.  E.  M.— Sent  patterns  18th. 

J.  M.  W.,  P.  M.— Sent  patterns  18th. 

Mrs.  W.  T.  C— Sent  patterns  18th. 

Mrs.  A.  L.  R. — Sent  hair  fob  chain  18th. 

S.  K. — We  do  not  approve  of  the  marriage  of  such  near 
relations. 

Miss  V.  R.  S.— "Throw  physic  to  the  dogs."  Take 
exercise,  and  plenty  of  it. 

Mrs.  H.  T.  A. — The  word  guipure  is  pronounced  ge- 
pure  ;  brioche  is  pronounced  bre-osh. 

H.  T.  R. — See.  June  number  of  the  present  year. 

Hands  and  Nails. — We  really  cannot  give  any  advice 
upon  this  subject.  We  think  a  physician  could.  There 
is  no  doubt  the  nails  can  be  remedied  in  some  degree. 

Emma. — Fine  oatmeal  is  a  good  substitute  for  soap  for 
washing  the  face.  Fold  a  towel  round  the  hand  slightly 
moistened.  Spread  the  oatmeal  over  it,  and  use  it  as 
you  would  soap.  It  is  said  to  be  good  also  for  red 
hands. 

Y.  P.  F. — We  know  that  a  strict  regimen  of  meat,  no 
vegetables,  vei-y  little  sleep,  and  but  little  of  any  kind 
of  liquids  will  accomplish  much  ;  but  we  have  never 
made  up  our  minds  to  try  it,  although  coining  under  the 
denomination  of  "fleshy." 


/ 


498 


godey's 


lady's  book  and  magazine. 


Mrs.  A.  F. — The  same  complaint  that  Lady  Macbeth 
made :  Her  hands  were  so  red  !  We  know  of  nothing 
that  will  whiten  your  hands. 


Cljeiistrg  for  t\t  forag. 


LESSON  XXIII.— (continued.) 

558  The  blowpipe  consists  in  a  tube,  usually  of  metal, 
large  at  one  extremity,  opening 
to  a  small  orifice  at  the  other, 
and  bent  towards  that  extremity 
at  right  angles  on  itself.  By  means  of  it,  the  flame  of  a 
candle  or  lamp  may  be  deflected  from  its  upward  course, 
and  bent  laterally,  thus — 

559.  The  proper  use  of 
the  blowpipe  can  only  be 
learned  by  practice.  Just 
as  easy  would  it  be  to  teach 
swimming  by  writing  a 
book  on  swimming,  as  by  a 
parallel  method  to  teach  the  use  of  the  blowpipe.  This 
proper  use  consists  in  acquiring  the  power  of  breathing 
and  blowing  at  one  and  the  same  time — a  compound 
operation  which  seems  so  impossible  that  it  has  passed 
iuto  the  Spanish  proverb — "  Ne  se  puede  sorber  y  soplar  a 
uno  y  mismo  tiempo.'1''  Nevertheless,  this  can  be  done, 
and  must  be  done  before  the  blowpipe  is  worth  anything 
in  the  hands  of  a  chemist,  although,  strange  to  say,  arti- 
sans who  use  the  blowpipe  in  their  avocations — gold- 
chain  makers  and  gas-fitters,  for  instance— never  acquire 
this  art.  The  consequence  is  that,  after  a  short  exertion, 
they  suffer  from  the  attempt  to  maintain  long  blasts 
without  stopping  to  breathe,  and  they  are  obliged  to  use 
the  blaze  of  a  torch,  when  the  flame  of  a  common  tallow 
dip  candle  should  have  sufficed.  This  operation  of  main- 
taining a  continuous  blast  of  air  is  effected  by  first  infla- 
ting the  cheeks,  then  gently  contracting  them,  and  thus 
forcing  air,  in  a  very  gentle  current,  held  between  the 
lips,  or  pressed  like  the  mouthpiece  of  a  trumpet  (we  pre- 
fer the  latter)  externally.  It  is  evident  that  the  degree  of 
facility  with  which  a  continuous  blast  of  air  may  be  con- 
tinued, must  greatly  depend  on  the  orifice  of  the  small 
nozzle  or  jet  of  the  blowpipe.  All  delicate  blowpipes  are 
supplied  with  two  or  three  movable  jets  of  different 
sizes  ;  but  the  bore  of  the  largest-should  be  scarcely  ad- 
equate to  admit  a  small  hog's  bristle.  We  do  not  recom- 
mend the  young  chemists  who  study  from  this  book  to 
purchase  a  high-priced  blowpipe.  Let  them  procure  an 
instrument  of  the  commonest  description.  When  pro- 
cured, let  each  individual  consider  at  what  distance  his 
power  of  vision  is  most  acute,  and  cut  the  blowpipe 
accordingly.  This  being  done,  the  mouth  part  should  be 
made  hot,  and  whilst  in  this  condition  smeared  with 
sealing  wax  in  order  to  protect  the  lips  from  the  brass 
of  the  tube.  High-priced  blowpipes  have  silver  mouth- 
pieces and  platinum  jets.  Next, 
tightly  wind  some  stout  waxed 
thread  around  the  angular  bend 
of  the  blowpipe,  some  little  dis- 
tance on  towards  the  jet.  The  use  of  this  contrivance 
will  become  evident  by  and  by. 

560.  Having  described  the  blowpipe,  I  must  now  men- 
tion that  the  source  of  flame  to  be  employed  in  conjunc- 
tion with  it,  may  be  (1)  that  of  a  candle,  wax  by  prefer- 
ence;  and  for  purposes  of  analysis,  this  is  best  of  all; 
(2  and  3)  gas,  and  the  spirit-lamp,  both  of  which,  on 


account  of  the  readiness  with  which  they  may  be  used, 
are  of  frequent  extemporaneous  application  for  the  pur- 
pose of  glass-blowing  and  glass-bending,  although,  in 
this  respect,  greatly  inferior  to  (4)  a  lamp  having  a  large 
wick  supplied  with  oil,  or,  still  better,  tallow.  This 
kind  of  lamp  is  used  by  artisans  who  work  in  barome- 
ters and  thermometers,  and  the  accompanying  blowpipe 
is  worked  by  double  bellows.  Such  an  apparatus  is  unne- 
cessary to  all  young  chemists,  and  the  greater  number 
of  old  ones. 


Jfasljions. 


NOTICE    TO    LADY   SUBSCRIBERS. 

Having  had  frequent  applications  for  the  purchase  of 
jewelry,  millinery,  etc.,  by  ladies  living  at  a  distance,  Vie 
Editress  of  the  Fashion  Department  will  hereafter  execute 
commissions  for  any  who  may  desire  it,  with  the  charge  of 
a  small  percentage  for  the  time  and  research  required. 
Spring  and  autumn  bonnets,  materials  for  dresses,  jewelry, 
envelops,  hair-work,  worsteds,  children's  wardrobes,  man- 
tillas, and  mantelets,  will  be  chosen  with  a  view  to  econo- 
my, as  well  as  taste ;  and  boxes  or  packages  forwarded 
by  express  to  any  part  of  the  country.  For  the  last, 
distinct  directions  must  be  given. 

Orders,  accompanied  by  checks  for  the  proposed  expen- 
diture, to  be  addressed  to  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- 
able for  losses  that  may  occur  in  remitting. 

The  Publisher  of  the  Lady's  Book  has  no  interest  in 
this  department,  and  knows  nothing  of  the  transactions  ; 
and  whether  the  person  sending  the  order  is  or  is  nob  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 ;  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 
MAY. 

Fig.  1. — Green  changeable  silk  dress,  barred  with  a 
darker  shade  of  green.  The  dress  is  somewhat  of  the 
Empress  style,  the  corsage  and  skirt  being  in  one.  The 
skirt  is  trimmed  with  a  broad  Grecque  formed  of  black 
velvet,  With  a  white  edge.  The  same  design,  reduced, 
is  on  the  corsage.  The  sleeves  are  rather  small,  and 
slashed  up  to  the  elbow,  being  caught  together  at  the 
edge  with  a  fancy  sleeve  button.  The  white  sleeve  is 
very  full,  sufficiently  loose  to  slip  the  hand  through, 
and  finished  with  a  very  full  muslin  ruching.  The  col- 
.  lar  is  of  embroidered  muslin.  Buff  gants  de  Swede  with 
three  buttons  at  the  wrist.  Shawl-shaped  mantle  of 
black  silk,  richly  embroidered,  and  trimmed  with  a  faH 
of  deep  lace.  The  hair  is  slightly  crepe,  and  is  arranged 
in  loops  at  the  back. 

Fiq.  2. — Morning  suif  of  violet  piqu'°,  braided  en  tv- 
nique,  with  a  fancy  black  braid.     Graduated  black  and 


FASHIONS. 


499 


white  buttons  are  up  the  front  of  the  dress.  The  wrap 
is  of  the  shawl  shape,  bound  with  black  braid,  and 
braided  to  suit  the  skirt,  the  design  forming  a  large  cor- 
ner piece  in  the  point.  Fancy  summer  capuchon,  made 
like  two  half  handkerchiefs  fitted  to  the  neck  at  the 
back.  One  half  is  brought  over  the  head  and  arranged 
in  the  Marie  Stuart  style ;  the  other  part  falls  over  the 
shoulders.  It  is  made  of  black  net,  bordered  with  Vesuve 
ribbon  and  edged  with  thread  lace. 

Fig.  3. — Walking  suit  of  gray  mohair  lustre,  braided 
with  black ;  the  sack  being  also  trimmed  with  narrow 
black  velvet  and  drop  buttons.  White  straw  garden 
hat  trimmed  with  fancy  feathers.  Hair  rolled,  and  ar- 
ranged very  low  on  the  neck. 

Fig.  4. — A  golden  tan  Pongee  dress,  trimmed  with  one 
small  flounce,  headed  by  a  ruching.  Down  each  side  of 
the  skirt  and  on  the  front  of  the  corsage  are  graduated 
gimp  bows.  The  mantle  is  of  the  scarf  shape,  and  of 
the  same  material  as  the  dress.  It  is  trimmed  with  one 
ruffle,  worked  in  buttonhole  stitch,  and  headed  by  a 
ruching.  White  straw  bonnet,  trimmed  with  green, 
and  coronet  trimming  of  pink  roses  with  foliage. 

Fig.  5.— A  very  stylish  morning  costume  for  a  water- 
ing-place. It  is  made  of  white  alpaca,  with  one  box- 
plaited  flounce  bound  with  black  on  the  edge  of  the 
skirt.  Above  the  flounce  is  a  lace-like  embroidery,  and 
three  rows  of  black  velvet.  A  short  sack  cut  to  the 
figure,  but  not  fitting  closely,  is  worn  over  a  white 
muslin  waist.  The  hat  is  of  Leghorn,  with  rather  high 
crown  and  straight  brim  drooping  slightly  both  back 
and  front,  trimmed  with  a  black  lace  scarf  and  black 
and  scarlet  feather.  The  hair  is  rolled  from  the  face, 
and  arranged  in  a  chignon  at  the  back. 

THE  SOUTACHE  KOBE. 
(See  engraving,  page  422.) 
Tars  robe  is  of  mode-color  alpaca,  with  a  bordering  of 
brown  made  on  the  dress,  and  printed  to  imitate  a  very 
rich  braiding.  It  is  one  of  the  newest  and  prettiest  of 
the  Spring  styles.  The  bow  at  the  neck  can  be  of  silk 
or  white  muslin.  Fancy  muslin  cap,  with  Islay  green 
ribbon  bow  over  the  forehead. 

HEADDRESSES,  ETC. 
(See  engravings,  page  424.) 

Fig.  1. — A  coiffure  for  the  back  of  the  head.  It  is 
formed  of  very  rich  and  wide  black  ribbon,  with  moss- 
roses,  buds,  and  foliage. 

Fig.  2.— A  coiffure  in  the  coronet  style.  It  can  be 
made  of  any  color  to  suit  the  complexion  of  the  wearer. 
We  would  suggest,  as  very  stylish,  the  roll  and  front 
puffed  loops  to  be  of  a  rich  garnet  ribbon,  with  gold  or- 
nament and  short  white  plumes. 

Fig.  3.— A  ball  coiffure,  composed  of  green  ribbon  and 
a  large  tuft  of  roses,  with  foliage. 

Fig.  4.— One  of  the  newest  ball  coiffures.  Branches  of 
wood  twined  together,  with  a  large  tuft  of  Narcissus 
blossoms,  with  long,  graceful  leaves,  forming  a  coronet. 
A  smaller  tuft  of  flowers  rests  on  the  neck  at  the  back. 

Fig.  5.— Coiffure  for  full  ball  dress.  A  scarlet  peony 
forming  the  coronet,  and  at  the  sides  sprigs  of  ivy,  oak- 
1  eaves,  and  gold  acorns  on  branches  of  wood. 

Fig.  6.— A  wreath  formed  of  white  lilies,  violet  hya- 
cinths, and  Vesuve  ribbons,  twined  gracefully  round 
the  wood  branches.  This  is  also  in  the  coronet  style, 
and  being  of  moderate  height  it  is  exceedingly  pretty 
and  becoming. 


CHITCHAT  UPON  NEW  YORK  AND  PHILADEL- 
PHIA FASHIONS  FOR  MAY. 

Although  some  time  has  elapsed  since  the  wedding 
of  Tom  Thumb  and  the  little  Warren  amused  the  town, 
we  think  a  description  of  a  dress  designed  and  made  for 
her  at  Mine.  Demorest's  may  be  acceptable  to  many  of 
our  readers. 

It  was  of  a  golden  maize-colored  silk,  the  skirt  cut  en 
traine,  and  ornamented  with  designs,  intended  to  be 
emblematical  of  our  own  country,  England,  Ireland, 
Scotland,  France,  Germany,  and  Italy.  The  decorations 
were  formed  of  very  narrow  pipings  of  white  satin, 
softened  by  rich  point  applique  lace.  The  design  in 
front  was  an  ear  of  corn,  the  grains  in  seed  pearls,  for 
America.  On  the  right,  a  rose  encircled  with  buds  and 
leaves  for  England;  on  the  left,  laurel  for  France; 
Germany  was  represented  by  acorns,  with  leaves  ;  Italy, 
by  grapes;  Ireland,  by  shamrocks;  and  Scotland,  by 
the  thistle.  This  rich  drapery  was  caught  up  at  the 
left  to  display  the  petticoat  of  white  silk,  with  its  blonde 
puffings  and  diamond-shaped  crossings  of  strung  Roman 
pearls.  The  corsage  was  low,  with  short  sleeves,  very 
tastefully  trimmed  with  satin  pipings  and  point  lace. 
But  even  this  elegant  robe  was  not  so  fascinating  to  us 
as  the  dainty  little  corset  of  white  satin,  elaborately 
stitched  and  embroidered,  moulded  to  fit  the  perfect 
little  figure  it  was  destined  to  inclose.  Its  proportions 
strongly  reminded  us  of  doll-dressing  days  in  the  nur- 
sery. We  must  not  forget  to  mention  the'hoop,  also  a 
model  in  its  way,  and  so  closely  woven  that,  though 
perfect  in  proportion  to  the  tiny  figure  of  the  wearer,  it 
contained  fifty-two  hoops,  covered  with  white  silk. 
The  binding  and  facings  were  of  white  satin  to  match 
the  corset.  We  venture  to  say  that  these  contributions 
of  Mme.  Demorest  to  the  trousseau  of  Mrs.  Thumb  have 
never  been  excelled.  While  on  the  subject  of  hoops,  we 
must  not  neglect  the  new  style  called  Quaker  skirt. 
This  is  much  smaller  than  the  usual  hoop,  tapering 
most  gracefully  from  the  base  to  the  top.  It  is  especially 
suited  to  light  summer,  and  airy  ball  dresses.  Heavier 
dresses,  being  very  long  and  ample,  require  a  large  hoop 
with  a  decided  spring  to  give  them  a  graceful  appearance. 

We  select  from  the  many  beautiful  articles  in  Mme. 
Demorest's  salons,  the  following :  A  rich  mauve  mm'rd 
dress,  ornamented  on  the  corsage  and  sleeves  with  gui- 
pure applications,  laid  upon  the  material  in  elegant  and 
varied  patterns,  which  is  quite  a  relief  from  the  ordinary 
lace  with  one  straight  edge.  Another  was  a  jacket  of 
white  silk,  bordered  with  a  piping  of  cerise  silk,  covered 
with  a  tiny  guipure  edge.  On  each  side  of  the  corsage 
was  a  true  lover's  knot,  formed  of  guipure,  lined  with 
cerise  silk,  closely  stitched  down.  The  sleeves  were 
ornamented  to  correspond.  Another  attractive  garment 
was  an  opera  cloak  of  white  cloth,  bound  with  pink 
silk.  It  was  a  circle,  bias  at  the  back,  with  seam  down 
the  centre.  The  front  was  caught  up  very  gracefully, 
and  thrown  over  the  left  shoulder  like  a  Spanish  cloak, 
where  it  fell  in  soft  graceful  folds.  We  consider  this 
one  of  the  most  stylish  garments  of  the  season,  and  one 
that  will  be  very  suitable  for  street  wear,  made  of  drab 
or  cuir-colored  cloths.  We  noticed  that  most  of  the 
white  bodies  at  Mme.  Demorest's  were  tucked  in  bunches, 
which  is  a  slight,  but  very  pretty  change  from  last  sea- 
son. We  may  remark,  en  passant,  that  both  thick  and 
thin  muslins  can  be  purchased  striped,  to  imitate  tucks 
in  all  their  different  styles,  which,  of  course,  will  be  a 
great  saving  of  trouble  to  the  blanchissetise. 

As  mothers  are  becoming  anxious  about  the  little  folks' 


500 


godey's  lady's  book  and  magazine. 


hats,  we  are  now  able  to  gratify  them,  having  paid  a 
recent  visit  to  Mr.  Genin'a  establishment  on  Broadway. 
We  found  a  most  excellent  variety,  both  in  shape  and 
style,  the  colors  being  entirely  new.  For  instanee,  a 
dark  cuir-colored  straw,  and  a  mixture  of  the  most  bril- 
liant purple  with  black  and  white,  besides  every  possible 
combination  of  black  and  white.  For  boys,  there  is  the 
Harrow  cap,  of  a  cuir-color,  a  turban  with  closely  fitting 
brim,  and  a  vizor,  with  a  binding  of  a  rich  blue  straw. 
Others  are  trimmed  with  bindings  of  fancy  leather,  and 
bound  with  velvet  the  exact  shade  of  the  leather.  The 
Berwick  is  another  pretty  style,  with  straight  and  taper 
crown,  brim  very  wide  and  heavily  rolled  at  the  sides, 
and  slightly  rolled  in  front.  This  style  is  suitable  for 
boys  from  two  to  four.  Then  the  Eton,  for  boys  from 
four  to  seven,  generally  of  a  mixed  straw,  with  sailor 
brim  an  inch  and  a  half  wide,  and  the  crown  a  complete 
round.  This  style  has  a  dark  blue  ribbon  tied  at  the 
side,  and  fastened  with  a  straw  knot.  The  same  style, 
slightly  modified,  will  be  worn  by  older  boys,  the 
difference  being  that  the  crown  is  straight,  and  rounding 
only  on  top.  One  of  the  most  artistic  hats  is  a  Leghorn 
with  double  brim,  the  brim  turning  from  the  under  part 
to  the  outside,  reaching  the  crown,  where  the  straw  is 
fluted,  and  forms  the  sole  trimming  of  the  hat.  Con- 
spicuous among  the  straw  and  hair  ornaments  for 
children's  hats  are  bees,  flies,  butterfly  bows,  bugles, 
cornets,  and  other  devices. 

For  little  girls,  there  is  the  Dartford  hat.  This  is  one 
of  the  prettiest  styles.  It  has  a  high  taper  crown, 
drooping  slightly  both  back  and  front,  bound  with 
velvet  and  a  piping  of  velvet,  the  same  width  as  the 
binding,  laid  on  the  brim.  Jt  is  trimmed  with  two 
bands. of  velvet  round  the  crown,  and  a  tuft  of  field 
flowers  directly  in  front.  The  trimmings  will  be  flow- 
ers, and  scarfs  of  silk  with  fringed  euds. 

The  riding-hats  are  of  the  Spanish  styles,  very  high 
pointed  crowns,  with  brims  rolled  at  the  sides.  They 
are  made  of  every  variety  of  straw,  and  are  very  stylish. 

We  have  but  few  decided  novelties  to  record.  One, 
however,  is  a  monstrosity  in  the  shape  of  a  pocket  hand- 
kerchief. It  is  of  grass  cloth,  the  color  of  brown  wrap- 
ping-paper, ornamented  by  a  single  row  of  hem-stitch, 
and  a  narrow  border  of  either  blue  or  red. 

Black  lace  leaves  are  among  the  newest  things.  These 
are  used  for  ornamenting  white  muslin  jackets,  dresses, 
and  opera  cloaks.  The  effect  is  striking  and  beautiful. 
We  have  seen  some  pretty  grenadine  veiljs,  with  borders 
formed  of  pin  stripes.  For  instance,  a  light  mode-color 
veil,  with  a  border  of  black  stripes,  is  very  effective. 
For  morning  collars,  we  have  the  Byron  style ;  that  is, 
a  standing  collar  at  the  back,  and  the  ends  turned  down 
in  front.  These  are  worn  by  both  sexes.  Another  style, 
called  the  Alexandra  collar,  has  the  Prince  of  Wales 
feather  stitched  on  them  with  colored  cotton. 

Piques  will  be  very  fashionable,  and  the  colored  ones 
more  varied  in  design  and  color  than  in  former  years. 
The  designs  being  the  same  as  on  the  muslins,  large 
Grecques,  stars,  pin  dots,  and  other  styles.  We  use  the 
future  tense  respecting  piques,  for  though  we  are  told  it 
is  Spring,  it  is  difficult  to  believe  it,  and  nothing  thinner 
than  summer  poplins,  India  silks,  mohair  lustres, 
queen's  cloth,  alpaca,  and  such  goods,  can  yet  be  worn. 

Many  of  the  dress  sleeves  are  made  quite  small  at  the 
wrist,  barely  admitting  a  small  undersleeve.  Dresses 
of  all  kinds  are  being  trimmed  with  flutings,  which  are 
to  be  had  ready  fluted  in  tarletane,  ribbon  and  silk, 
and  any  material  can  be  quilled  at  a  trifling  expense. 


Perfect  scaffoldings  of  hair  are  now  built  on  the  head — 
roll  upon  roll — puff  upon  puff.  Some  of  the  styles  are 
extremely  odd  ;  not  the  least  odd,  is  that,  for  which  are 
used  two  rats,  two  mice,  a  cat,  and  a  cataract.  Lest, 
however,  we  should  be  the  means  of  some  pussy  being 
cut  off  by  a  premature  death  from  the  circle  of  which 
she  is  the  ornament,  we  hasten  to  explain.  The  rats  are 
the  long  frizetts  of  curled  hair  for  the  side  rolls  ;  the 
mice  are  the  smaller  ones  above  them  ;  the  cat  is  for  the 
roll  laid  over  the  top  of  the  head  ;  and  the  cataract  is 
for  the  chignon  at  the  back  of  the  head — which  is  some- 
times called  waterfall,  cataract,  And  Jet  d'eau. 

Little  girls  are  wearing  their  hair  in  short  frizzed 
curls,  and,  in  some  instances,  we  have  seen  very  long 
hair  floating  down  the  back  only  slightly  crepe.  This, 
however,  is  not  a  pretty  style,  and  we  would  not  advise 
its  adoption. 

For  coiffures,  the  humming-bird  alone  disputes  with 
the  butterfly  the  favor  of  fashion.  These  ornaments 
were  introduced  by  the  Empress  of  the  French,  and 
bring  fabulous  prices,  many  of  them  being  made  of  pre- 
cious stones,  or  of  enamel  worked  with  gold.  They 
are  worn  by  young  ladies  as  well  as  matrons  ;  the  hum- 
ming birds,  being  the  natural  bird  of  the  rarest  plumage, 
frequently  set  with  diamond  eyes. 

At  a  recent  ball  the  dress  of  the  Empress  was  hooked 
up  with  diamond  butterflies.  The  coiffure  was  composed 
of  tufts  of  violets,  from  which  a  brilliant  diamond 
butterfly  seemed  ready  to  spring  into  the  air.  The  natu- 
ral butterfly  is  however  a  coveted  headdress,  and  as  it 
is  extremely  fragile,  it  is  rather  an  expensive  fashion. 
They,  as  well  as  humming  birds,  are  frequently  mounted 
on  barbes,  with  charming  effect.  One  of  the  prettiest 
ball  dresses  we  have  seen,  was  a  mass  of  little  puffings 
over  which  were  scattered  butterflies  of  every  hue  and 
shade.  The  mania  extends  still  further.  We  see  them 
in  the  florist's  windows  hovering  over  plants,  baskets  of 
flowers,  and  choice  hand  bouquets.  The  last  novelty 
however  is  this  ;  every  variety  of  humming  bird  and 
butterfly  is  gotten  up  on  cartes  of  the  carte  de  visite  size 
for  albums. 

Mrs.  Ellis,  of  880  Broadway,  is  making  up  with  her 
usual  good  taste,  a  number  of  very  recherche  walking 
suits.  A  very  attractive  one  is  an  ashes  of  roses.  Spring 
poplin,  with  very  deep  braiding  in  black  above  the  hem. 
A  talma  of  the  same  has  a  narrower  braiding  above  the 
binding,  and  on  the  shoulders  it  is  braided  to  represent  a 
guipure  round  cape,  the  same  as  worn  on  the  velvet 
cloaks  this  winter.  The  effect  is  beautiful.  Another  is 
a  buff  mohair  lustre,  braided  in  large  palms  round  the 
skirt,  with  a  talma  of  the  same  braided  with  smaller 
palms  of  the  same  style. 

Brodie  is  making  up  Eotundes,  sacks,  and  circles  of 
every  shade  of  steel,  mode,  and  cuir.  Most  of  them  are 
braided  in  very  striking  patterns,  some  with  merely  a 
braided  epaulet,  while  others  are  elegantly  trimmed 
.with  gimp  and  jet  ornaments.  The  silk  wraps  are  gene- 
rally trimmed  with  rich  lace,  oftentimes  laid  over  white 
silk  or  satin,  which  gives  a  very  distingue  appearance. 
There  is  a  great  variety  of  out  door  garments,  and  the 
choice  is  left  to  the  individual  taste  of  the  wearer. 

We  see  but  little  alteration  in  the  shape  of  bonnets. 
They  are  quite  high,  very  shallow  at  the  sides,  and  a 
gradual  slope  from  the  crown  to  the  front.  Gray  straws 
are  very  fashionable,  also  silk  bonnets  closely  shirred, 
sometimes  with  puffs  between.  In  our  next  we  will 
give  more  definite  inforn\ation  respecting  bonnets. 

Fashion. 


M^Y,    1863 


JExiJLloolXxaBlT  -m  extt< 


£tc. 


PLAYING  MAT  PARTY.     A  splendid  steel  engraving. 

GODEY'S  DOUBLE  EXTENSION  COLORED  FASHION- 
PLATE.  Containing  five  figures.  Surpassing  any  pub- 
lished either  in  Europe  or  America. 

"  HANDS  ACROSS."     An  engraving  on  wood. 

SPRING  AND  EARLY  SUMMER  COSTUMES.  Two  en- 
gravings. 

THE  SOUTACHE  ROBE.     From  A.  T.  Stewart  &  Co. 

THE  VEGA.     From  Brodie. 

THE  LATEST  PARISIAN  STYLES  FOR  HEADDRESSES, 
ETC.     Six  engravings. 

A  NEW  COIFFURE.  Front  and  back  view.  Two  en- 
gravings. 

BRAIDED  SLIPPER.     Two  engravings. 

BRAIDING  PATTERNS.     Four  engravings. 

A  FANCY  TIDY. 

PRACTICAL  LESSONS  IN  DRAWING.  Seven  engrav- 
ings. 


NOVELTIES  FOR  MAY.  Spencer,  Bonnet  shade,  Sack, 
Dress,  Apron.     Six  engravings. 

PATTERNS  FROM  MADAME  DEMOREST'S  ESTAB- 
LISHMENT.    Five  engravings. 

FANCY  SLIPPER,   WITHOUT  HEEL,   FOR  A  LADY. 

SPRING  COSTUMES  FOR  A  BOY  AND  GIRL.  Front 
and  back  views.     Four  engravings. 

CROCHET  COLLAR. 

PETTICOAT  INSERTION. 

GLASS  BEAD  MAT. 

FLOWER  VASE. 

LETTER  FOR  A  SQUARE  PILLOW-CASE. 

SEAM  KNITTING   FOR  SOFA  PILLOWS. 

NAME  FOR  MARKING. 

INSERTION  FOR  MUSLIN.     Two  engravings. 

PATTERN  FOR  A  CROCHET  PURSE  OR  BAG. 

SPRING  MANTLE. 

EMBROIDERY  PATTERNS.     Five  engravings. 


ContriTDiitors    cixxcSL    Contents. 


"Hands  Across"'  (Illustrated),  417 

Music — Adieu,  by  W.  Delesdernier ,  418 
Spring  and  Early  Summer  Costumes  (Illustrated),  420,  421 

The  Soutache  Robe  (Illustrated),  422,  499 

The  Vega,  from  Brodie  (Illustrated),  423 
The  Latest  Parisian  Styles  for  Headdresses,  etc. 

(Illustrated),  421,  499 

Coiffure  (Illustrated),  42) 

Braided  Slipper  (Illustrated),  426,  427 

Braiding  Patterns  (Illustrated),  426,  482,  483 

Embroidery  (Illustrated),  427,  484 

A  Fancy  Tidy  (Illustrated),  42S 

A  Morning  at  Stewart's,  by  Alice  B.  Haven,  429 

A  Sunset  Vision,  by  Julia,  43? 

Courtesy  at  Home,  433 

Roxy  Croft,  431 

Obstinacy,  415 

A  Railway  Journey:  and  what  came  of  it,  by  Belle 

Rutledge,  416 

What  Precious  Stones  are  made  of,  419 

Practical  Lessons  in  Drawing  (Illustrated),  4">0 

The  Broken  Tendril,  by  Mrs.  Wolverton,  451 

"  Husks,"  by  Marion  Harland,  452 

The  Maids  of  Honor  to  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  463 

The  Casket  of  the  Year,  by  Willie  E.  Pahor,  463 

A  Rough  Dose,  by  Mary  Forman,  464 

Letters  from  Aunt  Betsy  Broomcorn,  466 

The  Advertisement,  by  L.  S.,  471 

Angel  Footsteps,  by  Ivy  Bell,  474 

To  Elsie,  474 


Novelties  for  May  (Illustrated),  475 
Patterns  from  Madame  Demoresfs  Establishment 

(Illustrated),  All 
A  Rustic  Hanging  Basket  for  Window  or  Porch  (IU'd),  47S 
Faucy  Slipper,  without  Heel,  for  a  Lady  (Illustrated),  478 

Spring  Costumes  for  a  Boy  and  Girl  (Illustrated),  479 

Crochet  Collar  (Illustrated),  480 

Petticoat  Insertion  (Illustrated),  480 

Glass  Bead  Mat  (Illustrated),  481 

Flower  Vase  (Illustrated),  482 

Letter  for  a  Square  Pillow-case  (Illustrated),  4S2 

Seam  Knittiug  for  Sofa  Pillows  (Illustrated),  483 

Name  for  Marking  (Illustrated),  4S3 

Insertion  for  Muslin  (Illustrated),  484 

Pattern  for  a  Crochet  Purse  or  Bag  (Illustrated),  4SI 

Spring  Mantle  (Illustrated),  481 

Receipts,  &c,  4S5 
Editors'  Table,  containing — 

Woman — Her  Moral  Destiny,  4S8 

Red-haired  Ladies,  489 

The  Children's  Hospital  of  Philadelphia,       .  4?>0 

The  Woman's  Hospital  of  Philadelphia,  490 

Postmistress,  490 

Widows'  Pensions,  490 

Health  Department,                                              ,  49^ 

Literary  Notices,  I'M 

Godey's  Arm-Chair,  40:5 

Juvenile  Department,  497 

Chemistry  for  the  Young,  49S 

Fashions,  498 


H-AJCFL  oiFLisr^iivr.iEisrTS. 

Ladies  wishing  hair  made  into  Bracelets,  Pins  (which  are  very  beautiful),  Necklaces,  or  Ear-rings,  can  be  accommodated, 
by  our  Fashion  Editor.  A  very  large  number  of  orders  have  recently  been  filled,  and  the  articles  hav«  given  great  satis- 
faction. 


We  give  the  prices  at  which  we  will  send  these  beautiful  articles  :— 

Breastpins,  from  $4'to  $12.  Necklaces,  from  $6  to  $15 

Ear-rings,  from  $1  50  to  $10.  Fob-chains,  from  #6  to  $12. 

Bracelets,  from  $3  to  $15.  Hair  Studs,  from  $5  f>0  to  $11  the  set. 

Rings,  from  $1  50  to  $3.  Sleeve  Button  ,  from  $6  50  to  $11  the  set. 

The  Charms  of  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity,  $4  50. 

Hair  is  at  once  the  most  delicate  and  lasting  of  our  materials,  and  survives  us  like  love.  It  is  so  light,  so  gentle,  no 
escaping  from  the  idea  of  death,  that,  with  a  lock  of  hair  belonging  to  a  child  or  friend,  we  may  almost  look  up  to  heaven  and 
compare  notes  with  the  angelic  nature — may  almost  say  :   "  I  have  a  piece  of  thee  here,  not  unworthy  of  thy  being  now." 


Tl  .2001 .08H .  dfoQ 


~    — - '     GOTTOH 


—^FRUITS  &  VEGETABLES 


EQUAL  TO  ANY  IN  THE  WORLD ! ! ! 


MAY    BE    PROCURED 

At  FROM  $8  to  $12  PER  ACRE, 

Near  Markets,  Schools,  Railroads,  Churches,  and  all  the  blessings  of  Civilization. 

1,200,000  Acres,  in  Farms  of  40,  80,  120,  160  Acres  and  upwards,  in 

ILLINOIS,  the  Garden  State  of  America. 

« « » » > — — — 

The  Illinois  Central  Bailroad  Company  offer,  ON  LONG  CREDIT,  the  beautiful  and  fertile  PRAIRIE 

LANDS  lying  along  the  whole  line  of  their  Railroad,  700  MILES  IN  LENGTH,   upon  the 

most  Favorable  Terms  for  enabling  Farmers,  Manufacturers,  Mechanics  and  Work- 

ingmen  to  make  for  themselves  and  their  families  a  competency,   and  a 

HOME  they  can  call  THEIR  OWN,    as  will  appear  from  the 

following  statements : 

ILLINOIS, 

•  Is  about  equal  in  extent  to  England,  with  a  population  of 
1 ,7*22,666,  and  a  soil  capable  of  supporting  20,000,000.  No  S;ate 
in  the  Valley  of  the  Mississippi  offers  so  great  an  inducement  to 
the  settler  as  the  State  of  Illinois.  There  is  no  part  of  the  world 
where  all  the  conditions  of  climate  and  soil  so  admirably  com- 
bine to  produce  those  two  great  staples,  Corn  and  Wheat. 

CLIMATE. 

Nowhere  can  the  industrious  farmer  secure  such  immediate 
results  from  his  labor  as  on  these  deep,  rich,  loamy  soils,  culti- 
vated with  so  much  ease.  The  climate  from  the  extreme 
southern  part  of  the  State  to  the  Terre  Haute,  Alton  and  St. 
I/mis  Railroad,  a  distance  of  nearly  200  miles,  is  well  adapted 
to  Winter. 

WHEAT,  CORN,  C0TT0N;  TOBACCO. 

Peaches,  Pears,  Tomatoes,  and  every  variety  of  fruit  and  ve- 
getables is  grown  in  great  abundance,  from  which  Chicago 
and  other  Northern  markets  are  furnished  from  four  to  six 
weeks  earlier  than  their  immediate  vicinity.  Between  the  Terre 
Haute,  Alton  &  St.  Louis  Railway  and  the  Kankakee  and  Illi- 
nois Rivers,  (a  distance  of  115  "miles  on  the  Brunch,  and  136 
m.les  on  the  Main  Trunk,)  lies  the  great  Corn  and  Stock  raising 
portion  of  the  State. 

THE  ORDINARY  YIELD 
of  Corn  is  from  50  to  80  bushels  per  acre.  Cattle,  Horses, 
Mules,  Sheep  and  Hogs  are  raised  here  at  a  small  cost,  and 
yield  large  profits.  It  is  believed  that  no  section  of  .country 
presents  greater  inducements  for  Dairy  Farming  t!"»an  the  Prai- 
ries of  Illinois,  a  branch  of  farming  to  which  but  little  atten- 
tion has  be*m  paid,  and  which  m  ist  yield  sure  profitable  re- 
sults. Between  the  Kankakee  and  Illinois  Rivers,  and  Chicago 
and  Dmileith,  (a  distance  of  56  miles  on  the  Branch  and  147 
miles  by  the  Main  Trunk,)  Timothy  Hay,  Spring  Wheat,  Corn, 
&c  ,  are  produced  in  great  abundance. 

AGRICULTURAL  PRODUCTS. 

The  Agricultural  products  of  Illinois  are  greater  than  those  of 
any  other  State.  The  Wheat  crop  of  1861  was  estimated  at 
85,000,000  bushels,  while  the  Corn  crop  yields  not  less  than 
140,000,000  bushels  besides  the  crop  of  Oits,  Barley,  Rye, 
Buckwheat,   Potatoes,    Sweet  Potatoes,  Pumpkins,  Squashes, 


Flax,  Hemp,  Peas,  Clover,  Cabbage,  Beets, Tobacco,  Porgheim, 
Grapes,  Peaches,  Apples,  &c,  which  go  to  swell  the  vast  aggre- 
gate'of  production  in  this  fertile  region.  Over  Four  Million  tons 
of  produce  were  sent  out  the  State  of  Illinois  during  the  past  year. 
STOCK  RAISING. 
In  Central  and  Southern  Illinois  uncommon  advantages  are 
presented  for  the  extension  of  Stock  raising.  Ali  kinds  of  Cat- 
tle, Horses,  Males,  Sheep,  Hogs,  &c.,of  the  best  breeds,  yield 
handsome  profits  ;  large  fortunes  have  already  been  made,  and 
the  field  is  open  for  others  to  enter  with  the  fairest  prospects  of 
like  results.  Dairy  Farming  also  presents  its  inducements  to 
many. 

CULTIVATION  OF  COTTON. 

The  experiments  in  Cotton  culture  are  of  very  great  promise. 
Commencing  in  latitude  39  deg.  30  min.  (see  Mattoon  on  the 
Branch,  and  Assumption  on  the  Main  Line),  the  Company  owns 
thousands  of  acres  well  adapted  to  the  perfection  of  this  fibre.  A 
settler  having  a  family  of  young  children,  can  turn  their  youthful 
labor  to  a  most  profitable  account  in  the  growth  and  perfection  of 
this  plant. 

THE  ILLINOIS  CENTRAL  RAILROAD 

Traverses  the  whole  length  of  the  State,  from  the  banks  of  the 
Mississippi  and  Lake  Michigan  to  the  Ohio.  As  its  name  im- 
ports, the  Railroad  runs  through  the  centre  of  the  State,  and  on 
either  side  of  the  road  along  its  whole  length  lie  the  lands  of- 
fered for  sale. 

CITIES,  TOWNS,  MARKETS.  DEPOTS, 

There  are  Ninety-eight  Depots  on  the  Company's  Railway, 
giving  about  one  every  seven  miles.  Cities,  Towns  and  Villiag'es 
are  situated  at  convenient  distances  throughout  the  whole  route, 
where  every  desirable  commodity  may  be  found  as  readily  as  in 
the  oldest  cities  of  the  Union, and  where  buyers  are  to  be  met 
for  all  kinds  of  farm  produce. 

EDUCATION. 

Mechanics  and  working-men  will  find  the  free  school  system 
encouraged  by  the  State,  and  endowed  with  a  large  revenue 
for  the  support  of  the  schools.  Children  can  live  in  sight  of  the 
school,  the  college,  the  church,  and  grow  up  with  the  prospe- 
rity of  the  leading  State  in  the  Great  Western  Empire. 


PRICES  AND  TERMS  OP  PAYMENT— ON  LONG  CREDIT. 


80  acres  at  $10  per  acre,  with  interest  at  6  per  ct.  annually  on  the  following  terms: 

Cash    payment $  18  00 

Payment  in  one  year .'.    48  00 

"        in  two  year? 48  00 

"        in  three  years 48  00 

"        in  four  years 2:!6  00 

"        in  five  vears 221  00 

"        in  six  vers  212  00 

"        in  seven  years 200  Q0 


40  acres,  at  $10  00  per  acre ; 

Cash  payment $24  00 

Payment  in  one  year 2i00 

"        in  two  years 24  00 

"        in  three  years 21  00 

"        in  lour  years 118  00 

"        in  five  vears 11 2  00 

"        in  six  years 106  00 

"       in  seven  years 100  00 


Address     Land    Commissioner,  Illinois  Central  Railroad,  Chicago,  III.